The Granville Affaire

by Una-Mary Parker

  ‘I’m only here for breeding purposes, then. How charming,’ she remarked drily. ‘I’m glad you think my pedigree is good enough.’ There was a cold savagery in her tone now. ‘Why didn’t you marry the daughter of one of your ducal friends? Or a foreign princess? It’s a pity our royal family have no young women wanting to make a “suitable marriage”,’ she mocked.

  Daniel… Daniel… This was not how Daniel asked her to have his baby. His heart-throbbing words of wanting to impregnate her because he loved her had aroused her then, as the memory of them aroused her now.

  She sat looking down at her hands, twisting her emerald and diamond engagement ring, feeling physically sick.

  ‘There’s no need to put it like that,’ Cameron said uncomfortably. ‘You have to admit you’re not exactly welcoming when it comes to…’

  ‘Fucking?’ she demanded coarsely.

  He blinked again, shocked and startled. ‘Really, Juliet…!’

  ‘That’s what it is to you, isn’t it? Or perhaps you’d prefer to describe it as rutting, like your deer on the hill.’

  ‘You knew it was a part of marriage; I do have conjugal rights.’

  ‘Then I wonder why you’re so reluctant to exercise them?’ she flashed back. ‘All I’m saying is I don’t think this is a good moment to have a baby. We’ve plenty of time, Cameron. I really think we should wait until after the war.’

  He stared at her across the vast expanse of his desk, his expression appalled. ‘Do you know how long the Great War lasted? Four years! This war could last even longer. I’m telling you I want a son right away. Why should we wait? Now that you’ve returned from your gallivanting,’ he sneered as he said the word, ‘I want you to stay up here, and try to get pregnant.’

  ‘It’s going to be difficult on my own, Cameron,’ she replied, brittle as pork crackling, ‘unless you’re hoping for an immaculate conception?’

  He turned an ugly shade of red. ‘Perhaps if you were more enticing…’ he began.

  ‘… And perhaps if you were more interested,’ she cut in harshly.

  The butler came into the library at that moment to announce dinner. In silence they left the room and walked across the stone flagged hall, its walls bristling with antlers, until they reached the dark panelled dining room, where a polished table that seated twenty-four had been ceremoniously laid for two.

  They ate in silence. The only noise was the ticking of the clock on the carved mantelpiece, and the soft footfalls of the servants as they served dinner. Juliet studiously avoided looking at Cameron, adopting a haughty air and drinking a lot of wine.

  When dinner ended, she left the dining room without a word, and made her way up to her suite of rooms, walking along shadowy corridors hung with tapestries, past narrow windows overlooking the bleak mountains that loomed darkly in the distance.

  This was the most godforsaken place she’d ever known, and she was stuck here – but for how long?

  Juliet awoke with a start, feeling hot and sticky, her stomach in turmoil. Sliding carefully out of bed because her head was pounding and she felt sick, she staggered to her bathroom.

  Cursing the rich dark venison she’d had for dinner – something at the time had warned her it tasted odd – she was violently sick, kneeling on the cold floor in front of the lavatory, feeling so ill she wished, for a moment, she was dead.

  She was normally never sick. Never ill. How long, for God’s sake, had that meat been hanging around the cave-like old-fashioned kitchen of Glenmally?

  Tottering unsteadily back to bed, she wondered how Cameron had fared – and Iona, whose supper had been sent up to her on a tray?

  Almost immediately she fell into an exhausted slumber, and did not even hear when her lady’s maid brought in her morning tea and placed it on the bedside table. It was cold when she awoke two hours later, feeling much better. Well enough to get up and have a bath and get dressed to go downstairs. Hungry now, wanting some breakfast.

  ‘How is the Duke this morning?’ she asked Ferguson the butler, when she ordered fresh coffee to be made. ‘I was very ill, earlier. The venison was off. Please tell cook to see it doesn’t happen again.’

  ‘His Grace is fine, Your Grace. So is Her Grace the Dowager Duchess,’ he replied, almost reproachfully. ‘I’ll mention it to cook, of course, but no one else has been ill, and it was served in the servants’ hall as well.’

  For a fleeting moment Juliet wondered if she’d been poisoned. She knew she was being ridiculous. But why was she the only one who’d been affected? Then she decided it was an absurd thought. She was becoming paranoid. It was time she pulled herself together.

  After breakfast, and having ascertained Cameron was out and his mother still in her room, Juliet shut herself in the library and dialled the number of the cottage to see if Daniel was there. She craved the reassuring sound of his voice, was desperate to have him say he loved her. The phone rang and rang, while she prayed for him to be there to answer it.

  ‘Been sick this morning, I hear?’

  Juliet started with fright, quickly crashing the receiver back on to its cradle. She spun round and saw Iona standing in the doorway, watching her.

  ‘The venison was off last night. It made me very ill.’

  ‘There was nothing wrong with the venison!’ Iona’s smile was sly, showing grey teeth. Her manner was sweetly cloying. ‘It looks to me as if you have an announcement to make.’ She lifted her hand and waggled a knowing finger at Juliet.

  The shock of her remark, and the implication of her meaning, thundered through Juliet’s head like an explosion. For a moment her memory tried to grapple with it. When was the last time Cameron had come to her room? Three weeks ago? Four weeks? No, longer… She remembered having had her period two days after the last occasion. So… the colour rushed to her face; if she was pregnant, it certainly wasn’t Cameron’s baby.

  ‘There no need to blush,’ Iona wheedled. ‘Have you told Cameron?’

  ‘I…’ The words stuck in Juliet’s throat, she felt so overwhelmed with mixed emotions. Both Daniel and Cameron were going to be thrilled when they knew, but how did she feel about it, herself? How was she going to handle this situation?

  In her mind, having Daniel’s baby had been a beautiful, romantic fantasy. But she hadn’t thought it through. If it meant she was going to have to stay permanently at Glenmally, pretending the child was Cameron’s, then it was a horrifying prospect. On the other hand if she insisted on living in London, she’d have to give Cameron a good reason for her decision.

  Unless, of course… she admitted the baby wasn’t his?

  ‘Are you all right?’ Juliet heard Iona ask, as a cloud of black spots seemed to envelope her and she broke into a sweat.

  ‘I feel…’ she staggered, reaching out to a chair for support, as her legs gave way.

  ‘Ferguson,’ the dowager shouted urgently. ‘Come quickly.’

  The butler came hurrying into the room.

  ‘Your Grace?’

  ‘Fetch a glass of water. My daughter-in-law feels faint.’

  Juliet sat slumped, her eyes closed. She felt sick again. And utterly dazed.

  Ferguson rushed off to get the water, but before returning with it he popped his head round the kitchen door, where the cook and several scullery maids were preparing luncheon. Making a thumbs-up gesture, he mouthed, ‘She’s expecting!’

  * * *

  Cameron came hurrying back from wherever he spent his days, as soon as he got the message from his mother. He looked jubilant.

  ‘Well done, my dear,’ he said to Juliet, who was resting by the library fire, which was the warmest room in the house. All animosity was forgotten as he kissed her warmly on the cheek, and asked if there was anything he could get her.

  ‘Nothing, thank you,’ she replied meekly, realizing that now she could do no wrong.

  ‘Are you feeling better? Mother said you fainted. Shall I call the doctor?’ He fussed around her like an old woman.

  ‘T
here’s no need. I just feel a bit tired.’ She couldn’t help feeling a pang of guilt.

  ‘Don’t you think the doctor should have a look at you. Make sure everything’s all right?’

  ‘Everything’s fine.’ Juliet realized the need to be careful. Cameron, who was no fool, would realize they’d last had sex at least seven or eight weeks ago; he probably thinks I’m two months pregnant, she thought. Instead of which… She knew with certainty now that she’d conceived on September the third. In the air raid shelter in Daniel’s cottage, when the siren had sounded and they’d expected the fearful outcome of being bombed. A doctor’s examination might reveal she was only two or three weeks pregnant.

  ‘I’ll see my own doctor, next time I go to London, Cameron.’

  ‘You can’t go to London now, with the war and everything.’

  ‘Nonsense,’ she said firmly. ‘I’ve been to our family doctor since I was a child; I’m not going to anyone else.’

  ‘I can’t allow that.’ Suddenly he was being obstinate, in an effort to appear dominant. ‘The journey could be very bad for you, and the bombing might start. Anything could happen. I can’t allow you to put my child’s life in jeopardy.’

  ‘If you think I’m going to some local doctor up here, you’re mistaken,’ she snapped.

  ‘But… but…’ he became flustered and agitated. ‘The baby’s got to be born here, so you might as well see our family doctor, now.’

  ‘Born here?’ she echoed, with genuine horror. She sat up, her expression indignant. ‘I’m not going to have it here. I shall have it at home, in London. My parents can come and stay with me, and I’ll be fine. Let’s not argue about this, Cameron. My mind is made up.’

  He screwed up his face in misery, not knowing how to handle Juliet. ‘I was born here, so was my father and grandfather and… we’ve all been born here.’

  She looked at him coldly. ‘Then let’s have a break from tradition, shall we? Anyway,’ she continued craftily, ‘if anything were to go wrong, it’s essential to be near a good hospital; that’s why Mummy had all of us in London, instead of at Hartley. St George’s Hospital is only a few minutes away from Park Lane, so let’s have no more talk of subjecting me to endure childbirth miles away from civilization.’

  Realizing he was beaten, and wondering what his mother was going to say, Cameron nodded slowly. ‘Very well, then. Have it your own way. I’m going to telephone Hector; invite him to dinner tonight. Do you feel up to a little celebration?’

  With the broker of our marriage? she thought intuitively. ‘Yes, certainly,’ she replied smoothly, ‘and when you’ve done that, I’ll phone my family.’ And the baby’s father.

  * * *

  Toasts had been drunk, a feast of locally caught lobster had been consumed, and Iona and Juliet had retired to bed for the night, leaving Hector, who’d been persuaded to stay until the next day, alone with Cameron in the library, consuming rather large quantities of best malt.

  Hector raised his glass for the umpteenth time. ‘This really is splendid news.’

  Cameron beamed, raising his own glass again. ‘Yes, isn’t it? I was beginning to think it would never happen.’

  Hector nodded sagely. ‘Better late than never.’

  ‘I hope to God it’s a boy.’

  ‘There’s time enough for that. You’ll surely have more than one child?’

  Cameron looked doubtful. ‘I think one will be enough, as long as it’s a son.’

  Hector let it pass. ‘Your mother’s over the moon, isn’t she?’

  Cameron’s smile widened and he gave a chuckle. ‘She’s thrilled.’

  ‘You’d no doubt like my help, setting up a trust fund for the wee bairn when he’s born?’

  ‘I was going to talk to you about that. Do you think I should make over Glenmally to him right away, to avoid death duties?’

  ‘Gang away with you, man!’ Hector burst out, lapsing into his native accent. ‘You’ll no be worrying about dying, yet?’

  ‘Accidents can happen. I’d like to make sure the estate remains intact when I die.’

  ‘I’ll look into it, Cameron, and if you do have a boy, we can discuss the matter again, but you’ve no need to rush things.’

  ‘Thank you, Hector.’ Cameron took another swig of whisky, his eyes brimming with sudden emotion. ‘I don’t know what I’d do without you. You’ve been like a second father to me.’

  ‘You hardly had a first one,’ Hector remarked drily. The old Duke had been a brutal bully, treating Cameron shamefully when he’d been a boy. Whipping him for being slow, unathletic and too sensitive. He’d locked him in his room when Cameron was five, because he’d wept when he saw his father killing a trout he’d caught, by slamming its head against a rock.

  ‘That’s what will happen to you if you don’t buck up,’ the old Duke had thundered. ‘You’re a weakling. You’ve no backbone. We’ve got to make a man of you, somehow.’

  Iona had done her best to protect Cameron from his father’s profound loathing, but that had only made things worse. When the old Duke had died from a sudden heart attack at the age of fifty-eight, there were few who mourned his going.

  ‘Juliet seems very well,’ Hector observed conversationally, as Cameron refilled their glasses.

  ‘She does, doesn’t she? She goes down to London a lot, though,’ he added critically.

  ‘Cameron, the best thing you did was to buy that splendid house in Park Lane. Not only is it a good investment, but I knew it would appeal to Juliet. Anyway, surely her being away gives you some breathing space, doesn’t it?’

  ‘That’s right. The deeds of the house are in my name, aren’t they?’ Cameron asked, with sudden suspicion.

  Hector’s tomb-stone teeth showed as he smiled. ‘Give me credit for having some sense, man. Everything, down to the cups and saucers, is in your name.’

  ‘Good.’ Cameron continued to sip his whisky contentedly. The logs crackled in the hearth. The dogs snored gently at his feet, two of them twitching their legs as they dreamed of some canine excitement. It wasn’t that he distrusted Juliet on her trips to London. He knew she’d never risk having an affair, because she had too much to lose if she did. Money, position and power were all that mattered to her. And she was no more interested in sex than… well, than he was, with her. A lot of women were like that, he’d heard, so really they were well suited.

  ‘So… everything else all right?’ Hector asked carefully, breaking into his thoughts.

  Cameron nodded, without replying. He didn’t like Hector prying too closely into the details of his private life.

  * * *

  There was still no reply from the cottage in Bywater Street. Juliet thought of writing to Daniel, but she so badly wanted to tell him the news in person, see the delight on his face, feel the comforting warmth of his arms around her, that she felt quite desperate with frustration and longing.

  ‘I’m going to London, on Tuesday,’ she announced the next evening, when Iona had gone to bed, and she and Cameron were alone. ‘My mother says I should see her gynaecologist,’ she added, Liza having said no such thing because Juliet hadn’t told her family she was pregnant, yet.

  ‘Would you like me to come with you?’

  Oh, God, he’s trying so hard to be nice, she thought despairingly. ‘There’s no need, sweetie,’ she said, smiling. ‘You don’t need to see the gynaecologist.’

  Cameron reddened, and rubbed his hands together in embarrassment. ‘Well, no…’

  When Juliet went up to her room a little later, she was struck by the loveliest of thoughts. Now she was pregnant, there was no need for her to sleep with Cameron, ever again.

  * * *

  Everywhere Juliet looked, the majority of people seemed to be in uniform. Had every man in London joined up? Surely there must be some civilians around?

  Silver barrage balloons swayed, high up in the sky, like surreal drunken elephants. The traffic was much lighter, because petrol rationing had been introduced. Posters
stuck on hoardings warned talk costs lives. Air raid wardens in tin hats patrolled the streets. The city had an air of waiting for something to happen.

  She greeted the housekeeper briefly, ordered some iced tea, and then went straight to her bedroom, where she’d had a telephone installed.

  There was still no answer from Daniel. She was beginning to feel frantic with worry now. Suppose something had happened to him?

  When the housekeeper came to tell her that the butler and all the maids had left to join up or work in munition factories, and that she, too, was leaving to work in the NAAFI, Juliet was too distracted to care.

  ‘Very well, Mrs Johnson,’ she said vaguely, only half listening.

  ‘I expect you’ll be closing up the house for the duration, Your Grace?’

  Juliet looked at her blankly. ‘I’ve no idea,’ she replied, surprised. Confused because she hadn’t thought through her future, she hadn’t considered what having Daniel’s baby was going to mean. Was she going to remain in London in the grand six-bedroomed house Cameron had bought?

  By late afternoon, when there was still no answer, Juliet decided to write a letter to Daniel, telling him she was in town and that she needed to see him. She didn’t tell him why. Nothing was going to rob her of that magical moment of seeing his delight at her news.

  Jumping in a taxi, she told the driver to take her to Bywater Street. When she got there it was obvious there was no one in. The cottage had a sad and deserted air, and the roses in the front garden had withered from lack of rain. Her spirits plunged. She decided to ring the bell, just in case Daniel was there, but in her heart of hearts, she knew he wasn’t.

  The taxi took her back to Park Lane, having driven to the Embankment first, only to find the houseboat was also deserted.

  What was she going to do now?