This couldn’t be easy for her, he knew, and he wished there were something he could do to help her, at the same time knowing that all he could do was to be there for her, as he had promised he would. The question of their own engagement would, no doubt, come under discussion later.
When he would do everything within his power to persuade May into making it fact…
‘Is it going to be all right, do you think?’ David prompted frowningly at his side, his worried gaze also concentrated on April and May.
All right for whom? For April and her three daughters? Jude had no idea how January and March were going to react to meeting April, or if they were going to react at all. As for May, he still wasn’t sure she didn’t have feelings for this man at his side, and if she did, then her mother’s engagement to David certainly wasn’t going to help any possible future relationship she might have with April.
‘We’ll have to wait and see, won’t we?’ he returned unhelpfully, his newly found charitable feelings, because of his love for May, certainly not extending as far as the man at his side.
The four seated around the table stood up as they all entered the lounge, Jude quickly taking in their individual reactions to April’s presence. Will looked admiring, as most men did when they first met April. Max looked pleased to renew their acquaintance. January and March were a little harder to read; after an initial brief glance at each other, their equally guarded gazes turned to May.
A May who was completely flustered as she tried to make the introductions.
‘See to the champagne, hmm,’ Jude instructed David Melton abruptly before stepping smoothly forward to stand at May’s side, taking her hand into his to squeeze reassuringly. ‘April and Max already know each other,’ he lightly took over when May gave his hand a grateful squeeze back. ‘Will Davenport,’ he told April as she shook the other man’s hand. ‘My architect, on occasion, and also March’s fiancé. And these two lovely ladies are May’s sisters, March and January.’ He smiled at the two of them.
His heart ached for April as she hesitated about what to do next, whether to shake the two sisters’ hands, or just smile warmly. But as her hands were obviously shaking badly, and the smile was more than a little rocky, too, as she looked on the verge of tears, Jude had a feeling that April wasn’t going to be able to achieve either with any degree of aplomb.
‘And this is April’s fiancé, David Melton.’ May was the one to step into the breach as the film director began to hand around the full champagne glasses.
January took the glass he held out to her. ‘Aren’t you the film director who offered May a role in your film?’ She frowned at him quizzically.
‘I am,’ he confirmed with a smile.
‘April is to play the starring role in the film.’ Once again it was May who spoke. ‘David asked me to play the role of Stella, her daughter,’ she added huskily.
Complete silence met this announcement, but Jude, deliberately watching March’s and January’s reactions this time, once again saw that look pass between the two younger sisters.
What did it mean?
Because there was definitely something in that look, something he couldn’t read, but which the two sisters obviously could.
May was looking at her sisters anxiously now, obviously wondering if she had gone too far, her hand trembling slightly in his.
‘Typecast, hmm.’ The more outspoken March was the one to finally speak, grey-green hazel eyes gleaming with rueful laughter.
‘What—?’
‘You—’
Both May and April began to speak at once, both stopping abruptly to turn and look at each other before turning sharply back to look at January as she spoke.
‘We know April is our mother, May,’ she said reassuringly. ‘We’ve always known,’ she added with a shy glance in April’s direction.
‘Well, since we were old enough to watch one of your films on the television or go to the cinema,’ March put in dryly.
Jude wasn’t sure whether it was May or April who looked the more stunned by this last statement.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
‘I SIMPLY can’t believe that the two of you have always known the truth.’ May looked at March and January exasperatedly.
The eight of them had adjourned to the impartiality of Jude’s hotel suite after the bluntness of January and March’s admission, the four men having gravitated to the other end of this vast sitting-room, chatting away quite amiably as they sat and enjoyed the champagne, at the same time leaving the four women to the privacy they so desperately needed—even from the menfolk in their lives.
Although May wasn’t too sure about the so-called ‘man in her life’, had no idea what she and Jude were going to do about their ‘engagement’ when all of this was over…
March gave a shrug. ‘You and Dad always seemed so sensitive about the subject, so we just never mentioned it.’ She turned to April. ‘But we both knew the first time we saw one of your films. You don’t forget your own mother,’ she added huskily.
‘Certainly not,’ January confirmed forcefully. ‘We’ve been so quietly proud of you,’ she told April shyly.
May had to blink back the tears—again—at this further admission of her sisters’ pact of silence concerning their mother, and she could see that April was visibly moved, too. Don’t hurt them again, she silently willed the other woman. Please!
April swallowed hard, her face pale. ‘I—’
‘A little angry, too, of course,’ March put in sharply. ‘After all, we may have been proud of you, but we would much rather have had you at home. With us,’ she added gruffly, her usually abrupt manner shaken for a moment.
April closed her eyes briefly, the tears escaping down the paleness of her cheeks, clinging to her lashes as she looked at them all once again. ‘Believe it or not, I would much rather have been at home with you all, too—’
‘But—’
‘With you all,’ April repeated firmly over the top of May’s protest, holding her gaze steadily as she continued to speak. ‘I loved the three of you, but I loved your father very much, too.’
Now May was completely thrown, had never thought— But Jude had pointed out to her only last night that April had never remarried; maybe she had never done so because she still loved their father…?
April gave a heavy sigh. ‘I can see I shall have to try and explain it all to you—except I don’t really understand it all myself.’ Her hands twisted together in her lap. ‘I was eighteen when I married your father, nineteen when May was born, and March and January obviously came along shortly after that, too,’ she added affectionately. ‘We were such a happy family.’ She frowned. ‘Everything was perfect. And then—I belonged to the local amateur dramatic society, was spotted by an agent, and offered a role in a play then touring the country, but ultimately arriving in London for a six-week run.’
So like her with the film role David had offered, May realised, also acknowledging the lure she had felt to accept the offer despite the upheaval it would have created on the farm. Had her mother felt that same pull, despite having a husband and children?
April grimaced. ‘James wasn’t happy about the situation, naturally. And for weeks I accepted that, knew that it wasn’t really practical, that I had responsibilities.’
As May had realised she had responsibilities to March and January…
But she had acted on those responsibilities—their mother so obviously hadn’t.
She gave Jude a less than confident smile as he looked across at her with frowning concern; it was still too early in this conversation to know where it was going exactly…
‘I so wanted to do it, you see,’ April acknowledged huskily. ‘I was only twenty-four, and the chance to act, to go to London—it was like a fairy tale come true.’ She gave a sigh. ‘So I spoke to James about it again, explained that I could travel home on Sundays, that we could get someone in to look after you all with the money I would earn, that it would only be for a matter of weeks,
that once I had done this thing it would be out of my system.’
May knew the aching need April was talking about, had felt it herself these last few weeks, a mixture of excitement at the prospect of succeeding, with disappointment that, because of the circumstances, she would never know the answer to that.
April shrugged. ‘I pleaded with James to just let me have this one chance. He—he gave me an ultimatum, said that if I went out the door with the idea of acting in the play, that I would never come back in it.’ She gave a shake of her head, her face white now. ‘I didn’t think he meant it.’
‘But he did,’ March said heavily.
April swallowed hard. ‘Yes, he did. I couldn’t believe it at first.’ She shook her head. ‘The company had toured as far as Manchester when I received a letter from a solicitor, accusing me of unreasonable behaviour for deserting my husband, and three children all under the age of five. I telephoned James immediately, of course, but he refused to speak to me, said that any communications between the two of us in future would be made through his lawyer.’
This was all news to May, but, despite her own anger towards April and her deep love for her father, she could actually believe that he was capable of doing what April said he had; May’s love for him hadn’t made her blind to the fact that James Calendar had been a hard, uncompromising man.
April’s hands were gripped together so tightly now that her knuckles showed white. ‘Your father received full custody of the three of you at the divorce, by claiming I was an unfit mother who had deserted her children in favour of an acting career, bringing in the fact that I was now of no particular fixed abode, with a career that was at best nefarious. I was given limited access, to be agreed with your father.’ The tears began to fall again. ‘He never agreed. We went back to court several times, but your father always had so many reasons why it wasn’t practical for me to have the three of you to even stay with me, one of you had a cold and he wouldn’t allow the other two to come without you, or the four of you had something else planned for the day I suggested. None of it was helped by the fact that I couldn’t find any more work after the play had finished its run, that I was having to stay in a run-down boarding house. By the time I was in a position to have you with me, three years had passed. James assured me that none of you even remembered me,’ she added achingly.
Oh, they had remembered their mother all right. All of them had, May now realised dazedly.
Max was right, nothing was ever completely black or white; there were always several shades of grey in between…
‘I never stopped loving James,’ their mother told them huskily. ‘A part of me always continued to hope—but it wasn’t to be.’ She sighed softly. ‘The whole situation went too far. There was no common ground on which we could agree, let alone come to terms over, least of all our children.’ She grimaced. ‘So I left England. Went to America to start again. And the rest, as they say, is history.’ She looked down at her hands.
‘Not quite.’ May spoke up at last, more moved than she would ever have believed possible by what she had just heard. She wasn’t sure she would have survived as composed and charming as April undoubtedly was if she had found herself in the same position. ‘You didn’t just move to America and forget about all of us—’
‘Of course not.’ April looked deeply shocked at the suggestion. ‘Never a day went by when I didn’t think about you, wonder what you looked like now, long to be there to share in your laughter, to dry your tears whenever you were hurt or upset. But it was all too difficult, because of the situation between your father and me, and so I—’
‘You sent him money to help bring us up,’ May put in softly, nodding confirmation of this fact to January and March as they gave her a surprised look; they didn’t remember any luxurious influxes of money during their childhood, either. ‘Dad never touched a penny of it,’ she told them. ‘I discovered it all sitting in a bank account after he died.’
‘But—’
‘How could he—?’
‘Please don’t blame your father,’ April cut in on January’s and March’s protests. ‘He—he did what he thought was for the best.’
May looked at her. ‘You can still say that, after what he did to you, as well as to us?’
‘I told you, I loved him. Always,’ April added emotionally. ‘I didn’t know he had died until after—after the funeral, must have cried for a week once I learnt of his death. You don’t have to be with someone in order to continue loving them,’ she added simply.
‘But afterwards.’ March frowned. ‘Why didn’t you come to see us then?’
April gave the ghost of a smile. ‘I thought I had.’
It all suddenly became crystal-clear to May; April’s obvious friendship with David, his offer to her of a part in his film, the fact that April was to be the star of that film…
She looked at April with tear-wet eyes now. ‘Did David know that it was your own daughter that you had asked him to come and watch act?’
April gave May a tearful smile at her astuteness. ‘Not until I told him last night, no,’ she acknowledged. ‘He was as dumbfounded as everyone else has been!’
‘But you were the one who sent him to Yorkshire to watch me in the pantomime, weren’t you?’ May realised emotionally.
It all made such sense now, David ‘happening’ to be in the audience that night, the fact that he had sought her out to offer the film role, his persistence since then, April’s own appearance for added pressure.
‘David’s sister lives in the area—’
‘I know that,’ May dismissed impatiently. ‘But it was still you who asked him to come and watch me act, wasn’t it?’
April gave her a concerned look. ‘He wouldn’t have offered you the part if he hadn’t thought you were good enough—’
‘I know that,’ May assured her gently, her smile encouraging now. ‘How did you know about my acting in the amateur dramatic society?’
April swallowed hard. ‘I made a few enquiries about you all after your father died. I came to watch you one evening before talking to David. I—don’t be cross, May,’ she added pleadingly at May’s start of surprise. ‘Don’t you understand, I had to finally see at least one of you?’
‘Even if we didn’t see you?’ May frowned.
‘Even then.’ April nodded sadly.
May shook her head, standing up. ‘I’m not in the least cross,’ she assured huskily, moving to stand close to where April sat. ‘I can’t even begin to imagine what it must have been like for you all these years…!’ she murmured emotionally. ‘To know, and yet never to feel you had the right to—oh, Mum,’ she choked tearfully as she bent down to hug the woman who was still her mother.
Jude had been watching the four women concernedly even while he gave the appearance of joining in the conversation with the other three men, an emotional lump in his throat as he saw May stand up and move forward to hug April, tears falling softly down the cheeks of both women.
It was going to be all right, he realised as January and March stood up to do the same thing, May standing to one side of them now, sobbing uncontrollably.
He stood up compulsively. ‘If you gentlemen will excuse me?’ he bit out abruptly, not even sparing them a second glance as he crossed the room to May’s side. ‘Come with me,’ he told her softly even as he took a firm hold of her arm and took her through to the adjoining bedroom, closing the door firmly behind him before taking her into his arms, gently stroking her hair as she continued to cry against his shoulder.
‘I’m so proud of you, May,’ he told her gruffly. ‘So proud!’
He loved this woman—how he loved her—and seeing her cry like this was like a physical pain.
‘This is stupid,’ May finally surfaced to murmur, wiping impatiently at her tear-wet cheeks. ‘I have no idea why I’m still crying,’ she added disgustedly.
Jude moved to the bedside table and gave her a tissue from the box there, giving her a few more seconds to mop up the tear
s. The result, if she did but know it, wasn’t exactly flattering, her eyes puffy and bloodshot, her cheeks blotched with red. But she still looked utterly beautiful to Jude, so much so that he desperately wanted to take her back in his arms and kiss her—something he was sure she wouldn’t welcome from him at the moment.
‘It’s been an emotional time for you all,’ he murmured noncommittally.
‘Yes,’ she acknowledged gruffly. ‘I—we’ll work it out, Jude,’ she assured him determinedly. ‘Love, I’ve just realised, makes people behave in strange ways.’
‘Yes,’ Jude confirmed flatly, thinking of his own reaction now to having fallen in love with May; he hadn’t exactly been gracious about it, had he?
Was it too late for them? Would May ever be able to forgive him for some of the things he had said and done this last week? He certainly hoped so, because the thought of his life without her in it was a very bleak prospect, indeed…
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
MAY looked up at Jude, feeling almost shy with him now in the intimacy of his hotel bedroom. ‘You were going away,’ she reminded him.
‘Yes,’ he confirmed heavily. ‘But I was coming back.’ He indicated he obviously still had possession of the hotel suite, several of his personal belongings in the room, a couple of books on the bedside table, several suits hanging in the wardrobe.
‘Oh.’ She nodded, moistening dry lips. ‘Are you still going?’
He drew in a ragged breath. ‘Not if I can persuade you into making our engagement a reality, no…’
May looked up at him sharply, her gaze searching, looking for signs of mockery in his face. There weren’t any, only the gleaming silver eyes showing any expression, and it wasn’t mockery… ‘Jude…?’ she murmured uncertainly.
His hands clenched into fists at his sides. ‘May, I’ve been a fool, an arrogant, pigheaded—’ He broke off as she began to laugh. ‘It isn’t funny,’ he said exasperatedly. ‘Here I am trying to apologize, and you’re laughing at me!’
The Deserving Mistress Page 15