The English Lord's Secret Son

by Margaret Way

  sure who we’re dealing with. I learned that lesson fairly early in life. So who did you eventually marry? Hang on!” She held up a hand. “I think I know. It was Marina’s friend, the dark-haired one with the lovely glowing skin and the unusual name...Talisa?”

  He didn’t answer, as though he didn’t have to acknowledge it. Yet he had been prepared to be unfaithful to Talisa only nights ago, Cate thought.

  “Think Talisa can handle your love child? It could come as a shock too difficult to bear.”

  His silence continued as though he were groping through a minefield to find answers. “I have your last note to me,” he said finally. “Let me show it to you.” His suit jacket was hanging over a chair. She saw his expensive crocodile-skin wallet lying on the table. He picked it up, extracting a folded, rather tattered-looking piece of paper.

  “This is my note?” she asked in sharp derision. “I can’t wait to read it.”

  Note, what note?

  Much of life was a mystery.

  “So how is my son doing at school?” he enquired as he passed the sheet of yellowing paper to her.

  Cate frowned, gingerly beginning to open the sheet of paper up. “He’s doing fine. He’s clever. Like me.”

  “Or he’s even cleverer. Like me.”

  Cate nodded impatiently, intent on absorbing the contents. They were handwritten in her rather distinctive script. To her horror, it looked like her handwriting only it wasn’t. There was something terribly wrong here. She really needed a forensic tool to make a detailed inspection. Were there tiny breaks in the flowing script as if someone had rested a second before going on? She never did that. Her writing was continuous without break. Finally she made her decision, though she knew it would meet with extreme hostility. She looked directly at him. “Anybody, absolutely anybody, could have written this.”

  “You’re the one,” he returned trenchantly. “I compared it with all the little love notes you used to leave for me. ‘How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.’”

  “More like how do I hate thee.”

  “It’s your handwriting, fine handwriting really with a few little eccentricities. The embellished C of Catrina, for instance. It’s there.”

  “Of course it is. Essential to do it like that. Only you have to prove I was the one to do it. It might look like my handwriting but I didn’t write this. Not in a million light years.” Then it dawned on her. She spoke up knowing he would hate her. “Your mother wrote this,” she said, not with a note of shock but comprehension. “I’m sure of it.”

  His mother? He suddenly felt a lack of oxygen, rallied fast. “Drop the tone and the accusation,” he warned.

  “Don’t try intimidating me, Ashe,” she said, angling her delicately determined chin. “Don’t even think of it. I’m not the naïvely trusting girl I once was. You take a little moment to think about it. Your mother was a talented artist. I saw countless sketch books of her drawings over the years. Numerous sketches of you in particular, her darling only son. Your sisters were well back in the queue. They had to accept one of the realities of life. Mothers fixate on sons. Then there were Alicia’s watercolours. She was gifted.” Jules had followed in her footsteps; Cate had long since accepted that. Such was the permanence of blood. Jules had inherited Alicia’s talent. His recent sketches of her and Stella were very good, even capturing their expressions. Jules had taken them to school and the art teacher had praised him, posting them up.

  For a moment she felt real sadness, as though Alicia’s presence was hovering over them. She covered up her angst by looking down again at the letter. It read:

  Dearest Ashe,

  Don’t hate me but I can’t bear to stay. You’re lovely but I had no idea what I was getting myself into. I don’t want your life. It scares me. The voice inside me is telling me to go home. You and I would never work. Not for long. You have Marina. She’ll suit you far better than me. I’m not feeling good about it—I know we had started to make plans—but I realise now I’m not ready for any of it. I’m too young. The more I’ve thought it through, the surer I am I’m doing the right thing. By the time you read this I’ll be back home where I belong. We had great times, but they’re over. Please don’t try to contact me. That’s the last thing I want. Have a good life.

  Catrina.

  Cate had to shut her eyes on the misery she had endured. The thoughts of betrayal she had battled so long might not have been so. Alicia had simply taken matters into her own autocratic hands.

  “Not exactly an epic,” she said, not letting her pain surface. “How many words—one hundred or so? Your mother, sadly, was a woman not to be trusted where you were concerned. She loved you. You loved her. It’s terrible for me to have to speak about her with so much disrespect, but your mother wrote this. Not me.” She fluttered the sheet of paper in the air. “Put it back in your wallet. Why have you carried it all these years anyway?”

  “To remind me,” he said with great abruptness.

  “I would have thought you’d destroy it.”

  He was staring at her as though he was trying to look into her bruised and battered soul. Did he believe her? Mothers were sacrosanct.

  Only Alicia had changed everything. She might be floating around somewhere but she no longer had her earthly force. “Get some forensic people onto it,” Cate suggested. “It’s not my writing, although at a cursory glance even I thought it was.” His mother would have made a first-rate forger.

  He was an expert in concealing his emotions, but there was something frightening in the intensity of his expression, the blaze in his eyes. “I cannot believe my own mother would have done anything to hurt me,” he said with a twist to his mouth. “And so badly. I mean, she saw my pain, for God’s sake. I loved and respected her even if I knew she was a mite possessive. But that was her nature.” He continued to stare at Catrina, seeing a beautiful young woman with her golden hair and her crystal-clear green eyes with an unnatural clarity. How could such beauty hide so much darkness and deception? It didn’t seem possible. He had to confront the possibility Catrina might well have been as much a victim as he was.

  “Your mother built up a great case against me, Ashe,” she said quietly, seeing his perceptions of his mother were badly shaken. “I’m equally sure she thought she was doing the right thing, protecting you from me. She thought I was the wrong person to become part of your life. You were to become the fifth Baron Wyndham. I didn’t pass muster. You needed a Somebody at your side. That’s the way you lot are. You needed an earl’s daughter. You already had her—Marina. Marina was not part of this. Not part of your mother’s manoeuvring. It was your mother who deliberately drove me away.”

  His handsome face bore such a torn expression. “Forget my poor mother for a moment. I can’t handle it right now. You talk about deliberation? Then consider, if you will, you deliberately withheld from me the fact I had a son. You robbed me of my child for over seven years. You robbed me of so many great joys. I missed all of those early years, years that can never be retrieved. Justice must be served. I want my son back. Not only want, I will get him back, if I have to pursue you through the courts.”

  “It’s not an easy task to separate a child from its mother, Ashe.”

  “I’ll do it.” He had to find a solution.

  “You can’t!”

  A chink in the armour. “Watch me.”

  Her inner voice kicked in. You can’t offer him money to go away. Some men would take it if the amount were big enough. But he wasn’t one of them. For one thing he was rich. Far richer than she could ever be.

  “Why would I expect you to show any loyalty to me?” Cate’s voice was unnaturally calm. She looked up at him without anger, but a tremendous backwash of grief. “All your loyalty is and always has been to your mother. Believe her versions of events, Ashe. It suits you to do that. I know what happened. I remember all too clearly. The pain has never gone away. I never did have a chance. And don’t try telling me you didn’t know your mother was a f
earful snob. Your sisters openly admitted that. They made a joke of it. And your Number One position in her life, her adored only son. Sons guaranteed the family name. Sons inherited. Ask them. They’ll remember. If it’s a question of a battle I know you’re the one with the big guns, but I’ll fight you to the death. Jules is mine. I raised him alone. My advice to you is to go home. No need to tell your family. They don’t need to know. There’s no reason whatever to bring scandal down on the illustrious family name.” Now there was bitterness in her tone.

  His eyes burned over her. “Much of public life is scandal, Catrina,” he reminded her. “You’ll be hearing from me.”

  “Go for it. But if you have samples of my handwriting, I’d advise you to take them to a handwriting expert. Let them check the capital C in particular. That’s the flag. Your mother was clever, but not clever enough. She must have had a job carrying all that guilt around.”

  For a moment he couldn’t speak. Singularly disturbing thoughts were whirring about in his head. “And what if this expert confirms it is your handwriting?”

  “They won’t,” she said with utter conviction.

  His expression had taken on a very determined cast. Indeed, everything about him was wound up so tight she went to the door.

  “If they do confirm it’s your handwriting, I’ll destroy you,” he warned, tremendously upset.

  She laughed, totally without humour. “Except you destroyed me years ago.”

  That was her parting shot. Cate opened the door, allowing it to close after her.

  She felt ill. What was it about mothers they could get away with just about anything? Alicia’s efforts at forgery had been near perfect. She knew she wasn’t the only woman whose romantic hopes had been dashed by the intervention of an overly possessive mother.

  Only at long last Alicia was about to be found out.

  That was if Ashe could bring himself to have her theory checked out. If he did, one problem would be solved. A far greater one remained. He had seen his beautiful son. He wanted him. He wanted to fit Jules into his family. Obviously he didn’t think he would have a problem with Talisa. Why would he? She would adore him. Given a little time Talisa would settle.

  Cate made the decision to see a solicitor right away.

  No one would take her son from her. That wasn’t about to happen. She wasn’t frightened of a battle. She was up for it.

  * * *

  She faced the family solicitor of recent years, Gerald Enright, senior partner of the law firm Enright Matheson, across the expanse of his impressive partner’s desk. Without an appointment Gerald had very kindly fitted her into his busy schedule, but she only had thirty minutes. Grateful, she had come prepared. She had it all in her head. A few pleasantries, enquiries after Stella, a great favourite, then Gerald listened in silence before summing up.

  “I have to tell you I’m astonished by all this, Cate,” he said. “Astonished matters have gone as far as they have. Either one of you could have got in touch with the other. So he’s English and living there. That doesn’t constitute a problem. Distance is no tyranny like in the old days.”

  She hadn’t told him Ashe was the fifth Baron Wyndham and a recent client of Inter-Austral. She had referred to him only as Julian Carlisle.

  “There is no doubt he is the father?” Gerald asked in his courtly voice. Gerald was a handsome man nearing sixty. He had a full head of silver hair, good unlined skin and piercing dark eyes. His grey suit and blue and silver silk tie were immaculate.

  Cate shook her head. “None at all. To make matters worse, they share the same distinctive blue eyes. Electric-blue. Frankly it’s incredible. My son has my blond colouring but he has Julian’s eyes.”

  Gravely Gerald nodded. “Surely you don’t expect him to go away, Cate? The fact you never told him he had a son casts a different light on matters. Clearly had he known he would have taken steps to gain custody of his child.”

  “I raised my son alone, Gerald. I’m not giving him up,” Cate said, trying to control her emotions. Jules was her Achilles heel.

  “You may have to share custody, my dear,” Gerald pointed out. “So try to prepare yourself. You say he has the money to fight you?”

  “He’s a wealthy man,” Cate said shortly. “Can I take out a restraining order against him?”

  Gerald frowned. “He hasn’t threatened you in any way?”

  “Only to say he wants his son.”

  Gerald spread his manicured hands. “Fair enough, wouldn’t you have said? We have fathers coming in here who’ve had a very tough time of it. I can’t help thinking as a man the law as it stands is weighted heavily towards the mother. No wonder these dangerous protests are being staged by fathers. It’s a desperate cry for attention.”

  “I agree.” Cate’s knees were beginning to shake. “So you’re on his side?”

  Gerald demurred. “As a lawyer, Cate, I must take a balanced view. Your Julian Carlisle has rights.” He paused, the skin of his high forehead wrinkling. “Oddly enough the name rings a bell. Julian Carlisle...Julian Carlisle...” he mused. “I’ve heard the name, I’m sure, in the past week. No worries, it will come to me.”

  “I’ll make it easy.” Cate made the decision. “You’ll find out anyway. Julian Carlisle is Lord Wyndham, the fifth Baron Wyndham. He’s in Australia at the moment.”

  Gerald started to drum his fingernails on the desk top. “This whole business could get into the papers.”

  “I know that.” She wanted to relax, but she couldn’t.

  “What about your job?” he asked. “Do you want to be in the papers? Hugh Saunders wouldn’t like any member of his staff being caught up in legal proceedings, especially custody of a child.”

  “I’ll lose everything before I lose my son.” Cate’s expression was closed.

  “Perhaps you could bring Lord Wyndham here?” Gerald suggested, scrutinising her closely. “The three of us could talk. There has to be an amicable solution to this, Cate. No court will give you sole custody, given the circumstances and the calibre of the man you’re up against. You must have cared for him once?”

  Cate raised her beautiful light green eyes. “He was the love of my life,” she said simply. “They say one person can ruin you for anyone else. They got it right.”

  “I’m not much of an expert.” He gave a faint grimace. Gerald had been divorced ten or more years previously. His wife had remarried soon after the divorce, weirdly enough to a younger clone of Gerald.

  “I don’t know if I can persuade him to come in here,” Cate said. “We parted in anger. Anyway, he does his own thing. I haven’t told you the full extent of his mother’s interference.”

  “There’s more?” Gerald expelled a breath.

  Cate nodded, giving him the full picture.

  * * *

  “When he returned from London, his mother told him I had left a note, basically saying I wanted out, it was all too much for me, I was too young. She was a talented artist, very good at sketching. I didn’t write any Dear John letter, Gerald. His mother wrote it.”

  Gerald’s brows, black in contrast to his silver hair, lifted. “You’re saying she forged it?”

  “She made use of her talents,” Cate said. “Though I didn’t hang around long enough to sight it,” she added with bitter regret. “God, I was eighteen. No age at all. I was so naïve I believed her. Ashe had taken himself off to London rather than tell me it was all over.”

  “And you believed her?” Gerald asked somewhat incredulously. Women in his experience were notorious liars.

  Cate nodded. “In a way I was in awe of her. Alicia was a law unto herself.”

  “You should have stayed.” Gerald rolled his Mont Blanc pen in his hands. “Given him a chance to explain.”

  “I know that now, Gerald. I didn’t know it then,” Cate said with deep regret.

  “But surely if he loved you he should have come after you?” Gerald persisted. “Money no object and all that?”

  “He believed h
is mother’s version of events. That says it all. The terrible thing is liars regularly get to be believed. Why exactly is that?”

  No reply from Gerald.

  “They rely on being believed, that’s why. The people they talk to know they’re liars yet they’re still believed. It’s really weird, like people confessing to crimes they didn’t commit. People are seriously flawed. Me included. Alicia backed up her version of events with a forged letter. There are so many versions in life. Different versions. Different viewpoints. A half a dozen people can tell six entirely different stories.” She took a deep breath, trying to steady herself. “I’m taking up your time, Gerald. It was very good of you to see me without an appointment. I can’t keep your other clients waiting.” She gathered up her handbag, then stood up.

  “Why don’t you put it to him, Cate? Surely Alicia has ceased to matter?’

  “Oh, she matters,” Cate said.

  “She certainly left her mark on you. This is your opportunity to put things straight, Cate.”

  “Only if he brings in a handwriting expert.”

  “Okay, let’s see what I can do.” Gerald pulled out a drawer. “He couldn’t do better than Georgie Warbuton. She’s the best.”

  Cate brightened. “I’ve heard of her. She’s a forensic document examiner, isn’t she?”

  Gerald handed over a business card. “Yes. Legal firms and the police have benefited from her amazing expertise. If there are flaws in the handwriting in your letter, Georgina will find it. Good luck.”

  “Thanks, Gerald,” Cate said with real feeling. “I’ll leave a message at his hotel.”

  “Strike while the iron’s hot,” Gerald urged. “You could cut out a lot of the angst, if you’re prepared to be reasonable, Cate. No need to anger Lord Wyndham further. Give him a chance. At the very least the two of you should talk, with a mediator to hand. We’re not just talking about the two of you. There’s your boy. You don’t want anything ugly around your boy. You said Jules took to him on sight?”