by Penny Jordan
‘Would you?’ Stuart challenged angrily. ‘You’re so filled with your own hatred of him that you can’t even see what’s under your nose. Your own feelings are so important to you that you never even thought properly about what Cathy’s feelings might be, about the fact that she might need to know her father, to meet him, to talk to him.
‘You can’t even see that Cathy’s too afraid of hurting you, too anxious to protect you, to tell you how much she wants to know him.’
Abbie turned to look at her daughter.
‘Cathy, is this true?’ she demanded painfully.
Cathy’s expression gave her her answer.
‘Why have you never told me…said something?’ she whispered.
‘I…I didn’t want to hurt you…’
‘She knew you wouldn’t understand,’ Stuart informed Abbie brutally. ‘And she knew as well that you wouldn’t even allow her to have such feelings, to be curious about him, to want to know him—to do anything other than share your own bitterness.
‘All you’ve ever told Cathy about her father is how he deserted you both. How he wasn’t fit to be her father. How do you think that made her feel—to know how much you hated someone who was actually part of herself…?’
‘I just wanted to protect you,’ Abbie whispered to Cathy. ‘I didn’t want you to be hurt by him as… Oh, Cathy…’ Abbie reached out to hug her daughter, and then froze in shock as Cathy retreated from her, turning instead into Stuart’s arms.
‘I’m sorry about all this, Mum,’ she whispered, ‘but what Stuart says is true. I did want to see my father, to meet him, to know him… You mustn’t blame Stuart for what’s happened…he just wanted to make me happy.’ She raised her face towards her fiancé’s and smiled tearfully at him.
‘He’s only just told me about trying to find my father. He wanted to bring us together.’
‘You had no right to interfere,’ Abbie protested to Stuart, still in shock.
‘I had every right,’ Stuart contradicted her flatly. ‘I love Cathy and I want her to be happy, and if meeting her father is what she wants—’
‘It might be what she wants,’ Abbie interrupted him, ‘but as for it making her happy…’ She stopped.
‘I know all those years ago that he didn’t want me, that he refused to believe I was his child,’ Cathy told her gently, ‘but times change, Mum. People change…’
‘Some people may do,’ Abbie agreed bitterly, ‘but I’m not one of them. I haven’t changed.’
‘You loved him once,’ Cathy reminded her tremulously.
‘I thought I loved him,’ Abbie corrected her sharply, ‘and I thought that he loved me—but I was wrong. On both counts.’
CHAPTER FIVE
‘SO TELL me again what happened,’ Fran commanded. ‘God, it’s at times like this that I wish I’d never given up smoking…’ She gave a heartfelt sigh.
Abbie gave her a wry look.
‘I’ve already told you—twice.’
‘I know, and I still can’t believe it.’
They were sitting in Fran’s kitchen, either side of the large pine table in the middle of the room.
‘You mean that Stuart was trying to make a few discreet enquiries about Sam to try and track him down and then he suddenly turned up here out of the blue without any warning?’
‘Apparently, if Stuart’s to be believed,’ Abbie told her grimly, her face crumpling as she admitted, ‘Oh, Fran, I still can’t take it in. Why, why has Cathy never said anything to me about wanting to meet him?’ She drew a deep breath as she saw the compassion in her best friend’s eyes.
‘You think the same as Stuart and his damned mother, don’t you?’ she accused. ‘You think that Cathy was too afraid to tell me…and that I was too full of my own feelings, my own needs, to be aware of what Cathy might want.’
‘I don’t think it’s as clear-cut as all that,’ Fran told her gently. ‘Of course I understand why you feel the way you do, Abbie. Any mother would—just wait until Cathy has children of her own—but logically I can see why Cathy should be curious about him. It’s a natural instinct in a child to want to know his or her parents.
‘I do understand how you feel, Abbie,’ she said, gently stretching out to cover her friend’s hand with her own. ‘Don’t forget, I was there—even if I was only on the fringe of things at the time. I saw what the break-up of your marriage did to you, but…’
‘But what?’ Abbie challenged her.
‘Sam did try to get in touch with you so that the two of you could talk,’ she reminded Abbie gently. ‘You said so yourself at the time, and he wanted to make financial provision for you both.’
‘To talk…what about?’ Abbie demanded. ‘About how positive he was that Cathy couldn’t possibly be his child and how sure he was that I must be having an affair with someone else?’
‘It must have been a terrible shock for him when you told him that you were pregnant,’ Fran suggested gently. ‘Especially in those days. Now we know so much more about the results of such operations; we know that there is a very small risk of a woman who has been sterilised becoming pregnant or a man who has had a vasectomy fathering a child. But back then… And you have to remember that in Sam’s case his shock must have been compounded by his guilt. To see you so obviously thrilled and excited at the thought of having a child when he knew, or thought he knew, that he could not give you one. You’ve said yourself that having a family wasn’t something you’d ever really discussed.’
‘You think I was wrong, don’t you, Fran? If he’d just said that he couldn’t understand how I had conceived,’ Abbie blurted out, her normally strictly controlled emotions overwhelming her, ‘then perhaps we could have talked it through. But to accuse me of having an affair—and with Lloyd—when he knew… I’d never had sex with anyone but him, Fran.’
She looked away from her friend and added in a low, reluctant voice, ‘I still never have.’
As she looked back at her friend she could see that her admission had surprised her.
‘What did you imagine?’ she mocked her, with a return to her normal slightly acerbic manner. ‘That I’ve had a secret sex life of unimaginable debauchery?’ She shook her head. ‘I’ve never wanted sex enough for it to be an appetite I could satisfy without a very deep emotional bond with my partner, and I’ve…since Sam I…
‘Life’s not very fair to our sex, is it? Technically we’re given the freedom to indulge our sexual appetites without the risk of an unwanted pregnancy, without the economic need to find ourselves a mate to support us, but in nine out of ten cases our emotions let us down every time.’
‘Try not to be too hard on Stuart and Cathy,’ Fran warned her quietly. ‘I’m sure that Stuart believes he acted from the best of motives. He’s young and he’s very much in love. He probably can’t see beyond his desire to make Cathy happy…’
‘His desire to make Cathy happy?’ Abbie asked her tiredly. ‘Or his mother’s desire to meddle? Oh, I’m sorry,’ she apologised, closing her eyes and lifting her hand to rub her aching neck muscles. ‘I just don’t know what’s happening to me these days, Fran. But ever since Cathy and Stuart got engaged I feel as if…as though…’
‘As though you’re losing her?’ Fran suggested softly.
Abbie flushed slightly and avoided looking at her before admitting gruffly, ‘It’s ridiculous, I know, for me to feel jealous because my daughter’s fallen in love, because there’s someone in her life who’s now more important to her than I am. I keep telling myself that I’m overreacting, reminding myself that to all intents and purposes Cathy had already left home before she met Stuart, that it’s only natural that Stuart’s mother wants to help with the organisation of the wedding, and yet, at the same time, deep down inside I feel hurt and resentful and, yes, pushed out…redundant…
‘It’s not just that Cathy doesn’t seem to need me any more, but that she doesn’t seem to want me either—it’s as if I’m a nuisance, a burden, as if I’m standing in the way
of her new life. And Stuart’s family can give her so much more than I can, Fran. Every time I see Stuart’s mother I can almost see her thinking what a poor mother I am, congratulating herself on her own superiority. And, of course, because Stuart thinks she’s wonderful, Cathy also—’
‘Cathy loves you,’ Fran interrupted her calmly. ‘And if you want my opinion I suspect that Stuart’s mother feels rather intimidated by you and by what you’ve achieved, Abbie. Yes, she’s fulfilling the traditional matriarchal role in her family, but she’s never had to go out and prove herself as you have done. I’m not being unkind, but it’s no secret locally that both her family and Stuart’s father’s have always been pretty comfortably off. Materially, she’s never wanted for anything, never had to worry…and she’s certainly never had to even think about having to support herself. And as for her own family life…
‘Well, she and I are both members of the same committee. She’s the chairperson and I’m one of the lowliest of the low, but I have heard whispers of gossip that there was a time when her eldest daughter did rather rebel against the kind of mothering that some people prefer to call smothering. Personally, the mere fact that she’s even suggested taking over the planning of the wedding suggests to me an incredible lack of tact, but it isn’t Stuart’s mother that really bothers you, is it?’
‘No,’ Abbie admitted. ‘It’s Cathy. She seems to have changed so much since she and Stuart fell in love…’
‘She’s growing up, Abbie, establishing her own identity and her independence, and you forget sometimes that the role model you’ve given her, with all that you’ve achieved, is a pretty tough challenge for her to try to meet, never mind match.’
‘I did what I did because I had to, not because I wanted to,’ Abbie protested. ‘Given the choice, the chance, there was nothing I would have wanted more than to be a proper stay-at-home mother, to have a big family, to give Cathy brothers and sisters…a father…’ she added in a strained whisper.
‘You are a proper mother,’ Fran assured her firmly. ‘You’ve worked so hard, Abbie, to build up your business. I can remember the days when you had three different part-time jobs in order to support Cathy and yourself, and yet you still managed to spend time with her, give her more time than many full-time mothers. And look at the way you mother everyone who works for you. You’ve got a mothering instinct a mile wide, and if I had a pound for every time my two complain that they wish I was more like you I’d be a very wealthy woman.’
‘Why did Sam have to come back, Fran?’ Abbie returned to the problem uppermost in her mind. ‘Why couldn’t he just have left us alone? I’m so afraid, Fran.’ She gave a little shiver. ‘Afraid that I’m going to lose Cathy for good, and yet I can’t…I can’t change my feelings…how I still feel about Sam…’
‘Why don’t you tell Cathy what you’ve told me?’ Fran suggested softly to her. ‘I’m sure when she understands—’
‘I can’t,’ Abbie interrupted her fiercely. ‘If I do she’ll think that I’m trying to put emotional pressure on her not to see her father, and it’s obvious that she does want to see him…’
‘You know what you need, don’t you?’ Fran told her firmly. ‘You need a bit of romantic interest of your own in your life—a relationship.’
‘A relationship? What on earth for?’ Abbie scoffed. ‘Don’t you think my life has enough complications in it already?’
‘Well, for one thing, if I were in your shoes I should find it rather ego-boosting to face a man I once loved and who once hurt me very badly with another man at my side, to show him and the rest of the world that he doesn’t matter to me any more. And for another… Well, let’s just say that it’s high time you started rounding out your life a little bit more and taking advantage of the unfair natural advantages you have over the rest of us. I promise you, if I were single and I had your looks, I wouldn’t be sitting at home every night on my own.’
‘No?’ Abbie queried dryly. ‘And where, pray tell me, am I supposed to find this man…this relationship?’
‘Well, I could always lend you Lloyd to practise on,’ Fran told her mischievously. ‘Now, that would set the cat amongst the pigeons and set your Sam wondering…’
‘He is not my Sam,’ Abbie reminded her. ‘And as for him doing any wondering about my personal relationships with members of his sex, or lack of them—I doubt that he’d care one way or the other.’
‘Do you want him to?’ Fran asked her.
Abbie gave her an angry look. ‘No, of course I don’t—how could I? The only thing I want from Sam is for him to disappear.’
* * *
An hour later Abbie was on her way home, having first called to collect her car from the hotel car park and assure Dennis that, yes, she was perfectly all right and fully recovered, and then made a second call to the small office she rented in the high street to check with her assistant and see if there were any urgent matters she needed to attend to.
Her face burned a little as she remembered Dennis’s concerned enquiries. Even though he hadn’t actually witnessed what had happened for himself, she knew he must have heard about it from those who had. Of all the things, large and small, she had regretted doing in her life, her failure to conceal her shock at seeing Sam last night currently came top of the list.
But surely Sam would not have the gall to imagine her shocked reaction might have been because she was still nursing a broken heart over him? He must know exactly how she felt about him, how fierce and deep her hatred ran. After all, she had made it plain enough all those years ago when he had had the audacity, the sheer heart-wrenching inability to guess what he was doing to her, to try and suggest that they attempt to resolve their differences.
Her parents had gently suggested that it might be best if she did talk to him, and she remembered how hurt and upset she had been that they could even think such a thing.
Were doubts about paternity to happen today, of course, things would be different: there were DNA tests which could be taken to prove beyond doubt the identity of the father of a child. But she was glad that such an option had not been open to her. The last thing she would have wanted was to feel that a man was accepting paternity of her child begrudgingly and reluctantly.
She swallowed fiercely as she turned the car into her drive and switched off the engine. It was a pity that her parents were away visiting friends in the Dordogne; they would have understood how she felt.
Gathering up her handbag and the post she had collected from the office, she headed for the back door, keys at the ready—only when she inserted them she discovered that the door was already unlocked.
Frowning, she stepped forward uncertainly, her body tensing slightly, and opened the door. Only she and Cathy had keys for the house. Did that mean that her daughter had perhaps been having second thoughts?
As she stepped into the kitchen Abbie came to an abrupt halt. It wasn’t Cathy who was sitting in one of the pretty patchwork-cushioned chairs, talking to the purring cat who had removed herself from her customary bed beside the Aga and climbed onto his knee, but Sam.
Gently dislodging the cat, he stood up, watching her unsmilingly.
Hugging her letters and bag as fiercely to her body as though they were a lifeline, Abbie demanded furiously, ‘What are you doing here? How did you get in?’
‘Cathy loaned me her keys,’ he told her quietly, then added in a voice that was markedly calm in contrast to her own shocked fury, but still ominously determined for all that, ‘We need to talk.’
Standing up to his full height here in her kitchen, with less than three feet between them, he seemed very much taller and bigger than he had done last night. But then she was wearing flat shoes, Abbie recognised. It irked her that he should appear so calmly and comfortably at home in her own house whilst she felt so on edge and caught off guard, but then he would have done that deliberately, knowing that she wouldn’t be expecting him, knowing that her shock would give him the edge over her… the advantage.
&
nbsp; There were two ways she could deal with this, she decided. Either passively, by refusing to say or do anything and simply walking away from him, or with aggression, by letting him know that there was nothing, nothing he could say or do that could ever change her feelings or her determination to keep him out of their lives. Their lives…
Passivity had never been her strong suit, she acknowledged. She preferred action.
‘We need to talk?’ she queried coldly. ‘Since when did you have the right to claim to know what I may or may not need, Sam?’ She gave him an icy smile. ‘You may wish to talk to me, but I assure you I have no desire and certainly no need to talk to you.’
‘We need to talk. Not for our own sakes,’ Sam continued, as though she simply hadn’t spoken, ‘but for our daughter’s.’
‘Our daughter’s?’ Abbie nearly choked on her fury as she glared at him. ‘You have no daughter,’ she spat at him. ‘Cathy is mine, all mine. You didn’t want her. You denied that you could ever have fathered her…remember?’
‘I made a mistake. I was wrong. I didn’t realise then…’
Abbie continued to stare at him, the blood draining out of her face as the shock of what he was saying made her body tremble.
She hadn’t realised until now how much she had been depending on him rejecting Cathy for a second time.
‘No,’ she whispered in a paper-thin voice. ‘Cathy isn’t your child,’ she denied. ‘Cathy is my child. She’s always been mine. She never—’
‘She never what? She never wanted to know anything about me, to have anything to do with me? She hates me as much as you do? Those are your feelings, not Cathy’s, Abbie,’ he told her sternly, shaking his head whilst Abbie’s heart turned over in anguish at the easy way in which Cathy’s name had slipped off his tongue, as though for all the world he were used to saying it, as though he had been calling her Cathy, his Cathy, from the day of her birth and not…
‘Cathy got in touch with me, not the other way round,’ he reminded her, but Abbie wouldn’t let him continue.