by Susan Lewis
After settling him in the front passenger seat of the estate, and accepting the help of a young barman to lift Sherman into the back compartment, she drove on out of the village and a couple of minutes later they were stopping in front of the cattle grid to empty the mailbox. As usual there was a good handful of letters, and a couple of packages for Tom. The fact that she usually opened his mail gave her a moment’s relief from the tension, since he’d surely never have allowed that if he had something to hide. A beat later the tightness of worry was back. Only a fool would take heart from such a hollow source of comfort, when there were so many other methods of communication these days.
‘At sunrise they leap From their cradles steep In the cave of the shelving hill,’ Peter murmured as they carried on along the drive.
Lainey smiled over at him. ‘At noontide they flow Through the woods below And the meadows of asphodel,’ she recited.
Peter took a breath that turned into a wavering sigh.
‘Would you like to come to the vet with us?’ Lainey asked him.
He nodded absently and continued to gaze out of the window.
Deciding she’d better take him in case he wandered down to the village without Sherman to keep him safe, she drove around the back of the house, and seeing Tom’s car her heart gave a painful lurch.
Not sure whether she was more relieved or anxious, she came to a stop and unbuckled her father’s seat belt. After making sure he was safely out and steady on his feet, she went to help Sherman.
‘Here, let me,’ Tom said, coming out of the house.
Unable to look at him, she replied, ‘I can manage, thanks.’
He stood back, but as she struggled to heft Sherman’s weight he stepped in again and took him.
‘There you go,’ he said softly, putting the dog on the ground.
Lainey took hold of her father’s arm, and as she led him inside she could sense Tom’s awkwardness. Was he feeling like an outsider in his own home, as though he didn’t belong here any more?
Please God, don’t let that be true.
She didn’t know how to handle this. What was she supposed to say? More than anything she wanted to feel his arms around her, hear his words of reassurance, but considering what he’d put her through these past two days she knew that wasn’t going to happen.
‘He needs a shave,’ Tom commented as he joined them inside. ‘Would you like me to take him up?’
Somehow keeping her voice steady, she said, ‘It’s OK, I can do it.’ If she was going to have to manage without him she might as well start now. The dread of it buckled her inside. How could he behave as though everything was normal when it was anything but?
‘We need to talk,’ he said quietly.
‘Yes, we do,’ she agreed, still unable to meet his eyes. ‘But I’m afraid everything can’t happen to your schedule. Dad needs a shower and then I’m due to take him and Sherman to the vet.’
Tom nodded slowly, and made the mistake of glancing at his watch.
‘I’m sorry, do you have to be somewhere?’ she snapped.
For a moment he seemed to be on the verge of replying, but in the end he simply went to answer the phone.
Without waiting to find out who it was, Lainey steered her father along the hall, and by the time she’d finished sprucing him and brought him back downstairs Tom had dealt with several more calls, something he rarely did on what was supposed to be a writing day. Their schedule stated that today – in fact, the whole of this week – was set aside for writing. He wasn’t even in his study, he was still hovering about the kitchen seeming not to know what to do with himself.
‘Lainey . . .’ he began.
‘Max has a job,’ she declared, cutting him off.
He took a breath.
‘He’s standing in for the receptionist at Terry Flint’s kitchen showroom.’
‘Well, I guess it’s better than nothing, and at least it’ll earn him some money for Italy.’
‘That’s what he said. I’ve booked the flights, by the way.’
He made no comment, and when she turned to him her heart contracted to see how uncertain he looked. It wasn’t like him. He was always so strong, so capable, the one who knew how to handle a crisis.
Was this a crisis?
She tried to think what to do. She needed to ask about Julia. The name was hanging between them, as transparent, as delicate as glass, but it seemed neither of them wanted to utter it. If they did it might shatter everything, and there would be no putting it together again.
‘Do you have to take Sherman today?’ he asked.
She glanced down at the dog, whose head was bowed, but at least his tail was up. His legs were no worse today than they’d been yesterday. She had painkillers, glucosamine, bandages to warm in the microwave. In truth, the only reason she was taking him today was to gain some reassurance that she was doing her best for him. They’d always give her another appointment and this with Tom needed to be sorted, no matter how hard it might be.
‘I’ll make Dad a snack and then come to your study,’ she told him.
With a simple nod he turned and left, but his angst seemed to stay. It was charging the air, finding its way into her head and making it spin with so much dread that she barely knew where one fear ended and another began. It couldn’t be that bad, surely. She was still imagining the worst, and it might not be that.
What else could it be? Ask your husband about Julia.
After calling the vet she made a coffee for her father, cut him a slice of frittata and settled Sherman next to him with a chew. She sat with them for a moment, loving the simple trust they shared, while wishing with all her heart that she could talk to her father. He’d never let her down, had always found a way to make her problems seem small, or at least less serious. What would he make of this?
Finally, dropping a kiss on his head, she left him to his snack and walked along the hall to Tom’s study.
She found him standing at the window, staring across the lawn to the field that sloped down to the stream. She sensed a distance between them that had never been there before, and it panicked her to realise she didn’t know how to close it.
Sounding sharper than she’d intended, she asked, ‘So, what’s going on?’
The way he continued to gaze out of the window made her wonder if he’d heard her, until he turned around to look at her. ‘You need to sit down,’ he said quietly.
Her heart jarred with a horrible beat. ‘I don’t want to sit down. I want to know what’s going on.’
‘I’m about to tell you. I just thought it might . . .’ He shook his head. ‘It doesn’t matter.’
Not sure why, she suddenly crossed the room and sat on one of the calf-leather sofas. ‘Is that better?’ she asked, the anger in her dark eyes not quite masking the fear. ‘Is this going to make it easier for you to tell me who Julia is?’
There, the name was out now.
‘Lainey,’ he said softly. ‘I understand that you’re angry . . .’
‘Oh, you’re right about that . . .’ She put a hand to her mouth, as though to stop herself blurting out any more. Anger wasn’t going to help her now, at least not until she knew what she was facing.
He came to sit with her, but didn’t attempt to touch her. ‘Julia . . .’ His eyes dropped for a moment, as though the next words still weren’t ready to come. ‘Julia isn’t my mistress,’ he began. ‘That’s what you were thinking, isn’t it?’
Though she neither admitted nor denied it, she could already feel the surging relief. ‘So who is she?’ she asked stonily.
‘She’s my daughter.’
At that her head reeled. His daughter! Of all the scenarios she’d created for herself, this one hadn’t occurred to her at all. A mistress and a child! Oh dear God, how was she going to cope with this? What would it mean? ‘You – you have a daughter?’ she gulped, needing to be sure.
He nodded.
‘Who with?’ she managed. ‘How old is she?’
&nbs
p; He blanched.
‘How old is she?’ she repeated.
‘Sixteen,’ he answered quietly.
Her mind reeled again. Surely to God she hadn’t heard that right. A daughter the same age as Tierney. She got to her feet, needing to escape him. ‘Who’s the mother?’ she demanded.
‘It doesn’t matter . . .’
‘Of course it bloody matters,’ she raged, spinning round. ‘When was Julia born? Before or after Tierney?’
He swallowed dryly. ‘A couple of months before.’
Her eyes widened with yet more shock. ‘So all the time you were divorcing Emma, planning our wedding, preparing for the birth of our baby, there was another woman apparently already in the delivery room . . .’
‘Yes, but . . .’
‘So my mother was right, everyone was. You only married me because Peter Winlock was my father. If he’d found out you’d cheated on me, the way you’d already cheated on your wife, it could have meant the end of everything for you. So you kept your other affair a secret . . .’
‘For God’s sake, you’re twisting everything . . .’
‘How? Just tell me how I’m doing that when you’ve already admitted you have a daughter none of us have known anything about for sixteen years.’
His eyes were steely as he stared into hers.
He started to speak, but so did she. ‘Who’s the mother?’ she repeated. ‘And don’t tell me again that it doesn’t matter, or so help me . . .’
‘It’s Kirsten Bonner,’ he broke in quickly.
At that she felt as though she’d been struck.
The ire seemed to go out of him. ‘I’m sorry, I should have . . .’
‘I take it we’re talking about the Kirsten Bonner,’ she cut in harshly. ‘The one who used to front the Channel 4 arts programme?’
He nodded.
Finding it suddenly hard to breathe, she put her hands to her head. It was a long time, years, since the sassy, sophisticated, and exceptionally beautiful Kirsten Bonner had disappeared from the screen, but if Lainey was remembering this correctly (and how could she be in any doubt of it now), Kirsten Bonner had left to take maternity leave and had never returned. Though the decision in itself hadn’t been especially sensational, the fact that she’d refused to reveal the identity of the child’s father had set the press on fire back then. Speculation had been so rife, with so many famous and influential names being thrown around, that at least one commentator had remarked that it was a wonder Ms Bonner had managed to hold down a job at all if she was involved with so many men.
Lainey’s eyes closed as the media frenzy of that time seemed to surge back around her. She remembered how sorry she’d felt for Kirsten Bonner, how she used to tell anyone who’d listen that the press ought to leave the poor woman alone and find some real news to report. ‘Did it ever occur to them that she might be trying to save someone’s marriage?’ she’d even remarked. Never in her wildest imaginings had it occurred to her that Tom might be the father.
How stupendously naïve and delusional she’d been.
With a horribly sick feeling she remembered Emma’s warning. Don’t be so sure you’re the only one. If he can do it to me he can do it to you. Did that mean Emma had known he was already involved with Kirsten Bonner? Lainey had to assume she hadn’t, or being as bitter as she was back then, Emma would surely have gone to the papers.
Sixteen years on and still no one knew who the father was, though it was doubtful anyone cared any more. However, were it to come out that it was Tom Hollingsworth, it would be all over the news, which meant the press would be all over Bannerleigh, following her, Tierney, Zav, her father . . .
It was unthinkable. Too horrible for her to contemplate any further.
She turned back to Tom. He was still watching her, but she could feel the gulf widening between them. ‘So what next?’ she said hoarsely.
His answer was so shocking that she wished she hadn’t asked. ‘I’m going back to Hereford,’ he told her.
‘Hereford?’
‘It’s where they live, just outside.’
She was starting to shake. ‘Are you saying you’re leaving us?’
‘No, what I’m saying . . .’
‘So why are you going back? What about us? Tierney and Zav are your children too. What am I supposed to tell them?’
He dragged a hand over his ashen face. ‘I was hoping you’d say there are problems on set so I have to be there for another week.’
‘Another week. You’re going . . . Oh my God . . . You’re asking me to lie to my children so you can go and be with . . .’
‘To spare them being hurt. They don’t need to know about Kirsten and Julia yet.’
‘What do you mean, yet? Why should they ever have to know?’
‘Julia’s my daughter. I can’t . . .’
‘She’s been your daughter for the past sixteen years, or so you’re being led to believe. How do you know it’s true? That woman could be lying . . .’
‘It’s true.’
Finding herself struggling to hold on, she turned back to the window.
‘Lainey, I’m sorry,’ he said wretchedly. ‘I realise how hard this is for you. It is for me too . . .’
‘Stop! Just stop,’ she cried.
‘. . . and it’s come at a time when I . . . Well, when I was least expecting it . . .’
‘You were least expecting it,’ she echoed incredulously. ‘What about the rest of us, who had no idea you had some kind of double life going on?’
‘It’s not like that.’
‘Maybe not to you, but from where I’m sitting . . . She’s sixteen, Tom. That’s what you said, sixteen, which means you’ve kept her existence from me for all our married life.’
‘Because I didn’t . . .’ He broke off as she clutched her head.
‘I can’t believe you’ve lied to me like that,’ she seethed helplessly.
‘Lainey, you need to listen . . .’
‘Do I? Maybe I’ve heard enough. Maybe I just don’t want to hear any more about how you’ve made a mockery of our marriage . . .’
‘For God’s sake, will you let me get a word in?’
‘Tell me you’re not going back to them today,’ she challenged.
His eyes closed. ‘I can’t do that. I have to go.’
‘But why?’
He took a breath. ‘It’s complicated. I’ve made a promise . . .’
‘You’re making promises to another woman? What right does she have to make you keep things from your wife?’
He swallowed hard. ‘She has no rights. She knows how much you mean to me, but for now I’ve given my word . . .’
‘Let me talk to her. I need to find out what she wants, what she thinks she’s going to prove by trying to destroy our lives.’
‘All she wants is what’s best for Julia . . .’
‘And I don’t want the same for my children? I take it you realise what this is going to do to them.’
He was speaking again, but she wasn’t listening.
‘Why now?’ she cried. ‘What’s happened to make Kirsten Bonner suddenly decide . . . Oh God,’ she groaned, as the truth dawned. ‘Now my father doesn’t know what’s going on she thinks you’re free . . .’
‘Lainey, for God’s sake, it’s got nothing to do with that. What the hell do you take me for?’
She gazed at him harshly. ‘I’m not sure I want to answer that,’ she replied.
‘Christ, you really are prepared to think the worst of me, aren’t you?’ he challenged, his face darkening.
‘What am I supposed to think when you’ve already admitted you’ve been lying . . .’
‘Not in the way you think . . .’
She pulled her hands free as he tried to take them and regarded him with wide, frightened eyes. ‘Don’t leave here today,’ she said quietly.
‘I have to. They need me . . .’
‘And we don’t?’
‘Not in the same way.’
He
reached for her again, but she took a step back. ‘If you go,’ she said, the words seeming to speak themselves, ‘then I don’t want you to come back.’
He appeared almost as stunned by that as she was. ‘You don’t mean that . . .’
‘Yes, I do. That’s the choice I’m giving you, Tom. You can stay, or you can go.’
There was an icy pause before he said, ‘You know how I feel about ultimatums.’
‘And this is how I feel about finding out that my husband had another child being born at the same time as my daughter, and that for the past sixteen years he’s kept it from me. What else, Tom? How many more lies have there been? No, don’t bother to answer. I don’t want to hear any more. I’ll be upstairs when you’re ready to tell me your decision.’ And somehow, considering how shattered she was inside, she made herself walk out of the room.
Ten minutes later he came into the bedroom to find her putting clothes into a suitcase.
‘What are you doing?’ he asked, appearing alarmed.
‘Sorting out some things for the summer fete,’ she replied, realising he’d thought she was packing for him.
He continued to watch her for a while, until finally he said, ‘I’m leaving now, but I’ll be back at the end of the week.’
Feeling his decision cut right through her, she spun round in a fury. ‘You heard what I said,’ she choked. ‘I don’t want you back if you’re going to her.’
‘Lainey, she’s sick! That’s why I have to go.’ He sounded desperate.
She stared at him hard, not knowing whether to believe him. ‘Who’s sick, Kirsten or Julia?’ she asked tersely.
‘Kirsten.’
‘What’s the matter with her?’
He glanced away as he drew a hand over his face.
‘You’re lying!’ she cried. ‘You’re making it up to give yourself an excuse to be with her.’
‘I’m not lying!’
‘Just go, Tom. Leave here now and don’t bother coming back, because I don’t want to live with someone who can’t even . . .’ She broke off as Sherman started to bark, and pushing past Tom she ran downstairs to check on her father.
He was sitting on the floor, struggling to get up.
‘Dad, what happened?’ she cried, going to him. ‘Did you miss the chair again? Are you hurt?’
