Disputed Love

by Margaret Carr

  They had been in, eaten their breakfasts and gone out again when Belle heard the knock on the door that made the tiny hairs on the back of her neck stand to stiff attention. She left the beds she had been straightening and hurried downstairs. With her back to the door she waited until her heart stilled before opening it.

  Both the Ketterings stood a step back from the doorstep.

  ‘I’m sorry, Mr Carlton and Jack are both out,’ Belle informed them.

  ‘We know,’ the woman said in a soft, cajoling voice. ‘It’s you we’ve come to see.’

  ‘Well, I’m very sorry but I have nothing to say to you. Now if you will excuse me I have things I must be doing.’

  Belle made to shut the door but Kettering put his foot on the threshold.

  ‘Please,’ he said quietly, ‘won’t you let us have our say? Just give us five minutes to explain why we are here and then make up your own mind who’s telling the truth.’

  ‘I’ve already made up my mind, Mr Kettering. My loyalty is to Mr Carlton until you can prove that Jack’s parentage is otherwise.’

  He looked genuinely upset.

  ‘Well, at least let us explain,’ the woman cried, easing past Belle and entering the kitchen where she stood in the centre of the floor and stared around her. ‘You weren’t exaggerating about the poverty,’ she said to her husband, as he followed Belle back into the kitchen.

  Belle ground her teeth with vexation as she glowered at the tall, well-dressed redhead who looked down her nose at the now cosy cottage kitchen.

  ‘Let’s all take a seat,’ he said, pulling out a chair from the table. ‘The sooner we can tell you our side of events the sooner we’ll get off and leave it up to you to make a fair judgement.’

  I don’t want to make any judgements, Belle’s inner voice screamed at her. I don’t want to know who’s right and who’s wrong. I only want Jack to be happy, and these scheming people can’t do that.

  Before she could say anything, however, Kettering began to talk.

  ‘Before I was married, I met Kathleen Carlton at a party given by a mutual friend, some seven years ago. She made no bones about being married but we were attracted to one another on sight.’

  He gave his wife a swift glance then carried on.

  ‘An extremely confident woman, she could be cruelly ambitious. She wanted me and, married or not, she was determined we should have an affair, which we did. Her husband never suspected and we sailed along fine until she discovered she was pregnant. All the trouble broke loose then. She dropped me without as much as a note to say we were through. It came as a terrible blow.’

  He sat back in the chair and flicked at the lock of hair that fell over his forehead.

  ‘She wasn’t a religious woman by any means but her upbringing denied her the option of getting rid of the baby. I thought she would have persuaded her husband it was his and everything about our affair would be swept under the carpet. But then I heard she had lost her job and that, far from palming the baby off on him, she had blamed her husband for ruining her career. He up and left not long after that and she was eventually headhunted by another firm. I went to see her after he left, offered to marry her, but she wasn’t having it. She told me to get lost, so I did and went on to meet my darling wife.’

  The smile he sent his wife was so false as to make Belle feel sick.

  ‘I suppose you’re wondering why I haven’t claimed the boy before now. The answer is simple. As long as Kathleen was alive, he was better off with his natural mother. We only heard of her untimely death last week and as my wife and I are unable to have children of our own . . .’

  His voice petered out on a soft, sympathy-seeking note.

  ‘That still doesn’t make you his legal father,’ she said.

  ‘I don’t know what sick little thought made her put Carlton’s name on the birth certificate but you see, when I tackled her once about our relationship, she told me they no longer lived as man and wife. What’s far better evidence is the fact that she wrote that down in one of her many letters, which I have kept.’

  All the blood left Belle’s face. She closed her eyes, unable to think straight and heard him say they would leave her to think it over.

  ‘I’m sure it would be better for the boy if a lot of fuss could be avoided.’

  The chairs were pushed back and their footsteps quickly crossed the floor. The sound of the car engine being started broke Belle’s trance and she began to cry, great rending sobs that shook her shoulders.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  ‘Why in the name of heaven didn’t you tell me they were here?’ Jeffrey raged, after finding Belle mopping up her tears.

  ‘Because you’d only have caused a scene again and Jack’s upset enough,’ Belle’s voice muffled between hiccups. ‘I want to take Jack to Portugal on an extended holiday to help him get over the death of his mother, with your permission.’

  She gave him back stare for stare, convinced that this was the only answer. His eyes bored deep into Belle’s and she felt them touch her very soul. She was the first to drop her gaze. Her heart was squeezed into a dull ache and her head throbbed with tension.

  ‘This is the same person who stuck like glue to a little boy she was afraid I might ill treat?’

  His words shredded her already tender emotions.

  ‘He isn’t mine,’ she cried. ‘Sooner or later I’m going to have to give him back to someone. It’s up to you to fight for him if you really want him and I hope and pray that you do.’

  She was crying in earnest again, tears pouring down her cheeks as she ran for the door at the bottom of the stairs. Jeffrey made no attempt to stop her, but sat back down in the rocker, a cloud of brooding silence hovering over him.

  It was pitch black when Belle awoke with a start and sat up in bed. Her ears tuned for the sound that had disturbed her. Her eyes searched the darkness for movement. Nothing. She slipped from the bed and, grabbing her coat from the back of the door, moved barefoot into Jack’s room. The tousled head on the pillow, reflected in the shadow night light, was still. He was fast asleep. With a sigh, Belle walked back to her own room and climbed into bed after hanging her coat up and leaving the door ajar just in case Jack was restless.

  She’d been lying quiet for only a moment when a sharp crack had her jerk upright again. Two more cracks followed in rapid succession and she was out of bed and peering through the frosted window. She blew on to the glass and rubbed with the bottom of her T-shirt to try to see what was happening outside. She recognised the sound of gun shots. She scrambled into clothes and checked that Jack was still asleep before hurrying downstairs to the kitchen.

  With fumbling hands she lit the gas light, then pulled on boots, before running to the back door and throwing it open. Darkness encompassed everything and it wasn’t until her eyes adjusted to the night that she was able to make out the glimmer of light around the edges of the barn door.

  ‘I thought I told you never to creep up on a man with a gun,’ the voice whispered over Belle’s shoulder as she made to open the door.

  The shock lifted her several inches from the ground as her arm was caught in a fierce grip and she was bundled back across the yard to the cottage.

  ‘Where’s Jack?’ he asked, as he thrust her into the warmth.

  ‘Sleeping,’ she snapped, still shuddering from shock. ‘What happened? What was all the shooting about?’

  There was no answer and she turned to see him shrugging out of his coat, the gun propped against the sink side.

  ‘It was the Ketterings, wasn’t it?’

  ‘No. It was a couple of thugs from Newcastle.’

  ‘Did you hit them?’ she asked anxiously.

  ‘No, they were a little more fortunate than I was,’ he growled as he stripped off his sweater.

  Belle’s eyes widened when she saw the blood oozing down his arm. She moved forward instinctively to help.

  ‘You’ve been shot.’

  ‘Nothing so dramatic, I’m afraid.�
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  He gave a wry grin as he held the wound beneath the tap and turned on the water.

  ‘One of them came at me with a crowbar. I did this on some barbed wire while trying to get out of his way.’

  ‘Were they successful?’ she whispered, hardly daring to breath.

  He looked at her then as she held out the towel to his dripping arm.

  ‘I don’t know,’ he answered with a frown. ‘I don’t think so but I’ll have a better idea in the morning when it’s light,’ he said, watching her downbent head as she concentrated on wrapping the dressing around his arm.

  ‘Will you believe me now when I say the Ketterings are dangerous and that I must get Jack away?’ she said as she finished tying the knot and stepped back.

  ‘There’s nothing connecting the Ketterings with this incident other than local gossip and I know how vicious that can be. But I’ll go and have it out with him anyway.’

  And with that, Belle had to be satisfied.

  * * *

  The day after the shooting a strong, cold wind was blowing as she and Jack met Mac in Moorgate. Belle had left a message for him to meet her at the garden centre in town. Now Jack played in an area set aside for children as she and Mac talked over a cup of coffee.

  ‘There was no harm done to the stock apparently. They can’t have had time before Jeffrey discovered them. But he still won’t believe the Ketterings are behind it. He keeps saying Jack is legally his and the Ketterings don’t have a leg to stand on. But I think they are determined to have custody of Jack and if this man’s Jack’s real father then surely they stand a good chance. I don’t understand why Jeffrey can’t see that. I won’t believe he doesn’t care.’

  She watched the vet run his fingers through his hair and round the back of his neck. Then he sat back with a sad expression.

  ‘I was attracted to you the first time I saw you all wet and cold and steaming in front of Nan’s fire. I hoped maybe it was mutual.’

  Belle opened her mouth to say something but was stayed by the droop of his head.

  ‘This obsession of yours for the boy and his father puts an end to any hopes I might have, I think.’

  Belle stared at him, hurt and bewilderment stirring inside her.

  ‘I don’t understand. I thought you were my friend.’

  ‘And so I am and always will be, I hope, but it’s the Carltons who are the real attraction, both of them.’

  Belle was shaking her head.

  ‘No, Jack is my only concern, his safety, his happiness.’

  Mac shrugged and turned his attention to Jack, playing nearby.

  On a wet morning three days later, Belle packed cases and bags for herself and Jack. When she had finished, she sat back on the bed with a heavy sigh, her hands quite still in her lap, her head bowed forward. How long had she been at the cottage? A mere two months, yet it seemed to her as though years had passed since the night Mac had set her and Jack down in the snow-covered yard and she had gazed in horror at the man into whose care she must leave her beloved charge.

  Now she would give everything to know that Jeffrey and Jack could stay together. But Mac was right, the fight was not hers. All she could do now was to shelter Jack until the law decided his future. Somehow she must make Jack understand when the time came. Until then she would make his life as happy as she knew how.

  She stood up and hauled the bags to the top of the stairs before taking them down in two trips. An excited Jack was running between the kitchen and Jeffrey’s car, the boot of which was open, awaiting the arrival of the luggage. Of Jeffrey there was no sign.

  ‘Is Daddy coming, Belle?’

  ‘No, darling, we’re going in an aeroplane today. Daddy will look after things until we come back.’

  ‘I want Daddy to come with us.’

  ‘Then who will feed the cows? ‘Why can’t the farmer feed the cows?’

  ‘Because he’s busy. That’s why he asked your daddy to do it. Now come and help me put these heavy bags in the car.’

  Jeffrey came out of the barn and crossed the yard. He was frowning.

  ‘I’m only allowing this because you have promised to bring him back in two weeks time. If you don’t, I shall come out and fetch him myself, and you will not be coming back with us.’

  She concentrated hard on packing the luggage into the ample boot space.

  ‘Are the tickets waiting for us at the airport reception?’

  He slammed down the lid of the boot.

  ‘Yes. Your flight leaves at mid-day so we had better get a move on.’

  The letter from Ketterings’ solicitor had arrived the previous morning. Belle hadn’t been allowed to read it, but whatever it contained it had caused Jeffrey to slam out of the cottage. The sound of his car screeching through the yard entrance moments later had made Belle shudder.

  He was back within the hour and had ordered Belle to pack her own and Jack’s bag as he was sending them to Portugal for a fortnight. Belle had been dumbfounded.

  Their eyes locked now and suddenly their troubles were shared. He drove them to the airport at Newcastle and Belle’s heart lay heavy with all the things she wanted to say. She knew her thoughts were so mixed up and confused that if she opened her mouth, only nonsense would come out. So she said nothing and neither did he.

  Jack stood by his father’s side and looked up at the silent man as he had done on that first night. The expectation on his little face was more confident now even though the man’s response was exactly the same. Belle watched Jeffrey turn from the departure lounge entrance and walk away.

  Belle was grateful to be going home. It had been five years since she had last seen her parents, the extended family on her father’s side and old friends she had left behind when she had gone to work in London. Her mother had no relatives left, which probably accounted for the close relationship she and her mother shared.

  Their journey was smooth and in no time they were setting down at Faro airport. Their flight from England had been so rushed she’d had no time to warn her parents of their arrival. Not that this was necessary but it meant that a journey by train would have to be undertaken.

  When they arrived in Portugal, Belle rang her parents form the station telephone booth. Her mother answered and when Belle told her where she was and that she was in need of a lift, her mother could be heard laughing with surprise on the other end of the line.

  Her father, Jose Mendes, drove up fifteen minutes later. If he was surprised at the sight of Jack holding tight to Belle’s hand, he made no sign of it, for which Belle was deeply grateful. Instead he hugged and kissed her and flung her luggage up into the back of the wagon. Then they all climbed up into the front of the cab and set off for home.

  Anne Mendes was waiting for them on the doorstep and for Belle it was as though the last five years had never been. Her mother’s fair English complexion had darkened in twenty-eight years under the Portuguese sun and her once fiery red hair had bleached to a soft, fair ginger. Her reed slim figure could still fit the dress she had married in.

  Jose stopped talking as he drew up in front of the small cottage, scattering a group of chickens pecking at the hard earth. The village houses were packed close together. The cobbled street, narrow and steep, led down to a small cove where several boats were drawn up on the beach. The Mendes’ cottage was on the outskirts of the village, in a dip between two headlands that stuck like the prongs of a fork out into the Atlantic. Their location was private, cut off from the rest of the village by the dividing headland.

  Shy and tired, Jack clung to Belle as her mother, after much hugging and kissing, turned her attention to the little boy. She kneeled down by his side and talked in soft words, explaining who they were and what they did and what kind of animals lived there with them. At the mention of animals, Jack’s interest was awakened and he began to talk.

  ‘My daddy looks after cows and we have chickens, but they’re silly, aren’t they, Belle?’

  ‘Yes, sweetheart,’ she said
, stroking back the hair that had fallen across his upturned face.

  Her mother watched them in silence for several seconds then announced that she had home-made lemonade inside.

  It was later that evening, when Jack was tucked up in the make-shift bed in Belle’s room and her father was in a heated discussion with friends around the wooden table outside, under the vines, that her mother said, ‘Tell me what’s going on, Belle.’

  So Belle told her all that had happened since Jack’s mother had died.

  ‘You did well to cope as you did.’

  Her mother smiled at her across the hearth.

  ‘But it doesn’t really answer my question, does it?’

  Belle sighed. She ought to have known better than to try to hide anything from her mother. She gazed into the fireplace, heaped with logs ready for lighting should the weather turn cold, as it sometimes did when the wind blew in from the Atlantic.

  ‘I don’t know myself, Mama. It was so awful at first but then things seemed to improve. Jeffrey won Jack over and I was so jealous. I know it was silly, but then the Ketterings showed up. His story is so feasible and yet, oh, I don’t know.’

  Her mother set aside the doll she had been dressing.

  ‘I make these for the shop in the village,’ she said indicating the doll. ‘I’m told they’re very popular.’

  ‘Is there a problem with money then?’ Belle asked.

  ‘Not really. My paintings do very well, but the fishing is not so good these days and you know what a proud man your father is. It wouldn’t do for him to find out that my paintings were bringing in more than his fish.’

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  It was towards the end of the first week that Belle heard from Jeffrey, a short note to tell her that their holiday was to be extended. He was leaving Northumberland and going to London. Jack’s belongings would go into store and an address would be forwarded to her in due course. Her heart raced with the news and she rushed off to tell her mother about the extended stay.

  A few days after Jeffrey’s note, she had a letter from Mac to say that Windward Cottage was now empty and up to let as a holiday cottage. There had been a terrible rumpus when the Ketterings at The Ugly Duckling heard the news, a few days after Carlton’s departure. Nobody knew where he’d gone or even when and the Ketterings had left in a great fury.