A Life of Secrets

by Margaret Kaine

  She smiled at him. ‘It’s the same at Anscombe. I wouldn’t dream of not going to the Sunday service.’

  Bells were ringing out from the centuries-old flint church at the edge of the village, as together with Theo’s father they made their way down the central aisle to the family pew on the right-hand side. Deborah was aware of heads turning to look at her, as by her side Theo nodded and smiled at members of the congregation.

  The sermon was mercifully short. The traditional hymns were sung with gusto, and with sunlight shining through the glorious stained-glass windows and the heady scent from flower arrangements, Deborah felt an unexpected sense of spiritual renewal. And when, on leaving the church, Theo introduced her to the elderly vicar, she murmured, ‘A splendid service,’ and was rewarded with a gentle smile.

  There was only a short time spent in the house on their return, to enjoy coffee, and to check on the recovering dog. At last, with Deborah beside him in the Bentley and the windows wound down to enjoy the gentle breeze, Theo drove away.

  ‘I’m going to take you on a short tour of my favourite places.’ He reached out to take her hand.

  ‘Are you sure you should be doing that while in charge of a vehicle?’ she teased.

  He laughed. ‘I know these roads, darling. I just wanted to touch you, that’s all.’

  And as they drove through picturesque villages, and alongside small woods, their trees displaying early summer leaves in varying shades of green, neither spoke very much. The atmosphere between them was too fraught with sexual tension, and it took all of Theo’s self-control not to draw over to the side of the road and take Deborah into his arms. But at least they would soon reach the secluded spot he’d chosen.

  ‘Here we are,’ he said, parking the car in a quiet lane. He opened the passenger door for Deborah, and, going to the boot took out a hamper and rug.

  ‘Can I help?’

  He shook his head, smiling, and after locking the car, balanced the rug on top of the wicker hamper. ‘It’s only a short walk. Just over the stile ahead and we’ll be there.’

  ‘A stile? It’s ages since I climbed over one of those.’

  Theo glanced down at Deborah’s short pleated skirt. ‘I’ll look away, don’t worry.’

  She laughed, and with agility made her way over.

  Theo reached to put down the hamper and rug on the other side before joining her. ‘I found this spot by chance a few years ago. I’ve always intended that when I found that special someone, I’d bring her here.’

  She lifted her face to his and gently kissed his lips. ‘I rather like being called a “special someone”.’

  He smiled down at her. ‘Come on, let me show you, you’ll love it.’

  Ahead was a cluster of trees, sunlight dancing among the leaves and before it a rippling stream. A majestic oak tree shaded the perfect picnic scene, with only the sound of water moving over the pebbles. She smiled up at him. ‘It’s perfect, Theo.’

  ‘I’m glad.’ He bent and kissed her, then kissed her again. ‘Before I get too distracted,’ he murmured, ‘let’s get organised. I was worried that the ground wouldn’t be dry after yesterday’s rain, but it seems fine.’ He spread the rug on the grass and opened the hamper. ‘We have two bottles of champers! If we drink both we’ll be squiffy.’

  ‘What a lovely thought.’ Deborah smoothed down her skirt and sat on the rug, her back supported by the tree. ‘But if you will insist on driving yourself …’

  ‘I enjoy it,’ he admitted. ‘Besides, in that way we can travel just the two of us.’ Taking out a bottle, he expertly popped the cork, the sudden sound causing several birds to emerge from the trees and flutter away.

  Deborah laughed. ‘Now we’re truly alone.’ She took the glass he offered and crossing her ankles gave what sounded like a blissful sigh.

  Theo joined her on the rug. ‘Let’s see what else Cook has provided for us.’ He uncovered the contents of the hamper. ‘Slices of cold chicken and ham, smoked salmon, crusty rolls, salad, tomatoes, hard-boiled eggs, mayonnaise, even cheese and fruit cake.

  ‘A veritable feast.’ Deborah laughed. ‘Aren’t you glad I sent Mrs Daniels to you?’ Her eyes were sparkling as she sipped her champagne and he thought how absolutely lovely she was. She turned and his heart softened to see the tenderness in her eyes. He shaded his eyes and looking up at the blue sky with the sun now blazing overhead, took off his blazer and tie.

  ‘I shouldn’t have left my hat in the car,’ she said.

  Theo rose to his feet. ‘I can soon remedy that.’

  Deborah watched him go, realising this was the first time she’d seen him dressed so informally. He looked younger and even more attractive.

  Returning with the hat, he relaxed back on to the rug and looked at the hamper. ‘What can I tempt you with?’

  Deborah’s gaze met his as Theo turned to her, and slowly his eyes crinkled at the corners with first amusement, then something else entirely, and leaning towards her their lips met, warm and soft. She breathed in the subtle scent of his cologne as he moved closer, enfolding her in his arms, kissing her again, more deeply this time and the next few minutes were lost in their delight of each other. He drew away, his intense gaze holding her own, his eyes darkening with desire, and then they were again in each other’s arms, and his lips moved down to the hollow of her throat, and to the soft swell of her breasts. She could feel the heat of his breath through the silk of her blouse, and Deborah held his head against her, and kissed his hair before he drew away.

  ‘If “music is the food of love”, then we’ll have to settle for food.’ He was smiling at her, but she noticed a pulse beating in his temple. His gaze, too, was on her lips and she blew him a kiss.

  ‘We have lots of time,’ she said, putting on her hat. ‘Shall I serve?’

  He nodded, and reclined comfortably on the rug. Did Theo ever do anything clumsy? She smiled to herself, she didn’t care if he did, she only knew that she loved this man. And she knew in her heart that he loved her, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t desperate to hear him say those magical three words.

  Deborah would always remember this Sunday picnic, the way they had thrown caution to the wind and drank both bottles of champagne. How delicious the food had been, eaten to love and laughter, as each had at times attempted to feed the other, with Theo claiming random kisses. Until at last the atmosphere changed between them, and Theo took her shoulders, and gently lowered her on to the rug. Overhead, Deborah could see the sun glinting through the trees, only for it to be blocked by Theo as he began to undo the buttons of her silk blouse, pushing down thin straps to release her breasts. To feel him touching her bare skin, his lips adoring her, was heavenly. For so many years she had been starved of physical closeness to another human being. He raised his head to claim her lips in a kiss that seemed never to end.

  Eventually, he drew back and said, ‘I’m head over heels in love with you, Deborah.’

  ‘I was rather hoping you were.’ She smiled up at him. ‘Because I love you, too, Theo, very much.’

  He replaced her straps and fastened her blouse. ‘This is going to be the most unselfish thing I can remember doing.’ He kissed the tip of her nose. ‘I want to take you this very minute, Lady Deborah Claremont. There is nobody to see us. But when we finally come together, as I hope and pray we will, it will not only be glorious, but in a soft bed with white linen or silk sheets, and the whole romantic night before us.’ He smiled down at her. ‘Are you decent yet?’

  She looked down at her clothes and nodded.

  ‘Good, because I have no intention of proposing to an improper woman!’ In one lithe movement, Theo rose and knelt on one knee before her.

  ‘I love you, my wonderful Deborah. I would consider it the greatest honour in the world, if you would agree to marry me.’

  She smiled at him, overwhelmed with love. ‘I’m longing to become your wife, Theo.’

  Rising, he retrieved his blazer and felt in the inside pocket. ‘I hope you
will like this, darling, but I’ll understand if you’d prefer something more modern. It belonged to my mother.’ He opened to reveal a square-cut emerald ring surrounded by dazzling diamonds.

  She caught her breath. ‘It’s beautiful, I love it.’

  He slipped it on to the third finger of her left hand. ‘And it fits perfectly.’

  ‘It really is lovely.’ She held out her hand to admire the way the sunlight caught the precious stones. Deborah hesitated, and said tentatively, ‘Would you mind terribly if we kept our engagement to ourselves, perhaps for the next week?’

  At his startled frown, she said swiftly, ‘Only Gerard will be back from Italy by then. He’s still my guardian, I’m afraid. So just until we have his seal of approval?’

  She laughed at his affronted expression. ‘He can’t possibly refuse it.’

  Theo kissed her. ‘Nothing, Lady Deborah, is going to prevent my marrying you. But if that’s what you want, then that is what we’ll do.’

  She replaced the ring in the box and with reluctance gave it back. ‘You’re a sweetheart, do you know that?’

  ‘As long as I’m yours.’

  Her gaze met his and she gave him a swift kiss. ‘There’s no doubt of that, my darling.’

  Could any day be happier? But as they collected the debris of their wonderful picnic, she thought life is never all joy, is it? And only she knew there was a crucial obstacle to overcome, before she could feel really secure about their future. And she had waited too long already.

  The burden of that knowledge preyed on her mind all evening, a time when she should have been feeling ecstatically happy. Theo could obviously sense something was wrong, and more than once she had to avoid his concerned glances. Fortunately, his father didn’t seem to notice anything amiss.

  After their coffee, she excused herself to them both. ‘I think I’ll retire early, I have a slight headache.’

  ‘Possibly a little too much sun,’ Theo said, his eyes sympathetic.

  She smiled at him. ‘Possibly. Goodnight.’

  Once in her bedroom, she politely submitted to the attentions of the young maid, Cotton, but dismissed her as soon as she could. Deborah opened the window and stood before it for several minutes listening to the country sounds of an owl’s hoot and the occasional bark of a fox. Then with a deep sigh she closed it slightly and, walking over to the bed, slid beneath the cool sheets and lay with her head on the soft pillow. She couldn’t put it off any longer, she had no alternative.

  It was time to allow the painful memories to surface.

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  1918

  For Deborah, the days and weeks following Philippe’s death passed in a miserable daze. She would never see him smile again, his eyes alight with love, or feel his arms around her. The life they had planned would never happen. And when first her mother, then her father, succumbed to the terrible Spanish flu epidemic, she fell into a chasm of grief.

  And so the cessation of her monthly bleeds was at first attributed by her maid to shock. ‘It will probably right itself, madam.’

  But it didn’t, and with the affliction of morning sickness came the terrifying realisation. She was pregnant.

  Waters, a thin sour-faced woman, who had previously attended Deborah’s late mother, had a pride in the Claremont name almost equal to that of Gerard. Her expression cold with disgust, she said curtly, ‘I shall, of course, have to inform the earl.’

  Deborah didn’t answer, her shattered mind still coming to terms with her discovery. When the summons came to go to her brother’s study, frightened and nervous she forced herself to go to the room that held so many memories of her late father. Her heart racing with apprehension, she had to struggle against a wave of nausea as she turned the brass doorknob and went in.

  Seated behind his desk, Gerard’s face was white with fury. ‘Deborah, I have just been informed of a situation so shocking, so abhorrent, that I can scarcely believe it. Is what Waters has reported true? Are you pregnant?’

  She raised her head and lifted her chin, refusing to be cowed. ‘Yes, it is true.’

  ‘And I assume the father, a man I took to be a gentleman, is Lapierre.’

  ‘Yes, of course it is Philippe.’

  ‘Who conveniently got himself killed before the truth came out,’ he sneered.

  Deborah struggled to control an urge to slap his face. ‘That’s a terrible thing to say. A cruel thing.’

  ‘Yes, well it’s a cruel thing the two of you have left me to cope with.’ He leant forward. ‘Let me make one thing clear. I don’t care what happens to Lapierre’s bastard. What I do care about is you besmirching the Claremont name. What our parents would have thought of their daughter, I can’t imagine. Eighteen years old, with any chance of a decent marriage ruined. You are despicable, Deborah.’

  She knew she should say she was sorry, but the words wouldn’t come. It would mean confessing that she regretted the most wonderful night of her life. And she would never feel that.

  ‘I can see there’s not an ounce of shame in you. However, from now on you will do exactly what I say. The first thing is to find a doctor willing to perform a termination.’

  Deborah stared at him in horror. ‘I couldn’t do that. It’s murdering an unborn child; Philippe’s child!’

  Gerard’s tone was cutting. ‘So what do you have in mind? Parade your bastard for everyone to see?’

  ‘I haven’t thought that far. But you are not going to bully me into having an abortion.’

  ‘You wouldn’t be the first woman to do it. I could easily find out the name of a trustworthy doctor.’

  ‘For the last time, my answer is no!’

  Gerard drummed his fingers on the desk. ‘Then you’ll have to go away, and soon.’

  He gazed at her, his lip curling with derision. ‘You were always spoilt as a child, Deborah. I’m not surprised it’s come home to roost. Just get out of my sight. And I don’t need to tell you to keep this disgraceful situation to yourself.’

  She was now fighting tears, struggling not to break down in front of him. ‘But Waters knows.’

  ‘You can leave Waters to me.’

  She saw little of her brother after that. He breakfasted early and frequently dined at his club. But several weeks later, she was again summoned to his study.

  Gerard’s gaze swept over her in a way she found humiliating. Fortunately, her slim body was only slightly thickened, but Deborah knew it was time she left London.

  ‘You will go to Wales,’ he said abruptly.

  ‘To Aunt Blanche?’ She was shocked. Aunt Blanche was her godmother and a fearsome spinster. She would never understand about Philippe.

  ‘Aunt Blanche has suffered a slight stroke.’

  ‘I’m sorry to hear that.’ She hesitated. ‘You mean I am to go and stay with her?’

  ‘Certainly not. Although her illness will be given out as the reason for your absence.’ He stared coldly at her. ‘I have rented, in the name of Mrs Deborah March, a decent-sized cottage in a village several miles away. You will wear a wedding ring, as a widow whose husband was killed in the war. Your laundry will be dealt with by a reliable woman from the village. You will not be seen by anyone, I repeat, anyone.’

  She frowned. ‘No other staff?’

  He shook his head. ‘Waters will attend to everything you need.’

  Deborah had to admit in retrospect that her brother had been efficient. The stone-built detached cottage did have a certain rural charm, and was comfortably furnished. Apparently its owner, an army officer, was serving in India. Beginning to feel tired after the train journey, she explored the few rooms, pleased to see there was a rear garden, which would enable her to take fresh air and exercise.

  ‘Is it to your liking?’ Gerard asked, as she returned to the sitting room. ‘Hardly suitable for Lady Deborah Claremont, but I think a war widow would be satisfied.’

  ‘Yes, you’ve done very well. I’m grateful to you, Gerard.’ Later, feeling desolate, she
watched a cab arrive to take him to visit Aunt Blanche, where he would stay overnight before returning to London.

  Gerard never again visited the cottage, although Deborah dutifully wrote a fortnightly short letter whose envelope bore the Wales postmark. He didn’t reply, although her mail was forwarded. A bulky envelope addressed to Waters would arrive regularly, which Deborah guessed contained money. But the other woman’s attitude towards her was consistently one of ill-concealed contempt, which made her a cold and disapproving companion. Neither was she an imaginative cook, and the plain meals she prepared were unvarying in their monotony. Bored, and desperate for contact with her previous life, Deborah would occasionally exchange letters with Abby, who would praise her for staying in the wilds of Wales to look after her ailing aunt. Deborah hated lying to her close friend, hated the whole charade, but knew it was necessary.

  As for the birth itself, she had broached the subject with Gerard before he left.

  ‘What about when … you know …’

  ‘You are confined? You are young and healthy, and as Waters informs me that she helped with her mother’s confinements, that should be sufficient.’

  Deborah was shocked. ‘Not even a midwife?’

  ‘Of course, if there are complications, and considered necessary. I am not a monster, Deborah. Just someone trying to protect our family name. The fewer people who see you, the better. Waters will, of course, attend church on Sunday mornings, and inform the vicar that you have been prescribed complete rest, and don’t wish to be disturbed.’

  Fortunately, her pregnancy caused her few problems. It was the boredom, being deprived of intelligent conversation, or laughter. Books were an essential distraction, and she spent hours knitting exquisite matinee jackets and a delicate shawl, with every stitch holding the love she would be unable to give her child.

  Deborah had been painfully forced to accept that there was no possibility of keeping her baby. A suitable adoption would be arranged, otherwise scandal would not only taint the Claremont name, but Philippe’s child would always bear the stigma of being a bastard. The decision almost broke her heart.