The Hidden Years

by Penny Jordan

  'I'll convey your wishes to Liz, of course,' he added formally. 'I've just passed her in the village, so if you don't mind I'll wait for her to return.'

  'She knows you've approached me?' Edward demanded suspiciously.

  Ian shook his head.

  'No, she doesn't. She believes I'm making enquiries into finding someone to abort her child.'

  When Liz returned he knew immediately that something had distressed her. She gazed at him through heavy-lidded, pain-filled eyes, so obviously unable to concentrate fully on what he had to say to her that he led her gently into the garden and made her sit down on a sheltered stone seat.

  'I've told Edward about your pregnancy,' he told her without preamble.

  If she was shocked it barely showed. Only the widening of her agonised eyes reflected her awareness of having heard him.

  'He has agreed that you may keep the child.'

  Now he did have her attention. She was staring at him, her eyes dilating.

  'There are certain conditions, though; primarily that you will agree never to see the child's father or in any way meet him again, and secondly that the child will be excluded from inheriting any part of Cottingdean.

  'It isn't too late, you know, Liz… You could leave him…'

  She shook her head and spoke for the first time. 'No. No, I couldn't… It would be like signing his death warrant… I couldn't have that on my conscience.'

  Ian didn't deny it. They both knew that what she said was true but nevertheless he pointed out gently, 'But you were prepared to institute the death of your child.'

  She went white and then grey, her whole body trembling as she whispered, 'What alternative did I have?' And then in anguish, 'Will Edward really allow me to keep my baby?'

  For the first time since he had known her she sounded young and insecure.

  'Yes,' Ian confirmed but added warningly, 'He isn't happy with the situation and I dare say there will be times when he wishes he had not done so, when he will make you feel very uncomfortable. He loves you, Liz… in the way that a man does love a woman he desires, and he's very, very jealous, all the more so because fate has seen fit to destroy his ability to make love to you himself, to father his own children on you. Unfortunately removing the physical ability to have sex does not necessarily remove the emotional desire for it at the same time.

  'It won't be easy for you, that's why I'm cautioning you now to think carefully—and then there's the child. He may take his resentment out on him or her,' he warned her. 'You do understand,' he told her gently, 'that to the world the child will have to appear to be fathered by Edward, that his pride wouldn't allow anything else?'

  'But that's impossible.'

  'Not necessarily. There is a way, a process, familiar enough to you I'm sure from your work with your stock…'

  When he explained it to her she frowned and then smiled faintly. 'You think people will believe it?'

  'Why not? It isn't unheard of for couples to want more than one child. Handled properly and openly…a little discreet information dropped that the process is still so chancy that no one wanted to say anything until the pregnancy was properly established… It's down to you, really, Liz. Down to how you behave. This child when it arrives can be yours and your lover's, or it can be yours and Edward's… It all depends on you.

  'Oh, and by the way—I wouldn't say anything to Edward about it yet.'

  In the end Liz was five months pregnant before Edward made any reference to her condition. They were having dinner with the Lord Lieutenant and his wife. The former had been praising Liz for the work she was doing at the mill, and then his wife leaned across to congratulate her on the coming birth.

  'Yes,' Edward responded for her. 'We're both very pleased that things have worked out so well, aren't we, darling?' He took hold of her hand and squeezed it firmly, giving .her one of his rare, warm smiles. 'Of course the procedure is a bit chancy, so we've kept our plans very much to ourselves…'

  'I think it's wonderful,' Lady Susan enthused. 'One child never makes a family, does it? I expect you're hoping for a girl this time?'

  'I don't think either of us mind just so long as the baby's healthy,' Liz said quietly.

  Edward was still taking his medication. On the surface he appeared to be better, but there were still moments when she sensed the helpless impotent rage building up inside him. Times when she feared not so much for herself but for her unborn and vulnerable child. But then his mood would change and he would become tearful, repentant, dependent and helpless, reminding her of how much he needed her.

  David was home from school for the Easter vacation. He had been told about the pregnancy and seemed genuinely happy at the thought of having a younger sibling.

  This time, when she could have afforded to spend a little more recklessly on preparing for the new arrival, Liz was careful to keep her preparations to a minimum. Her condition was something that was rarely mentioned between Edward and herself. He had withdrawn from her quite pointedly during the early months of her pregnancy, but now he seemed to be opening up to her again, although she knew instinctively that he would never feel for this child the love he felt for David.

  Which meant that she would never be able to show it more love than she did her son. Edward would be watching jealously to see that this new baby received no special favours… no special marks of maternal adoration.

  She placed her hand on her stomach. The baby was due towards the end of July, but already she was quite large. Far larger, she was sure, than she had been when she was carrying David.

  Her pains started on the thirtieth of July during the early hours of the morning. On Ian Holmes's advice she had elected to have the baby at home, and as soon as she realised how swift and sharp her pains were she rang through to him, and to the local midwife.

  They arrived within minutes of one another, just in time to realise that the birth was going to take place very quickly indeed.

  'That's the trouble with second babies,' the midwife chuckled, 'they're always in such a rush… It all comes from trying to catch up with their older brothers and sisters.'

  As she chatted she was giving Liz instructions; a plump, motherly woman, she had an air of serenity and experience about her that would have calmed the most nervous of mothers-to-be, Liz reflected, dutifully following her commands.

  'Just one more push, now… Come along, my lovely… Oh, yes, here she is… a beautiful baby girl, and she's got the most wonderful head of hair… Here you are!' She beamed, gently wiping clean the newborn infant, and handing her to Liz just as she opened her mouth and gave her first outraged cry.

  Liz was still laughing gently at her new daughter when she suddenly felt another sharp, searing pain explode inside her.

  She tensed so much that the baby cried out in her grasp and the midwife, who had turned away, turned sharply back, and then exclaimed, 'Oh, my goodness… I do believe…'

  Quickly removing the baby from Liz's grasp and placing her expertly in the waiting crib, she said urgently to Liz, 'Better hang on a second, my dear… I think we're going to have another new arrival…'

  'Another?' Liz stared at her and then gasped as she felt the resurgence of pain engulf her.

  'Well, now, aren't you a lucky girl?' the midwife was saying beamingly. 'Twins, and a boy and a girl, although your young man's a bit on the small side. Never mind— boys often are smaller at birth. I suppose we shouldn't be surprised. Your stomach was quite a size. Well, your husband is going to be surprised, isn't he? I'll just clean you up a bit and then he can come in and see you—'

  'No…' Her denial was sharp and instinctive. She wanted, needed this special time alone with her babies, so that she could share with them, if only mentally, a special communion which by rights should have included their father. Two babies, two special gifts—she felt her heart melt and overflow with love as she looked down into their faces. Her breath caught in her throat as she looked a second time at her newborn daughter. Now in these hours just afte
r the birth she could see so clearly in her face the image of Lewis. She felt tears well in her eyes as she hugged them both to her, whispering weepily to them, 'So precious… You're both so very very precious.'

  Edward insisted on posting an announcement in The Times, even though for some reason Liz would have preferred him not to do so.

  They had decided to call the twins Nicholas and Sage, although Edward had baulked a little at this rather unusual name for his 'daughter'.

  Liz had insisted. It had been the name of Lewis's grandmother, he'd told her in passing once, and even though she knew she was being ridiculously, dangerously sentimental she hadn't been able to resist the impulse, the need almost to give at least one of her children something of its father.

  She had promised Edward that neither twin would ever know the truth about their parentage. Just as she had promised she would never again meet with Lewis himself.

  Edward had eventually asked the name of her lover and Liz had told him, and since then the subject had been closed between them.

  She wondered where Lewis was now… Back in Australia, of course.

  In the early days after the birth, when she felt weak and emotional, she couldn't help wondering if he ever thought of her, of how different things might have been, if… So many ifs… Ifs she must not allow herself to contemplate even in the privacy of her own thoughts.

  Only Lewis McLaren wasn't in Australia. He was in London, growing bitter and disillusioned as he dwelt on the pain of loving a woman who had said she loved him in return but who had lied. And then, by one of those chances of which fate was so fond, one morning when he was staying with friends, he happened to see the announcement in The Times, heralding the arrival of Major Edward Danvers's son and daughter.

  He knew instantly, of course. Knew and could hardly believe the enormity of the deceit which had been practised against him.

  His child, his children—claimed by another man… His children… his children…

  Without even thinking of what he was doing he hired a car and drove straight down to Cottingdean.

  The twins were three weeks old… Edward had been suffering from a slight inflammation on his lungs, and Ian had insisted on him going to the local hospital where he could be X-rayed.

  Liz went with him. Edward was her husband and she suspected that from now on he would be watching her jealously to see that she did not favour the twins, did not give them more attention than she gave him or David, and so, despite the fact that she was still not fully recovered from the birth, and that she was feeding the twins herself, she ignored Edward's half-hearted objections that her place was with the twins and drove him to the hospital.

  The wife of one of the mill workers, Mrs Palmer, had offered to take charge of the babies in Liz's absence. She was a cheerfully jolly woman with children and grandchildren of her own, and she often helped out at Cottingdean when they had visitors. When Lewis arrived on the doorstep she welcomed him in. She remembered him from his previous visit and had rather a soft spot for him. A good-looking man, and pleasant with it.

  When he asked to see the twins, she thought it a bit odd; men weren't generally interested in babies, but then he had probably heard how they had been conceived and was curious about them, so she took him up to the airy, warm nursery, and then excused herself for a few minutes to go downstairs and see if she could find Chivers and get him to make their visitor a pot of tea.

  Left alone with his children, Lewis stared at them. The girl was alert, bright-eyed, noisy; the boy… The boy was quieter, more solemn… The boy—his son… his child… Without knowing it he had picked Nicholas out of his crib and was holding him. The girl started to cry as though she resented the attention he was giving her brother. Soon the woman would be back—but these were his children. This was his son… The son who by rights should be brought up on Woolonga, should be brought up to inherit… These would be his only children, his only son, because he had made up his mind that he would never marry again now…

  The decision to walk downstairs, outside and get into his car still holding the baby was not one he made consciously, but somehow or other it was done… Somehow or other he was on his way back to London, driving not back to his friends, but to the airport, where he booked himself a seat on the first flight home… A flight which was due to leave within the hour. How fortunate that he had had his dead son included on his passport—it made it all seem all the more the right thing to do somehow. He had lost one child already—he wasn't going to lose another. He might not be able to have Liz but at least he had their child—one of their children. He felt a moment's anger with himself that he hadn't taken them both, but it was too late now. He could not go back.

  A father returning home with his child… Poor man, he looked so haggard, thought the girl at the check-in desk. What had happened to his wife? Even in these modern days a woman could still die in childbirth…

  She shivered a little.

  When Mrs Palmer found Nicholas missing, she panicked and, instead of summoning help, ran all over the house, as though expecting to find the baby had somehow got up and walked into another room, so that it was several hours before his disappearance was officially reported to the authorities… not until Liz and Edward had returned from the hospital, in fact, to find the whole house in turmoil.

  She knew of course… the moment Mrs Palmer mentioned Lewis's visit she knew… He had taken her child— their child…

  She raised stricken eyes to Edward's face.

  'Don't worry,' he told her. 'We'll get him back!'

  But how could she not worry? How could they get him back?

  The authorities had to be told, and legally it was confirmed to them that, since she had not yet registered the twins' birth, and since the man was after all their father, there was little that could be done to regain the boy twin, without the whole affair receiving a lot of unpleasant publicity.

  Lewis himself wrote to her, telling her that he intended to keep his son and warning her that if she made any attempt to get him back he would make the whole affair public.

  Deep in her heart Liz sensed that Edward was almost glad, although she knew he would never admit it. He probably wished that Lewis had taken both children, she realised bitterly. And Joan Palmer, overwhelmed by guilt, was only too glad when it was suggested that she and her husband, who was near retiring age, might like to return to the North of England to be near their married daughter. Derek Palmer was given a generous pension and it was generally made known in the village that the male twin Liz had given birth to had never been very strong and he had suffered a seizure and died.

  The fact that Liz lost so much weight, became so withdrawn and clung so possessively to her one remaining child all reinforced this news, and it very quickly became understood that Liz could not bear to have the baby's name mentioned nor his death discussed. It was a closed subject, which no one dared to raise even to express sympathy to her.

  Liz herself was inconsolable, stricken with grief and guilt, to the point where Ian Holmes began to fear for her sanity.

  She clung so possessively to Sage that he had to tell her that if she wasn't careful she would destroy everything she had worked so hard for… that her protectiveness towards her daughter would alienate Edward so completely that he would very quickly begin to resent and even hate the child.

  Liz saw the wisdom of what she was being told. Already she had noticed the way Edward turned away from the baby, the distant dislike in his eyes whenever she cried, the way he refused to touch her, hold her… The way he rejected her—and suddenly she was very afraid for her, deeply afraid. She began to subtly ensure that Sage was never left alone with Edward, to watch her baby with anxious protective eyes, remembering how Edward had attacked and hurt her.

  What kind of home was she going to grow up in, what kind of atmosphere? What had she done…?

  'Oh, please forgive me, my darling,' she whispered over her crib, her voice thick with tears. 'I wanted you so much and I've been so se
lfish… Better perhaps that your father had taken you both—and yet I could not have borne to let you go… Not you… You're so like him, so much a part of him…' Not to anyone would she admit that of the two it had always been this child, this twin who had been closer to her heart… closer to her by far than David. Not just because she had been born before her brother, but because she had looked into her newborn face and seen in it Lewis's. Sometimes she felt she could not bear the weight of her love for her, her adoration almost. She was terrified of showing it, though, in case it antagonised Edward even more. Sage would always be her favourite child, her most loved child. She couldn't help it, couldn't deny it and yet she must never allow anyone else to know it, not even the child herself, because if she did… if she did…

  She was so afraid now after losing Nicholas—mortally afraid that somehow if she allowed anyone, anyone at all to know how precious Sage was to her, she would in some way be imperilling her child's happiness.

  Already Edward resented her, disliked her. David—well, David loved everyone… But if Edward should turn publicly against her, if Edward should publicly reject her, if Edward should change his mind and make it known that Sage wasn't his…

  She started to shake with fear, with anguish. No, she couldn't allow it to happen. If Edward did that she would leave him, take David and her precious baby and make a new life somewhere for them all. Nothing, no one, was more important to her than this baby, Lewis's baby. She was more important to her than life itself… She would do everything in her power to protect her, even if that meant denying herself the bitter-sweet right of showing the world how very precious she was to her.

  That night Edward said resentfully, 'That child was crying all night again. I think you should get someone else to take care of her. She's taking up too much of your time.'