Looking For Lucy

by Julie Houston

  ‘Shall we go, Rafe?’ I asked, smiling sweetly, before turning to Sophie with a cut-throat action that sent her into peals of laughter which, in turn, made me giggle.

  I was half expecting the rusting red tractor to be parked at the bottom of the drive but, instead, there sat a sleek classic Aston Martin.

  ‘Lovely car,’ I said.

  ‘Lovely dress,’ he replied, grinning.

  He said nothing for a while, concentrating on the bends in the road which were being hidden by the late-July evening sunshine. ‘Could you pass me those sunglasses in there?’ He indicated the car’s glove compartment with a large, tanned, very masculine hand and I wanted to take hold of it, just to feel his hand in mine.

  ‘Where are we going?’

  ‘I’ve booked a table at The Box Tree in Ilkley. I hope that’s OK?’

  ‘Oh gosh, I’ve always wanted to go there. How wonderful. You can ‘Call the Midwife’ anytime you like if I get to be rewarded with The Box Tree every time.’

  Rafe grinned. ‘So how was Manchester?’

  ‘Well,’ I said, ‘It was hot, wet…’ I felt myself going scarlet.

  ‘And you were ready to come? Home that is?’ He burst out laughing.

  ‘You could have texted me back to say you’d got my second text. How mean is that…?’

  ‘The whole thing made me laugh so much, I had to show it one of the guys at the TV studio.’

  ‘Oh, you’re joking. I’m so embarrassed.’

  ‘Don’t be. It was wonderful. It was you…’ Rafe turned to look at me with those beautiful blue Irish eyes and I was lost.

  *

  ‘So tell me about your little girl? I’ve met Peter’s children but not your own daughter.’ The waiter poured wine as Rafe passed me the plate of four tiny canapés that had been brought to our table in the bar. It was a bit like relaxing in one’s own sitting room at home and, not for the first time, I mentally applauded David Henderson’s foresight in his plans to maintain the ambience of Clementine’s as a family home. I bit into the tiny pink peppercorn macaroon stuffed with a chive and cream cheese filling and swallowed.

  ‘Allegra is not my little girl.’

  ‘Oh?’ Rafe frowned. ‘Sorry, I thought she was your daughter.’

  ‘Allegra is my ward. My twin sister is her real mother…’

  ‘Oh.’ Rafe chewed on his own macaroon.

  I really didn’t want to go into the whole story of mine and Lucy’s birth and the huge mess I was in with Lucy and Allegra just at that moment. I didn’t want to see the shock, the sympathy, even the disdain that I’d seen on so many faces in the past when I’d opened up about my birth and heritage as well as Lucy’s profession.

  ‘Lucy, my twin, was unable to look after Allegra when she was born so Mum and I took Allegra on and then, when she was three months old, I became her official legal guardian.’

  I paused, wanting to get off the subject, wanting to have Rafe continue to look at me as he had been doing as he passed the canapés. ‘Do you have children?’ I asked, desperately trying to get off the subject of Lucy.

  ‘Yes.’

  This wasn’t the answer I’d expected. ‘Oh?’

  ‘I have a six-year-old son.’

  ‘Where is he?’

  ‘He’s with my ex-wife in London.’

  ‘Oh. Right. And do you get to see him? Does he come up to Yorkshire?’

  Rafe smiled wryly. ‘When I can get my wife—my ex-wife—to agree to it, but it’s a constant battle. I’m afraid she doesn’t like me very much.’

  ‘Why on earth not?’ I asked indignantly, forgetting that, until just over a couple of weeks ago, had I met her, I’d have been in total agreement with her, commiserating hugely about her choice of husband now sitting opposite me.

  ‘I was away more than I was with her, I’m afraid. As a foreign correspondent one has to have one’s bag packed and be ready to leave at five minutes’ notice.’ Rafe tapped his jacket top pocket. ‘My passport is always to hand and a bag packed ready in the boot of the car.’

  ‘Well, surely she realised that when she married you?’

  ‘She thought she could change me; thought that by her getting pregnant I’d be more likely to stay in London at a desk job rather than spend half my time up in Yorkshire and the other half in the middle of yet another war.’

  ‘Didn’t she want to come and live up here? I couldn’t imagine anyone not loving the hills and moors round here?’ I trailed off as I realised I was beginning to sound like Cathy in Wuthering Heights. And Izzy was right. Rafe Ahern, with his brooding, dark good looks was Heathcliffe to a T.

  ‘Unfortunately not. And, totally my fault, I met someone else.’

  My heart plummeted and I reached for my glass taking a too big gulp of the wine. ‘JoJo Kennedy?’

  Rafe raised his eyebrows. ‘Ah, you read the papers.’ It was a statement rather than a question.

  ‘Don’t really have the time,’ I muttered. ‘Grace told me.’

  ‘Grace?’

  ‘Grace works part-time for us at Clementine’s. I think her mother is friendly with your mother? Grace is mum to Jonty who is David Henderson’s grandson.’

  ‘Ah, David Henderson…’ Rafe raised his eyebrows once more and was about to say something, but our waiter came over and took us upstairs to the dining room.

  *

  ‘God, this is divine,’ I said, relishing every mouthful of the amuse bouche of broccoli and blue cheese foam that had been placed in front of me.

  ‘Is this the sort of thing you rustle up at your place?’ Rafe was obviously amused by my look of reverence.

  ‘Rustle up? Blimey, if only it was so simple. But yes, this is the sort of thing we serve in The Orangery. You’ll have to come over one evening,’ I added shyly.

  ‘Is that an invitation to dine with you?’ he asked softly.

  Our eyes met. ‘Yes, I’d really like that,’ I said and, smiling, he stroked the back of my hand with a feather-light touch. God, who would have thought one’s knuckles were an erogenous zone? I felt my nether regions turn to liquid.

  ‘Your pupils have just got very large.’ Rafe took my hand in his large one. It was tanned from his week in Syria and I was having great difficulty not imagining the touch of that hand on the rest of me.

  ‘It’s the amuse bouche,’ I squeaked. ‘Broccoli is amazingly good for the eyes…’

  Rafe laughed and poured more wine as I willed my traitorous pupils to calm down and compose themselves. ‘So, I assume JoJo is more understanding about your time away then?’ I asked.

  Rafe snorted in derision. ‘As long as JoJo is getting what JoJo wants she’s exceptionally understanding.’ He hesitated. ‘And at the moment what JoJo wants is the lead singer from Perplexed.’

  ‘Ted Mallabourne? Wow, he’s gorgeous… Not that you aren’t, I mean…’ I went scarlet, and reached for my glass once more. Where was a sink of blanching asparagus when a girl needed one?

  ‘Ah well, enough about me,’ Rafe said. ‘Tell me more about your niece. It can’t have been easy these last few years?’

  ‘My niece?’ For a moment I couldn’t think who he was talking about. ‘Sorry, as far as I’m concerned Allegra is my daughter.’ I put down my knife and fork. ‘But I may well have to get used to her being my niece; my sister Lucy is determined to get her back.’ All the excitement of being out on a date at The Box Tree with Rafe Ahern began to drain out of me as the reality of possibly losing Allegra hit me, once again, head on.

  Rafe took my hand once more. ‘I’m so sorry, Clementine. Come on, tell me all about it…’

  *

  Over the most divine sea bass and roast Jerusalem artichoke, I found myself telling Rafe everything. He was obviously good at his job as an investigative reporter and asked questions, drawing me out, letting me talk. The bottle of white burgundy that, after finishing his one glass, Rafe seemed to feel was my responsibility to finish, obviously helped loosen my tongue and I told him about my violent, drug
smuggling, jailbird mother and Lucy’s use of heroin as well as her work to feed that habit.

  ‘I actually need Lucy to get in touch again,’ I told Rafe as we were drinking coffee. ‘Now that Allegra knows of her existence, I think it’s only right that they should meet; that I should be as upfront and honest as possible with both of them. Surely that will stand me in good stead when it comes to my being hauled in front of a judge? And despite everything, Lucy is my sister. I still love her, want to have a relationship with her again. But…’

  ‘But…?’

  ‘But on the other hand, the last thing I want is for Allegra to decide she likes her real mummy better than me, that she wants to live with Lucy. And not with me.’

  *

  The drive home was lovely. Rafe didn’t say much, but plugged in a Bach sonata and let me ramble on, occasionally asking questions but generally just listening as I talked.

  ‘One of your mother’s friend’s granddaughter is coming to work for me, part-time,’ I was saying conversationally as Rafe finally pulled up outside the house.

  ‘My mother’s friend’s granddaughter?’ Rafe laughed. ‘You’ve lost me…’

  ‘Your mother’s friend—Lady Anne Sykes? Lives in Harrogate?’

  ‘Yes, I know her well.’

  ‘Her daughter, Sarah. She has a daughter called Poppy…’

  Rafe didn’t say anything for a good thirty seconds, but then looked at me, frowning.

  ‘This Poppy’s mother, Sarah… She’s Selena Hamley-Smith’s sister?’

  ‘Yes, that’s right. Selena came with your mother and Lady Anne…’ I laughed. ‘Hallowed company, indeed, for Clementine’s on its open day.’

  ‘She’s married to a vicar?’

  ‘Who? Selena Hamley-Smith?’

  ‘No. Her sister, Sarah. This Poppy girl’s mother…?’

  ‘Oh yes. That’s right, she is. Do you know her?’

  Rafe took my hand and my heart began to limber up. He looked into my eyes and I didn’t care about JoJo Kennedy. Didn’t care that he was probably still in love with her. This was my night and he was going to kiss me. To hell with tomorrow…

  ‘Clementine, my lovely,’ Rafe said seriously, ‘I think there’s possibly something you need to know…’

  34

  Refusing to say anything more, Rafe came round to my side of the car, helped me out of the low bucket seat and indicated we go into the house.

  ‘What on earth is it?’ I asked, stopping on the path that led round to the back of the house and the kitchen and turning to him. ‘You’re worrying me.’

  ‘Let’s just go inside. I might be totally and utterly wrong about all this.’

  ‘About all what, for heaven’s sake? Oh, God, it’s nothing to do with Allegra is it? You don’t know something? Heard anything? About the family courts and Lucy?’

  ‘Let’s just go in, Clementine.’

  ‘Hi, did you have a good time?’ Sophie was on the point of going upstairs to bed and leaned over the banister as we walked through the hall.

  ‘Where’s Sam?’ I asked, as Rafe went through to the little snug.

  ‘Went ten minutes ago. He’s doing a job for his dad in the morning. Are you all right?’ She peered at me, frowning. ‘You seem anxious…? The kids have been fine. Honestly.’

  ‘No, everything’s good. Thanks, darling. I’ll be up to check them both in a few minutes.’

  She grinned and whispered theatrically down at me. ‘Just behave yourself. Don’t believe him if he asks if you want to see his cockerel…’

  ‘Behave yourself, yourself.’ I grinned, despite myself. ‘Anyway, they’re all hens…’

  ‘That’s what they all say,’ she said sagely, disappearing up the stairs.

  ‘I’ve poured us a brandy,’ Rafe shouted from the little snug. ‘Is that OK?’

  ‘Of course. I’ve had enough to drink,’ I said, ‘but you go ahead.’ I went to sit down on the sofa and looked at him. What was wrong with him?

  ‘Right, Clem, as I said I might have got this totally wrong…’

  ‘What? What is it?’

  ‘Well, there’s always been some scandal concerning Gerald and Anne Sykes’s family. Mum would never tell us what it was about—Anne had sworn her to secrecy, which was a bit daft really because it must have all been in the local paper at the time. But anyway, Mum had a bit of a fall out with Anne a couple of years ago and she said something about The Lady Anne always thinking she was better than her when really she had absolutely nothing to be uppity about as her daughter had been in prison for bringing heroin into the country…’ Rafe drained his glass and looked at me.

  ‘Right. OK…’ I frowned, looking at Rafe’s unsmiling face. ‘I know where you’re heading here, but there must be loads of women who’ve been imprisoned for drug smuggling. Mind you, I’m amazed what you’re saying about Sarah. She’s absolutely lovely. Can’t imagine her drug smuggling…’

  ‘The family scandal continued, according to my mother. And of course, this bit never got in the paper.’

  ‘What bit?’

  ‘While she was in prison, Sarah Sykes gave birth to a daughter.’

  There was a rushing sound in my ears, the room seemed to shift fractionally and I could see two of everything on the table in front of me.

  ‘Clementine? Oh shit, you’re not going to faint on me, are you? Here, have some of the brandy.’

  I shook his hand away impatiently, and then shook my head to try and stop the ringing in my ears. ‘No, I’m OK. I’ve never fainted in my life. It’s too much of a coincidence all this, Rafe. And you said child—that Sarah had a child while she was in prison. There are two of us: me and Lucy. And there’s absolutely no reason why our real mother was even in prison in this area or from this area. People get adopted from all over the country, you know that.’

  ‘I’m amazed you’ve never tried to find out who she was,’ Rafe said. ‘Were you not curious? Didn’t you want to know?’

  ‘At one point, yes, I did. When you’re eighteen you’re allowed to find out, but Lucy got really cross whenever I mentioned it and at the end of the day finding out could have been opening one hell of a can of worms. My mother was a dreadful, violent woman who gave both her babies away. Would you want to find a mother like that?’

  ‘So you think what I’ve just said about Sarah Sykes is nonsense?’

  ‘Yes, I do actually. Sarah is really lovely. I liked her instantly.’ I laughed. ‘And I can’t really see me, or Lucy, being the granddaughter of Lord somebody or other. As if! Mum always said our real mother, if she was still alive, was probably a drug addict, possibly on the streets somewhere. You only have to look at Lucy’s problems to see what our real mother was like. Our real father, whoever he was, must have been OK—I mean, I’ve not turned out too badly.’

  Rafe smiled at me. ‘I think you’ve turned out really well. I’m sorry I got carried away with thinking Sarah was your mother. If she comes over again don’t say anything will you? I’m sure it’s something she’s tried to forget over the years.’

  ‘I wouldn’t dream of it—nothing to do with me.’

  ‘Just tell me your birthday, Clementine, before I go.’ Rafe stood up, looking at his watch and I felt a huge pang of disappointment that he was making a move to be off. ‘I’m sorry, I’ve a load of really important phone calls to make—I’m probably going to be off again in the morning…’

  ‘My birthday?’

  ‘Yes.’ He looked slightly embarrassed. ‘This is my feminine side coming out—I’m big into astrology, you see…’

  ‘Astrology?’

  ‘Yes. In fact, when I’m abroad, particularly somewhere like Syria where the sky at night is absolutely incredible, I lie there, just looking at the stars…’

  ‘Isn’t that astronomy?’

  ‘You can’t have one without the other.’

  ‘Can’t you? Well, I’m Aries—born March twenty-first. I’ve always loved that Lucy and I were born on the first day of spring
. So what are you?’

  ‘Sorry?’

  ‘Your birth sign?

  ‘Mine? Oh I’m a Leo.’ Rafe looked down at me. ‘Look, Clementine…’

  ‘Does that mean…?’ I began. We both started speaking at once.

  ‘Go on…’ Again we spoke at the same time.

  Oh, this was ridiculous. I reached up on tiptoe and kissed this tall, gorgeous man on the lips and then, as I stood back, slightly embarrassed that I’d made the first move, his hands were in my hair and he was pulling me towards him, kissing me with such expertise I thought I might pass out with the sheer joy of it.

  ‘All I could think of while I was away was you, down to your bra in that muddy field with Twiggy…’ Rafe whispered into my ear, kissing my neck and throat.

  ‘Even with a runny nose?’ I asked, kissing him back.

  ‘Even with a runny nose.’ Rafe smiled. ‘Anyway, it wasn’t your nose I was looking at…’ Rafe pulled away. ‘Much as I can’t bear the thought of going and leaving you all alone, I’m already an hour late making those calls and the numbers are in my office at home. Are you around in the morning?’

  ‘Yes,’ I said, grinning like a half-wit at Rafe. Not only had he kissed me with such abandon, he was wanting to see me again. And as soon as the next morning.

  ‘We’ve a party of twelve in for someone’s golden wedding anniversary lunch,’ I said, ‘so I’ll be up early.’

  Rafe kissed me softly on my forehead. ‘You’ve got under my skin, Clementine…’ he said. He picked up his jacket from the sofa and left.

  After Rafe had gone, I let George have a quick run outside in the garden, locked up and went to see Allegra and Max. I loved them both; there was no way I was going to let anyone but me look after either of them. But, once in bed, as my mind whirled and jumped from too much alcohol, Rafe’s heavenly kisses, and the strange revelation about Poppy’s mum, Sarah, the ever-present terror of losing Allegra began its insidious nightly visit, worming its way into my head until all other thoughts, desires and even worries were gloatingly squeezed into submission by its pervasive serpentine coils.