‘Several weeks I think. I invited her up to Yorkshire for a couple of days, with her little boy, Owen.’
‘How old is he now?’ Winston asked.
‘He’s six, and apparently quite a smart little lad, from what she’s said. Anyway, she was thrilled to be invited, and she’s arriving today. I was always very fond of Glynnis.’
‘Weren’t we all,’ Winston murmured, and looked off into the distance.
‘What do you mean?’ she asked swiftly, detecting a strange note in her brother’s voice.
‘I didn’t mean anything, actually, except that she was always tremendously popular, and she was such a lovely person I think we were all a little bit infatuated with her. Not only the men but you too, our Emma, and some of the other women at Harte’s. Glynnis had the knack of making everyone love her, and she was very beautiful.’
‘She still is,’ Emma remarked. ‘A little thinner, but there’s an aura of glamour to her that will never fade, I don’t suppose. It comes from inside, glamour, although not everyone understands that. It’s nothing to do with the length of one’s hair or the colour of one’s eyes.’
Hovering near the fireplace, Emma continued after a moment, ‘I thought you and Charlotte might like to come to lunch tomorrow, or on Sunday. Or perhaps supper tomorrow evening. If you’re free, that is. It’s up to you. I can ask Blackie, too, he’s always at a loose end.’
‘We’d enjoy that. Charlotte likes Glynnis, she always thought she was the best secretary I’d ever had. I’ll ask her when we can come over for a meal. Anyway, I thought Blackie always came on Fridays for supper.’
‘He does, but he can come on Saturday as well, can’t he?’
Winston chuckled. ‘You and Blackie might as well tie the knot, you’re always together.’
Emma gaped at him, her surprise apparent.
‘Don’t look like that, lass. Blackie adores you, he always has. You just went off and married other men, that’s what you did.’
‘I love Blackie. I always have, for as long as I’ve known him; he’s my best friend. But I don’t want to get married again.’
‘Not even to that handsome American major?’ Winston teased, his eyes full of mischief.
Emma gave him a long, blank stare, and asked haughtily, ‘Which American major?’
‘Don’t pretend you don’t know who I mean…the one you met at our brother’s house,’ Winston shot back.
‘Oh him…I thought you were referring to my American major, my nice pilot whom I used to entertain here during the war.’
‘I never knew about that,’ Winston replied, looking at her in astonishment.
‘Well, I don’t have to tell you everything, you know.’
‘Who was he?’
‘He still is, Winston, he didn’t get killed or die.
His name’s James Thompson, and he’s been to see me several times since the end of the war. He’s a good friend.’
‘How did you meet him?’
‘He was stationed at Topcliffe. I used to give Fourth of July parties, and I had them over often…James and the whole crew.’
‘I see.’ Winston looked at her carefully, and wondered, suddenly, about Emma. He’d never known her to be secretive, but certainly she had been about this major. Was she involved with him in a romantic way? ‘Don’t you ever feel lonely, our Emm?’ he blurted out before he could stop himself.
‘How could I ever feel lonely, Winston dear, with you lot always running in and out and looking over my shoulder? And Blackie, too. I’m always surrounded.’
Emma knew exactly what Glynnis had meant when she had said Owen looked like Robin. The six-year-old boy was a small replica of her favourite son, with the same dark hair and those beautiful vivid blue eyes that were one of Robin’s best features. Even the shape of the child’s face was the same, and when he grew up he would be tall and slender, as was Robin.
As he stood in front of her the boy gave her a tentative smile and put out his hand. ‘I’m Owen Hughes,’ he said, scrupulously polite.
Emma gave him a wide smile and took his small hand in hers. ‘My name’s Emma Harte. Welcome to Pennistone Royal.’
‘Thank you, and I’m pleased to meet you.’
‘We actually know each other, Owen. We met long ago, but I’m afraid you won’t remember. You were just a little baby and then later a toddler.’
He frowned and looked up at Glynnis, his vivid, intelligent eyes full of questions.
Bending over him, Glynnis explained, ‘It’s true, Owen. Mrs Harte did know you when you were a baby, but we left England when you were quite small, and we haven’t seen Mrs Harte since then.’
‘And more’s the pity,’ Emma murmured, moving across the terrace, sitting down. ‘I’ve missed watching you grow up, Owen, and I’m sorry about that. You’re quite a tall boy for six, aren’t you?’
‘Like my father,’ he explained solemnly. ‘Dad’s tall. And dark and handsome, Mom says. And it’s true.’
Emma chuckled, and even Glynnis smiled, and said, ‘It’s so nice of you to have us for the weekend. I’ve always loved this house, it’s so beautiful, so tranquil. It’s such a treat to be here.’
‘I’m glad you could come. It is indeed quiet but I get a great deal of joy out of it, Glynnis. Now, Owen, come and sit next to me on this little seat. We can have a chat until Hilda brings the tea. Do you like strawberries and cream?’
He nodded, his eyes focused entirely on her, as he decided he liked her. His mother had told him she had once worked for Mrs Harte.
‘Good. Because that’s what we’re going to have. There’s nothing like strawberries and cream on a warm June day in Yorkshire. Now tell me about your journey.’
‘Mom drove here, and I saw a lot of sheep and cows in the fields. Do you have any cows?’
‘Certainly,’ Emma replied. ‘And later you can go with Tommy, the farm lad, he’ll take you to see them. Do you like animals?’
‘Yes, but I don’t want to be a farmer. I’m going to be the President of the United States.’
‘Are you now, Owen? Well, that’s a truly wonderful ambition!’
‘Dad says anybody can be President if they’re clever, and work hard. And if they’re good. I can work and Dad says Pm clever.’ Owen nodded his head, looked across at Glynnis and asked, ‘I am good, aren’t I, Mom?’
‘You’re the best boy in the whole world, and–’ Glynnis stopped speaking and she felt all of the strength draining out of her, as she stared at the man walking along the terrace towards them. She couldn’t take her eyes off him and she felt her chest tightening. It was Robin Ainsley. The last person in the world she wanted to see. She was gripped by an internal shaking and her mouth was dry.
Robin lost all of his colour when he saw Glynnis, and then the child. His child. Oh my God, he thought, wondering why he had come here to see his mother, today of all days. He should have phoned first, he usually did. There was no way he could retreat. How could he turn and run like a scared rabbit? But he was frightened…of her, and of himself most of all. He had never stopped loving her or thinking about her or dreaming about holding her in his arms and making love to her. Theirs had been such an all-consuming passion: together they had soared…
And oh how lovely and desirable she looked this afternoon. She was wearing a blue silk frock, the exact colour of the sky, the exact colour of her eyes. And her face was ravishing in its beauty and voluptuousness. She was around thirty now, just as he was, and these few additional years truly became her. Her hair was worn in the same soft pageboy he remembered, and it was luxuriant, a deep chestnut colour touched with natural streaks of gold. God, how he wanted her again. But he couldn’t have her. He had renounced her and he knew within himself how much he had hurt her. She could never want him, not ever again. And she was forbidden to him anyway, he understood that. But he could dream, couldn’t he?
As Robin came to a stop, he looked across at his mother. Emma’s face was inscrutable. He hurried over to her and kisse
d her on the cheek. ‘Hello, Ma.’
‘Hello, Robin, darling,’ she murmured, and then hissed against his ear, ‘Why didn’t you phone?’ Drawing herself up, Emma then added in a normal voice, ‘You remember Glynnis, don’t you?’
‘Yes,’ he managed, and had no option but to walk across to the only woman he had ever truly loved. His legs felt unexpectedly weak and he was startled. ‘Hello, Glynnis,’ he said and was relieved his voice sounded so normal. Robin offered her his hand.
‘Robin,’ she answered in a low throaty voice and reluctantly took his outstretched hand.
He discovered her hand was icy in his, and he wanted to hold onto it, to warm it, but he realized he could not. He let it go. Reluctantly. Turning around, he looked down at her little boy, his little boy, and said, ‘I’m Robin…hello.’
‘I’m Owen, and I’m pleased to meet you.’ He was very solemn.
‘Mind if I join you all, old chap?’ Robin asked, smiling warmly.
‘Oh no. That’s all right. Isn’t it, Mom?’
All Glynnis could do was nod.
Emma explained, ‘Robin is my son, Owen, just as you are your mother’s son.’
And mine, Robin thought, as he sat down in one of the wrought-iron garden chairs. He had an overwhelming need to hug this boy, hold him close. This was their love child. His and Glynnis’s.
Suddenly Emma said, ‘Oh Robin, I’m sorry to disturb you, but would you please go and ask Hilda to bring another cup and saucer for you?’
Robin stood up, excused himself, and went through the French windows into the library.
Glynnis looked across at Emma mutely, unable to speak and especially in Owen’s presence.
At once Emma recognized the look in her eyes. It was one of pure terror. Leaning closer to Owen, Emma said to him, ‘Do me a little favour, run after Robin. He’s gone to the kitchen. You’ll find it, just through those doors and across the big Stone Hall. Ask him to please bring me a glass of water.’
‘Will I find the kitchen?’ Owen asked, a bit nervously, staring at her.
‘You’re a clever boy, of course you will,’ she reassured him.
Once they were alone, Emma explained in a quick low voice, ‘This is all an accident, Glynnis, truly it is, my dear. Robin always telephones me if he’s coming, to make sure I’m here. For some reason he didn’t today.’
Glynnis could not speak. Tears filled her eyes. All she could do was nod. Oh how she loved him. She had never stopped loving him. Robin. The name she could barely say…except when she was alone and wept into her pillow and said his name over and over and over again. Robin Ainsley. Her one true love. The only man she had ever loved…would ever love. Oh, to have him hold her in his arms once more; what she would give to have that. Nothing else. Just that. To be in his arms for a few brief moments.
As if from a distance she heard Emma saying, ‘You mustn’t see him, Glynnis. You mustn’t see him alone.’
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
It was seven years since he had seen her. Seven long years. But he knew he was already entrapped again…longing to be with her, to hold her in his arms, if only for a moment. He would settle for that, or less: a few minutes talking to her, just holding her hand.
He had been married for six years, had a small child, a son. His name was Jonathan. But little Johnny was very much his mother’s child, a lot more like Valerie in appearance than him. A handsome, fair-haired boy, but there was not much Harte in him, at least so it seemed to Robin.
It was the other son, her child Owen, who was so obviously out of his loins. The boy was his spitting image, even down to his hands. He had noticed the boy’s long tapering fingers on Friday afternoon. Had his mother seen the likeness? Perhaps. And did it matter? Of course not. He had been quite certain for some years now that his mother had known of his love affair with Glynnis. She was shrewd, and understood the human heart. Furthermore Glynnis had worked for her for several years and they had become close. Perhaps Glynnis had even confided in his mother at some time or another, but he would never know the truth about that because Emma would never betray a confidence.
As he drove at a steady speed along the main Harrogate road on the Saturday night, heading from Leeds to Pennistone Royal, he thought of his mother’s reaction yesterday. She had been perturbed by his unexpected arrival, had hissed in his ear that he should have phoned. And yet she had hidden her irritation behind her famous inscrutable mask. She was good at that, disguising her real feelings, dissembling.
A smile struck his face as he thought of Emma. They locked horns at times, and could often quarrel. On the other hand, he really loved his mother, respected her, and he knew he was her favourite son. Still, he didn’t think she would approve of what he was about to do. Neither did he. Put simply he couldn’t help himself. He had to speak to Glynnis in private.
Now he asked himself if she would listen. Or would he get the door slammed in his face? He wasn’t sure. All he knew was that he had to see her.
As Robin drove up to the back of Pennistone Royal he saw that the house was dark, except for a couple of upstairs rooms: his mother’s and Glynnis’s. He had spoken to his mother earlier that day and she had told him she was dining alone with Glynnis, that Winston and Charlotte were coming over for lunch on Sunday. He had thought of cajoling an invitation out of her for the lunch, but decided not to put her on the spot in that way. It wasn’t fair.
Parking near a copse of trees, Robin got out of the Humber and closed the car door gently. Then he walked quickly towards the service entrance of the house.
He glanced up. It was a beautiful June night, the sky a very deep blue, so deep it was almost black, was filled with a generous abundance of shining stars. There was a gorgeous full moon, perfectly spherical and brilliant, and it lit his way.
Fumbling in his jacket pocket, Robin pulled out the key to the kitchen door, which he had owned since he was a teenager, and let himself in, careful to lock the door behind him. Moving quietly across the floor, he pushed open the door which led to the back service corridor.
Within seconds he was climbing a steep staircase; this led up to the first and second floors. Bypassing the first floor, his mother’s domain, he went on, climbing further still, and finally opened the door to the bedroom floor. He stepped into the corridor and made his way to the Blue Room, knowing she was the occupant of that suite.
Owen had told him yesterday, when he had taken the child to see the cows. He had confided proudly that he was in the Gold Room, all alone. The boy had also explained that they were staying at the Hyde Park Hotel in London. It had only taken a little prompting from him and Owen had innocently revealed quite a lot. What pleased Robin was that the child appeared to like him.
The corridor was dimly lit by the moon shining in through the tall window at the far end. Robin tiptoed down the long carpeted hallway until he came to the door with the brass plaque engraved: Blue Room. Tapping lightly, he stood waiting.
Several seconds passed before the door was opened a crack.
When Glynnis saw him her eyes widened in astonishment. He brought a finger up to his lips, making a shushing sound. Pushing against the door, he slipped into the room before she could stop him.
Glynnis stepped back swiftly, glaring at him.
Robin closed the door, leaned against it, and said in a whisper, ‘I have to talk to you.’
She backed away and, balking at his presence, she moved across the sitting-room floor quickly, stood leaning against the desk in front of the window. And then obviously realizing, all of a sudden, that she was dressed only in a flimsy silk nightgown she flew into the bedroom.
He did not move, remained standing where he was, leaning nonchalantly against the door, although he didn’t feel at all nonchalant. As tense and anxious as he was, he was telling himself not to follow her into the other room. Aware of her modesty, from their earlier days together, he was quite certain she had simply gone to get a robe. And a moment later she reappeared wearing a blue silk kimon
o over the nightdress.
Robin locked the door and walked towards her.
‘Why have you locked the door?’ she hissed, her blue eyes angry, her face strained, even fearful.
‘For no other reason than our son, Owen. If he wakes up he might be afraid in a strange room, and come looking for you. This way, if he does knock on the door, he won’t be able to open it. And I can go into the bedroom until you’ve taken him back to his own room.’
Glynnis said nothing.
Robin said, ‘He shouldn’t see me in here, especially late at night.’
‘Nobody should.’
‘I know.’
‘What actually do you want?’ she demanded in a curt whisper, her eyes growing icier by the minute. But he noticed that she was trembling uncontrollably.
‘To talk to you, Glynnis.’
‘I’ve nothing to say to you.’
‘But I do, to you. I realize this is not the time and place, and I came to ask you to meet me when you come back to town.’
‘I won’t!’ she snapped.
‘In case you change your mind–’ He searched around in his pocket, took out an envelope. ‘In here there’s an address and a latchkey. I want you to have them.’
‘Why?’
‘I want you to meet me there next week. Just to talk. I need to talk to you.’
‘I told you I don’t want to listen to you about anything.’
‘The address–it’s for Edwina’s mews house in Belgravia. Her bolt-hole when she comes over from Ireland to do her shopping, or for business. There’s a phone number as well. Please, Glynnis, come and meet me. On Wednesday.’ He offered her the envelope but she crossed her arms tightly and pursed her lips, the eyes suddenly flinty as she stepped to one side.
Placing the envelope on the desk, Robin continued, ‘I just want to tell you why things happened the way they did, that’s it, really.’
‘Oh Robin, please,’ she muttered, ‘you must go. Now.’
He didn’t move. He gave her a small smile. ‘The boy is so handsome, Glynnis, and bright, and very well mannered.’
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