Innocent Virgin, Wild Surrender

by Anne Mather

  ‘Rachel,’ he said, and for once there was no trace of censure in his tone—which hadn’t been the case for the past three weeks.

  Since her return to work, he’d seemed to be constantly on her case, and she couldn’t exactly blame him. Her concentration was spotty, at best, and she knew her work was suffering.

  But what could she do? Her whole world seemed to have tilted on its axis, and although the relief of learning that Matt wasn’t her brother was paramount in her thoughts, the knowledge that he’d known the truth all along put an entirely different complexion on their relationship.

  Which was good—and bad.

  Thanks to Aunt Laura’s intervention, she now knew that she’d been adopted by the Claibornes when she was only a few days old. Her biological mother had been a law student, who’d had no intention of keeping the baby in any case, but who had died from a blood infection soon after the birth. She’d been unmarried, and no one seemed to know who Rachel’s father had been. Another student seemed the most likely solution.

  Sara’s reasons for keeping this from her daughter seemed selfish, in retrospect, but Rachel wasn’t into judging anyone. It had been common enough in the past for parents to keep their child’s adopted status a secret, and after what Sara must have suffered when her son was taken from her there was some justification for her decision.

  After the first initial shock Rachel had been prepared to be generous. She believed her father when he said he would have told her sooner, and, after all, he’d suffered enough in his own way.

  Not that he seemed to be suffering now, she acknowledged. Aunt Laura was making herself a very satisfactory substitute so far as a housekeeper was concerned. It was to be hoped her mother knew what she was doing, Rachel mused ruefully. Laura might just try to dislodge her sister in a far more intimate way.

  And as for Matt…

  Well, if it hadn’t been for Matt there wouldn’t have been this dilemma. For her, or her mother.

  But Matt was a factor. Rachel knew in her heart of hearts that if she’d known the truth she’d never have left the island as she had. And it would be so easy to blame Sara for that, too.

  God knew what he must think of her. Would her mother have explained that so far as Rachel had been aware he was her brother? Or would that have been too much like admitting defeat? And, in any case, Sara had no idea how far their relationship had gone.

  So far as Matt as concerned Rachel had left without even saying goodbye. And after what they’d shared that must seem the deepest cut of all.

  Or perhaps not. She didn’t know how Matt felt about her. Yes, he’d been attracted to her. Yes, he’d made love to her. But he must have made love to dozens of women, and surely if he’d really cared about her he’d have come after her. Just because she’d instinctively known that he was going to be the love of her life it did not mean that he felt the same. Obviously he didn’t.

  ‘Rachel?’

  Don Graham was still standing beside her desk, and Rachel realised that once again her thoughts had been wandering.

  Colour stained her cheeks. ‘I’m sorry.’ She pushed back her chair and got awkwardly to her feet. ‘Did you want me, Don?’

  The possibility that he was thinking of dismissing her crossed her mind. And who could blame him? Her work definitely wasn’t up to standard. She hadn’t signed up any new accounts for the past three weeks.

  ‘You’ve got a visitor,’ he said in a calming voice. ‘It’s your mother.’

  Rachel stared at him in disbelief. She and her father had been getting used to the fact that Sara Claiborne would return home when she was ready and not before. And her father had said nothing about her mother coming home when she’d phoned him the night before.

  ‘Yes, your mother,’ said Don Graham kindly, squeezing her arm. ‘Look, your dad’s told me she’s been staying with friends, and that there’s been something of an upset in the family. But she’s here now, and she seems eager to speak to you.’

  Rachel swallowed, glancing across the office to where a wall of frosted glass hid the reception area. Her mother was here? At the Chingford Herald? To see her? Why?

  ‘I’ve told Valerie to put her in the interview room,’ went on Don Graham evenly. ‘I’m sure you have lots to talk about, so I’m giving you the rest of the day off. It’s Friday. I’ll see you again on Monday. Okay?’

  Rachel was tempted to say no, it wasn’t okay. Why should she be available when her mother wanted her, when for the past few weeks she hadn’t heard a word from her?

  But she wasn’t that kind of person. Whatever her mother wanted, whatever reason her father had had for keeping her return a secret, she had to deal with it.

  ‘Okay,’ she said in a low voice, aware that once again she was attracting attention from the people around her. ‘Thank you.’

  Don Graham merely arched his brows and walked away, and, feeling much like a condemned woman on her way to the scaffold, Rachel walked slowly towards the office door.

  Sara Claiborne was seated at the table in the interview room. Someone, probably Valerie, had supplied her with a mug of coffee, but she had barely touched it. And as soon as she saw her daughter she rose immediately to her feet.

  ‘Oh, Rachel,’ she said, and there was a break in her voice. ‘I’ve been such a fool!’

  Rachel closed the door behind her and leaned back against it. Despite fair warning, she found that seeing her mother again had made her legs feel decidedly wobbly. And, although she was sure Sara would have appreciated a hug, too much had happened to allow her to expose her emotions once again.

  Squaring her shoulders, she said instead, ‘Dad didn’t tell me you were back.’

  ‘That’s because your father doesn’t know yet,’ said her mother heavily. ‘I just flew in this morning and came straight here. I guessed you’d be at work and I needed to speak to you.’ She paused. ‘Alone.’

  Rachel pushed away from the door. ‘Well, don’t you think you ought to ring Dad first? He’s been really worried about you.’

  ‘I’m sure your aunt Laura’s been looking after him,’ said Sara, somewhat cynically.

  ‘Well, you can’t blame Dad for that.’

  Sara sighed. ‘I’m not blaming anyone, Rachel. Except perhaps myself.’ She spread an arm. ‘Look, can we go somewhere we can have a private conversation? I never trust newspaper offices. They have microphones everywhere.’

  Rachel shook her head. ‘How about McMillan Court?’ she asked, naming the complex where her parents’ apartment was situated. ‘It’s private there.’

  Her mother hesitated. ‘Couldn’t we go to your apartment, Rachel? I don’t want us to be interrupted.’

  Rachel bit her lip. It was true that although her father would be at work Aunt Laura had a key, and might well be doing a little housework in his absence.

  ‘All right,’ she said at last. She glanced at her watch. ‘There’s a bus in fifteen minutes.’

  ‘We’ll get a cab,’ said Sara firmly, bending to pick up her handbag, and Rachel suddenly noticed the suitcase standing behind the door.

  ‘Okay,’ she said, reaching for the handle of the case. ‘I’ll just get my things.’

  Traffic being what it was, it took them almost an hour to reach Rachel’s apartment. An older complex than the one where her parents lived, it was nevertheless equipped with all the usual amenities. A lift transported them to the seventh floor, and Rachel opened the door to number 702.

  Not surprisingly, perhaps, her mother had said little in the taxi. There was a definite rift between them, and although they’d spoken about the weather, and the contrast between the chilly March day outside the windows and the heat of St Antoine, they were casual comments that anyone might have made.

  Once they stepped inside Rachel’s apartment, however, she heard her mother breathe a sigh of relief before collapsing somewhat ungracefully onto the sofa in the living room. Sara leaned back and closed her eyes, and for the first time Rachel allowed herself to notice that the
years her mother had appeared to shed in St Antoine had returned, with interest.

  Grey streaks were appearing in her hair again, and beneath her fur-lined jacket her flared woollen trousers and crew-necked sweater were anything but flamboyant. She looked pale, and tired, and when she opened her eyes again Rachel was amazed to see they were filled with tears.

  ‘Oh, Mum,’ she exclaimed, starting towards her, sympathy for the woman who’d raised her overcoming any resentment she’d been feeling. But her mother’s next words halted her in her tracks.

  ‘Matt and I have had such a terrible row,’ she said brokenly, tears starting to trickle down her cheeks. She sniffed noisily. ‘He hates me. I know he does. Oh, Rachel, why did you ever go to St Antoine?’

  Rachel sat down rather abruptly on the arm of the nearest chair. ‘Why did I ever go to St Antoine?’ she echoed faintly. ‘You know why I went, Mum. I was looking for you.’

  ‘Oh, I know that.’ Sara was testy. Sitting up, she reached into her handbag for a tissue. ‘I know why you went there, you silly girl. I want to know what you think it had to do with you?’

  Rachel’s jaw sagged. ‘Mum—Dad was worried about you. I was worried about you. We didn’t know what to think.’

  ‘Your father thought I’d gone there to see Jacob, didn’t he?’ Sara spoke impatiently. ‘As if I would. But he had no right to send you there, involving you in my affairs.’

  Rachel straightened her spine. ‘So why don’t you take this up with Dad?’ Any sympathy she’d been feeling had quickly fled. ‘I can’t imagine why you would come here to talk to me.’

  ‘Can’t you? Can’t you?’ Her mother stared at her. ‘Didn’t you hear what I said? Matt and I have had a terrible row.’ She swallowed convulsively. ‘About you!’

  ‘Me?’ Rachel was glad she was sitting down at that moment. She didn’t think her legs would have supported her. But she had to ask the obvious question. ‘Why?’

  ‘Oh, don’t be coy.’ Sara was contemptuous. ‘I know what’s been going on—don’t you understand? Between you and Matt.’ She paused. ‘He told me.’

  Rachel didn’t know what to think. She couldn’t think of any occasion when she might have come under discussion between Matt and her mother.

  Unless…

  ‘Well?’ Sara was waiting for her to speak. ‘Don’t you have anything to say for yourself?’ She shook her head. ‘I must say when he first told me I could hardly believe it.’

  Rachel stiffened. ‘Why? Because you don’t think I’m good enough for him?’

  ‘Oh, don’t be so silly.’ Her mother wasn’t having that. ‘No. No. It’s just you’ve always been such a—such a—’

  ‘Recluse?’

  ‘No.’ Sara sighed. ‘But you’ve always kept men at a distance.’

  Rachel shrugged. There was nothing to say to that.

  ‘I can only assume that you allowed the island—and Matt, of course—to go to your head.’

  Rachel’s lips twisted. ‘Something like that.’

  Sara shook her head. ‘It didn’t bother you that to all intents and purposes he was your brother?’

  ‘How dare you say that?’ Rachel was horrified. ‘My God, I didn’t even know he was your son. I thought you and he were—were—’

  ‘No!’ Sara stared up at her, aghast. ‘You can’t have thought that a man like Matt would be interested in someone of my age.’ Her lips curled. ‘He barely acknowledges me as his mother.’

  ‘Whose fault is that?’ Rachel knew her words were hurtful, but her mother had hurt her, too. ‘I think you’d better go.’

  ‘Not yet.’ Sara got to her feet. ‘There’s something you need to know.’

  ‘What?’ Rachel was contemptuous now. ‘If you’re going to tell me that I was adopted, don’t bother. I already know.’

  ‘You know?’ Evidently this was what Sara had intended to say. Rachel wondered why she’d suddenly decided to tell her the truth. After all these years, it was incredible.

  ‘How did you find out?’

  Rachel shrugged. ‘I heard Dad and Aunt Laura talking. Does it matter? I know now. You can save your confession for someone else.’

  Sara caught her breath. ‘Don’t be cruel, Rachel. You don’t know what I’ve had to suffer all these years. But I might have known Laura wouldn’t be able to keep her mouth shut. She’s never understood what it’s been like for me.’

  ‘And what about Dad?’ demanded Rachel. ‘Don’t you think he’s suffered, too?’

  ‘But Matt’s my son, Rachel.’

  ‘And you’ve never let Dad forget it, have you?’

  Sara bent her head. ‘I thought I’d have other children,’ she said. ‘I wanted at least three. But—well—we discovered your father had a problem. That was why I agreed to an adoption.’

  ‘And you got me,’ said Rachel bitterly. ‘How disappointing for you.’

  ‘Oh, don’t say that.’ Her mother heaved a sigh. ‘Look, Rachel, I know we’ve never been as close as a mother and daughter should be, but I loved you. I love you. You must know that.’

  ‘But not as much as you love Matt,’ said Rachel sadly. ‘I really think you’d better go, Mum. Just pray Dad has more sympathy for you than I do right now.’

  ‘702 Lincoln Place.’

  Matt murmured the words in an undertone as he stood looking up at the tall apartment building.

  So this was where Rachel lived, he mused, trying to suppress the sense of trepidation he felt at invading her space without an invitation. What if he’d been mistaken? What if she really didn’t want to see him again? At barely eight o’clock on a Saturday morning she probably wasn’t even awake, let alone up and dressed.

  Still, he hadn’t flown all this way just to turn back at the first obstacle. He had to see her; he needed to see her. He had to know what his mother had said to her. Dear God, had she really let the girl go on thinking she was his sister?

  He hadn’t found out that Rachel didn’t know she was adopted until Thursday evening. He’d always known Sara had an adopted daughter. She’d made a point of telling him that she wasn’t Rachel’s biological mother.

  He’d naturally assumed she’d told Rachel the same. Discovering that she hadn’t had put a whole new slant on Rachel’s reasons for leaving, and he’d wanted to strangle his mother for causing such a tangled skein of grief.

  God, how could she do it? Knowing he was attracted to Rachel? Was that why? Was she so jealous of anyone who got close to him that she’d go to any lengths to protect herself?

  He’d been shattered when he’d found out Rachel had left the island, and his mother had known that. But she hadn’t said a word about speaking to her daughter before she left.

  Naturally he’d blamed himself. He’d been sure Rachel must have had second thoughts. She’d seemed so fragile, so vulnerable; a virgin, for heaven’s sake. And he’d plunged into a full-blown affair. He’d convinced himself that she hadn’t been prepared to continue their relationship on those terms and for the past three weeks he’d buried his misery in work.

  Then, on Thursday evening, he’d had dinner with his father. Diana had been attending a meeting of her music festival committee, and Amalie had been out with her boyfriend. So there had been just the two of them.

  Jacob was getting stronger every day, but to Matt’s surprise seemed quite content with the way his son was handling the business.

  ‘I’m beginning to enjoy researching my book,’ he’d confessed ruefully. ‘Perhaps I’m getting lazy in my old age. All I need now is an assistant to translate my notes into some kind of coherent language.’

  Matt smiled, but he wasn’t really in the mood to discuss his father’s occupation. He was finding it harder every day to conduct even a civil conversation with his employees, and this taciturnity did not go unremarked.

  ‘Sara still giving you a hard time?’ asked his father understandingly. ‘When is that woman going to go home?’

  ‘God knows.’ Matt pushed his steak aside and lay back in
his chair. ‘I think she believes I want her here. But she couldn’t be more wrong.’

  ‘It’s a pity Rachel couldn’t stay longer,’ remarked Jacob thoughtfully. ‘You and she seemed to get along so well. She’s a lovely girl.’

  Matt’s lips tightened. ‘Yes, she is.’

  ‘It’s a shame that you and she are related. In other circumstances—’

  ‘Related?’ Matt stared at his father.

  ‘Well, you do have the same mother,’ Jacob pointed out mildly. ‘I mean—’

  ‘We don’t have the same mother,’ Matt interrupted him sharply. ‘Why would you say a thing like that? You know Rachel was adopted by the Claibornes.’

  Jacob’s jaw dropped. ‘No, I didn’t know that.’ He shook his head. ‘How could I? You and I hardly talk about your mother, goodness knows, let alone her daughter.’

  ‘But—’ Matt straightened in his chair. ‘Sara must have mentioned it.’

  ‘No. No, she hasn’t.’ Jacob was very definite about that. ‘It’s not the sort of thing she would tell me, now, is it?’

  ‘My God!’ Matt pushed back his chair and got to his feet. A terrible suspicion was stirring in his gut. ‘Do you think Rachel knows she’s adopted?’

  Jacob shrugged. ‘Who knows? You’d have to ask your mother. Why? Is it important?’

  Matt gave a mirthless laugh. ‘It could be.’ He raked back his hair with fingers that weren’t quite steady. ‘I slept with her.’

  Jacob’s astonishment was evident. ‘You slept with Rachel?’

  ‘Yeah.’ Matt paced restlessly across the floor. ‘I never even thought that she might not know about her adoption.’

  Jacob frowned. ‘But if she didn’t know she was adopted, what was she doing sleeping with you? If she thought you were her brother…’

  Matt shook his head. ‘Because she didn’t know Sara was my mother. She thought Sara and I were an item,’ he said bitterly. ‘I knew what she thought and I played upon it.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because I wanted to make her jealous, I guess.’ Matt was impatient. ‘Does it matter? The fact is, she had no idea I was Sara’s son. I’m sure of that.’