‘I thought it was you.’
Duncan MacDonald smiled as he caught up to them.
‘How are you, young man?’ he addressed Jack, placing one hand on the top of the little boy’s head.
Jack looked up at him and smiled.
‘We’re going shopping for my daddy.’
‘Are you now?’
He glanced across at Belle. She nodded.
‘He’s agreed I stay on for the time being anyway.’
‘Well, you do surprise me. Can I persuade you both to have tea with me when you’ve finished shopping?’
Belle felt a pleasant surprise at his invitation.
‘We’d love to but I’m afraid we’ll have to get back. I’m expecting the carrier with Jack’s belongings sometime today.’
‘Another time then?’
‘I’d like that, thank you.’
When they returned to the farm, the carrier van had arrived and the driver was unloading a number of toys and several boxes on to the slushy concrete. Belle leaped out of her car.
‘Wait, you can put them straight inside for me.’
‘The door’s locked, ma’am, and we didn’t know when you’d be back. We’ve got other loads to deliver and the light doesn’t last long these days.’
So, she thought, her optimism was a little premature. Jeffrey was going to make things as difficult as possible for her. Well, let him. She didn’t care just as long as she and Jack could be together.
‘Well, I haven’t got a key, I’m afraid.’
The delivery man’s eyebrows shot up at that. Obviously they had thought she was the wife.
‘You’ll just have to carry on and leave them here until I can get inside.’
A cold voice behind her said, ‘Pick them up again and store them in the hayshed through the gate and around the corner.’
The men grumbled but did as they were instructed. Jeffrey clumped forward and opened the cottage door. Belle unloaded the car while Jack pestered to help so she gave him two packets for every two bags she carried in. She unpacked the groceries and put them away, cleaning down the pantry shelves before she did so. Tomorrow, she promised herself, she would have a real set-to and clean the cottage from top to bottom.
She made them fish pie, beetroot and sweetcorn for their dinner that evening and it was as she was putting Jack to bed that he whispered, ‘Daddy doesn’t like you, Belle, does he?’
His face was woeful and Belle would gladly have strangled the man responsible.
‘What makes you say that, darling?’
He was an intelligent child and had picked up on the tension between his father and herself.
‘He wants to send you away. But I don’t want you to go.’
‘Don’t worry, Jack,’ she said, cuddling him in close. ‘It will take a lot stronger man than your daddy to chase me away.’
‘You won’t leave me, will you?’
‘Not until you tell me to go, baby.’
When she returned to the kitchen the pain and anger she felt for the little boy’s fear were turned against Jeffrey. The shock then of seeing him heading for the door, a pack over his shoulder and a lamp in his hand sent the words she was to say bursting out in a jumble of nonsense.
‘Where are you going?’ she ended up saying.
‘Well, seeing as you insisted on inviting yourself into my home and there are only two bedrooms I think it is quite obvious that one of us will have to sleep in the barn. Of course, if you are volunteering!’
‘No, I mean, you can’t do that! It’s freezing out there. I could sleep in there, couldn’t I?’
She pointed to a door on the other side of the tiny hall at the bottom of the stairs. He gave a harsh laugh and, striding across the floor, flung open the said door. It was dark inside but with the light from the kitchen and the moonlight shining through the uncurtained window she could see the room was bare of furniture. Her nose was assaulted with the smell of fermented apples and musty books. Damp and rot were everywhere.
‘Ugh,’ she groaned screwing up her nose.
‘Exactly,’ he said, with a lift of one eyebrow.
Shutting the door he crossed the kitchen once more.
‘You can sleep there if you like but I don’t have any more bedding,’ he growled and stamped out of the door.
CHAPTER FOUR
Sometime later, Belle climbed the stairs and found Jeffrey’s bed just as he’d left it. She stripped and remade it with the only other set of linen she could find in a bottom drawer. His dirty laundry he’d left in the corner of the room and she scooped it up with the sheets and put it out on to the landing.
That night she slept well and didn’t wake until she heard the clump of Jeffrey’s plastered foot fading down the stairs. Then she made a dash for the bathroom. In her dive across the dark landing she went head first over the pile of laundry. A spurt of Portuguese her mother would not have approved of burst from her lips as she picked herself up. A small sound made her turn to look over her shoulder. He was watching her from the bottom of the stairs, a wry grin shadowing across his face in the light from the kitchen. Belle could have screamed.
Jeffrey took Jack out with him again to feed the animals first thing then left him in the cottage after breakfast. Belle scrubbed and polished all morning making a game of it with Jack part of the time and then letting him help with small tasks, like polishing the table legs and cupboard knobs. At lunch time she gave them home-made vegetable soup and ham sandwiches. Then during the afternoon she decided she could afford to do some laundry for Jeffrey in exchange for him giving up his bed to her.
It was wet and miserable outside, the melting snow and heavy clouds darkening the day early, and Belle was struggling to prepare the dinner by firelight when Jeffrey came in.
‘Here,’ he said, ‘come and see how the gas light works. I can’t be running after you all the time.’
The unfairness of the statement made her bite her lip before stepping to his side. He pulled down the light from the centre of the ceiling by a fine chain then twisted the small brass wheel beneath the bowl and set a lighted match to the mantle. It went off with a pop that startled her, making her step back and trip over one of Jack’s toy trucks.
Jeffrey caught hold of her arm, jerking her back against him. Belle pulled her lip between her teeth as she felt the firm, muscled body beneath the baggy sweater and torn trousers. An awareness flooded through her like a flush and her thank-you was stiff as she moved out of reach.
That evening Jeffrey was still sitting at the table while Jack pestered Belle to bring him more of his boxes from the hayshed.
‘Wait until tomorrow,’ he said to Jack, as he rose to his feet.
He stopped by the door and looked as though he wanted to say something but changed his mind and moved out.
Next morning, when they returned from feeding the animals, Jack was helping Jeffrey drag a small cart on wheels. Inside it were two boxes of Jack’s toys. The little lad was delighted and once they were unpacked, he rummaged through them pulling out different toys and explaining to anyone who would listen why this particular one was a special one.
‘My cast comes off tomorrow,’ Jeffrey said to Belle while his eyes watched the boy. ‘I will want you to run me into the hospital at two o’clock.’
So, Belle thought, that’s what he was going to ask me last night. He’s discovered I have my uses after all.
‘I can take you and leave you while I do some shopping, but I’ll need money for that and for the petrol, too.’
She waited with bated breath to see his reaction. He nodded briefly and stomped off outside.
‘We’ve won, baby,’ she whispered, picking up the unsuspecting Jack and swirling him around. ‘He finds us useful today because we have a car. Give him a bit longer and he’ll not know how he managed without us.’
* * *
They had left Jeffrey in the hospital the following afternoon, done their shopping and were heading back up the street towards the hospital
gates, when a dark green Land-Rover pulled up alongside the curb.
‘Hello. You dashing off somewhere?’
Duncan MacDonald gave Jack a grin before returning his attentions to Belle.
‘We are just on our way to the hospital to pick up Mr Carlton.’
‘Everything OK?’
‘Yes, fine. The plaster cast is coming off his leg today,’ she said, deliberately misinterpreting his enquiry.
She glanced over at the traffic jam he was causing on the busy street.
‘I’ll watch out for you next time. ’Bye.’
He pulled forward into the traffic and Belle and Jack watched him move away.
‘He’s not as nice as my daddy,’ Jack said, staring up into Belle’s face.
Now what brought that on, Belle wondered, her mouth twitching with humour as they turned and continued up the hill.
Once back at the cottage, the first thing Jeffrey did was disappear into the old barn and bring out a dark blue Jaguar car. It was dusk by now but even in the growing dark the car was distinctive. Jack wanted to follow Jeffrey but Belle steered him into the cottage and closed the door.
Well, that put paid to the idea that he needed them for transportation, Belle decided as she sat alone in front of the fire range that evening. Why, she asked herself for the umpteenth time, would a man alone want the trouble of bringing up a small child when there was a perfectly good alternative with her parents? Perhaps he’s lonely, she pondered, but that picture was beyond her imagination.
Well, Jack is his son after all. It may just be that blood is thicker than water. But that didn’t make sense because if that was the case why had he never attempted to contact Jack before? As his father, he must have had visitation rights. Maybe he would have done when Jack was older. Thinking of Jack being older brought a tiny suspicion to the fore of her mind, but she dismissed it. But the suspicion persisted, niggling away at her while she made herself a cup of hot chocolate. Suddenly it was there in full-blown technicolour. The trust fund Jack’s mother had set up for him!
Kathleen Carlton had been a very successful businesswoman, a financial adviser for a world bank, when she was killed in a road accident. She had never invited friendship or confidences with Belle or her staff and there was no great emotion at her death. Her commitment to her son had ended on the day of his birth when he had been handed over to Belle but he was her only heir and she had made good provision for him.
Could the trust fund be the real attraction, she wondered now, the money. Well, she had seen for herself the hard-up, penny-pinching life Jeffrey Carlton now lived and according to the information Duncan MacDonald had given her, Jeffrey Carlton at one time had been a wealthy man. She slept on it that night but by morning it had become a fixture in her mind.
Hot tempered and impulsive, her mother had called her. Well, perhaps it was her Portuguese blood that had always landed her in so much trouble. But it was her English mother’s gentle tenacity that made her protect Jack with all the determination at her disposal.
Jeffrey didn’t come in for Jack that morning and the little boy roamed restlessly around the kitchen, refusing to have his breakfast until he’d been out to see the animals.
‘They have to be fed, you know,’ he informed Belle.
‘I’m sure your daddy will have done that already. Now come and have something to eat.’
He dragged his feet over to the table and was climbing into his chair as Jeffrey arrived.
‘One of the cows was sick,’ was the only explanation they were given before he went over to the sink to wash his hands.
‘Will I still get my breakfast?’ Jack asked looking totally confused.
‘Yes, of course,’ his father replied coming across and sitting himself down at the table. ‘The animals are all finished, but if you like, when we have eaten our breakfast, I’ll take you out for a run in my car. Would you like that?’
‘Oh, yes,’ Jack shouted.
Belle was amazed at this friendly discourse and would love to have relaxed at her small charge’s enthusiasm, but at the back of her mind lay the suspicion that would not go away. She would have to have it out with him sooner or later and risk her own tenuous position here, but not now.
Not being invited on the ride herself she fussed over Jack’s safety.
‘We’ll need to transfer the car seat. I hope you have seat-belts in the back. He can’t be allowed in the front, you know.’
Jeffrey reached out and gripped her chin between his thumb and forefinger turning her eyes up to meet his.
‘I thought you wanted him to get to know me?’
His eyes challenged hers and her insides shivered all the way down to her toes. Why was he in such high spirits, she asked herself as she watched the car disappear out of the gate? It had to be more than just the removal of his plaster cast. Had that look meant he was going to fight her for Jack’s affection? She would never do that. She would leave rather than see the little boy torn between them. Realisation struck swift and sharp. Jeffrey Carlton knew that, of course he did. He’d found the one way to get rid of her, her one weak spot—her love for Jack.
The following days passed like a death sentence to Belle as she waited for the axe to fall, but Jeffrey’s mood had changed. He was no longer the taciturn monster he had been on their arrival at the cottage. He was quiet and polite to herself and thoughtful and kind towards Jack, all of which deepened Belle’s belief that her suspicions about the money had been correct. His hair had been cut and he shaved every day. Jack and he were becoming great friends and Belle wondered if it was not time to give in and go, but not before she challenged him about Jack’s inheritance.
On a day when Jeffrey had gone over to the farm to help the farmer load cattle for the mart, Jack was again pestering Belle to have the last of his boxes brought over from the hayshed.
‘Daddy promised to get it for me but he’s busy.’
‘You’ll have to show me where it is then.’
They found the last two boxes of Jack’s belongings in the hayshed and the little cart used to transport them and pulled it across to the cottage. Belle helped him to sort out the books and a box of Lego from a mixture of miscellaneous toys and carry them up to his room.
‘If we ask nicely perhaps your daddy will put up some shelves for you.’
Jeffrey’s job was a part-time one, feeding the animals on the outer edge of the farm and giving the farmer a hand in the busy times. So that afternoon he took Jack to the swimming pool in Moorgate. When they returned, she asked Jeffrey if she could have a word with him once Jack was in bed.
He agreed to stay on after the evening meal. He watched her with cold eyes as she came back down the stairs after saying good-night to Jack sometime later.
‘Have you decided to go at last?’ he queried.
Belle shook her head and sat down on the other side of the range. She straightened her shoulders and looked across the hearth to where he sat in the padded rocking-chair.
‘Your wife left Jack a considerable trust fund. I just want to know that you are looking after him because you want to and not because of what might be coming to him by way of the trust.’
She caught her breath at her own daring when she realised what she was accusing him of. She started to tell him she hadn’t meant it quite so baldly when his quiet voice interrupted her.
‘My wife was a successful businesswoman in a big way, which I assume you already know. I was equally successful as a sculptor. My wife was sensible enough to invest my earnings for me. What I didn’t know was that she invested them in her own name, probably for tax reasons initially. But when I left, I left empty-handed. I was robbed, Miss Mendes, so half of any monies in my wife’s estate rightly belongs to me, if it is any of your business, which it most certainly is not.’
He rose from the chair and left the cottage. Belle sat on in a state of disbelief. She had no problem believing what he had said about his wife, knowing her to have been the hard businesswoman she was. No, her
disbelief was that he hadn’t demanded that she leave there and then, when she had insulted him with her accusation. In half a mind to go after him, she hesitated. What would it achieve to apologise? He wouldn’t think any differently of her.
The following day, she asked for the evening off and was told in a brusque voice that she was not in his employ and could take herself off whenever she wished. Would he then stay with Jack while she went out that evening, she wondered. He said he would and she left at seven to drive down to the village. She had no idea what she was going to do. She only knew she had to leave the cottage and Carlton and Jack and just be herself for a while.
She’d received two letters from her parents in the time she had been here and she’d answered them faithfully but had not been tempted to reveal any of the worries she had felt, only telling them the little white lie, that Jack’s father had engaged her to continue to look after Jack until such time as he didn’t need her any more.
The village was left behind as she continued up the road they had first arrived on. Passing the ditch into which her car had slid that night, her mouth lifted in a smile, then, without warning, tears blurred her vision and she pulled into the edge of the road and drew to a halt. Memories flooded her mind. She recalled how when Jack started to talk, his first word had been Baa. Later this had developed into Belle. She had talked to him often about his mother and made up stories about a father far away, but he never made any attempt to say Mummy or Daddy.
Every material luxury had been provided for them in Kathleen’s London home—a separate apartment with a side entrance. Messages were given and received by house telephone but personal contact was kept to a minimum. Nevertheless, they’d been happy, she and Jack, in their small haven.
She’d lost track of the time she’d sat there in the car and nearly jumped from her seat when a fist rapped on the window.
‘I thought it was you. What on earth are you doing sitting out here?’
Belle wound down the window.
‘Mac! I have the night off. Are you still interested in a lonely, self-pitying person for company?’
‘Of course, love to. Follow me back to the pub?’
Disputed Love Page 3