‘Look, Jonathan said you wanted to meet tomorrow. How about today? I could meet you this afternoon. Strand Palace Hotel. Say three o’clock?’
‘Sorry, Max, but I’m in Scotland at the moment. I’m flying back on EasyJet from Glasgow first thing in the morning. Make it lunchtime tomorrow.’
Max’s heart seemed to stop beating and he felt a sudden gloom descend. He knew there was no point in trying to make any other arrangement; he would just have to go along with Jacintha and meet her.
‘OK, Jacintha, I’ll be there tomorrow. Two o’clock.’ He rang off and threw the phone onto the bed. Then he sat staring out of the window for a while, berating himself for allowing himself to be cornered like this. He felt like a child who had just been grounded, but he knew he had little alternative: contracts needed to be argued over and signed, although usually it would have been his agent doing the work for him. He picked up his phone from where he’d thrown it and went back down to the dining room.
He sounded a little breathless as he sat down opposite Emma.
‘You OK, Max?’ she asked. ‘You sound a bit puffed out. Not bad news, I hope?’
‘No,’ he told her, knowing that it was bad news really, or inconvenient news anyway. ‘I need to go to London tomorrow. My editor says it’s important.’
‘Oh,’ she said, lifting her head a little. Then: ‘What’s your editor’s name, by the way?’
‘Jacintha.’
‘A woman?’
‘You sound surprised.’
Emma pulled a face. ‘I suppose I thought all editors were men.’
He laughed softly. ‘They have lady editors on women’s magazines,’ he reminded her. ‘You read those, don’t you?’
She laughed at herself. ‘Never thought of that.’ Then her expression changed. ‘That means you’ll be leaving early tomorrow?’
He shrugged. ‘I’m afraid so, but I could be back here tomorrow evening. Take you out to dinner?’
Emma thought that would be nice, but she knew she had to keep him at arm’s length. Her sister’s warning was never far from her mind, and she wasn’t about to trust men completely after such a traumatic time with her ex. And if he was prepared to rush off up to London and get back in time to take her out to dinner, she did wonder if perhaps he had an ulterior motive. She decided to err on the side of caution and lie to him. ‘Sorry, Max, but I’m checking out tomorrow afternoon.’ She pulled a face. ‘I can’t change my plans either.’
He looked a little disappointed at that, and it showed. Then his face brightened. ‘Ah well, we still have today,’ he pointed out. ‘Shall we spend it together?’
‘Yes, I would like that,’ she told him. ‘So what shall we do?’
Max leaned back in his chair and thought of how they could spend their day. He had something in mind that he hoped would shake his demons loose: something he needed to lay to rest; to get it out of his system. And there was no reason why it should spoil anything of the day for Emma.
‘I thought we might have a drive out,’ he told her, ‘explore the countryside. Find a nice country pub; have a bit of lunch. What do you think?’
‘I’d like that very much.’ She finished her tea and put the cup down onto the saucer. It rattled as her hand shook. ‘I’ll go and get changed and meet you down here in what, half an hour?’
‘Great.’ He stood up and realized they were the only two residents left in the dining room. The waitress was hovering in the background. Max threw her a smile as he walked out of the room with Emma and wondered how much tongue-wagging would be going on in the kitchen now. Not that he minded: that was life. And they had the whole of the day to look forward to.
There was much about Max that impressed Emma, but she was taken aback when he opened the door of his silver Jaguar XJ saloon. She stood quite still, gaping at the luxury interior of the car, not even sure if she should get in. Laura’s words kept coming back to her, and she more or less had to do a double take with Max before she finally succumbed and slid into the luxuriously appointed, leather upholstery.
Max closed the door and hurried round to the driver’s side. He was grinning at her as he buckled his seat belt.
‘Seat belt, Emma,’ he said.
Emma pulled the belt across her body and snapped it into place. ‘Wow!’ she said finally. ‘What a car. You can afford this on journalist’s wages?’
His smile broadened. ‘Believe it or not,’ he replied, tongue in cheek, ‘I had a small win on the lottery. Not quite enough to pay for the car, but enough to persuade me to buy one.’ He backed the car out of the parking bay. ‘I’ve always wanted one, but could never afford it.’
The car moved noiselessly and effortlessly into the Southsea traffic. Lucky man, Emma thought, as they headed towards Milton and the main road which would take them out of the city and up over Portsdown Hill.
Slowly, Emma relaxed in the softness of the leather and began to think carefully on how to figure Max out and the reality of their situation. Since she had met him, she had never felt threatened. He had always been polite and considerate. He was funny and lovely company to be in, but she had always been in control. Now, suddenly she couldn’t help feeling trapped: Max was in control. Emma knew she was emotionally vulnerable; hadn’t her sister kept on telling her that? But now she saw how physically vulnerable she was because Max could take her anywhere, and unless she jumped out of the car, there wasn’t a damn thing she could do about it.
Stupid woman! That was the phrase that popped into her head. She was categorizing Max as a kidnapper and possibly worse, and this was down to the demeaning effect of her marriage to her ex-husband. Not all men are like that, she told herself, but she knew there were men who could be much worse. She looked out of the windows at the shops and people passing by. They were driving through an old part of Portsmouth where most of the buildings showed their age. The road was congested, cars seemed to be parked haphazardly, and pedestrians filled the pavements. This is reality, Emma, she kept telling herself, and tried to take comfort from the normality of it all. But her nervousness was building up and she could feel tension tightening her stomach.
Suddenly Max turned the car into a space being vacated by another car. He stopped. ‘What’s the matter, Emma?’ he asked. She glanced at him and looked away. Her hands were clenched together tightly and her knuckles were turning white. It was obvious she was trembling. ‘You’ve gone very quiet. Is there something wrong?’
She shook her head quickly but couldn’t stop the tears building behind her eyes. Max waited for her to compose herself in the quiet interior of the car.
Emma sniffed and tilted her head back. ‘I’m sorry, Max.’ She touched the scar on her neck and realized that it was the first time that day she had even thought about it. Even taking a shower that morning, Emma had not checked her neck in the mirror, which was something she had done since being released from hospital. Max put his hand into his pocket and pulled out a clean handkerchief, which he handed to her. Emma laughed and had to blow her nose quickly. ‘You’ll run out at this rate.’ When she had finished, she breathed in deeply and looked at him. ‘I think it’s all a bit overwhelming somehow.’ She glanced round the interior of the car. ‘I’m not used to anything like this. It doesn’t make sense.’
Max could have kicked himself for not realizing that a young woman from Emma’s background and with her history might become unsettled in the kind of situation she found herself in. His writer’s mind was speed-dialling through all kinds of scenarios and could see just what she could be going through.
‘I’m sorry, Emma. I’m not trying to impress you and I’m not trying to impose myself on you.’ It felt trite and stumbling. ‘If you would rather, I’ll take you back to the hotel.’
She grinned and shook her head. ‘I’ll be all right, Max, so long as I’ve got my pepper spray with me.’
It was Max’s turn to be shocked, and it showed.
Emma laughed. ‘I’m only joking, Max.’ She put her hand on his arm
and felt the tension begin to slip away.
Max was relieved that she had come through that small dilemma. He knew then, more so than ever, that he wanted to be a bigger part of this woman’s life. But he also knew that it would have to be a relationship that would need to be carefully nurtured. He put the car into drive and pulled out into the traffic.
Emma fluttered the handkerchief at him. ‘I’ll return this one as well,’ she promised as Max headed out towards the mainland, happy now that Emma was happy.
Max felt at ease as the car burned up the miles along the Old London Road. He was pleased that Emma had overcome her fears, although he understood that they could surface again; he knew he had to be careful. As he drove, they passed areas that were familiar to him but had become part of an old landscape. The rolling South Downs had always had much to offer in the way of charm and natural beauty, but now so much had been despoiled by modern development.
He pointed out places of interest to Emma, who told him that she had never been in the area before. She seemed content to sit there and watch the world go by. Eventually Max pulled into the small town of Petersfield, once an important staging post on the road to London. The town square was dominated by a statue of William III on horseback. The front hoof of the horse was raised, which was supposed to mean that the rider was wounded in battle, or died of his battle wounds.
Max parked the car and they found a pavement café. It was a pleasantly warm day with little cloud in the sky, so they decided to sit outside. Max ordered coffee for them both. He rarely drank tea in small cafés and restaurants, other than hotels. They had been chatting for about ten minutes when Emma said something that made Max laugh. She watched him as he threw his head back, but when he stopped, his eyes hooded over and his expression changed. It was very sudden and unexpected. Emma was about to bring her cup up to her mouth. She stopped.
‘What’s up, Max?’
Max sagged back into his chair, shaking his head slowly. ‘Nothing, Emma. You probably wouldn’t understand.’ He leaned to one side, his elbow on the arm of his chair and his hand to his mouth. Suddenly he stood up. ‘I’ll be back.’
Before Emma could say anything, Max had gone. He hurried across the square to a newspaper shop where he had seen an advertising board with the printed banner heading ‘Petersfield Herald’. Beneath it was the handwritten headline: ‘Clanford Hall to become a casino.’ He went into the shop and picked up a copy of the newspaper. The subheading asked: ‘Is it true? Will our heritage be sold for a deck of cards?’ Max paid for the paper and walked out of the shop.
Emma could tell by the look of thunder on his face that something had stirred him up. He threw himself into his chair. Then he gave that despairing shake of his head and looked over at her. He sat quite still for a while, staring at her.
‘Do you want to tell me about it?’ she asked.
‘No,’ he said at last. ‘It wouldn’t help. Maybe later,’ he offered, ‘but not just yet.’ He picked up his cup and drained it. ‘Shall we go?’
Emma knew something had unsettled him and she didn’t argue. She got up from the table and followed him back to the car park.
Ten minutes after leaving the town, Max turned off the main road and powered the Jaguar beneath an avenue of tall ash trees through which the sunlight flickered like camera flashlights. Eventually he slowed and pulled into a gap between two of the trees and cut the engine. He was looking out across a meadow that sloped down towards a very large house. Emma released her seatbelt and leaned closer to Max.
‘What is it, Max?’
‘Clanford Hall,’ was all he said.
Emma could see an old, beautiful house resplendent in all its ancient glory. The backdrop looked picture perfect. It brought to mind memories of the romantic costume dramas she had watched on television: Jane Eyre, Pride and Prejudice, Sense and Sensibility, and she thought the house could have been a setting in any one of those dramas. Behind the house was a copse of trees under which Emma could imagine all manner of wild flowers growing. The front lawns looked well-tended, and she could see smoke coming from one of the old, tall chimneys. It drifted upwards, untouched by any breeze. She could just about see two people, very small at that distance. They were standing by the front entrance to the house. One was an elderly woman by the look of it, the other a younger man. Their features were too indistinct at that distance, but Emma could tell they were a generation apart.
Suddenly Max reached behind to the back seat and retrieved the newspaper from where he had thrown it. He unrolled it so that the front page was showing. He held it up and stabbed his finger on the page. ‘Clanford Hall,’ he said bitterly. ‘And they want to turn it into a bloody casino.’ He started the engine and pulled away.
And as he did, Emma thought she heard him say: ‘Over my dead body.’
FOUR
Autumn 1960
The work on the nursery had been completed before the end of summer. Kate had asked for one of the rooms on the ground floor to be converted so that she could have somewhere suitable for the twins. Autumn was creeping in, although on those days when the sun did shine, there was usually a breeze blowing and a distinct chill in the air. Kate was pleased she could keep the children inside if necessary.
Kate had been at Clanford Hall for three months and in that time she had grown in stature as a member of the household. Whenever it came to decisions about the twins, their father usually deferred to her. Kate believed that Maud was pleased not to have any responsibility for the boys, and as far as Kennett was concerned, Kate wondered just how much he wanted to be involved with them. Nothing had been said to Kate about the adoption, and she wondered if this was the reason Kennett and Maud were keeping their distance; leaving the emotional contact to her. Kate knew that she would be torn apart when the twins were finally taken away.
The two boys were lying on their tummies on small quilts in the nursery surrounded by soft toys with Kate keeping a close eye on them, when there was a knock on the door. Kate looked up as Kennett stepped into the room.
‘Hello, Kate. All right to come in?’
Kate stood up and put the magazine she’d been reading on the chair. ‘Yes, of course.’ She still couldn’t get it into him that he had more right of access to the twins than she did, but he would always insist on asking permission.
Kennett opened the door wide and stood aside as two people came into the room: a man and a woman, both about forty years of age.
‘This is Mr and Mrs Jerrold, Kate. They would like to see the twins.’
Kate smiled but didn’t move. Kennett closed the door behind them.
‘This is, ahem . . . Paul,’ he said a little triumphantly, pointing to one of the twins.
‘That’s Michael,’ Kate corrected him.
He looked a little awkward. ‘Of course: Michael. They are so alike,’ he offered as an excuse.
The woman knelt down and put her hand towards Michael. The baby lifted his head and opened his eyes wide. Paul gurgled something as though he wanted attention. The woman looked on, a motherly smile on her face.
‘Aren’t they absolutely lovely, Con?’ she said to her husband. Con grunted some reply which Kate couldn’t figure out. The woman turned to Kate. ‘And you look after them, I’m told.’
Kate said she did and the woman looked back at the twins, the smile fixed on her face. ‘Such bonny babies. You must be very proud of them, Jeremy?’
Kennett cleared his throat. ‘Very proud,’ he told the woman. ‘Kate does such a wonderful job with them.’
It isn’t a job, thought Kate, it’s a vocation. It’s something I love: something I cherish.
‘Are you friends with Jeremy?’ Mrs Jerrold asked.
‘Not exactly friends,’ she replied carefully. ‘Mister Kennett employs me as a nanny.’
‘Would you like some tea?’ Kennett broke in rather hurriedly. ‘We could ask Kate to get the children muffled up for a walk round the grounds later. I’m sure that wouldn’t be a problem, would it, Ka
te?’ Kate glared at him. ‘No need for you to come,’ he carried on without stopping. ‘It will give you a bit of a break. That would be nice, wouldn’t it?’
Kate didn’t think it would be nice at all, but Kennett was the father of the twins and she was his employee.
‘Give me half an hour and I’ll have them ready for you. They will probably fall asleep, but I’m sure that won’t be a bother.’
‘Splendid.’ He clapped his hands together and turned towards the door, holding his hand out. ‘Shall we?’ he said to the couple.
Kate watched them go and was boiling up inside at Kennett’s complete disregard for the careful routine she had for his sons, and no apparent regard for her either. She closed her eyes and forced herself to calm down; the last thing she wanted was to become frustrated or build up a dislike towards him, because to do that would seriously jeopardize the plan she had in mind for the twins’ future.
It was much later that day when Kate heard a knock on the door of her room. She hadn’t expected to see anybody. She went to the door. It was Kennett. She let him in and went back to the window where she had been reading. She didn’t sit down.
Kennett closed the door and took a pace into the room. He looked a little nervous despite the relationship between them. He was an imposing figure of a man, and Kate often found herself admiring him quietly. She had often detected a slight clumsiness whenever he had spoken to her on a casual basis. In his dealings with the twins, though, he did seem to be able to manage a more prosaic approach. Kate liked him a lot, despite being annoyed many times by his changing manner.
‘Please sit down, Kate,’ he urged. Kate did as she was asked. Kennett sat opposite her in front of the window. The afternoon light flooded into the room and Kate waited to hear what he had on his mind.
‘I’m sorry about this morning, Kate,’ he began.
‘Sorry?’
‘With the Jerrolds. I . . .’ he paused and rubbed the palms of his hands together. Kate thought he looked nervous. ‘I decided after Margaret died to put the twins up for adoption.’
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