by Margot Early
The week passed quickly for Bronwyn, slowly for Patrick. Every night, he fought imagined visions of her in his bed. At the barbecue, Bronwyn had said she trusted him. But he doubted she trusted him enough to become his lover again.
So he enjoyed her and Wesley’s company at a Socceroos game, at horse races and at an amusement park. Bronwyn actually sat between his legs on a roller coaster while Wesley’s friend Colin sat with him.
When they returned to Fairchild Acres the following weekend, they found Megan, Dylan and Heidi visiting. Heidi had just finished a ride and showed an interest in Beckham. Soon, the children were playing with the dog, Heidi showing Wesley how to train Beckham to stay on command. Patrick invited Bronwyn to join him and Megan and Dylan on the patio for a drink, but Bronwyn begged off.
She wanted to get down to the physical fitness facility, see any changes which had been made in her absence. Also, she needed to distance herself from Patrick. After spending the week with him, she found the image of his face always before her, as though imprinted on her heart. He’d been kind, funny, fun to be with. And after their argument during the Scrabble game, he’d seemed reflective and had made no more accusations against her.
In fact, he’d been so kind and so much fun that she’d almost forgotten that stupid argument.
Her housemates were glad to have her back, and Marie wasted no time in saying, “So?” as though expecting romantic revelations.
“So, nothing. We bickered a little, but mostly got on fine.”
“Got on?” Marie encouraged.
Bronwyn was reluctant to reveal her new feelings to anyone. She wasn’t going to rush into a relationship with Patrick, and that was that. So she told Marie, instead, about their argument over the Scrabble board.
Marie frowned. “In that case, I hope you have at least some good news.”
“Like what?”
“That you trounced him, of course.”
Bronwyn laughed. “As a matter of fact, I didn’t. I’d like to say that I was so annoyed it ruined my game, but the fact is, he has always been an excellent Scrabble player.”
“Well, there’s something else you should know,” Marie said unhappily. At Bronwyn’s questioning look, her housemate produced a tabloid showing highlights of the Fairchild Acres barbecue the previous weekend. There were several photos of Bronwyn, identifying her as “widow of late crime boss Ari Theodoros, implicated in racetrack fraud.”
“Lovely,” sighed Bronwyn, and was disgusted to find that the paper was local. “Poor Wesley.”
“Oh, gosh, that’s right,” Marie said, looking horror-struck.
“I’m glad you showed me. Believe me, even in Sydney, his friends’ parents had some trouble with their children playing with the son of Ari Theodoros. I imagine it will be even worse for him here.”
“That’s so unfair!” exclaimed Marie.
“Since when was life fair?”
Its unfairness made itself felt over the next few days as Bronwyn found employees who had initially seemed to like her now giving her a cold shoulder. Her exercise classes were less well attended, and no one but Helena and Marie ever stayed afterward to talk anymore.
“It will blow over,” Marie said. “They know Louisa’s not naive. I think it’s just that what Ari did is so opposed to everything they stand for.”
“And everything I stand for,” Bronwyn remarked unhappily.
A face looked in the door.
Patrick.
Bronwyn took an exhausted breath, bid her two housemates farewell as they left the room, then turned her back on the door.
“What’s wrong?” he asked.
She shrugged. “I don’t think the employees of Fairchild Acres are keen to take fitness lessons from the widow of Ari Theodoros.”
He was silent, and she did glance at him then, to see how he was taking the news. He looked stunned.
“Well, it’s only natural,” she said. “He was involved in doping racehorses. Anyone with integrity is going to find that despicable.”
“That doesn’t mean they need to find you despicable.” He sounded indignant, and his indignation cheered her.
Then, she remembered that what she was experiencing must be nothing compared with Wesley’s experience.
“What?” he said.
“What do you mean?”
“You just gave what I’d call a rueful smile.
” “Ah.” She didn’t bother answering. At last she said, “I’m concerned about how this publicity about my being Ari’s widow will affect Wesley’s experience at school.”
“I shouldn’t worry about it,” Patrick said. “He’s a good athlete and a handsome boy. He’s made some friends already.”
Bronwyn knew this. “I should have made sure he asked some of his friends over before this.”
“You’re a good mother,” Patrick said.
“Thank you.” There was no one from whom she would rather hear that assessment.
“Shall I speak to Louisa?” he asked. “Have her speak to the rest of the staff?”
“No,” Bronwyn gasped, horrified at the thought. “No, people will just have to realize that I’m not Ari. Time will help them get over it.”
“And trust you,” Patrick finished for her.
“Yes.”
“Bronwyn,” he said, “I think there’s really no reason to wait to tell Wesley the truth. The truth might help him at this juncture.”
Bronwyn considered that for a moment. “I suppose I’ve been holding off because part of me believed you really think I’m mercenary,” she admitted. “I’ve been afraid of you turning Wesley against me, negatively influencing how he perceives me.”
Patrick looked stunned. “I wouldn’t do that, Bronwyn. And you should consider that I’ve said some of the things I have to you because I was hurt that you chose Ari. In some ways,” he added, “it was much more comfortable to tell myself that you married him for his money. But what you said in Sydney reminded me of the truth. You were right. I was unready for marriage then. You were wise to refuse me.”
This admission played like a gong through Bronwyn’s heart. He didn’t despise her. He no longer believed she’d married Ari for money.
What was more, this Patrick was a far cry from the man whose proposal of marriage she’d refused so long ago.
Yes, she could tell Wesley the truth, that Patrick was his father. Wesley would be angry with her, but he deserved the truth. And Patrick deserved that his son knew him.
“So?” he repeated. “When are we going to tell Wesley that I’m his father?”
It happened then. Bronwyn stared past Patrick to the person who’d appeared in the doorway of the fitness room.
Their son.
“Wesley,” she snapped, “what are you doing?”
“What did that mean?” he said.
“What did what mean?” she echoed.
Patrick rolled his eyes and turned to face Wesley. He said, “Wesley, I’m your biological father. Your mother and I knew each other before she met Ari. She was married to him, but carrying my baby—you.”
Bronwyn winced. It seemed such a brutal, bare-facts recital. She tried to read Wesley’s reaction.
Wesley said, “Oh.”
“And if you’ll let me,” Patrick said, “I plan to always be in your life as your father.”
Wesley looked sullen, but he said, “Okay.” He glared at his mother. “You weren’t going to tell me, were you, Mum?”
“I was,” she said. “I just didn’t know when or how. I came here because Patrick was here, because I wanted you two to know each other.”
“You lied to my— You lied.” He seemed to feel he could no longer call Ari his dad.
Patrick caught the slip, the awkwardness. He said, “Wesley, Ari is your father, too. It doesn’t hurt me for you to acknowledge that. You loved him, and he was important to you.”
“But he abandoned me and my mum.”
“He was murdered,” Bronwyn said.
“No,
when he went to jail, and the police took everything. He didn’t provide for us.”
Bronwyn felt stunned. She hadn’t married Ari so that he would “provide.” But since his death, she’d let Wesley know her resentment that they’d been left destitute. And Wesley had begun to think less of Ari because of it.
“Wesley, you and I are both going to have to work at remembering the good things he did,” she said. “He taught you to ride a bicycle. He used to take us sailing. He practiced soccer with you. He cared about you, and he believed you were his son.”
“But I never was. You lied to him. You’re as bad as he was.” Wesley’s eyes suddenly filled with tears. He turned and fled.
“Wesley!” Bronwyn started to go after him, but Patrick gently grasped her arm, stopping her.
“Let him have his privacy. He’s angry and confused and in mourning. Let him have some space.”
Bronwyn wanted to go to Wesley, to somehow make him see that what she’d done was…what? Right? It hadn’t been. Necessary? Not that, either. Easiest?
Too true.
She sank down on the floor and sat back against the wall.
“He’s right,” she said. “I’m as bad as he was.”
Patrick shook his head. He just stood, lost in his own thoughts. Then, he said, “I’m going to check on him. Make sure he’s not doing anything crazy.”
“Wesley wouldn’t. He’s levelheaded.”
“And right now, he’s angry.”
Wesley picked up some grapes that had fallen from the kissing gate outside the bungalow and threw them at the house.
“Young man!”
He spun around.
It was Louisa Fairchild.
He was very glad he wasn’t crying. “What?” he said.
“What, ma’am,” she corrected, “or ‘What, Louisa?’”
“What, Louisa?” he said in a flat tone.
“No throwing grapes at buildings or anything else. If you’re in a mood, go out to the stable and ask one of the grooms if you can help muck out a stall. We don’t behave destructively when we’re angry.”
“All right.” He might as well muck out a stall. He really wasn’t Wesley Theodoros. He supposed he was Wesley Davies, which was what he was now called in school. And a man he’d only known for about a month was suddenly his father.
“Why are you angry, by the way?” Louisa said.
Wesley saw Patrick come out of the big house behind her. “He’ll tell you,” he said. And he turned away and headed for the stables.
After Patrick’s brief explanation, Louisa said, “I see. Yes, I can see why he’s angry. I told him to go muck out a stall.”
“I think I’ll join him,” Patrick said.
“He’s angry at his mother?” Louisa asked.
“Probably he’s mad at the world.”
“Yes, I can see that.” She turned to head toward the house. Then, she glanced back. “You might let him know that there will be some advantages to his new status.”
“I don’t think that’s the answer,” Patrick said.
Louisa regarded him carefully. “You don’t want to spoil him.”
“I don’t think he can be spoiled at this point,” Patrick replied. “Losing people you love tends to drive home just what’s important and what isn’t.”
Louisa nodded. “You’ll do, Patrick.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, you’re the boy’s father, and I think you’ll do a fine job at it.”
Patrick felt as though no one had ever praised him before. He only wished that Bronwyn felt as Louisa did. “Thank you.” He looked toward the stables. “So, we’ll see how this goes.”
Patrick grabbed a pitchfork and joined Wesley in the empty stall he was cleaning. He said, “I’ll leave if you want. I thought you might want company.”
Wesley shrugged, apparently indifferent even to Beckham, who had just found his master and was being ignored.
“Out of the way, Beckham,” was all Wesley said.
“I hope you can forgive your mother, Wesley.”
“Well, I can’t, so don’t bother mentioning it. She’s ruined my life.”
Patrick tried not to smile at the sweeping statement. “How do you work that out?”
“I’m no one. I’ve thought my whole life I was Ari Theodoros’s son. It turns out I wasn’t. And I wasn’t your son, either, because you didn’t know, did you?”
“No. I didn’t know. Maybe you should focus on the now. I’m glad you’re my son, and I hope you don’t feel that the fact of being my son is going to ruin your life.”
“I’m illegitimate. A bastard. That’s what it’s called.”
“Actually, that’s impossible. Your mother was married at the time you were born, and Ari is listed on your birth certificate. So neither of those things are true. But if they were, I wouldn’t be one iota less proud of you. I can’t tell you how happy I was when I learned that you’re my son. I wasn’t pleased that your mother had kept it from me. But I’d already decided you were a very fine boy, and now I’m simply very proud of you.”
“She’s just like him.”
“She’s not, Wesley. I’m sure your mum thought she was acting for the best. She might have been disappointed when she found out you weren’t Ari’s son and maybe she didn’t know what to do.”
“I don’t even want to know when that was.”
“And when she found out, I’m sure that your welfare was the first thing on her mind. That’s why she didn’t want to tell you even now. She was frightened.”
“Frightened I’d see that she’s a liar.”
Patrick thought there was probably some truth in this and chose not to argue the point. He said again, “I hope you can forgive her.”
“Just like I’m supposed to forgive my—forgive Ari.”
“You know,” Patrick said, “we don’t forgive for other people. We forgive for ourselves, for our own well-being.”
Wesley eyed him curiously.
“And it’s not easy,” Patrick said, thinking he still had trouble forgiving Bronwyn for choosing Ari over him. I should take my own advice, he thought. But perhaps his hurt had taught him what he was now able to impart to Wesley. “When we don’t forgive, it eats us up inside. Then, we make decisions that are bad for us. Bitterness just makes a person unhappy. At first, you feel self-righteous, satisfied with what a great person you are in comparison to the person who has hurt you. But that’s not real happiness. Real happiness comes from realizing that you make mistakes, too.”
“I wouldn’t lie like she did,” Wesley stated with certainty.
“I hope you’re right,” Patrick said. “It’s certainly a noble goal not to lie. And I try never to lie, and I’m sure your mum feels the same. But your mother was in a tough situation. Perhaps telling your father—” he looked at Wesley as he said this “—would have been more comfortable for her. But she had to think about how it would affect other people.”
“It’s still lying,” Wesley said.
Patrick decided not to champion Bronwyn’s cause further at the moment. He had mixed feelings about what she’d done and knew she did, as well.
So he worked silently beside Wesley, and when they’d finished the stall, Wesley said, “I better go feed Beckham now.”
“Good idea,” Patrick replied.
Wesley paused for a moment. “What should I call you?”
“Whatever you feel comfortable calling me. I imagine you called Ari ‘Dad,’ so maybe you don’t want to call me that.”
Wesley shrugged. “Maybe.”
“I want you to do what feels most natural to you,” Patrick told him.
“Okay,” Wesley said. “Come on, Beckham.”
Patrick was glad to find Bronwyn on the porch of the bungalow that night. The rest of the building was dark.
“Is Wesley asleep?” he asked, sitting down on the top step.
“Yes. I just looked in on him.”
“Everything okay?”
&nbs
p; Bronwyn made a noncommittal gesture. “You think the time might be ripe for the two of you to move into the big house? It would make things easier for Louisa.”
“Why?”
“She has just hired a female groom who would love the chance to live here. You and Wesley are taking up two rooms in the cottage.”
“Well, that’s difficult to argue with,” Bronwyn said.
“I thought you might feel that way. Feel like a walk?”
“A short one—and not too far from the house. Marie and Helena are asleep, too, I think, but if Wesley wakes up he’ll come looking for me. I don’t like to leave him.”
“I know,” Patrick said with a faint smile.
“What does that mean?”
“That you’re a good mum.”
They headed down to the stables, walking through the darkened building, soothed by the familiar smells and sounds of horses.
Bronwyn felt Patrick’s hand on her shoulder, and she turned. “What?”
He dropped his hand. “May I kiss you?”
She wanted him to kiss her. That was the simple answer. “Do you think that’s a good idea?”
“I think it’s a great idea,” he said cheerfully.
That made her laugh. “Oh, well, then.”
He did kiss her, and she liked the taste and smell of him. She found herself kissing not just his mouth, but his chin and his jaw, his cheekbones, all the planes of his face. And she was being kissed with even greater tenderness in return.
There was not just physical excitement there. He seemed to be concentrating with every fiber of his being.
Bronwyn disengaged herself from him slowly and gently.
She felt him watching her questioningly, as though measuring her response. “What?” she said.
“Was that all right?”
“What do you think?”
“You were responsive.”
“Yes,” she agreed.
She moved closer to the nearest stall. In the moonlight, she could see the occupant, a handsome Thoroughbred. “It’s An Indecent Proposal, isn’t it?”
“No. If I’d invited you to lie down in the straw…” Patrick teased, a smile in his voice.
“You know what I mean.”
