My Husband's Sin

by Mary T Bradford

  “Apparently, the woman who owned ‘Blushing Brides’ is the wife of some ambassador, she supported a charity of sorts, for those starting off in business. My wife said Stella was only a front for the business. It was the designer of the dresses that was the real star. A young woman, mid-twenties, had had some minor success before the charity trust got behind her. After that night, she became very popular. All the top boutiques and shops stocked her designs and, after being in business here, she also sold dresses abroad.”

  Lacey sat enthralled. Was the designer her mum? Her stomach was doing somersaults with both fear and excitement. Did she dare interrupt him? Ask the one question that was burning within her?

  Philip Sherman paused and calmly buttered his scone. He hadn’t noticed her silent stare, willing him to say they were on the road to finding her mother. The noise of the café melted into the air. Lacey’s thoughts were floating on her own cloud of possibilities, and reality around her had disappeared.

  “Anyway, as I was saying, the designer moved abroad. My wife remembers that a group of the old golf set attended one of her many fashion shows. I asked her if Lillian went, and she said no. Lillian had no interest in the designer and she was very touchy about the big deal that was being made of her.” Philip looked up and caught Lacey’s intense expression. “Sorry, Lacey, I’m rabbiting on. I suppose you want to know who she is?”

  She nodded vigorously, unable to speak. He actually had a name? She could not believe it. Her cloud of joyful images was about to fill the whole sky.

  “Her name is Cora Maguire. I know I said her name began with a K and this is a C, but my memory is shaky with age. So, what do you think?” He picked up his cup and calmly drank it, seemingly unaware of the importance of the news he had just shared.

  Lacey’s eyes were like big saucers on her slim face. Big, hot tears fell silently on her cheeks. Her hands were clutched to her chest and she had not touched her scone or tea.

  “Oh, I’m sorry, pet. I never meant to upset you. Here, take this, it’s clean.” He looked around the cafe, clearly embarrassed and a little uncomfortable by the scene.

  Lacey blew her nose on the crisp blue handkerchief. This was so overwhelming – going from nothing about her mum to finally knowing a name. She started to shake. This was a definite concrete clue at last. Oh my God!

  Finally, after composing herself and drying her tears, Lacey smiled at Philip and watched his shoulders sag with relief. Settling herself again, she smiled at a woman sitting nearby, who had been throwing dirty looks at Philip, probably wondering what he had done to upset his young companion.

  “Do you think Cora Maguire is my mother? I mean honestly, do you think it?” Her hands were clasped to her chest like in prayer.

  “Maybe seventy-five percent sure, Lacey. Not one hundred percent, but I do recall your dad saying he put aside money as a business investment for your mum. Maybe that was the business. Look, Lacey, your dad and your real mother were not some quick fling, I do know that. There was an age gap but he really did care for her. Times were different back then. Respectable people did not up and leave their families, it wasn’t like now.”

  The woman who had stared at Philip was leaving. Passing by their table, she grunted her displeasure at his behaviour and smiled sympathetically at Lacey.

  “So you think if it was nowadays, Dad might have considered leaving Lillian?” Wow, this was a whole different level to deal with.

  She was totally flabbergasted. This was a completely different light on events. But somehow she didn’t see Joe Taylor leaving his three other children. Whatever he had been, he was a family man. He had loved all of his kids; there was no doubt about that.

  “Let’s go for a walk.” Philip Sherman put a finger to his short collar to loosen off the tightness; he seemed uncomfortable in the busy cafe. Once out in the fresh air, they walked together towards a nearby park.

  “Can I ask you something?” Lacey stopped and paused. “Would you have told me this if I hadn’t pressed you on it?”

  He stood silent for a few minutes, the cool air refreshing them both. He could only answer honestly. “No. If you hadn’t returned and asked questions, I would have let it rest. Why would I tear a family apart? I thought Lillian’s letter and your father’s would have explained everything–”

  She grabbed his arm roughly. “What did you sayabout my father, a letter?” Her grip was tight as she held on to him. Gently, he took her hand and held it.

  They stood and stared at each other, the colour draining from both their faces. This had been a morning of incredible revelations. Philip let go of her and Lacey held her head in shock. She twisted from side to side, not knowing what to do next.

  “Lacey, we need to sit down. Over here, there’s a bench, come on.” He held her elbow and directed her to the timber park bench, then sat beside her.

  “You never knew your dad left a letter for you?” he asked in a hushed tone. “Please tell me Lillian did not withhold it? This is significant, Lacey. Are you sure you never received it?” He was pale and his eyes showed disbelief.

  Her hands were shaking, her breathing came in gasps. “Received it? This is the first I’ve heard of it! Dear Lord, where is it now? Would she have destroyed it? Surely she didn’t hate me so much to do that?”

  She stared at her companion in total disbelief. Philip appeared uneasy, his hand on his chest with shock.

  “But she may have hated your father enough to do it,” he whispered sadly.

  Lacey saw the horror in his eyes, the perspiration on his brow. She felt dizzy. Her stomach was in knots; she really didn’t know how to react. Right now, her legs were weak and she couldn’t summon the strength to stand. Flashes of Lillian and her father appeared before her. There was so much to take in, Lacey wondered if she would ever be able to think straight again.

  Glancing at Philip, he appeared just as worried and upset as her. What can of worms had opened between them this morning? Sitting on the hard bench, they both realised the horrors of Lillian’s actions by not disclosing Joe’s letter. What was next for them?

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  Lacey sat in her sitting room and stared at the walls closing in around her. The tightness in her chest hurt, her head was fuzzy and dizzy, and her legs trembling and weak. She lay down and pulled the bronze throw over her as she started to shiver. Wrapping the blanket more tightly around her, she didn’t realise she was crying until big teardrops wet her cheeks and flowed down to her chest. She gave in and her sobbing grew stronger until her body shook all over.

  She couldn’t control it; a release valve had opened and every raw emotion that had been pent up inside sought its escape.

  Philip Sherman had insisted on bringing Lacey home to her apartment block. She had been so pale, her breath coming in short sharp gasps, that he’d pleaded with her to call a doctor. Lacey didn’t think he had seemed too well himself.

  She lay wrapped in the comforting wool blanket and cried herself into a fitful sleep. Each nerve in her body ached and tingled; her eyes were puffy. In her sleep she tossed and twisted on the sofa, nightmare after nightmare tormenting her, visions of Lillian looming over her, laughing menacingly and pointing at the fireplace. In the centre of a lively fire, burning vigorously, were sheets of paper. Lacey could make out her father’s handwriting but as she desperately lunged to save the letter, it would disappear into ashes.

  In other dreams she would be reaching to stop Lillian striking a match to start the fire. Even her father stood laughing, then he and Lillian would turn their backs on her and walk away hand-in-hand.

  It was late evening when she finally woke. The dull sky was leading into night and it was cold in the apartment. Her head had cleared a bit and her thoughts settled on what she should do now. Finally, she summoned the strength to get up from the sofa and make herself something to eat.

  Opening a tin of tuna, she mixed it with some shredded lettuce and diced peppers, then spread it on a sandwich, savouring each bite as she g
athered her thoughts together. Breathing in deeply and twisting her aching neck from side to side, she slowly began to feel calmer.

  Before going to bed, she took out the journal and paused a few moments before writing her latest news inside. Beside “Name”, she wrote “Cora Maguire” and beneath that she put “Career: Fashion Designer”.

  It was soul destroying to think that her search for her real mother was taking her down a path of deception and lies. Should she share the news with the others, or was it better to let sleeping dogs lie?

  But what if her father’s letter was hidden somewhere at Sally’s – their old home? She would have to explain to Sal why she wanted to search her parents’ bedroom.

  In Willow’s case, Lacey knew she would not divulge anything to her oldest sister. After all, Willow would probably accuse Lacey of lying, making it all up to further discredit Lillian. Robert wasn’t proving to be the support she’d thought he’d be either. If Sally wanted to tell him, then she could, but Lacey had no real thoughts on it either way.

  Tomorrow she would phone Sally and explain the latest plot twist to her. Then she would phone Mr. Sherman and ask if he could recall definitely giving Lillian the letter at the reading of Joe Taylor’s will.

  Staring into the bathroom mirror, she took in her appearance. The puffiness around her eyes was reducing, but her damp hair stuck to her ears. Her head was like mush, her life a rollercoaster, and she may as well smile because she was all cried out. Having satisfied her hunger, she brought her coffee into her bedroom and hopped into bed.

  First thing next morning, Lacey set about making her calls.

  “Mr. Sherman, please. It’s Lacey Taylor.”

  “I’m sorry, Ms. Taylor, but he isn’t in his office today.”

  “Well, can you tell me when he will be in, please? It’s important I speak with him.” Lacey couldn’t hide her disappointment.

  “I’m not sure when Mr. Sherman will be back in the office, would one of his associates be any help to you? I could arrange an appointment for you in the morning with–”

  “No, no, no, I need to speak with Philip.” Lacey was getting cross with the secretary. “It’s urgent, is he on holiday? Maybe I can catch up with him at home?”

  “Mr. Sherman is not at home and is not in a position to handle any work right now.”

  “What do you mean?”

  The assistant at the other end of the phone delayed answering. Lacey realised that she was deciding whether she should tell her any more, so So Lacey pleaded with her again.

  “Please, we are family friends. I have his home number so I can ring his house or you can tell me, what is it?”

  “Mr. Sherman is in St. Martin’s Private Hospital. Thank you for calling.”

  “But how? When? Hello? Hello?” The phone line was dead.

  Shaking, Lacey placed the phone down on the table. Philip Sherman was in hospital? He couldn’t be. She had been with him just yesterday; he had driven her home. This was awful. Worse than that, it was dreadful news.

  Was she the reason? Had the meeting yesterday upset him that much? Maybe Willow was right, maybe the secrets and clandestineness of her family history was taking its toll – first on Lillian and now the family solicitor. What if, by trying to find her mother, Lacey had brought misfortune or bad luck to her or her designer business? What if the press took up her mother’s love-child story, it might damage the goodwill she held in the trade?

  Should she abandon it all? Just walk away and accept the cards life had dealt her?

  Questions, nothing but questions, yet the answers eluded her. Every time she did manage to prise open a door in this messy puzzle, it didn’t lead to a resolution, but just a more tangled web of bloody questions!

  “Blast it, damn it, curse it anyway!”

  She threw a cushion across the room in frustration and watched in horror as it expertly hit the vase of dead flowers and sent it toppling onto the floor. Stagnant water spilled out and dead leaves and petals stuck to the mess on the carpet.

  “Bloody effing hell,” she roared, as she went to find a cloth to clean up.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  Willow was out and about doing what she did best – spending money. She felt a little groggy, as she had stayed up late watching a film on television. It was easier than going to bed and risking conversation with Derek. Relations between them were strained at the moment, ever since the misunderstanding; it was easier to call it that than the night she went out and forgot to come home until the morning.

  Why was he making such a fuss? It wasn’t like she had ever done it before. He had picked on her about drinking, too. She was angry that he found so many faults with her and yet never looked in the mirror. If she were to point out his failings, it would make for exhausting reading. He hadn’t exactly been particularly understanding since her mother died. After all, grief had no time limit to it. He put more effort into his bloody meetings and business trips than he did to making sure she was coping with her sorrow. Plus, he was always quick to offer his services to others but she was never a priority, as far as she could see.

  So she enjoyed a few drinks more than normal? It was a short term issue, for God’s sake. Why, last night she only drank two glasses of wine while watching the film. It was madness at her age to be counting her drinks as if she was a young one sneaking alcohol from her parents. Briefly, she recalled Lacey had drawn attention to Willow’s drinking that night they’d all been at her apartment, even though the point of them gathering was to read the letter. Saint bloody Lacey!

  No, she would not allow her day to be ruined by Derek and Lacey. She rummaged through the shop rails without much thought. There were sales all over town yet Willow wasn’t excited by any of them. Shopping just wasn’t the same without her mum; the whole ritual had lost its gloss. Derek would be happy to see their credit card bill reduced. Maybe that would get him off her back. Yes, that was it, she’d play the good wife role and soon her marriage would be back on track.

  Throwing her Chanel bag over her shoulder, she walked confidently out of the shop. It was twelve-thirty, almost lunch time. Absentmindedly fingering her pearl necklace, she decided to grab a bite to eat. She would phone and invite Sally to join her.

  Sitting at the table nearest the door, Willow pulled out her phone. She ordered a white wine while she tried to contact her sister. There was no reply at her home; the phone rang out. She tried Sal’s mobile instead, but that too went to voicemail. Willow wasn’t sure when she had seen Sally last. It was weeks ago, if she remembered correctly. Had it been for lunch or shopping? A lot of her thoughts were jumbled lately; she was finding it difficult to recall things at times.

  “Thank you,” she said, as her lunch arrived.

  Eating alone was not enjoyable for Willow, but she forced herself to tackle the sandwich and salad. It would soak up her glass of wine if nothing else, and she could excuse herself from eating dinner with Derek later; she had thought about doing a roast today. She wouldn’t be surprised if he ate at lunchtime to avoid their evening meal together.

  This bickering would have to stop. Willow felt lonely, and Derek was the only constant in her life. Even Robert hadn’t been in touch since...when? Had her family abandoned her? Maybe Derek was right. Since her mother’s death, her behaviour had possibly been a tad unacceptable. Her siblings needed to be sorted, too, along with Derek. She would make a gesture of peace and then she would decide...what? What would she decide?

  But why pick on her? All Willow wanted was her mum back. Lillian had always known how to soothe Willow’s worries. A calm word from her and everything was settled. With every day that passed, Willow wanted her mother more and more. She knew it could be only a good thing if she were to join Lillian. Then her mother could explain all this silly business about Lacey and Joe Taylor.

  Her mother had been good at keeping secrets, and Willow would keep secret anything that Lillian revealed to her. Sighing with grief, she glanced around her. There wasn’t any reason fo
r her to remain here now. Life was a true bitch and she would be damned if she let it dictate to her how to live.

  Sitting in the busy cafe now and drinking a coffee, made her remember the restaurant shouting match. Perhaps she had been too harsh on Lacey, but Rob had supported her at the time. Was that the last occasion she had seen Sally? Were her sister and brother still angry with her? They wouldn’t be that petty, surely? After all, she had been provoked; Lacey had been disrespecting their mother.

  At home tonight she would sit and talk everything through with Derek. It was time for an adult conversation between them and she would set out the boundaries to keep it so. Willow would show responsibility and maturity by directing the conversation and leading the way throughout. All would be sorted out, thanks to her.

  Now she was sorry she had eaten a big lunch. She had originally planned a nice roast for dinner. Ah well, she would still cook the roast. Derek would see that all they had gone through recently was just a blip on their radar. Their marriage was as strong as ever; together they would reunite the Taylors and by the first anniversary of her Mum’s death, they would be the close contented family they had always been. She just needed to convert the others to her way of thinking.

  * * *

  She was busy in the kitchen when she heard the car pull up in the driveway. Derek was on his phone as he came through the hallway. She smiled invitingly at him as he approached, and he winked.

  “Something smells delicious.” He gently kissed his wife on the cheek. It looked like he was making an effort, too.

  He loosened his tie from around his neck and shrugged off his suit jacket, placing it on the back of a kitchen chair.

  “I hope you’re hungry, Derek, I have all your favourites ready,” she said, busying herself with pots and dishes. Grabbing a pair of oven-gloves, she transferred food from the oven to the table. There were candles in their best silver holders, napkins of fine linen matched the beautiful tablecloth, and she had even set out the best crystal glasses.