Robbie forced a laugh, though at this moment he didn’t feel like laughing. His mother, sensitive to her beloved son’s feelings, said softly, ‘What is it, love? Something’s troubling you, I can see that.’
‘Ma – I want to ask you about my father.’
He heard her pull in breath sharply and her green eyes were suddenly round, dark pools of anxiety.
My God, Meg was thinking. He’s heard something. They’ve told him something. It must have been that day just after he’d first met her. He must have gone to the farm, met Fleur’s parents . . . They must have said something.
I should have tried to stop him seeing Fleur, she thought in panic. But how could I, she asked herself, her mind in a turmoil, when they’re stationed on the same camp? She licked her dry lips and said unsteadily, ‘What about your father?’
‘There’s no easy way to put this, Ma, so I’ll just come right out and say it.’
‘Don’t you always?’ she murmured, though her heart was thumping madly in her chest. Her son was one of the most honest, reliable and straightforward people she had ever known in her life. Even more so than Jake.
Jake, oh Jake! What did you say to him? Are you still so bitter after all this time that you would wreak such a revenge on me?
Clasped in his huge, warm hands, Meg’s own hand trembled. Robbie felt it. ‘It’s all right, Ma. I don’t want to upset you, dearest, but I have to know. It’s important to me. To me and Fleur.’
Meg’s head shot up. ‘You – and Fleur?’
‘Uh-huh. We . . . we want to go on seeing each other, but there’s something going on that we don’t understand. That we don’t know about. Ever since we met, it’s . . . it’s been very . . .’ He sought for the right word. ‘It’s been very strange. In fact, it started that very first day when you were so surprised to hear Fleur’s name.’
Meg tried to pull her hand away from his, but he held her fast, though gently. She gave a huge sigh and sagged against his shoulder. She closed her eyes for a moment and two tears squeezed their way out from under her eyelids and ran down her face, making a salty rivulet down her carefully applied face powder.
‘Oh, Ma, don’t cry. I hate to do this, but we have to know.’ Gently, he wiped her tears away. It was so like Jake’s tender gesture all those years before – the very last time she had seen him – that her tears just flowed all the harder. ‘And then when you thought it best if you didn’t go with me to Fleur’s home. And you were right. When I got there – well, to tell the truth, I didn’t even get as far as the farm. Fleur met me in the lane and said that when she’d told her parents about me, her mother had become hysterical, shouting and screaming and saying all kinds of – well – odd things. Things that Fleur couldn’t understand.’ He paused but his mother was silent, trying to put off the dreaded moment for as long as possible.
I’ll lose him, Meg was thinking. If he finds out the truth, he’ll have nothing more to do with me. Oh, and I’ve tried so hard over the last few years to make amends for all the wicked things I did. I’ve tried so hard, Jake, I truly have. She took a deep breath and said, ‘All right. What is it you want to know?’
‘Was . . . was Percy Rodwell my real father?’
Meg raised her head slowly and looked into his eyes – her dearest, darling boy who’d been conceived in a few moments of passion with a man she now realized she’d never truly loved. A man who, though infatuated with her, had been too afraid of losing his standing in the eyes of the community. A man who’d deserted her when she had needed him most. There was only one man she’d ever really loved in her whole life, only she had been too blind, too grasping, too afraid of living a life of poverty, to recognize it. And now this son of hers, who’d grown up to be such a wonderful human being, the son whom she had almost given away to that dreadful woman, was going to find out all about her. All her sins were going to be revealed and she would have to pay the price. This was to be her punishment.
She was going to lose him.
His hands tightened around hers until he was hurting her. ‘Who is my father, Ma?’ he demanded harshly. ‘Is it Fleur’s dad? Are we . . . are we half-brother and sister?’
‘Jake!’ The relief flooded through Meg. So this was what it was all about. ‘Oh no, no, it wasn’t Jake.’ She laughed, light-headed with relief.
He was still holding her hand tightly, but now she didn’t mind. ‘Is that really true? We’re not related in any way? Me and Fleur, I mean?’
Meg shook her head. ‘No, you’re not.’
His grip on her relaxed and he let out the longest sigh she’d ever heard as if releasing all the tension inside him.
She swallowed and tried to ask casually, ‘Whatever gave you that idea?’ She was regaining her composure now enough to pretend offence. ‘And fancy thinking such a thing of your mother.’
‘Oh, Ma, I’m sorry.’ He drew her into his bear hug and she stayed there, closing her eyes with thankfulness. ‘It’s just . . . it’s just some of the things Fleur’s mother said when she was having her “ducky fit” as Fleur called it.’
An inner voice was telling Meg to let it lie, to ask no more, but before she could stop the words coming out, she’d said, ‘What did she say?’ And when he told her, she closed her eyes again. Was it true? Had Jake loved her all these years, just as she had loved him? But Robbie’s voice was dragging her back to the present and now his words filled her with dread once more.
‘And there was something else funny happened. We met a woman in a cafe in the town and she seemed about to pass out at the sight of me. Fleur called her “Aunt Louisa”. She was the local doctor’s wife.’
‘My dear, what is it? You don’t seem yourself? Are you ill? I could prescribe something for you if—’
‘Don’t fuss, Philip. I’m perfectly all right.’
Philip Collins blinked. It was so totally out of character for his wife to snap in such a way. Louisa was usually so calm, serene and in control of herself. She was the perfect wife for a doctor, for any man, if it came to that. And yet . . . He sighed inwardly. She was beautiful. She dressed elegantly and was a perfect receptionist for his patients. She soothed them and marshalled them with a gentle hand. She smoothed his path through life and had supported him in everything he had ever done.
So why, oh why, could he not forget the red-haired firebrand with whom he’d once fancied himself in love? He’d almost given up everything for her; his infatuation for the passionate, persuasive young woman had nearly been his downfall. But he’d not had the courage, if that was the right word to apply to what would have been such an act of betrayal. Betrayal of his wife, his upbringing and his vocation. It would have meant the end of his career as a doctor, and he’d realized that he loved that more than any human being. More even than her.
So he had turned his back on his mistress and her son and for the last twenty-two years he’d lived a model life as the caring doctor, the dutiful husband with a perfect wife. There was only one thing that disappointed him and now it was never spoken of between them. It was the tragedy of their lives that he and Louisa had never been blessed with children. Was it a punishment, he had so often wondered, because he had not been man enough to shoulder his responsibilities, as a man of honour would have done?
He had always loved Louisa – of course he had, ever since he’d met her when she was a lowly school-marm, struggling to support her widowed mother. But he had to admit now that he’d never quite loved her with the unbridled passion he’d felt for—
Louisa was reaching out to him across the dinner table. ‘I’m so sorry, Philip dear. I didn’t mean to be snappy. It’s just this war. All the privations, the anxiety I see on the faces of all your patients, especially those with husbands or sons or sweethearts in the services. I . . . I . . .’ She hesitated, about to touch on something which had always been a painful subject between them. ‘I never thought I’d say it, Philip,’ she whispered. ‘But I’m almost glad we didn’t have children, if that’s the heartbreak it bri
ngs.’
Philip patted her hand and smiled thinly. His blue eyes were kindly yet shadowed with hidden thoughts and memories, but he said nothing. Whatever he was thinking, he kept it to himself.
She couldn’t tell him the truth, the real reason for her bout of bad temper; she was worried sick in case he ever came face to face with the young man she’d seen with Fleur Bosley. Robbie Rodwell. Meg’s boy. What would happen if Philip saw him? She felt sick at the thoughts that tumbled around her mind in a riot of fear. Would he see the likeness? Of course he would. It would be like turning the clock back and looking into the mirror of his youth. She wondered if he’d always known. She remembered Meg coming to the house once with the child in her arms, but what had passed between doctor and patient remained a secret behind the surgery door.
Had Philip known Meg’s boy was his son? Perhaps he had and he’d kept the secret from her, his wife, all these years. So, Louisa thought bitterly, the whispered gossip all those years ago had been true. There had been something between Philip and Meg. It was obvious now and, surely, neither of them could deny it any longer. You only had to look at the boy to see the truth.
She wasn’t sure which hurt her the most. The fact that her husband had been unfaithful to her, had had a son all this time, or the fact that he had never told her about any of it.
So, Meg was thinking at that very same moment, Louisa has seen him. Mechanically, she tucked her father in bed and saw that the lamp and the glass of water were in easy reach on the bedside table, but her mind was elsewhere. She was so thankful her father was home from hospital and out of danger, but he’d need careful nursing for some time. Kissing the old man’s forehead, she turned off the light and went downstairs. Robbie was in bed and sleeping soundly now that she had given him the answer he wanted. He’d be up early in the morning and on his way back to camp, back to the girl he loved. Fleur Bosley.
Meg sat down in front of the dying embers of the fire. She kicked off her shoes and sighed heavily. Why Fleur? Why Jake’s daughter? Of all the people in the world, why did Robbie have to meet her? And fall in love with her?
Fate had played a dirty trick on Meg. Yet, she was honest enough now to admit that perhaps she deserved it. She wasn’t proud of some of the things she’d done as a girl, yet she’d tried to make amends. From the moment of Robbie’s birth she had changed. For the first time in her life she’d loved someone more than she cared about herself. From the moment he’d stared up at her with those bright blue eyes, she had adored him, worshipped and idolized him. She’d never loved anyone quite like that before. Not even Jake, though she now knew that he’d been the love of her life up until the time her son had screamed his way into the world and wound himself around her heart.
She stared into the glowing coals. How strange life was, she mused, that her son and Jake’s daughter should meet and fall in love. How ironic. And how catastrophic, for she knew without a doubt that Betsy would never agree to such a union. And yet she hadn’t been able to lie to her son. It would’ve been so easy to tell him that, yes, they were half-brother and sister, that they couldn’t – mustn’t – be together. Yet she couldn’t do it. She’d had to tell him the truth. There’d been enough lies and deceit in the past. It was time now for the truth to be told, whatever the consequences might be.
Much as she might have wished it all these years, Jake was not Robbie’s natural father. But then, neither was her dead husband, Percy Rodwell. She shuddered afresh as she remembered Robbie’s final words.
‘We met a woman in a cafe in the town and she seemed about to pass out at the sight of me.’
Well, she would, wouldn’t she? Meg closed her eyes and groaned aloud. Louisa would see the likeness at once.
Robbie’s likeness to her own husband.
Eighteen
With trembling fingers, Louisa reached for the telephone receiver. Her heart was racing. What she was about to do was unethical, and if Philip were to find out . . . But she had to know. Years ago, when she’d heard the gossip about her husband’s frequent visits to the little cottage near the church, she had dismissed them. She’d trusted Philip completely. But seeing Meg’s son – the image of Philip as a young man – she feared now that the rumours had been true.
Louisa bit her lip, pulled in a deep breath and began to dial the first number on the list in front of her.
When a woman’s voice answered, Louisa said, ‘I’m sorry to bother you. This is Dr Collins’ wife from South Monkford. My husband . . .’ She faltered for a brief moment over the deliberate lie she was about to utter. ‘My husband has asked me to try to trace a former patient of his. She left the district without informing us and we . . . we still have her medical records here. We know she moved to Nottingham . . .’ Louisa was babbling now, a nervous note creeping into her voice. She tried to calm herself again.
The woman’s voice on the other end of the telephone was stiff and uncooperative. ‘The usual way is for the new doctor with whom the patient has registered to send for their records.’
‘Yes, yes, I know, but . . .’
The woman unbent a little. ‘Well, I will have a look and see if the patient has registered with us. Of course, there are several other doctors in the city.’
Louisa glanced down at the rather long list on the desk in front of her, hoping it wouldn’t prove necessary to phone every one of them. ‘Yes, yes, I realize that,’ she said.
‘What name is it you’re looking for?’
‘Meg Rodwell. Mrs Meg Rodwell.’
‘Hold on one moment.’
There was a lengthy silence whilst Louisa grew more and more agitated. She glanced nervously towards the window. Philip was out on his morning rounds, but that didn’t mean he might not arrive back home at any moment.
‘I’m sorry.’ The woman’s voice sounded again in her ear. ‘But we have no one of that name recorded with us.’
‘Thank you for your time,’ Louisa said. ‘Goodbye.’
She tried four more numbers and was met with a similar reluctance to give out information. Two even refused to look for the name in their records. ‘I couldn’t possibly divulge such information. You could be anyone ringing up . . .’
Louisa almost slammed the receiver back into its cradle in her frustration.
On the sixth attempt a young girl’s voice answered merrily, ‘Good morning. Dr Gough’s surgery.’
Louisa repeated her request and gave Meg’s name.
‘Hold on. I’ll look for you.’ The girl voiced no concern and Louisa felt a sudden stab of guilt that she might be getting her into trouble. But within moments the girl was back on the line. ‘Yes, we have a patient of that name.’
Louisa held her breath, willing the girl to give her Meg’s address without her having to ask outright for it, hoping the young receptionist wouldn’t realize that Meg had been their patient for years and the story of the ‘lost notes’ was nothing but a ruse.
As if the gods were now smiling kindly, the girl rattled off the name of the street and even the number of Meg’s home in the city.
‘Thank you, thank you very much,’ Louisa said weakly. As she was about to replace the receiver, the girl said, ‘So you’ll send her notes through to us, will you? Have you got our address?’
‘Oh – oh yes. Yes, I have it here.’ It was on the list in front of her. ‘Thank you for your help.’
‘Don’t mention it,’ the girl said gaily, oblivious to the fact that she had given out confidential information to a stranger.
Louisa replaced the receiver slowly. She had not even bothered to write down Meg’s address. She would remember it only too well.
When Meg opened her door, it was perhaps one of the biggest shocks of her life to see the woman standing on her doorstep.
‘My God!’ she breathed. ‘Louisa.’
The two women stared at each other until Louisa said calmly, ‘Good morning, Meg. May I come in?’
Meg looked nervously up and down the street. Robbie had gone into the ci
ty, but he could be back at any moment. The last thing she wanted was for him to run into Louisa. He might start asking more awkward questions. But neither could she make Louisa unwelcome.
‘Oh yes, I’m sorry. Of course.’ Meg pulled the door wider and gestured for Louisa to step inside straight into the front room of the terraced house. ‘Please excuse the mess. This is my workroom – as you can see.’
Louisa looked around her. The room was strewn with paper patterns, materials and pins. On the table in the centre of the room stood a Singer sewing machine.
‘I make my living as a dressmaker,’ Meg explained, gesturing nervously with a hand that still shook from the surprise. She tried to calm her whirling thoughts.
‘So,’ Louisa was saying smoothly. ‘Your husband taught you well, did he?’ She was much more in control. But then it was she who had chosen to come here. She had had time to marshal her thoughts and her emotions.
‘May I offer you a cup of tea?’ Meg said, ignoring the remark and playing for time. But she guessed the reason for this visit. ‘Please come through to the back room. We’ll be more comfortable there.’ She led the way through and Louisa seated herself in front of the range whilst Meg went through into a back scullery.
As she listened to the rattle of cups and saucers, Louisa glanced about her. There was little in the room that gave any indication of Meg’s former life. No photographs, no obvious relics from Percy Rodwell’s house. Perhaps the only thing she had kept had been his sewing machine. No doubt, Louisa thought bitterly, it wasn’t her own husband whom Meg wished to remember.
Meg came back into the room and set the tray on the table. She poured a cup of tea and offered her visitor a biscuit.
‘They’re rather dry, I’m afraid.’ She pulled a face. ‘The war, you know.’
Louisa smiled thinly and shook her head. ‘No, thank you. The tea is fine.’
Wish Me Luck Page 13
