by Caro Fraser
‘I have a sixth sense about these things. Let’s see what Christmas brings,’ said Sonia mysteriously, before moving on to talk of other affairs.
When tea was over, Meg went in search of Madeleine and found her sitting on the window seat in the morning room with a book.
Madeleine seemed thinner than in the summer; nothing of her pregnancy showed as yet. Her long fair hair hung over her shoulder in a thick plait, and the green frock she was wearing, with its white collar and cuffs, made her look like a beautiful child. Her face wore its usual settled expression of expectant calm, but something in her eyes seemed haunted and anxious.
‘It’s nice to see you again,’ said Meg. On impulse, she took one of Madeleine’s hands in both her own. ‘Aunt Sonia told me why you came back. And about your grandmother. I’m so sorry.’
Madeleine turned to gaze at the fire. She knew Meg meant to be kind, but how did she think she could possibly help?
‘I thought she would help me. But she was just angry. So angry. I came here because I didn’t have anywhere else to go. I wish my mother was still alive. I wish she was here…’ Madeleine’s voice broke, and tears spilled from her lashes and down her cheeks.
‘I know how lonely you must feel. But you mustn’t think you’ve been completely abandoned. My aunt will help you. We all will.’ Madeleine continued to cry. ‘But you know, there is a very important person in all of this, someone who can’t be ignored. Here…’ Meg fished in her cardigan pocket and produced a clean handkerchief, which she unfolded and handed to Madeleine. ‘My aunt tells me you don’t want to say who the father is, but I think it’s important that you do. He has a responsibility. And perhaps if he knew, he might be happy to shoulder that responsibility.’ Still Madeleine said nothing. At length Meg asked, ‘Have you told him?’
Madeleine wiped her eyes and nose and met Meg’s gaze. ‘I can’t,’ she whispered.
Well, thought Meg, at least she was prepared to acknowledge his existence. She thought carefully for a moment, then said, ‘Madeleine, you know that during the summer house party there was some talk – not very nice talk, I’m afraid – about you and Charles Asher?’
Madeleine looked at Meg with frank astonishment.
Meg said gently, ‘If he is the father, you might as well come out and say so.’
Madeleine uncrumpled Meg’s handkerchief and spread it out on her knee. So that was what people believed. She’d had no idea. The incident in the wood had seemed so trivial. She let her mind wander back to the studio, the things she had let Henry Haddon do to her. It was as if the uncontrollable urges which had overwhelmed her had been felt by someone else entirely. She could not now recollect those feelings, only the fact of them. She had only a sketchy idea of the facts of life, and when changes in her body had begun to occur a few months ago, it had taken her some time to comprehend them, and to realise how they had been brought about. What she had done was wicked, unforgivable. Her grandmother had made that very clear. Now all consequences were in the nature of punishment for her wickedness.
Meg, feeling she was close to an admission, persisted. ‘Don’t be afraid. It can only help to tell the truth.’
Madeleine knew that if she were to tell the truth, then every hope would be gone. There would be no one to help her, no place of safety. But a lie would not help her either.
‘It isn’t Charles Asher.’
‘Well, if he isn’t the father, who is?’ Although she still spoke gently, Madeleine could tell that Meg didn’t quite believe her.
‘It doesn’t matter.’ Madeleine’s voice was almost a whisper.
‘But it does,’ said Meg. ‘It matters very much.’ There was a silence. ‘Madeleine? Whoever the father is, he has to be told.’
Madeleine shook her head. Her voice grew firmer. ‘There’s no point in you asking me. I won’t say.’ Her gaze roamed about the room, her expression inscrutable.
‘Madeleine, we have to know.’
‘Why?’
‘Because it isn’t fair on my aunt. What is she supposed to do when you have the baby? What happens then?’
‘I don’t know. Babies can be adopted, can’t they?’
‘Yes,’ said Meg, surprised. ‘Yes, I suppose they can.’
‘And then I can leave here and not be a bother any more.’ Madeleine got up from the window seat. ‘May I go now?’
‘Yes, of course,’ sighed Meg, realising there was no point in pursuing it further.
*
Meg relayed the conversation to Sonia that evening.
‘I didn’t get very far, I’m afraid. She stubbornly refuses to say who the father is. Though I have my suspicions.’
‘Really? Who?’
Meg recounted to Sonia what had happened on the day of the picnic. ‘I must admit it looked rather compromising at the time. Later on Paul accused Charles of taking advantage of Madeleine. That was partly what the fight between them was about that night.’
‘Gracious – I had no idea.’
‘But when I put it to Madeleine this morning, she denied it.’
‘And do you think she’s telling the truth?’
Meg shrugged. ‘I don’t know. If he’s not, I can’t think who is. Maybe someone should tell Charles, and see where that leads. But he’s in Spain – at least I think he is.’
Sonia sighed. ‘What a dreadful muddle.’
‘Madeleine mentioned having the baby adopted.’
‘Well, that is a relief, at any rate. It’s bound to be the best solution in the long run.’
*
When Meg got home the following evening, she and her mother discussed the situation.
‘My sister is far too forbearing,’ said Helen firmly. ‘There are homes for girls like that. Has she any idea the responsibility she is taking on? And what will people say?’
‘I don’t think Aunt Sonia cares about any of that. She simply wants to help her.’
‘If my sister has a weakness, it’s that she’s too kind.’ Helen sighed. ‘How was everything else at Woodbourne?’
‘Avril is leading her new nanny quite a dance,’ replied Meg. ‘She really is awfully difficult. Losing her father can’t have helped.’
‘Poor little thing. Though I can’t say she’s a particularly engaging child. Oh, by the way, Paul called yesterday evening. He said to remind you about a cocktail party you’re going to tomorrow night.’
‘Oh, Lord – so we are. The Cunliffes. They came to stay at Woodbourne for a couple of weeks in August. He’s that poet, Gerald Cunliffe. I’ve half a mind to make some excuse.’
‘Why? It’s lovely, going to parties at Christmas time. Always so jolly.’
‘Oh, I shall probably go in the end. If I said I had a headache or some such, Paul would just fuss. Anyway’ – Meg got to her feet – ‘if I have to go, I’d probably better get a good night’s sleep. I’ve had a tiring two days.’ She kissed her mother and went to bed.
9
THE CUNLIFFES’ HOUSE in Hampstead was new and large, set in its own grounds, and built in the arts and crafts style. Elizabeth Cunliffe prided herself on her fashionable taste, and the rooms were decorated in the very latest, with cream and ivory walls contrasting smartly with dark green and red furniture, art deco lamps and rugs, and large mirrors framed in chrome and inlaid wood hanging on the walls. The hallway was decorated with wreaths of holly, fir and ivy, and a tall, splendidly decorated Christmas tree stood in the curve of the large staircase.
By the time Meg and Paul arrived, a large number of guests were already thronging the drawing room, and at a baby grand piano in the far corner someone was playing an Ivor Novello show tune. To one side of the room a long table draped in white linen was set out as a cocktail bar, where two effeminate young men were dispensing cocktails and silly banter.
Meg sidled near to receive a champagne cocktail and enjoy the repartee. Paul ordered a whisky sour and retreated to the edge of the room. Meg joined him after a moment.
‘Aren’t they fun? I would
n’t have expected the Cunliffes to have friends like that.’
‘Nor would I,’ replied Paul flatly. ‘I can’t say I’m very keen on pansies.’
‘Well, I think they’re very amusing.’ Meg found Paul’s tone unaccountably annoying. She took another sip of her cocktail. If he didn’t feel like enjoying himself, she certainly did. At that moment some man accosted Paul, so Meg took the opportunity to wander over to join the group by the piano. The piano player was a friend of Diana’s, an actor in a current West End musical, and he had a lively and appreciative audience.
‘Come on, Freddie, shove up!’ exclaimed Diana, popping herself down on the piano stool. She deftly picked up the left-hand part of ‘Let’s Face the Music and Dance’, and soon a ragged chorus of singing was in full flow.
*
As he came into the room, Dan caught sight of Meg standing by the piano. She was wearing a scarlet dress, cut low at the back, her dark hair curling to her shoulders. She looked more grown-up than he remembered from summer. Seeing her now, remembering what had passed between them at the house party, he couldn’t believe she hadn’t answered his letter. He followed Harry in the direction of the cocktails, got himself a drink, and then made his way over and tapped her lightly on the shoulder.
‘Hello, stranger.’
Meg turned, and her heart gave a little jolt. ‘Dan! How lovely to see you.’ She hadn’t expected the sight of him to affect her quite as it did, but she recovered quickly and added, ‘If I’m a stranger, it’s entirely my own fault. I’m sorry I didn’t answer your letter.’
He shrugged and smiled. ‘When did you get back from Surrey?’
‘Two months ago. Something like that.’
‘You need another of those.’ Dan caught the eye of a passing waiter and swapped her empty glass for a fresh cocktail. ‘So, tell me all the gossip from Woodbourne House.’
Meg was about to tell Dan about Madeleine, when suddenly Diana appeared.
‘Dan! How divine!’ She kissed him lightly on the cheek. ‘Isn’t this fun?’ She glanced around. ‘Where’s Paul? I know he’ll be longing to see you. Let me fetch him.’
Meg smiled at Dan and shrugged. ‘I’ll have to tell you later.’
‘I’ll hold you to that,’ said Dan.
Diana reappeared with Paul.
Paul shook Dan’s hand. ‘How are you, old boy? I say, do you know who I’ve just been chatting to? Guy Hitchens – you remember him from school?’ As he spoke, Paul slipped his arm around Meg and drew her to him, stroking her bare shoulder with his thumb. The proprietorial gesture was not lost on Dan.
‘We shared a study,’ replied Dan.
‘Of course you did. He might be putting a little capital into a racing car venture of mine. We met a fellow by the name of Clements at Brooklands last year, and he’s come up with some very exciting ideas.’
Diana disengaged Meg from Paul. ‘Let’s leave these men to talk about their motor cars. Come and meet some chums of mine.’
*
It was almost another hour before Dan got the chance to speak to Meg again.
‘I’m still waiting the hear that gossip you promised me.’
Meg laughed. ‘Let’s find somewhere quiet.’
They went out and down the hallway. Dan pushed open the library door and glanced in. The room was empty. He and Meg slipped inside, closed the door, and settled themselves down on a sofa. Dan lit a cigarette and offered one to Meg, but she declined.
‘I love parties, but it’s nice to have a breather.’ She leaned her head back and closed her eyes. ‘And I do believe I’ve had rather more to drink than is strictly good for me.’ After a moment she shook her head and opened her eyes. ‘Anyway, you remember Madeleine, Avril’s nanny? Well, you simply won’t believe what has happened.’
Meg recounted the story. Dan said nothing, merely smoked thoughtfully. ‘You don’t seem very impressed with my gossip,’ said Meg.
‘Oh, I am. More than you can imagine. I feel pretty sorry for the kid.’
‘Well, I do too, of course,’ said Meg hastily, slightly ashamed at having treated Madeleine’s story as so much conversational fodder. ‘But she says she’ll have the baby adopted. Which is probably for the best.’
‘Do they know who the father is?’ He asked the question, though he knew no one could have the faintest inkling of the truth.
‘She refuses to say. I suppose it’s that fellow, Charles Asher. I can’t think who else it could be.’
Dan said nothing. He could tell no one what he had seen in the studio on the day of Haddon’s death, least of all Meg. Whatever she thought about her uncle, she would certainly not want to hear that. If the baby was to be adopted, then it was, as Meg had said, probably for the best. The world must be littered with the bastard children of famous men; another would make no difference. Dan could think of no one who would benefit from the truth being known.
Somewhat unnerved by Dan’s silence, Meg said impulsively, ‘You know, I truly am sorry I didn’t answer your letter. I thought it was wonderful. You write terribly well.’
‘It’s really not important.’ Dan drew an ashtray towards him and stubbed out his cigarette. ‘Besides, I hear you’ve been busy.’
A faint blush touched Meg’s cheeks, and she looked away. ‘What have you heard?’
‘About you and Paul. Are congratulations in order?’
‘No, nothing of the sort.’ She leaned forward and began to fiddle with the cigarette box, opening and closing the lid.
‘Really? So it’s not too late? Maybe I should write you another letter.’
She turned to stare at him. Too late for what? She looked away. It was probably the kind of silly line he gave to every girl. Dan put out a hand, brushing aside the dark curls of hair from her neck, and began to stroke it. It was the same intimate, sensual gesture he had used that last night of the summer house party. Meg shivered and stretched her neck languorously, without moving away. She felt more than a little drunk, and the touch of his hand was so delightful that she didn’t want it to stop. She closed her eyes, and before she knew it, Dan had pulled her gently back on the sofa and was kissing her. The kiss was deep and passionate in a way that Paul’s kisses never were. Desire flooded her body, and she clung to him, returning the kiss. Then after a few seconds she pulled away.
‘I’m sorry – I shouldn’t have let you do that. I’ve had too much to drink.’ She pressed the palms of her hands against her cheeks, as if to cool them.
Dan lay back against the cushions, regarding her. ‘Do you love Paul?’
Meg hesitated. She put one hand over her eyes.
‘If you did, you wouldn’t hesitate to say so.’
‘That’s not true. I do love him.’
‘Yes?’ Dan pulled her down on the cushions and kissed her again, and despite herself Meg responded, body and soul. Paul’s gentlemanly caresses never made her feel like this. She embraced Dan as fiercely as he did her, returning his kiss with equal passion, melting at the touch of his hands on her body. At last she said, ‘We must stop. Someone might come in.’
‘I don’t care.’
‘I do.’ Meg pulled away and stood up, brushing down her dress, smoothing her hair. ‘I can’t do this to Paul. He loves me.’
Dan lay back on the cushions and regarded her. ‘The truth is that Paul wants a wife. A sweet, charming wife who will be dutiful and look after him and never make any trouble. Maybe he thinks he loves you because you’re easy to love, and you fit the bill. Is that really enough for you?’
Meg drew a breath. ‘What a beastly thing to say! You know nothing about Paul and what he feels about me. Nor what I feel about him.’
‘The way you kissed me just now told me everything I need to know on that score.’
‘I wouldn’t read so much into a kiss, if I were you. No’ – she snatched her hand away as he tried to take it – ‘don’t.’
He shrugged. ‘You’d be mad to throw yourself away on him.’
‘Throw myself
away?’ She gave a laugh. ‘What a peculiar thing to say.’
And with that, Meg left the library. Dan remained on the sofa, his senses still ablaze from the softness of her mouth, the warmth of her body. He was conscious he hadn’t handled the situation as well as he might, but of one thing he was certain – she didn’t love Paul. She might be attracted by the idea of being Mrs Latimer, of having a comfortable life with a wealthy husband, never having to worry about money again, but she wasn’t in love.
Meg left the library in a state of utter confusion, her skin tingling with the electricity of Dan’s kisses and caresses. She retreated to the lavatory in the cloakroom nearby to collect her thoughts. She locked the door and leaned against the cold tiles. It wasn’t what was meant to happen. She loved Paul. He was everything she had ever admired and wanted in a man. Why did Dan have to come along and wreck it all by making her feel these things? She felt a kind of despair at the thought that Paul didn’t have this effect on her. He was so circumspect, so kind and cautious. He would never have behaved as Dan had done, as though he couldn’t help himself, as though nothing else mattered except for kissing her, holding her. She felt the blood rush to her face at the thought of Dan’s mouth on hers, his hands on her breasts, her thighs. She closed her eyes. Maybe Paul would make her feel like that in time. But that possibility shrivelled and died even as the thought was born. Feelings like that didn’t grow gradually. They were either there at the very beginning or they weren’t.
After a few moments she turned the tap and splashed water on her face, telling herself that feelings of sexual desire were expendable, short-lived and worthless compared to genuine depth of affection and companionship. She dabbed her face with the towel and stared at herself in the mirror. But love – what about love? Wanting someone the way she discovered she wanted Dan – was that love? Or was she confusing love and desire? She leaned her hands on the basin, her mind a hopeless jumble of thoughts and emotions.
There was a light tap on the door, and she heard Diana’s voice. Meg straightened up, tidied her hair, and opened the door.
