“Look at me, Charley.” Matt took her hands in his. “Was it a coincidence, you getting pregnant when we spent the night together? Or preempted?”
“Oh, I know what I did was wrong, but—”
“I need to ask you now—” he knew he wasn’t giving her a chance to explain, but there was one vital question he needed the answer to—“is that baby in there mine?” Again he held her eyes but she looked away. “Did we?” he urged. “I mean, that night . . . ? Goddammit, Charley! I need a straight answer. Am I the father of your baby?”
Charley’s crying halted. She sat in silence, staring at the wall. Matt got out of bed and paced around the room. “I have to know now, I really do.” He turned back to look at her. “And I have to trust that you will give me the truth.”
All the energy seemed to drain away from Charley. She shook her head slowly. “No, Matt, you’re not the father.”
“Shit!” It was all he could do in that moment to stop himself hitting her. He took some deep breaths to calm himself. “So if I’m not, who is?”
“I don’t know his name.” She shrugged. “But it’s not what you think, Matty.”
“Hell! How can it not be what I think, Charley? You’ve screwed some other guy and you were going to pass this baby off as mine?”
“No! That’s not how it was,” Charley keened in pain. “The reason I don’t know the guy’s name is because the sperm that was put inside me only had a DNA profile. And nothing more.”
“What?” Matt shook his head. “Call me naive, but goddammit! I haven’t a clue what you’re talking about.”
“OK.” Charley nodded, visibly trying to collect herself. “The baby’s father is a twenty-eight-year-old Ph.D. student living in California. Whose coloring is dark, with brown eyes, and he measures five foot nine inches in height. He’s never had a serious illness and has a higher than average IQ. That’s his genetic profile, and that’s all I know.”
“So.” Matt sat down on the bed, understanding beginning to dawn. “You’re telling me that you went to a sperm bank and chose an anonymous DNA profile to be the father of your child? And you were inseminated with that sperm?”
“Yup.”
“Right.”
They both sat in silence for a while, Matt struggling to comprehend what she had told him. “So where the hell did I come in? Was I part of the plan from the beginning?”
“Matty.” Charley was drained of tears now, her face pale. “I need you to know that I’d decided to do this way back. Months ago, before I moved in here with you.”
“So, let’s get this straight: I was just a convenient guy in situ, a schmuck who you could pass off as the daddy?” Matt interrupted bitterly.
“No! I loved you, Matty, and I still do!” Charley wrung her hands. “And that night, a day after I’d had the treatment—yeah, you could say it was coincidence. You were drunk and affectionate, and you said some real nice things to me. And I thought—”
“Charley, did we actually make love that night, because I sure as hell can’t remember doing so. And no matter how drunk I’ve been, that’s never happened to me before.”
“No. At least, not in a way that could ever produce a child,” Charley confessed. “We kissed and played around some, but there was no way you were in a fit state to—”
“Screw you?”
“Yeah, ‘screw’ me,” she said bitterly.
“Jesus! So why the hell did you say I did? And why that guilt trip . . . why the lies? Godammit, Charley! That was so cruel.”
“Enough, Matt!” Charley’s eyes blazed with sudden anger. “I’ll take the rap up to a point, but what I told you happened that night wasn’t a complete lie. You were affectionate, friendly . . . you kissed me and touched me . . . told me I was beautiful, that you loved me—” She choked suddenly, paused, then began again. “Even if you couldn’t . . . get it up, I was at least expecting a call or a text from you afterward. I thought that perhaps, just maybe, you did care for me in the way I cared for you. And I heard . . . nothing. I felt like some cheap hooker you’d used for the night.”
“You’re right.” Matt was cowed. “I behaved like a jerk, Charley. And I apologize. But does that honestly give you an excuse to lie to me about”—Matt pointed a finger at her stomach—“that?”
“I swear to you, I didn’t know I was pregnant, that the IVF process had actually worked, until just before you came back from your lecture tour and then we went out to dinner. Maybe it was the hormones that night, maybe it was the shock, but perhaps it was the combination of knowing I was going to be a mom, at the same time as realizing I’d been no more to you that night than any female you could pick up off the street. That you’ve never loved me like I’ve loved you. And never would. I was so hurt, Matt, at the way you’d treated me. And . . . I suppose I wanted to punish you.”
Matt, calmer now he knew the facts, listened silently.
“And then, as I realized you would always love Grania, not me, I started making decisions for myself. I was going to have the baby anyway, as I told you when we met up a week later. I’d resigned myself to going it alone, like I’d done originally. And then you said, why didn’t we give it a go? Not just with the baby, but with you and me. Gee, Matt, I was beside myself with happiness. It was all my dreams come true. Suddenly, it all seemed so right. All those years of loving you . . .” Charley sighed. “And then you asked me to marry you and I really started to believe that we could make it work.” She moved toward him suddenly, enveloping him tightly in her arms. “And we still can, can’t we, Matty? Please, I know I lied to you but—”
Matt moved out of Charley’s grasp. “I need to get outta here, get some fresh air.”
“Please, Matty . . .” She watched him as he threw on some clothes. “You won’t leave me now, will you? We’ve told everyone, the house is bought, and the baby . . .”
Matt slammed the door behind him and took the stairs to the ground floor. Outside, he jogged along the sidewalk, pounding the streets until he wound up at Battery Park. He leaned against the railing, looking at the lights twinkling on the Hudson. A throng of humans—those who enjoyed the cover of darkness—shadowy figures of drunks, lovers and restless teenage boys milled around him. He slowed his breathing and tried to process the series of events that had brought him to this point.
It wasn’t just what Charley had done, but what her motives were for doing so. Had she set out to trap him from the beginning? Was her decision to try IVF really little to do with him? She’d been under his roof while going through the process . . . she’d admitted she loved him . . . could he really believe the timing was coincidence?
Even if it was, it did not vindicate Charley from having told him categorically that the baby was his. She had blatantly lied. Not only that, but she’d been prepared to accuse him of an act he hadn’t even committed.
The psychologist in Matt understood that anyone in the wrong would do what they could to finesse their actions. There was always a perfectly valid excuse, a reason the perpetrator themselves believed, which justified their behavior. But, whichever way he looked at what Charley had done to him, there were few excuses. What made it worse was that she had been prepared to live that lie for the rest of their lives together. He might never have known that the child he would surely have loved as his own wasn’t his.
Matt felt physically sick at the thought.
He walked along the river for a while, still trying to take in the facts.
He realized he also had to accept his part in it; his hurt at hearing Grania was married, which had led to his knee-jerk reaction that night at the restaurant. His sudden willingness to stand by Charley had exacerbated the situation and led, in part, to where they were right now.
She had told him she was prepared to go it alone with the baby that night. It had been he who had refuted it and suggested they try to make it work. And he realized now that he’d had no idea how Charley had always felt about him. When he’d met Grania, he’d been blinded by his fe
elings for her, sparing little thought for Charley when he told her their relationship was over.
Matt shuddered at the mess the two of them had created. But were the whys and wherefores relevant anyway? Surely what he needed to do now was to decide where they went from here?
He considered the options.
It was possible to continue as they were—as Charley said, he knew the truth now. He didn’t love her—he never had—and in that sense, he was already living the lie. What had changed, however, was the fact that the baby inside her was not his.
Matt sighed as he remembered how protective he’d felt when Grania was in the early stages of pregnancy; every time he’d thought of their baby and its impending arrival, his stomach had turned over in anticipation. He’d wanted to protect Grania with every fiber of his body while she was at her most vulnerable. There had been nothing vaguely reminiscent of those feelings for either Charley or the growing baby inside her. Just resignation. Could he learn to love the baby he would bring up as his own? Matt bit his lip. Or would he look on it with resentment? He lectured all too regularly on the sins of the fathers impacting on the child. He knew the effect it could have and he sure as hell didn’t want to fall into the same trap.
Eventually, as a lazy sun was beginning to rise over the New Jersey skyline, Matt walked slowly back home. He was still no further on and had little idea of what he would say to Charley. But at least he was calmer.
The loft was deserted. Propped up on his desk was an envelope addressed to him.
Matt,
I’ve left. I’m so sorry I deceived you, but you played your part in this mess too. I’m making it easy for both of us, and the baby. We all deserve more.
See you around,
Charley
Matt sighed in relief. Charley had taken the decision for him. And for that, at least, he was grateful.
41
Winter rolled on. In front of Grania’s studio window, scudding clouds painted the raw palette of Dunworley Bay different hues of blue and gray. Her collection of sculptures grew as she worked relentlessly, sometimes until late in the evening.
“Will you not be doing something with these sculptures, Grania?” said Kathleen one afternoon when she brought Aurora up to the studio to see her. “I’m no expert in art, pet, but even I’d be saying these are something special.” Kathleen turned to her daughter, awe and pride in her eyes. “And the best work you’ve ever done.”
“They’re beautiful, Mummy.” Aurora’s fingers traced the lines of her figurines. “But Granny’s right. It’s no good them sitting here with only us to look at them. You should put them into a gallery where people can buy them. I want people to see me!” she giggled.
Grania, immersed in a new sculpture, nodded distractedly. “Yes, maybe I will.”
“Are you coming down home for some tea now, Grania?” asked Kathleen.
“In a while, Mam, I just want to finish this arm.”
“Well now, don’t you go being too long,” Kathleen clucked. “We’re missing the shape of you at our table, aren’t we so, Aurora?”
“Yes, we are,” Aurora agreed. “You look pale, Mummy. Doesn’t she, Granny?”
“That she does.”
“I’ve said I’ll be down in a bit,” Grania chuckled. “Jaysus! It’s bad enough having a mother nagging at me, but now I’ve got a daughter as well.”
“We’ll be seeing you.” Kathleen nodded and ushered Aurora out of the studio.
There was a chill wind blowing up as Aurora and Kathleen walked down the cliff path.
“Granny?”
“Yes, Aurora?”
“I’m worried about Mummy.”
“So am I, pet.”
“What do you think is wrong with her?”
“Well, now.” Kathleen had learned it was pointless patronizing Aurora with platitudes. “If you want me to be honest, I’d be saying she’s missing a man. “It isn’t healthy for a woman of Grania’s age to be alone.”
“The man she loved before she met Daddy—Matt, Mummy said he’s called—do you know what happened? Why Mummy left him behind in New York and came to Ireland?”
“Ah now, Aurora, if I did, I’d be a happier woman. But when my daughter’s got one on her, nothing will shift her. And she won’t say a word.”
“Was he a nice man?”
“He was a true gentleman,” Kathleen said softly. “And he loved Grania like his two eyes.”
“Do you think he still does?”
“Well, I’d say from the amount he called our house when she ran away from New York, that he did, yes. As for now . . .” Kathleen sighed, “Who knows? ’Tis a pity Grania refused to talk to him at the time about whatever it was that had happened. Many’s the thing that can be sorted over a brew and a good chat.”
“But Mummy’s very proud, isn’t she?”
“She is that, pet. Now, let’s be getting a move on.” Kathleen shivered as the wind grew stronger. “This isn’t a night to be outside.”
• • •
Hans called Grania a few days later to check in and find out how the renovation work was progressing at Dunworley House.
“I also wondered whether you would be able to meet me in London next week. There is an art dealer friend of mine who has a gallery on Cork Street. I have told him about you and the new work you are doing and he is eager to meet you. Besides,” added Hans, “it might do you good to have a few days away. At the same time, I can show you the property in London that is part of Aurora’s trust from her mother.”
“That’s kind of you, Hans, but—”
“But what, Grania? You are not going to tell me you cannot fit it into your busy schedule, are you?”
“Are you bullying me, Hans?” Grania allowed herself a wry smile.
“Perhaps a little. But, as any good solicitor should, I am simply following the instructions in my client’s will. I shall book you a flight to London for next Wednesday, along with a hotel, and e-mail you the details.”
“If you say so, Hans,” Grania sighed, surrendering.
“I do. Good-bye, Grania, I will be in touch.”
A few days later, Grania went on to the house computer to retrieve her e-mails and the details of the flight to London that Hans had booked for her.
Aurora came up behind her and put her arms around Grania’s shoulders.
“Where are you going, Mummy?”
“To London, to see Hans.”
“That’ll be nice for you, it’s about time you had a break.” Aurora was studying the computer screen as Grania typed in the number of her passport to check in online.
“Can I do it for you?”
“Do you know how?”
“Of course I do. I used to help Daddy all the time.”
Grania moved from the seat and let her sit down. Aurora giggled at the photo in Grania’s passport as she typed in the details proficiently. “You look so funny!”
“Excuse me”—Grania smiled—“I don’t think yours is much better.”
“Do you have my passport?”
“Yes, it’s here in the file, with mine.”
“There, it’s finished. Shall I press ‘print’?” asked Aurora.
“Yes, please.” Grania replaced her passport in the wallet along with Aurora’s and stowed it back in the desk. “Time for bed, young lady.”
Reluctantly, Aurora climbed the stairs, brushed her teeth and got into bed. “I didn’t mean it about your passport photo,” Aurora said. “I think you’re very beautiful, Mummy.”
“Thank you, sweetheart. I think you’re beautiful too.”
“But I’m worried if you don’t have a boyfriend soon, you might get too old and men won’t like you anymore. Ouch!” Aurora giggled as Grania tickled her.
“Charmed, I’m sure. The problem is, Aurora, that there’s nobody I want.”
“What about Matt? The man you told me about who lives in America? You loved him, didn’t you?”
“Yes, I did.”
“I
think you still love him.”
“Maybe I do,” sighed Grania. “But it’s no good crying over spilled milk, is it?” She kissed Aurora. “Night-night, darling, sweet dreams.”
“Night-night, Mummy.”
• • •
On Wednesday morning, Grania drove herself to Cork airport and flew to London. Hans met her at Arrivals and they took a taxi to Claridge’s.
“My goodness me,” exclaimed Grania as she walked into the beautiful suite Hans had booked for her, “this must have cost a fortune! You’re spoiling me.”
“You deserved a treat, and besides, you are a rich woman with a very wealthy daughter, whose joint estate earns me my fees. Now, I will leave you to do whatever women must before dinner, and see you downstairs in the bar at eight o’clock. Robert, the gallery owner, is joining us at a quarter past.”
Grania luxuriated in the bath, wrapped herself in the soft terry robe and had a glass of complimentary champagne in the beautifully appointed sitting room. And decided, despite her antipathy to overt luxury, that this was all rather pleasant. Putting on the short, black cocktail dress she’d found in a boutique in Cork city last week—what she’d brought with her from New York had not included anything smart—she added some mascara and a smudge of lipstick. Then she picked up the sculpture of Aurora she’d brought with her to show the gallery owner, and went downstairs to join Hans in the bar.
The evening passed pleasantly. Robert Sampson, the gallery owner, was good company and excited about Grania’s work. She’d also brought photographs of the rest of the series of sculptures she’d recently completed.
“I think, Grania,” Robert said over coffee and Armagnac, “that if you could complete another six sculptures in the next few months, we’d have enough for an exhibition. You’re unknown at present in London, and I’d like to give you a big initial push. We’d send out invitations to the great, good and rich collectors I deal with on my database, and launch you as the Next Big Thing. What is exciting is that you’ve found your metier. The fluidity shown in your sculpture is exquisite. And rare,” he added.
“You really think my work warrants that?” Grania was flattered by his enthusiasm.
The Girl on the Cliff Page 38