by Anne Mather
Chapter Thirteen
RACHEL managed to get a seat on that evening’s flight out of Jamaica.
The small inter-island plane that flew between St Antoine and Montego Bay connected with the large jet that would transport her to London, and Rachel had been relieved to find she had to leave for the airport before noon.
Sara Claiborne had been quite happy to use her local knowledge to get her daughter on board the propeller-driven aircraft, obviously as eager as Rachel was to get her off the island.
Rachel knew her mother thought she was leaving because she’d found out that her father’s reason for sending her here had been a lie. The idea that her daughter’s relationship with Matt might have something to do with her desire to leave didn’t seem to occur to her. She didn’t even question the fact that Rachel seemed in no hurry to get know her new brother.
Rachel shuddered at the thought. Thank God Matt had evidently had other matters to attend to that morning. By the time he realised she was gone she’d be off the island.
Yet, for all that, the day had dragged. Rachel didn’t honestly know how she got through it. Allowing Sara into her bedroom, the room where she and Matt had first acknowledged their attraction to one another, had been harrowing, and pretending that the reason her stomach was upset was due to a chill, had torn her apart.
What she’d really wanted to do was lock herself away somewhere and cry like a baby. She was desolate, devastated, and no one—particularly not her mother—could comfort her.
Fortunately, Sara had been too wrapped up in her own affairs to notice her daughter’s condition. And it had soon become obvious from her conversation that she was jealous of anyone who spent any time with her son.
She hadn’t explained how Matt had come to be living with his father. All she’d said was that she’d made a terrible mistake in giving him up. She’d glossed over the details of her son’s birth, giving the impression that the Brodys were to blame for what had happened.
In all honesty Rachel had hardly listened to her. She didn’t want to hear that Jacob Brody had seduced her mother and then gone ahead and married someone else. Diana, she assumed. The whole situation was anathema to her, and she just wanted to put the whole damning episode behind her.
She didn’t really relax until the big jet lifted off from the airport at Montego Bay. There’d been a two-hour delay between planes, and she’d been terrified Matt might discover what she’d done and come after her.
But no one came after her; no one spoke to her. She’d sat in the comfortable Club lounge and her attitude had evidently deterred any would-be acquaintance from approaching her.
The plane was due to land at Heathrow soon after eight o’clock the next morning, and although she would have preferred to make her own way home Rachel felt obliged to give her father the chance to meet her, if he wanted to.
She phoned him a couple of hours before they were due to land. And, even taking into account that she’d got him out of bed, Ralph Claiborne was shocked to hear from her.
‘Why didn’t you phone me before you left?’ he demanded. ‘Have you seen your mother? I must say I’ve been expecting you to ring for days.’
Rachel didn’t want to get into that on the phone, particularly not on the plane, with half a dozen waking passengers more than interested to hear what she was saying.
‘I’ll tell you all about it when I see you,’ she said. ‘Don’t worry about it. I can get a taxi home.’
‘I wouldn’t dream of letting you wait for a taxi,’ he exclaimed. She could imagine him checking the clock as he spoke. ‘You’re due to land in a couple of hours, you say? That should give me time to get there.’
‘Dad, it’s the rush hour.’
‘Don’t be silly. I know a few short-cuts. I’ll be there.’
Rachel shook her head. ‘Okay.’
‘Love you,’ he said in farewell, but Rachel couldn’t answer him.
Ignoring her fellow passengers, she folded the phone, drew her legs up to her chest and rested her chin on her knees. It was still dark outside the plane, dark and lonely, and for the first time since leaving St Antoine she allowed herself to think about Matt.
What was he thinking? she wondered. He must have discovered she’d left the island by now. Not that it would be any surprise to him, she thought painfully. If her mother had told him what she’d told her daughter, he would know how devastated Rachel must feel.
She didn’t want to think about Matt’s part in this, but it was difficult to avoid it. Hadn’t it bothered him at all that their relationship was taboo? Or, like her, had he felt that irresistible compulsion? A compulsion that she now knew was forbidden.
A choking sob rose in her throat.
Oh, God, how could she bear it? Just twenty-four hours ago they’d been together. Twenty-four hours ago she’d been happier than she’d ever been in her life before.
Wrapping her arms around herself, she felt the hot tears welling in her eyes, spilling over. Tears streamed down her cheeks, dripping onto her arms, salty rivulets trickling into her mouth. She would never get over this, never. In just a few short days he’d turned her world around. He meant so much to her now. She cared about him. She loved him.
And it was so wrong.
Oh, God!
‘Are you all right, Ms Claiborne?’ One of the cabin staff had noticed her distress and was now hovering over her, blocking her from public view.
Rachel sniffed, trying to pull herself together. She had a tissue in the pocket of her jeans and she struggled to get it out. It tore as she did so, and she smeared a hand across her burning face.
‘Sorry,’ she mumbled, realising she was hardly an advertisement for the airline. ‘I’m just feeling a bit emotional, that’s all.’ She sniffed again. ‘Family problems, you know?’
The girl frowned and handed her a handful of tissues taken from the drinks trolley. ‘Are you sure?’
‘Oh, yes.’ Rachel thanked her for the tissues and used them to dry her eyes. ‘Have we much further to go?’
‘Just over an hour.’ The girl hesitated. ‘Can I get you something to drink? A vodka and tonic, perhaps?’
Rachel managed a faint smile. ‘At six o’clock in the morning?’ she said humorously. ‘I don’t think so.’
‘Well, if you change your mind…’
‘Thanks.’ Rachel sniffed again. ‘I appreciate your concern.’
And she did. In a few words the attendant had shown her more sympathy than her mother. It hadn’t even occurred to Sara Claiborne to question whether Rachel was fit to travel over four thousand miles when she’d been so sick.
But that was okay. Rachel reminded herself firmly. Her mother’s sympathy was something she could do without.
It was a quarter to nine by the time she cleared passport control and collected her luggage from the carousel. But Ralph Claiborne was waiting patiently just outside Customs, and, despite the feeling of betrayal she still felt, Rachel didn’t hesitate before going into his arms. The real reason he’d sent her to St Antoine, the lies he’d told her about her mother, mattered less at that moment than the exquisite sense of security she felt when his familiar arms closed about her.
She couldn’t help herself then. She started crying again, and her father drew back in some alarm, gazing at her with anxious eyes. ‘Rachel?’ he said questioningly, but she just shook her head.
‘Not now, Dad,’ she said, and although she knew he would have liked an explanation he seemed to realise she was on the edge of a complete breakdown.
A couple of hours later, at her parents’ apartment, with the cup of filtered coffee her father had made in her hand, Rachel knew she couldn’t prevaricate any longer.
‘Why didn’t you tell me you knew who Matt Brody really was?’ she asked, controlling the urge to rail at him. ‘You let me think Mum was having an affair with him.’
‘I know.’ Ralph Claiborne didn’t try to deny it. He seated himself opposite her at the kitchen table. ‘But if I’d told y
ou it was Jacob Brody I was worried about, I’d have had to explain who Matthew Brody was.’
Rachel blinked. ‘And that would have been a problem? How?’
‘Oh, Rachel, haven’t you realised yet? That wasn’t my secret to tell.’
‘So you admit it was a secret?’
‘Your mother’s secret, yes.’
Rachel shook her head. ‘And what do you mean, you were worried about Mum and Jacob Brody? Matt’s father’s happily married.’
‘Is he?’
‘Yes.’
‘You’ve met him?’
‘Yes.’
‘But I understand he had a stroke a couple of months ago?’
‘He did, yes.’ Rachel was confused. ‘What does that have to do with anything?’
Her father sighed. ‘You’ll have realised that he and your mother knew one another many years ago?’
‘Well, she didn’t tell me, but yes,’ said Rachel heavily. ‘So?’
‘Oh, Rachel, I shouldn’t be telling you this. She should.’
‘But she’s not here, is she?’ said Rachel, struggling to keep her own feelings at bay. ‘Please, Dad, I need to know. Why was I never told there was someone else before you? That she had another child?’
Ralph rested an elbow on the table and cupped his chin in his hand. ‘Because—well, because from what I’ve gathered over the years it wasn’t like that.’
‘What wasn’t like that?’ Rachel was confused.
‘Let me start at the beginning.’ Her father took a steadying breath. ‘First of all, when I got to know your mother, she told me that she’d had a baby. She knew we were getting serious about one another, and she wanted there to be no secrets between us.’
Rachel stared at him. ‘So how young was she when she had—the baby?’
‘Sixteen.’
‘Sixteen!’ Rachel was incredulous.
‘Yes, sixteen. She and her parents had taken a holiday on St Antoine, and during the course of their stay she got to know Jacob Brody.’
He paused again, and then continued, ‘I believe he was a few years older than she was—twenty, or thereabouts. But your mother was quite open about the way she’d pursued him. And over the two weeks she’d allowed him to—well—’
‘I get the picture,’ said Rachel tersely. ‘Go on.’
‘Of course when she got back home and found she was pregnant she was terrified. Things were very different in those days, and there was no question of her becoming a single mother. As I understand it, her father wrote to Jacob’s father and told him of the situation. And in a matter of weeks it was decided that when the baby was born Jacob Brody would become its legal guardian.’
So that was what Matt had meant when he’d told her he’d been born in England, but had lived all his life on the island.
‘You and Mum got married when she was nineteen, didn’t you?’
‘That’s right.’ Her father nodded. ‘And to begin with we were very happy.’
‘But?’
He sighed. ‘I suppose you were about thirteen years old when she told me she’d kept track of Matthew’s life for the past eighteen years. I thought at first she’d kept in touch with Jacob Brody, but after what you’ve just told me I doubt it. But somehow, maybe via a third party, she’d learned that Matthew was going to go to Princeton University that autumn. She told me she wanted to get in touch with him, to go and see him, to try and mend the rift between them.’
‘Oh, Dad!’
‘Yes.’ He sounded weary now. ‘It was a shock. I don’t deny it. Her own parents were dead by that time. You remember they were killed in that train accident when you were twelve years old? Maybe she’d been thinking about it since then. I don’t think Sara would have done anything against her parents’ wishes, but after they were dead…’
‘So did she go?’
‘Oh, yes. According to her, Matthew was delighted to see her. Somehow I doubt that, too, but anyway, he didn’t turn her away. I know Jacob Brody wasn’t too happy about the arrangement. He and his wife regarded themselves as Matthew’s parents. There was an exchange of letters in which he voiced his disapproval. But Matthew was above the age of consent, and I’m sure your mother had taken that into consideration when she made her move.’
Rachel was appalled. ‘And has she seen him since then?’
‘A couple of times,’ agreed her father flatly. ‘You remember that trip to Paris she made with your aunt Laura? That was to see Matthew. Then once she flew out to Miami and met him there.’
‘But not to St Antoine?’
‘Not until now.’ Ralph Claiborne sighed again. ‘That’s what worried me so much. She’d heard that Matthew’s father had had a heart attack or a stroke, or some such thing, and she told me she wanted to be with Matthew, to comfort him at this time.’
‘But you didn’t believe her.’
‘No.’ Her father was honest. ‘Rachel, Jacob Brody is her son’s father! No one has a stronger hold on her affections than him.’
Rachel was bewildered. ‘But you’re my father.’ She thought she might cry again. ‘Don’t I mean anything to her at all?’
‘Oh, Rachel, of course you do.’ Ralph leaned across the table and covered her hand with both of his. ‘We both love you very much. You know that.’
‘But a son means so much more. Is that it?’
‘No.’ Her father was looking worried again now. ‘Oh, Rachel, dear, don’t press me. Your mother has her own way of doing things, as you should know. She’d never forgive me if I started rocking the boat now.’
Rachel couldn’t believe it. Pushing herself up from the table, she said, ‘Don’t you think she’s the one who’s rocking the boat, Dad?’ She gazed at him despairingly. ‘She’s talking about staying on the island. She says she wants to be with Matt. What else does she have to do before you realise we come a very low second on her list?’
Ralph gazed up at her with anxious eyes. ‘She said that? She said she wants to stay on St Antoine?’
‘Well…’ Rachel had to be completely honest. ‘She said she was happy there. She didn’t say she wasn’t coming back, but she didn’t say she was either.’
‘Damn her!’
It was the first time she’d heard her father swear in connection with her mother. She knew they’d had arguments from time to time, but her father had always moderated his language in her presence. Now, however, he seemed almost desperate in his need to voice his feelings. Rachel felt guilty for being the one to burst whatever bubble he’d been living in, but he had to know what her mother was thinking. He had to know there was a chance she might not come back.
A sudden knock at the kitchen door had them both lifting their heads in surprise. ‘It’s only me, Ralph,’ called a light feminine voice, and Rachel’s aunt Laura opened the door and came confidently into the room.
‘Oh, Rachel!’ she exclaimed when she saw her niece, and Rachel guessed she was the last person Laura had expected to see. ‘I didn’t know you were due back today.’
‘She wasn’t,’ said Ralph heavily. ‘Apparently your sister is considering staying in St Antoine, so Rachel decided to come home.’
That wasn’t quite how it had been, but Rachel was happy to allow him that concession at least.
Laura gasped, however. She was a pretty woman, a few years younger than her sister, and plumper. ‘You’re not serious?’ she exclaimed. ‘Oh, that silly woman! I mean—’
She broke off abruptly, looking to Ralph as if for guidance, and her brother-in-law ran a heavy hand down his face. ‘Rachel knows about Matthew,’ he said. ‘Sara’s told her.’
‘Oh…’ Laura appeared relieved. ‘Well, anyway, Matthew’s what? Thirty-five? Thirty-six? He won’t want his mother on his back for the rest of his life.’
‘Tell me about it.’ Ralph got to his feet and lifted his shoulders in a weary gesture. Then, forcing his thoughts into other channels, he nodded his head towards the dish she was holding. ‘What’s that you’ve got there?’
‘It’s a silly question,’ grunted Ralph.
Rachel, who was beginning to feel like a third wheel, said, ‘I’ll just use the bathroom, Dad. Then I’ll go back to my apartment. I dare say I’ve got some tidying up to do before I go back to work.’
‘You could stay here,’ suggested her father, but Rachel shook her head.
‘No, I couldn’t.’ She smiled at Laura. ‘Excuse me.’
Her father patted her shoulder as she passed him, but Rachel didn’t have the strength to return the gesture. It hurt a little to know that even her aunt had known about Matt’s existence, but obviously she would. When Sara had been pursuing Jacob, Laura wouldn’t even have reached her teens. But she’d definitely have been old enough to know her sister was pregnant.
She went into the bathroom that adjoined her parents’ bedroom. She wasn’t surprised to see how pale she was. She was surprised her aunt hadn’t commented on it. But then, she suspected Laura had had enough to do, making excuses for running after her father while her mother was away. Sara needed to get home soon, before her sister took over her husband as well as her home.
The urge to cry again swept over her, and she stifled a groan. Dear heaven, she felt as if her whole metabolism was breaking down. She never cried; not normally. But then again, these were hardly normal times.
She was walking back along the hall again when she heard her name mentioned. Not by her father, this time, but by her aunt.
‘You didn’t tell Rachel the truth?’ she was saying, her voice full of impatience. ‘Oh, Ralph, the girl’s thirty, for goodness’ sake! I don’t care what Sara thinks. She deserves to know!’
Chapter Fourteen
DON GRAHAM stopped by Rachel’s desk on his way back to his office.
