Mickey nodded. Even he, with his tendency to be swept away by the occasion, had queried the wisdom of unprotected sex, but Kay had assured him, with rather a wry smile, that there was no chance she could get pregnant. He’d believed her. Why wouldn’t he?
‘It turned out not to be me who was infertile,’ she informed him. ‘It was Lawrence all along.’
Mickey swallowed, thinking of all the times he had ravished her with gay abandon. Talk about Russian bloody roulette.
‘I found out soon enough, when I told him I was pregnant. He showed me the piece of paper from the consultant that told him he would never father a child in a million years.’ A trace of bitterness crept into her voice. ‘Something he omitted to tell me during our marriage. It seemed he was happy to let me take the blame for the fact we couldn’t have children.’
Mickey was struggling to take it all in. Even now, he remembered Lawrence, drunk at the Liddiard dinner table that Christmas, crowing that his wife was having an abortion. Mickey had never forgotten the shocked expression on Lucy’s face, and his own sneaking suspicion that the child might be his. But Lawrence had been adamant that Kay had got rid of it, so he’d thought he’d got away with it. And if he’d heard a rumour that Kay had gone on to have a baby, he’d pushed the thought to the back of his mind.
‘So it was obvious that the baby wasn’t his. He kicked me out on the spot. I was going to get rid of it.’ Kay looked defiant for a moment. ‘But I couldn’t. It was too late. By the time I got to a doctor, I was twenty-four weeks gone. Thank God . . .’
She looked out of the window at Flora, her defiance subsiding.
‘So what did you do?’ Mickey asked softly. He felt sick. Sick that he hadn’t tried to contact her at the time. Sick that all he had felt was relief that she had allegedly dealt with the inconvenience. He was a selfish bastard, he told himself.
‘I went to my parents in Slough. Bless them. I couldn’t tell them all the sordid details. They just looked after me, unconditionally. Like parents are supposed to.’ Her smile was bleak. ‘Mum came with me to the hospital while I had Flora. Then they helped me buy a little house, made sure we had everything we needed . . .’
‘Kay. I had no idea.’
She looked at him evenly and he squirmed. Had he suspected, he wondered now? He couldn’t be sure. It had been all too easy to put Kay to the back of his mind, with everything else that had happened.
‘No,’ she said with a sigh. ‘Of course you didn’t. Nobody did.’
‘But . . . you and Lawrence? You got back together?’
She nodded. Mickey realized she was struggling to finish her story. Tough, defiant Kay was crumbling in front of him.
‘He felt so guilty. About lying to me all those years. I’d never bothered to go and see a specialist because I’d just assumed . . . and to be honest, back then I wasn’t all that worried. Kids didn’t seem important. I can’t believe I thought it didn’t matter.’
Her gaze wandered outside to Flora for a moment.
‘Anyway, Lawrence tracked me down, eventually. He told me he . . . couldn’t live without me, even though I’d been unfaithful. He fell in love with Flora at first sight. He brought her up as his own.’
Kay found her eyes were filling up with tears. She’d been determined not to cry. This was supposed to be a business meeting, not emotional blackmail. But repeating the story to Mickey made her remember just how special Lawrence had been in the end. She turned away for a moment, blinking hard, until she’d composed herself.
‘So where is he now?’ asked Mickey.
‘He . . . died.’
‘Jesus.’
‘Or, to put it more precisely, he was killed. In a car accident. At least, that’s what it was made to look like.’
Mickey looked at her sharply. Kay shrugged.
‘I can’t prove anything. But it looked rather suspicious to me. He was in with some pretty ruthless people. He didn’t like the way they were doing business. Anyway, whether they actually bumped him off or not, they came out of the whole thing quids-in and I was left without a penny.’
‘Kay . . . this all sounds like madness. Like some crazy film.’
‘Tell me about it. And I’m not holding out for a happy ending. I’m widowed. Penniless. Homeless. With a child to look after. But . . . it’s up to me to do the best I can for me and Flora.’
She met his gaze directly. ‘Which is where you come in.’
‘Ah.’ Mickey suddenly felt foolish. How could he have flattered himself that she might be after his body? ‘You want money.’
She winced. She had come here determined to be businesslike. Yet when Mickey put it so baldly it sounded awful.
‘What I want is a stable, happy life for my little girl. But my hands are tied, Mickey. I don’t know where to begin, what to do, how the hell to get us out of this mess. And I absolutely promise you, if it wasn’t for Flora . . .’
She trailed away, realizing that a tone of desperation had crept into her voice. She hadn’t meant to make this an emotional plea. She’d thought about it long and hard, and decided that tugging on Mickey’s heart strings was a cheap trick. She’d wanted to make this a straightforward transaction. She had to pull herself together. She wouldn’t get through this if she fell victim to self-pity. She hated people who whinged and moaned about their circumstances.
‘I’ve worked it out,’ said Kay, producing a piece of paper. ‘I thought a lump sum would probably be easiest. Then I wouldn’t have to keep bothering you. I haven’t been greedy. I’ve rounded it off to make it easier.’
Mickey looked at the sum, written in black letters. The figures swam in front of his eyes.
‘Half a million quid?’
‘I’m sure if I went through the Child Support Agency, or got a lawyer, they’d ask you for more.’
‘Half a million?’
‘I won’t ask you for anything else. That’s it.’
Mickey raised an eyebrow. It was all he could manage. He was quite literally speechless. Kay couldn’t help smothering a smile. She remembered now that Mickey never was really in touch with the real world.
‘I’ve worked it out on a rough payment of three hundred pounds a week, for eighteen years. Plus quarter of a million for a roof over our heads and school fees.’
‘Kay . . . I just haven’t got this kind of money.’
‘Not cash, no. I can’t imagine you have. But you’ve got plenty of assets.’
Mickey let out a heavy sigh. He knew Kay was no fool. She was a businesswoman. She knew what was what. That he might not have liquid cash, but on paper he was minted.
‘If it was just me I can assure you I wouldn’t humiliate myself like this. But I’ve got to look after Flora’s best interests.’>
She looked Mickey in the eye. ‘All I’ve got is the clothes we are standing up in. And the car my father bought me. That’s it.’>
‘What are you living on?’
‘At the moment? The proceeds from my engagement ring.’
Mickey felt sick. His knee-jerk reaction was that he wanted a drink.
‘Why didn’t you tell me before? I mean, why tell me now? She’s how old? Nearly five?’
‘Yes. So obviously I need to get things sorted as quickly as I can. Work out where we are going to live, so I can get her into a good school.’
Mickey’s heart sank. He knew Kay’s idea of a good school wouldn’t be the local primary.
‘I really need to think things over. This has come as a huge shock.’
Kay managed a rather mirthless smile. ‘Don’t worry - I wasn’t expecting you to hand over a cheque straight away . . .’
Their eyes met.
‘And I’ll be very discreet. I know you wouldn’t want Lucy to know any of this.’
Mickey narrowed his eyes. That sounded like an ill-disguised threat.
‘I hope you’re not going to use that as a bargaining tool.’
‘I don’t need to bargain, Mickey. I know my rights. And I know tha
t deep down you’re an honourable person. You wouldn’t see your own flesh and blood go without.’
Here it comes, thought Mickey. The tight, agonizing steel band round his skull that materialised whenever he was stressed. The one that stopped him being able to think, talk, drive. He groped for the back of a chair and sat down heavily.
‘Mickey?’
Kay was surprised to see him quite so affected. He had gone deathly pale. She prayed he wasn’t going to keel over completely. That was the last thing she needed - another corpse on her hands. She rushed to fetch him a glass of water.
‘Sorry,’ she gasped, flustered. ‘There wasn’t really any way of breaking it to you gently. I mean, you can’t half tell someone they’ve fathered your child.’
Mickey gulped at the water greedily.
Shit, he thought. Another set of school fees. He’d only been ribbing his own brother about school fees earlier. And clothes - he was certain Kay wasn’t the type to rush to Peacocks or Primark. Though hang on . . . he was pretty certain Lucy had kept most of Sophie and Georgina’s stuff. He remembered her packing it up during her recent clear out—
What was he thinking? He could hardly go home and ask his wife to look out some old clothes for the illegitimate daughter she didn’t know he had. Mickey put down the glass of water with a trembling hand.
‘How long are you here?’ he asked.
Kay shrugged. ‘I can’t afford to stay much longer,’ she replied.
‘Don’t worry about the bill,’ he told her. ‘I’ll settle that with Barney. Stay as long as you like.’
He shouldn’t be saying that. He should be trying to get rid of her as quickly as he could. But Mickey was surprised, very surprised, to find that his overriding emotion was a desire to protect the two of them. His former mistress and his fourth - fourth! - child.
His eyes were drawn to the window, where the light was fading fast. The two little girls had disappeared.
‘Suzanna’s giving them tea together. Poppy was thrilled to have someone to play with.’
Mickey looked searchingly at Kay. She seemed an entirely different person from the woman he remembered. Less brittle. Softer. Almost . . . fragile. But then, she was a mother now. And a widow. And the way she had spoken about Lawrence, it seemed they had found true love together in the end. All of which combined to give her another dimension, which was rather intriguing.
For a moment he felt the urge to take her in his arms, and tell her it was going to be all right. But he warned himself to keep her at a distance. She’d just asked him for half a million quid, after all, so there must be plenty of the old resilient Kay in there. He mustn’t get swept away on a tide of emotion, seduced by the romance of the situation. He must let his head make the decisions, not his heart. Which meant suppressing the overwhelming desire he had to meet Flora. Once he did that, then he knew all reason would go out of the window. He was pretty sure Kay wasn’t lying, or acting, or exaggerating any of the facts she had presented him with. But she knew damn well she had the ultimate weapon.
He forced a businesslike briskness into his tone that he wasn’t feeling, fighting all his instincts, because his duty was to protect his wife, his family and his business, not his former lover and their illegitimate daughter. Who might, after all, not be his.
Six
When Mickey got home that evening, he really had meant to tell Lucy everything.
Five years ago, when his affair with Kay had come out, he’d had a major wake-up call about the way he was leading his life. He’d realized that he was a lucky bastard who didn’t deserve his family or his legacy, and had resolved to be a dutiful father and husband from there on in. And he’d done pretty well, considering. Gone was the dissolute philandering booze hound. Now he worked hard, was thoroughly attentive to and grateful for Lucy, and had cut back hugely on his drinking, so it was merely social rather than something on which he depended to get him through the day. He’d learnt to open bills when they arrived, and even pay them. And he had to admit, life was easier for it, if a little predictable.
So when Kay dropped her bombshell, Mickey resolved to bring it out into the open. Marriage was about sharing, after all. And as he drove back the short distance from the Honeycote Arms, still reeling with shock, he came to the conclusion that he wasn’t actually guilty of anything. Just because Kay had got pregnant as a result of their affair it didn’t make his original misdemeanour any greater. A shag was a shag was a shag, whatever the outcome, and he’d already been hung for that. And forgiven. So in theory he should be able to come clean to Lucy about Flora’s existence without any reprisal. As he drove through the pillars and up the drive, he decided they would get through this by sticking together.
There was, however, another car at the front of the house as he pulled up, a sleek navy blue sports car that was coiled like a panther ready to spring. Shit. Bertie Meredith. Fond as Mickey was of Bertie, he wanted his wife to himself. And Bertie meant several glasses of wine and supper. There was no chance of getting rid of him before ten o’clock at the earliest. Since Bertie’s girlfriend Erica had gone back to Zimbabwe to run her father’s game reserve - less dangerous than living with Bertie - he had been in need of constant entertaining.
Mickey climbed wearily out of his car. His head was still throbbing, and his bad leg felt stiff, making him feel his age. Actually, no, older. He wasn’t even fifty yet, but as he limped to the front door he felt positively geriatric. It was astonishing how quickly middle age came upon you when in your head you were still a young buck with the sap rising. He pushed open the door, smelt the delicious waft of Lucy’s cooking from the kitchen, heard the sound of carefree chatter and James Blunt droning out of the new speakers. He stood for a moment, wishing desperately that he could saunter into the kitchen and enjoy his simple surroundings with a clear conscience. But somehow he suspected life was never going to be quite the same again.
Just as he guessed, Bertie was lolling at the head of the table, impossibly long legs stuck out in front of him, glass in hand, while Lucy stood chopping flat-leaf parsley with a mezzaluna. She looked up as Mickey came in.
‘Darling. I’ve asked Bertie to stay for supper. You look shattered. Was the meeting bloody?’
‘Worse than you can ever imagine.’ Mickey’s tone was dry, although only he was privy to the joke.
‘Oh dear.’ Lucy looked anxious.
‘Have a glass of wine.’ Bertie waggled the bottle at him. ‘It’s only Viognier, but quite a good one. As recommended by Matthew Jukes in the Mail on Sunday.’
For a moment, Mickey hesitated. He didn’t want to have the conversation later with a drink inside him. But if he had nothing, they would think it was odd. He’d just have one. He got himself a glass from the cupboard.
‘Top up?’ He proffered the bottle to Bertie, who nodded.
‘Thanks. I was just admiring your wife’s new kitchen. Oh, and by the way. I hear congratulations are in order.’ Bertie looked at him meaningfully.
Mickey started. Had word got out already? He was under the impression that Kay hadn’t told anyone else. But perhaps he’d been seen at the pub, and someone had put two and two together. Barney, perhaps? Though he was usually pretty discreet.
‘What?’ he asked nervously.
‘Patrick and Mandy. Wedding bells?’ Bertie waved his glass around in an expansive gesture.
‘Oh. Yes, of course! Fabulous news, isn’t it?’ Mickey poured himself a hefty slug of Viognier and took a gulp. ‘We’re really looking forward to it. Aren’t we, Lucy?’
Lucy turned from the chopping board, her eyes sparkling.
‘Bertie’s been an absolute star. He’s going to lend me loads of stuff for the garden. Furniture, and statues, and pots.’
‘Great.’
‘And he can get all the accessories at trade prices. Candles. And lights. And extra plants.’
‘That’s very kind of you, Bertie. Thanks.’
‘No problem. I’ve told Lucy to come over and choose
whatever she wants and I’ll get the lads to bring it over in the truck.’
Bertie had a reclamation yard, dealing in antique garden furniture and statuary, but times being what they were, had to resort to a bit of retail as well, just to keep the cash-flow going. He wasn’t as much of a snob as James about the antiques trade, which meant he did rather better. Mickey often thought James could take a leaf out of Bertie’s book. Where business was concerned, anyway. Not in his personal life. Bertie was nicknamed Tall, Dark and Hands, because of his looks and inability to keep his mitts off anything female, whether she was spoken for or not. Mickey was just about sure that he’d stopped making passes at Lucy after all these years - she kept a special wooden spoon in a pot by the Aga for thwacking him when he got out of hand.
‘You do realize that this will be the twenty-seventh wedding I’ve been to in my life. Not counting my own aborted attempt.’ Bertie sounded rueful. ‘I’m beginning to wonder if I’ll ever make it up the aisle. Is there someone out there for me, Lucy?’
‘You’ll have to change your ways.’ Lucy was always firm with him. Firm but kind. Dealing with Bertie was like dealing with a recalcitrant horse.
‘Come on. What’s wrong with me? I’m not bad looking.’ This was an understatement. But you only had to look at him to know he was a rogue. ‘I’ve got plenty of dosh, and a nice house.’
‘Actually, your house is the best thing about you.’
Bertie looked hurt. ‘I’m kind. And generous.’
Lucy laughed. ‘And modest?’
‘I’m just pointing out my attributes. I wouldn’t say it to anyone. Only you.’
‘Bertie, you don’t want to get married. Otherwise you would be.’
‘To tell you the truth, I’ve been giving it a lot of thought lately.’ Bertie adopted a rather pained expression. ‘I don’t want to die a lonely old man. I want a wife. And a family.’
Lucy’s eyes widened.
‘Steady on.’
‘It’s what it’s all about though, isn’t it? Don’t you think, Mickey?’
Just a Family Affair Page 12
