Being Emerald (Skimmerdale Book 2)

by Sharon Booth

  Deborah slammed her wine glass on the table and stared at him. 'A son? But — where is he? Who is he?' She folded her arms and frowned. 'How do you know he's yours? How do you know he isn't her husband's child?'

  'Because she didn't sleep with Harland — with her husband — for ages. Long before she got pregnant. And, anyway,' he added, rather shamefaced, 'you only have to look at the boy to know he's mine. It's quite easy to tell.'

  Deborah looked shocked. She stood and began to pace the room, as if trying to absorb this new and most unexpected information. 'What's his name? How old is he? Where does he live?'

  'His name's George.' James eyed her, obviously wary of her response. 'He's four, and he lives with Harland at their farm.'

  Deborah stopped pacing. 'But why? Why does he live with him? Surely, with this Jemima dead he should be living with you?'

  James flushed. 'When she died, it was all a bit of a mess. It had all come out about our liaison, and there was the shock and the grief, as well as practical details to address. Harland registered George as his child and it was sort of assumed that he would take care of him, along with his own two children.'

  Deborah looked incredulous. 'Sort of assumed?'

  'Well, thinking about it rationally, it seemed to be for the best.'

  She sank into the chair, staring at him in confusion. 'Best for whom?'

  'For everyone.' He felt rather embarrassed, thinking how it must sound to her. 'Look, you have to understand how chaotic everything was back then. Beth wouldn't have been able to deal with me bringing home Jemima's baby, and then, was it fair to George to take him away from his two sisters? I didn't know anything about bringing up children, whereas Harland had already got two children and some experience. You do understand, don't you?' When she didn't answer, he ploughed on. 'But now things have changed somewhat.'

  'In what way?'

  He sighed, reaching out his hands to grasp her own. Her hands were icy cold.

  'I miss him, Mother. That's the sad truth. Oh, I've seen him a few times, but things aren't easy. Harland is growing ever more protective of him, the older he gets, and as his looks change and his resemblance to me becomes more obvious, he is — understandably, I suppose — keeping him close. He won't let me go to Fleetsthorpe, although Beth's welcome. She sees George regularly, but she doesn't really mention him. I can't blame her, of course. It's all been terribly difficult for her.'

  'So, Beth knows about George?'

  'From the first,' he admitted. 'She suffered a great deal.' He hung his head. 'I behaved appallingly, Mother. I'm ashamed of myself. But George —' he looked up at her, trying to appeal to whatever maternal instinct she still possessed, 'George is my son. Whatever's happened, whatever I've done, whatever I've deserved, that doesn't change, does it? He's my boy, and I want to see him, be part of his life. I don't know what to do.'

  Deborah took a deep breath and held his gaze, as if she were trying to read his mind. 'Why are you telling me all this now?'

  'I don't know.' He shook his head. 'It's been getting harder and harder to bear, and I had no one to talk to, to confide in. Now that you're back, I've wanted to tell you since I saw you. I didn't know how to go about it. I know you've always wanted a grandchild. You've probably longed for baby news as much as I have.' Although, it had to be said, she'd hidden it well. Who'd have thought it? His cold, distant mother had a maternal streak after all, even if it had skipped a generation.

  'So, you do want children then?' She sounded surprised. 'Only, I wasn't sure. I knew you were trying some years ago, but then nothing happened. I thought, maybe only Beth wanted them.'

  'Certainly not.' He sighed. 'It doesn't look as if it's going to happen, unfortunately. We've more-or-less given up hope. Even IVF failed, so ...'

  'So, George might be your only child.'

  He saw tears in her eyes and reared back, astonished.

  'I'm so sorry.'

  'What do I do, Mother?' he pleaded, emboldened by her unexpected show of emotion.

  'We fight for him,' she announced, standing up. 'He's your son, and this Harland man had no business registering him as his own. We need to see a solicitor, find out our rights, where we go from here. Harland needs a few things making very clear to him. George is a Fuller, and it's time he knew it.'

  My God! She actually bought it! James could hardly believe his luck. 'Oh, Mother.' He gave her a grateful smile. 'I just knew I could count on you.'

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Cain lay on his back, his eyes closed to the afternoon sun, which beat down mercilessly upon him. Beside him, Connie gave a contented sigh, and Cain thought, this is the life. It really is. He couldn't remember a time when he'd felt happier, which was a rather scary thought.

  'Isn't it beautiful here?' Connie's voice warmed him as much as the sunshine, and he opened one eye to take in the sight of her, lying close beside him, her breasts rising and falling with each breath, making the blood stir in his loins all over again. He half wished he'd refused her suggestion that they spend the afternoon exploring Skimmerdale Abbey. He'd far rather be in bed, exploring every inch of her delectable body instead, but she'd seemed so keen to do something different that he hadn't wanted to say no. He hoped she wouldn't go straight back to wherever it was she was staying after they left here. He'd made damn sure his hotel room was neat and tidy, just in case. 'It's nearly a thousand years old, you know.'

  'Fancy.' Cain wasn't one for abbeys and castles and the like, though even he could appreciate the stunning beauty of this abbey's golden ruins, perched on a high hill called Mikkel Rigg, overlooking the river and the market town of Kirkby Skimmer. It was a Cistercian abbey, according to the guide book, although that meant little to him. He should've paid more attention to history at school — to anything at school, come to that. 'Oh, gawd, look at that.'

  Connie sat up, shading her eyes with one well-manicured hand. 'A school trip!' She looked delighted to see the children, which wasn't an emotion Cain shared. That was all he needed — a group of sticky-fingered, whining kids tramping around him. He sat up, too, surprised to see a wistful expression on Connie's face. He wondered if she had children. He'd never asked, as she'd never asked him. It was an unwritten rule. They didn't discuss their private lives.

  After that second meeting, when they'd rushed back to the hotel and torn off each other's clothes, they'd realised that, whatever the circumstances of their individual lives, they wanted to continue to meet up. 'For sex only,' Connie had said hastily, and Cain had readily agreed. That was the arrangement. It was strictly a sexual relationship, and boy was it flourishing.

  Cain had suggested that, every fortnight, he book a room for three nights at the hotel, somewhere they could be together for a few precious hours each day. Connie had checked her diary and assured him that she could keep to that arrangement, and so they'd begun their — affair, he supposed, given she was married. It had given him a new lease of life, all those afternoons together with little conversation and lots of action.

  Except — except there had been little snatches of conversation the last couple of times. Not much, but enough for Cain to learn that she was married to a businessman and the marriage wasn't a happy one, and for Cain to admit that he'd been married three times and each time had ended in a bitter divorce, that he'd had an illegitimate son, many affairs, and had made a complete mess of his love life. He'd been a bit worried that Connie would be put off him by his revelations, but there was something about her that made him want to be honest with her, and she seemed to appreciate that. He supposed, in the long run, it made no difference to her. She wasn't asking for commitment after all.

  The schoolchildren couldn't have been more than eight or nine. They carried little work books and looked hot and bothered as the teachers dragged them around the ruins of the abbey, pointing out various facts to them and making them jot down notes in their books.

  'Oh, to be that young again,' Connie sighed.

  Cain frowned. 'Really? I'd hate it.' />
  She lifted an eyebrow. 'Why? Didn't you have a happy childhood?'

  Cain thought about it. 'Suppose it was all right, in the sense that my mum and dad were decent enough. We didn't have two pennies to rub together, though. You should have seen our house. It got pulled down in the end. Two tiny bedrooms, a little front room and a kitchen, no bathroom. Just a tin bath hanging from a nail on the wall of the yard, and an outside lavvy. Proper shabby.'

  Connie laughed. 'Oh, it sounds like my grandparents' house! I remember being ushered into the front room because Grandad was getting a bath in front of the fire in the parlour! Gran always wore a pinny, and she was always baking or cleaning. She was so houseproud, bless her. They didn't even have running hot water. They had to boil a kettle every time. You wouldn't believe it now, would you?' She nodded at the bored-looking schoolchildren. 'They wouldn't be able to imagine it.'

  'Don't know they're born these days,' he agreed. 'Do you know, I was watching a programme the other day and these kids were on about food. They didn't know that potatoes grew in the ground! One kid nearly chucked 'cos he said he'd seen an egg come out of a chicken's bum. Can you Adam and Eve that? I mean, what's the world coming to?'

  Connie sighed. 'I'm afraid there's still an awful lot of poverty and ignorance. Most people these days have bathrooms and running hot water, but many children are, even now, crammed into houses that are too small or living in those high-rise flats in the inner cities. They never see a blade of grass, so how are they to know where their food comes from? Do you know, some children have never even seen a sheep! It's unbelievable.'

  'Kids round here are the lucky ones,' Cain said. 'They get to grow up in this beautiful countryside, surrounded by animals, breathing in fresh air. Shame all kids don't get the same opportunities.' He thought about Libby and Ophelia. Every time he went to Fleetsthorpe they were either riding, or collecting eggs, or helping their dad with the sheep. They'd have hated to live in a high rise flat, and who could blame them?

  'Absolutely.' Connie shivered, drawing up her knees and resting her chin upon them. 'It's been a lovely afternoon, Jeff. Sometimes, I wish our time together never had to end.'

  Cain looked at her, surprised. She'd never said that sort of thing before. It stirred something deep within him, and he batted the feeling away, suddenly afraid. 'Well, we've got a couple of hours left. Do you want to go back to the hotel room?'

  She closed her eyes, and he wished he'd never said it. She would think he only wanted her for sex. Then he tutted to himself. She only wanted him for sex! That was the whole point. So why did he feel so guilty about it? 'Or we could go to the café, have a cup of coffee and a slice of cake?' He glanced over at the complex behind the abbey, where the tearoom and gift shop were located, as well as an exhibition room, displaying the history of, and artefacts from, the abbey's eventful past.

  Half of him wanted her to take his hand and drag him back to The Paradise for an hour or two of unbridled lust, but the other part of him wanted to sit with her a bit longer, chat to her, get to know her a bit better. The truth was, he liked her. He liked her a lot. Despite her casual approach to her marriage, he thought she was a decent, honourable sort of person, and in a weird way he trusted her. He would like to know more about her. It scared him, truth to tell.

  Connie gave him a beaming smile. 'Would you mind? That would be splendid.'

  Cain hauled himself to his feet and held out a hand to her. 'Your wish is my command.'

  Connie took his hand and stood, smoothing her dress. 'Thank you, Jeff. You're such a gentleman.'

  Cain didn't feel much like a gentleman. He was feeling increasingly bad about keeping his true identity from her, but felt he'd gone too far now. He should have told her on that second meeting, but he hadn't and now it seemed too late. What would she think of him for lying to her all this time?

  The café was a large, light building, with glass windows all round giving a panoramic view of the abbey and its surrounding lands.

  Connie ordered lemon drizzle cake and tea, and Cain had chocolate cake and a black coffee. They took a seat by the window and chatted amiably about the weather, the beauty of Skimmerdale, and a little more about their respective childhoods. Cain noticed that Connie talked only of her grandparents, and never mentioned her parents. He wondered if she'd lived with them instead? Clearly, she'd had the same sort of upbringing as he'd had, but, like him she was obviously wealthy now. She'd probably married well. As the conversation wound around his own father's job, selling scrap metal, and her grandfather's job on the docks, Cain couldn't help himself.

  'And what about your husband? What does he do?'

  Connie flinched, and Cain wished he'd kept his big mouth shut. 'It's okay,' he said hurriedly, 'forget I said that. You don't have to tell me anything.'

  She stirred her tea thoughtfully. 'But clearly you're interested.'

  'I'm not! At least,' he added uncomfortably, 'I suppose I am a bit. It's only natural though, innit? I mean, I've got to say, I feel a bit bad about the bloke, considering what I'm doing with his wife.'

  'He doesn't own me!' Connie snapped, and Cain reared back, shocked.

  'I know, I know. Sorry.' He took a sip of coffee, wondering how to put things back on a civilised footing. He hated this sudden distance between them.

  'I'm sorry, Jeff,' she said eventually. 'I can understand you being curious, of course I can. But you know, you shouldn't feel guilty about sleeping with me. Believe me, he's hardly been an angel throughout our marriage.'

  Cain dropped another lump of sugar in his coffee. 'You mean he cheated on you?' He gaped at her as she nodded. 'Is he mad? Why would anyone cheat on someone as smashing as you?'

  She laughed. 'Didn't you admit to cheating on your wives? I'm sure they were equally smashing. Why does anyone cheat on their partner?'

  Cain squirmed, realising she had a point. Lowri had been smashing, and so had Freya to start with. Cassandra had always been a bit batty. He had no idea what he'd been thinking of there. 'So, he had an affair, too?'

  She tutted, putting down her teacup with a clatter. 'If only! I could have dealt with that. No, he didn't just have an affair, Jeff. He had multiple affairs, dozens of one-night stands. God knows how many women he's slept with behind my back. And if you think he regrets it, or that he's sorry, you'd be very wrong. I've never had a word of apology or remorse from him and I truly believe, if anything, he's quite proud of himself.'

  'Jesus.' Cain shook his head, stunned. Poor Connie. No wonder she'd needed something outside her marriage. Some small comfort against her husband's disgusting behaviour.

  'It's not revenge, in case that's what you're thinking,' she said, her eyes flashing defiance. 'And it's not a distraction from what he's up to either. This has nothing to do with him. Nothing! This is for me. It's all about me for once in my life.'

  'I never — I didn't think it was, love.' Cain squeezed her hand gently. 'Sounds to me like you've been put through the wringer. I'm sorry.'

  'Don't be,' she murmured. 'One gets used to it eventually.'

  'But you shouldn't have to.' He hesitated a moment, then ploughed on. 'Are you worried that's he's doing it again?' Cain felt deeply uncomfortable, asking the question. 'Sleeping around, I mean?'

  Connie bit her lip, evidently considering her reply. 'Not at all,' she said eventually, and Cain noticed that her nails were digging into her palms.

  'But you must have some doubts? I mean, the bloke's got some track record. Not the type to start keeping it in his pants, is he?'

  'I can assure you, he's most definitely keeping it in his pants now,' she said.

  Cain heard the bitterness in her voice and saw the tears in her eyes. 'Aw, Connie, love. Don't cry.'

  'I'm not crying,' she protested. 'I don't do crying, and if I did, I certainly wouldn't waste any tears on him. He's not worth it. He's never been worth it.'

  Cain looked around nervously. 'Sorry, love. I didn't mean to upset you.'

  'You haven't upset me.'
She lifted her chin. 'Why shouldn't you know? I owe him nothing. The truth is, I know that my husband isn't having an affair, because he's not capable.'

  'Not capable? I don't get ya. Seems more than capable to me, going by his past — oh.' He lifted an eyebrow. 'You mean, he ain't capable physically?'

  She took a deep breath. 'Hasn't been for over a decade now.'

  'A decade!' He leaned back in his chair, staring at her in amazement. 'You mean, you haven't — for ten years?'

  She wiped her eyes. 'No.'

  'Jesus. You poor cow.' Cain thought two years had been bad enough.

  She glared at him. 'You're not feeling sorry for me, are you?'

  Cain ran his finger around his shirt collar. 'I wouldn't bleeding dare, Connie. What I don't get is, if it's been going on this long, why ain't he been getting any help? You know, Viagra or sumfink.'

  'He did get some once. From the internet. It gave him a pounding headache and bloodshot eyes. He leered over me like a vampire, with all these horrid red veins popping out from his eyeballs. It was disgusting. And it didn't do anything for him, anyway. I'm not convinced they were the real thing. You can buy any old rubbish from the internet, and how do we know they're the real deal?'

  'But why not go to the doc's? Get the proper stuff?'

  Connie pushed her cup of cold tea away and shook her head. 'That's just it. That's what I can't forgive.' The tears were running down her face and she wiped them away. 'I understand that men become impotent. I get it, really, I do. What I can't forgive is that he wouldn't do anything about it. He wouldn't go to a doctor's, or a counsellor. Too proud. Too afraid to admit that he could be less than perfect, or that this self-proclaimed stud could be anything other than super fertile. He kept promising me he'd get help, but he never did. And there's been nothing ...' She shook her head, trying to regain control. 'I mean, ever since the problem started, he turned his back on me. Literally.'

  She looked at Cain, her eyes wide with desperation. 'There are other things you can do, aren't there? I mean, even if you can't have full sex, there are ways to show love to one another. Lots of ways. Lots of things. But he — he dismissed me. It was as if I was of no use to him anymore. And what I wanted, what I needed wasn't important. He'd decided that our physical intimacy was over and there was nothing I could do about it. I had to live with it. But I didn't want to live with it! I may have fallen out of love with him a long time ago, but we were still married, we still had some sort of relationship, even if it wasn't hearts and flowers. And I have needs. I'm not dead yet. It's not fair, is it? Is it?'