by Unknown
She shook her head helplessly. ‘Not just like that, not after all these years. It didn’t make sense then, and when you ask me to make sense of it now, I can’t. There are no easy explanations and too many questions to answer. I need time, time to think, time to remember, time to get used to having my son back.’
‘I only want to know why you had me adopted. Surely that can’t be so difficult to explain? Everything else can wait.’
A long silence. Then Igraine said in a low voice, ‘It was not my doing.’
He was standing over her. ‘Whose then?’
Her mouth opened and closed but the words would not come. ‘It was Uther,’ she said finally, her voice trembling. ‘He made me do it.’
‘Made you? How could he do that? You could have said no, couldn’t you? Why didn’t you? All those months you carried me. Didn’t you feel anything for the child growing inside you?
Didn’t you feel anything when I was born?’ Arthur’s voice broke, the tears leaped from his eyes as they used to when he was a boy. ‘Tell me, mother, what did you feel? Did you feel anything at all for me?’
‘How can you ask? Of course I did.’
‘Then how could he make you give me away? Why didn’t you insist on keeping me? Why couldn’t you just love me?’
‘Stop! Stop! You’re breaking my heart!’ Covering her face with her hands, Igraine began to sob.
‘You didn’t love me, did you, mother? That’s the truth of it.’
She took a few moments to regain control of herself. Hands twisting in her lap, she pleaded with her son. ‘Don’t say that, Arthur. Please don’t say that. Say I was weak, I admit I was weak. Say I was afraid of losing the man I loved. I was. But don’t say I didn’t love you. I agreed to have you adopted, and yes, it was a wicked thing to do. But I’ve suffered for it, Arthur. I’ve paid a dreadful price for it every moment of every day of my life.’
She had offered excuses, but no satisfactory explanation. ‘Why did you give me away, mother?’ he asked her yet again.
Igraine knew by the determined look in her son’s eye that he would not leave her in peace until she had given him his answer. ‘Uther made me do a deal,’ she whispered.
‘What sort of deal?’
Igraine looked down at her hands. ‘He made me agree to have you adopted. I was desperate, you see. I couldn’t live without him. At least that’s what I told myself. What can I say? I was young and foolish.’
‘So my adoption was the price you paid to keep your marriage intact.’
Her hands were clenched so tightly that the knuckles were white. ‘It was the price I paid for your life.’
A long silence. Mother and son looked at each other as if for the first time. ‘Try not to judge me,’ she pleaded.
He paced the room, turning everything over in his mind.
After a time he sat beside her and took her hand. ‘Shall I see you again?’ she asked.
‘Yes, of course. But I need time to take all this in.’
‘Will you see Uther?’ She squeezed his hand, willing him to say yes.
‘What’s the point?’
‘You two ought to meet, for your sake, as well as his. He needs forgiveness just as much as I do, don’t forget that. And you, Arthur, you need to forgive.’
She was right, of course. But was she being altogether honest? He left with the feeling that something was being concealed from him. Until he discovered what it was, his mind would never be at rest.
When Uther came home that evening he wanted a full report on Arthur’s visit.
‘He thinks Godfrey is his father.’ It was the first thing she thought of.
Uther frowned. ‘Why didn’t you tell him the truth?’ ‘I couldn’t.’
He was genuinely puzzled. ‘Why not?’
Even after all these years it was still hard to say. ‘If I had told Arthur you were his father, he would have worked out that I must have been sleeping with you while Godfrey was alive. As it is, he thinks we only became lovers later.’
‘Really, Igraine,’ said Uther disdainfully, ‘there are times when I despair of you. You have what you dreamed of these many years – you have your son back. You also have the chance to wipe the slate clean and start again. And what do you do? You lie to him!’
Igraine was close to tears. ‘If I hadn’t, he would think I was responsible for Godfrey’s death. I couldn’t bear that.’
Uther’s lip curled. ‘How like you not to see the wood for the trees.’
‘What do you mean by that?’
‘What does it matter if he knows we committed adultery? What does any of it matter? What matters is that we tell him the truth.’
Igraine flushed with anger. ‘That’s rich coming from you! You were the one who wanted to see your son dead rather than tell the world the truth. Or had you forgotten?’
No, he had not forgotten, but that was then and this was now. ‘It’s wrong to lie to him, Igraine.’
It was the last straw. ‘How dare you lecture me, you sanctimonious bastard! I suppose you never lie?’
‘Not if I can help it.’
‘You can’t help lying to me, is that it?’ ‘Meaning?’
‘Our marriage is one big lie.’
‘I really have no idea what you are getting so excited about,’ said Uther coldly. ‘Our marriage is no more of a lie than anyone else’s. You have everything you want.’
‘Except a faithful husband.’
‘I am an excellent husband. I look after you, I am generous, not to say indulgent. I think I do my duty.’
‘Oh really? Was it your duty you were doing when Arthur came to see us this morning?’
‘I wanted to be here, but unfortunately I was detained at the House.’
‘Whose house? One of your many girlfriends? May Middleton’s perhaps?’
It was clear to Uther that he was getting the worst of this exchange, a change of tack was needed. He had been shrewdly cautious in promoting his political career, advancing with care up the treacherously icy slopes that led to the highest office in the land. All around were precipitous drops and deep crevasses, one false step could mean the end of everything, and he was well aware that in politics there were no second chances. Igraine was crucial to his advancement, her beauty and her social connections conferred on him a certain celebrity status in the House of Commons. No one ever refused an invitation to Brackett Hall. Pendragon was known to have an excellent chef and the best wine cellar in England. ‘Duchess,’ he cooed, ‘you know that isn’t true.’ He shook his head despairingly. ‘Why, oh why, must we always fight? It’s so terribly depressing, and so unnecessary. If this argument was my fault I am truly sorry. If I have done anything to hurt you, please forgive me.’ He struck his breast. ‘Mea culpa. I am such a clumsy oaf. Let’s face it, that’s all we men are, clumsy oafs.’
‘Don’t try that unctuous shit with me, you hypocrite! You devious, lying shit!’ When she had screamed and ranted and sobbed the bitterness out of her system, she pleaded with him. He was Arthur’s father. He must be the one to tell him. ‘We shall have a son again,’ she said, wiping away her tears. ‘He’ll come and live with us, and you will give him a job. Oh, it will all be so wonderful. Please, darling, tell him you’re his father. Do this one thing for me.’
Uther shrugged. Who said women were the stronger sex? ‘If that’s what you want, duchess.’
Twenty Five
2016
Shooting his cuffs self-importantly, Uther surveyed the dining room of Greys. All around were the distinctive sights and sounds of an exclusive London club: walls hung with portraits of distinguished past members, tables gleaming with crystal and silver flatware, the room humming with discreetly controlled conversation punctuated by the occasional explosive
burst of laughter.
‘I don’t mind telling you, Arthur, there are some per-itty important people in this room. I doubt there’s anyone here who isn’t in Who’s Who.’ He sipped his glass of claret. ‘Except for the wait
ers. Mind you,’ he added roguishly, ‘I shouldn’t be surprised if some of them weren’t in it too.’ Uther bounced in his chair, enjoying his little joke.
It was the first time they had met, or at least the first time for twenty years. Uther considered Arthur – excellent bone structure, athletic build, a fine looking young man. Walking into the dining room with him he had felt a rush of pride. At every table heads turned and everyone looked at Arthur. That shock of blond hair and those startlingly blue eyes attracted attention. But there was more to it than that, the youngster carried himself well, almost, you might say, regally. There was about him a calm composure that conveyed a sense of inner strength; a rare quality, that. This was no gauche youth, this was a young man at ease with himself, taking in his stride what was certainly an unfamiliar experience and could easily have been an intimidating one. Uther had to admit, he was impressed. After ordering he came straight to the point. ‘I owe you an apology, Arthur. Peccavi, I have sinned. I am deeply ashamed of being a party to your adoption.’ The apology was handsome enough, but it was not apologies Arthur wanted, it was explanations. ‘Can you ever forgive me?’
Instead of answering the question directly, Arthur countered it with one of his own, the same he had asked his mother several times. ‘Why did you have me adopted?’
Uther looked surprised. ‘Did your mother not explain?’ ‘She said you made her do it.’
‘Did she now?’ Uther set down his wine glass. ‘Well if that is what she said, far be it from me to contradict her.’
Arthur was left to work that one out. The response was shrewd, falling short of a challenge but leaving Igraine’s claim open to doubt. ‘I can only say I believed that what we did was for the best.’
Arthur swallowed a few more mouthfuls of whatever it was he was eating and laid down his knife and fork. He had no stomach for food today.
Uther watched in silence. ‘I hear you got a first.’ ‘Yes.’
An approving nod. ‘Well done.’ ‘Thank you, sir.’
Later, when coffee was poured, Uther lit the largest cigar Arthur had ever seen, waved the match in the air long after the flame was out, directed a long, indulgent stream of smoke at the cherubs on the ceiling and leaned back in his chair with the look of a man about to deliver himself of something portentous. ‘Tell me now, my boy, what do you intend doing with your life?’
‘Somehow or other I shall have to earn a living,’ said Arthur.
‘One of those tiresome imperatives,’ agreed Uther dryly. The edge of sarcasm was not lost on Arthur. At least, he thought, Uther had not mentioned the real world.
‘You will find the real world rather different from Oxford.’ Arthur bit his lip. ‘So I’ve been told.’
‘Anything in mind?’
‘Not as yet.’ What was all this about, he wondered, and anyway what right did his step-father have to discuss his future with him?
‘What about politics?’
‘I’m afraid I know nothing about politics.’
‘Splendid. There is no better qualification for politics,’ said Uther grandly, ‘than knowing nothing about it. There are far too many politicians who think they know it all. Look at me, I never knew anything, and I still don’t. And I am Secretary of State for Trade and Industry, with some hope of becoming Foreign Secretary in the near future.’
Arthur grinned. Against his natural instincts he was beginning to warm to the man. ‘Somehow I don’t think politics is for me,’
‘I dare say you are right,’ said Uther. ‘It’s a precarious game.’ On reflection, the last thing he wanted was having his son compete with him in his own back-yard. With a swift change of direction he enquired, ‘Keeping the wolf from the door are we?’
‘Just about,’ said Arthur. ‘How, if I may ask?’
This was beginning to feel like an interrogation. ‘I’m temping here and there.’
‘Temping!’ Uther made the word sound like a virulent disease. ‘And what does that involve?’
‘At the moment I’m working as a hospital porter. It doesn’t pay much but it’s interesting.’
Uther’s lip curled distastefully. ‘My dear boy, you can’t wheel dead bodies around for the rest of your life, there’s no future in it. I suggest you find something that makes better use of your talents. Have you ever considered going into business?’
‘No.’
‘Hmm. Well, as it happens, I might be able to offer you something rather good.’ The tip of Uther’s cigar glowed red, and yet another stream of smoke was directed at the winged cherubs. ‘You may know I own a property company.’
‘Yes, I do.’
‘I made a bundle of money in the early days, I don’t mind telling you, but in recent years things haven’t gone so well. Frankly, since I went to Trade and Industry I haven’t had much time to devote to business. If they make me Foreign Secretary I shan’t have any time at all. I’m looking for someone to run things. Interested?’
‘I know nothing about property either,’ replied Arthur regretfully.
‘No problem. I can teach you. You’re a bright young chap. If you do well, I’ll give you half the company. It’s a one in a million opportunity to make yourself a fortune. What do you say?’ Uther leaned back, puffing away at his cigar, and contemplating Arthur through narrowed eyes. He was congratulating himself. An inspiration, a stroke of genius. If it worked out, both of them would make money; if it didn’t, he had lost nothing. Either way he would have his son where he could keep an eye on him.
Arthur delayed his response, not because he was seriously considering Uther’s proposition but because he did not want to offend him. ‘Please don’t think me ungrateful,’ he said finally, ‘I just don’t think business is for me.’
‘I see.’ Uther did his best to hide his disappointment. ‘What did you have in mind, then?’
‘I would like to see the world – have some adventures.’ ‘Indeed? And how do you intend financing this global
adventure tour of yours?’ enquired Uther sardonically. ‘I was thinking of joining the army.’
Uther stubbed viciously at his cigar. ‘Dear God. Is this by any chance Merlin’s idea?’
‘I discussed it with him, yes,’ admitted Arthur.
‘Now there’s an example of a wasted life,’ said Uther, wagging his finger at Arthur as if he held him personally responsible. ‘What would he know about careers? Why a brilliant man like that threw his talent away on schoolmastering, I shall never know.’
Arthur was silent, refusing to be drawn, which irritated Uther even more. The stupidity of it, turning down the offer of a lifetime for a career in the army! But then, come to think of it, was it really so stupid? For Arthur, yes. But for Uther? On second thoughts, perhaps it was not such a bad idea. It had at least one attraction – it would keep his son out of his hair. Not that he had ever for a single moment taken Merlin’s so-called prophecy seriously. Still . . . ’I suppose if that’s what you really want,’ said Uther doubtfully.
‘So you approve?’ No sooner had he asked the question than Arthur regretted it. Who was this man to approve or disapprove of his plans?
‘Can’t say I’m thrilled. Not much future, I would have thought. Why do we need an army anyway? No one left to fight bar a few crazies. This is the twenty-first century.’
‘Merlin thinks the world is a more dangerous place than it was in the twentieth century.’
‘No doubt Merlin knows better than I do,’ said Uther, with heavy sarcasm. ‘He’s a schoolmaster and I’m merely a humble politician.’
‘I did think of joining “Aid without Frontiers”,’ said Arthur. ‘They’re international and non-political as you know, and they do a lot of good work.’
Please God, thought Uther, not good work, anything but that. He flashed a dazzling beam at Arthur. ‘What a splendid idea! I respect a man with a social conscience. I can see you’re an idealist, as I was at your age. You want to put the world to rights, feed the hungry, clothe the naked, succour the sick, th
at sort of thing. Shows your heart’s in the right place. Take my advice, though, stick with the army. If you do well, and I’m sure you will, you’ll have something on your CV that means something.’
‘Thanks for the tip.’ He was thinking he may have been over- hasty in judging his step-father. From now on he would try to keep an open mind.
Until today, Uther’s conscience had never troubled him; now, however, with the benefit of hindsight, his reasons for having his son adopted seemed less than compelling, almost trivial. He was beginning to think it would have been nice to have a son, to watch him grow and see him develop into this engaging young man. He could have influenced him, guided him, given him the benefit of his advice and experience. Well, it was all done and dusted now. Too late for regrets.
‘More coffee?’ ‘I’m fine, thanks.’ ‘Glass of port?’ ‘No thanks.’
No, of course not, this young man was far too controlled to be drinking at lunchtime. Uther considered lighting up another cigar but decided against it. Idly he brushed a few bread crumbs off the tablecloth. It was time.
‘Your mother was very insistent we meet.’ ‘Yes.’
‘To be honest, I was rather hesitant about the idea . . . in all the circumstances. I only wish they had been different. Still, I imagine there’s a time in most men’s lives when their past comes back to haunt them.’ Uther glanced nervously out of the window at Green Park, as if the ghosts of his own past were lying in wait out there, ready to pounce on him the moment he stepped out on the street.
Arthur made no comment, sensing his step-father had something important to tell him. Uther leaned forward and placed his hands flat on the table in a decisive gesture.
‘Do you know why she was so keen on our meeting?’
‘I imagine she wanted me to get to know my step-father.’ ‘Not quite.’
‘You mean that wasn’t the reason?’ ‘I mean I’m not your step-father.’
A puzzled frown. ‘Who are you, then?’
