No one challenged her as she continued through to the hall, locating voices coming from the drawing room. She geared herself up, before knocking briefly and entering. The room had a minimum of furniture—chairs, a couple of sofas and some occasional tables—and her eyes went between the two occupants, neither of whom was Harry.
‘Where is he?’ she demanded without preamble.
‘Upstairs in the attic’ Jack rose to his feet, as did his companion. ‘He’s playing with Sam’s son, Eliot.’
‘Right.’ Esme willed herself to keep calm until she knew the whole story.
‘This is Sam,’ Jack introduced the other man, ‘married to Rebecca, whom you’ve already met. Sam, this is Esme, Harry’s mother.’
‘Pleased to meet you.’ The American approached with his hand outstretched.
‘Hello.’ Esme took it briefly.
‘Nice boy you have there,’ he volunteered with a smile.
‘Thank you,’ Esme replied, but her tone was stiff.
He took it as his cue to say, ‘I think I’ll go and see what the guys are doing.’
Jack nodded, approving the move, and waited until his friend had left the room before speaking.
‘I can guess you’re mad,’ he began as the mask of politeness slipped from her face, ‘but let’s at least sit down and discuss this rationally.’
He indicated a seat and retook his own. Esme perched on the end. She hadn’t come for any cosy chat.
‘Why should I be mad?’ she replied rhetorically. ‘My son has been sent home with someone the school’s never met before and who has no permission to take him, but what the hell!’
‘OK. OK.’ He held up his hands. ‘Maybe I made the wrong judgement call but what else could I do? They rang you first before trying the second line of contact, your mother.’
‘My mother?’ What had her mother to do with this?
‘Or her old number, at least,’ he explained, ‘which seems to have been reassigned to me.’
‘Oh.’ And Esme had failed to update Harry’s records. ‘You could have told them you had nothing to do with him, couldn’t you?’ she argued next.
‘I could,’ he agreed, ‘and probably would have, had Hairy not told them otherwise.’
‘What precisely?’ She didn’t like the sound of this.
‘That I was a good friend of yours—’ his lips twisted at the irony ‘—and we lived in the same place.’
‘I see.’ Esme wished she didn’t. ‘But you corrected any wrong impressions, right?’
‘I would have,’ he claimed, ‘only your headteacher was already several conclusions ahead of herself, casting me in the role of honorary stepdad, and it seemed easier to go in person to explain our relationship.’
‘We don’t have one.’ Esme felt the need to remind him.
‘Yet.’ he qualified, glancing across at her.
Esme chose to ignore it in favour of finding out what had happened next.
‘You cleared things up at the school?’ she prompted.
‘Tried to,’ he confirmed.
Esme didn’t like the sound of that. ‘And?’
‘I’d barely set foot in her office when the headteacher launched into an account of the afternoon’s events,’ Jack relayed. ‘Which, in summary, are: Harry pushes boy over, punches him several times, gets pulled off, marched to head’s office, then refuses to account for his actions, leading to his removal pending further investigation.’
‘What?’ Esme said in disbelief. ‘He’s been expelled.’
‘Suspended, I think is the word the head used.’
‘And you just let them do that?’
‘As opposed to what?’ He tilted his head in enquiry.
‘I...’ Esme couldn’t think of an obvious answer and confined herself to scowling, ‘You believe Hairy would start a fight?’
‘Sufficiently provoked, yes,’ Jack countered. ‘Any boy would. Which is what I told the headteacher when she finally drew breath.’
So he had defended Harry. She didn’t know whether to be pleased or resentful.
‘I also told her,’ he ran on, ‘that before punishing Harry she should ask herself why a normally well-behaved boy had acted so much out of character. And that if she excludes Harry without doing so first, then she may expose herself to litigious action.’
Esme wasn’t sure whether to applaud or be horrified. ‘What does that mean exactly?’
‘We’ll sue her,’ he translated.
Now Esme was horrified. ‘What did she say?’
‘What you’d expect.’ He gave a slightly vulpine smile. ‘Backtracked immediately. Promised to look into the matter. Granted Harry holiday leave in the interim.’
He looked satisfied, as well he might. If Esme were honest, she had often longed but never dared to challenge the officious Mrs Leadbetter.
‘You can yell and shout at me now,’ Jack offered, ‘because I know I overstepped the mark.’
Esme had come prepared to do just that, but now recognised that, despite their ongoing conflict, he had gone to bat for Harry.
‘How is Harry?’ she asked instead.
‘Physically fine,’ he relayed, ‘apart from a bruise on his shin and a couple of scratch marks on his neck. I’m told the other kid looks a lot worse.’
Typically male response. ‘Is that meant to cheer me up?’
‘No, but it’s certainly made Harry feel better,’ he told her evenly, it seems said boy and his twin brother have been dogging him for months.’
And she hadn’t done anything about it. Jack didn’t say so, perhaps didn’t even think it, but it was true none the less. She had buried her head in the sand, hoping everything would sort itself out.
‘I should also warn you,’ Jack added, ‘that he’s adamant about not returning to the school. Apparently it’s full of sociopaths and children of limited intellectual capacity.’
‘He said that?’
‘No, that’s just a precis, excluding politically incorrect words like loony and moron.’
Esme shook her head, refusing to accept it was that bad. ‘You went there, didn’t you?’
He nodded. ‘Yeah, and it wasn’t much different then. Whoever said school days are the happiest days of your life didn’t go to City Road Primary.’
Esme stared at him in surprise. He’d never complained in the past. She’d always been the one to whinge on about how much she hated her boarding-school.
‘But you did so well,’ she insisted.
‘Different era.’ He shrugged. ‘Nowadays they seem to go for the lowest common factor, leaving a kid like Harry screaming inside with boredom.’
Was he? In the early days she’d asked him about what he did at school but over time she’d become discouraged by answers of ‘not much’ and ‘I can’t remember.’ But she’d always assumed that it was her questioning that had bored him, not school itself.
‘The kid is doing the most basic arithmetic at school,’ Jack commented, ‘while coding his own computer programs at home.’
‘OK, so quantum physics isn’t on the curriculum.’ Esme was put on the defensive. ‘What can I do about it?’
‘I’m not attacking you, Esme.’
‘Aren’t you?’ It felt like it.
‘I’m just saying,’ he continued patiently, ‘that there’s a risk he’ll become disaffected before he even reaches secondary school.’
‘So what’s your solution?’ She turned on him. ‘I assume you have one.’
Jack understood he was stepping on sensitive ground but went ahead anyway. ‘Have you considered private school?’
‘Of course,’ she threw back, ‘but I choose to eat instead.’
If he registered the sarcasm, he didn’t show it. His expression remained that poor-pathetic-Esme one she was coming to know and detest.
‘What about your mother?’ he suggested levelly.
‘What about my mother?’ she repeated, stony-faced.
He was undeterred. ‘Couldn’t
she help?’
Esme parried the question with a shrug. It was more a case of wouldn’t than couldn’t.
‘Then I could help,’ he added.
‘You?’ Esme hadn’t seen it coming. ‘Why should you help?’
Oh, God, had he found out? Had Harry let something slip that had enabled him to put two and two together and come up with four?
To her further confusion, Jack seemed to go off on a tangent, saying, ‘Do you remember my going on to Addleston Boys Grammar to do A levels?’
She nodded. ‘You went on a scholarship.’
‘A part-scholarship. The rest was paid for by your father,’ he told her.
Esme’s eyes widened at this revelation. ‘Why would he have done that?’
He steepled his fingers, considering his next reply. ‘He was a generous man.’
Esme couldn’t argue with that. Her mother had always claimed their father’s generosity—and gambling—had landed them in the poorhouse.
It could be true, yet she sensed Jack was holding something back. ‘Did my mother know?’
He shook his head. ‘It was a secret—between him and my mother...I don’t really think you should tell her now, either.’
Because her mother loathed him? Or for some other quite different reason?
She recalled her father and Mary Doyle, talking in the kitchen at times, laughter between them not uncommon, on much friendlier terms than her mother had ever been with her domestic, as she’d always referred to Mrs Doyle.
‘You’re saying...’
‘I’m saying nothing,’ he stated flatly, ‘other than the fact your father was good enough to give me a leg up in life. That I repay the debt to his grandson seems only fair.’
He made it sound simple, but surely she couldn’t accept such an offer from Jack Doyle? No, perhaps not from him, but from Harry’s father? Could that be wrong?
‘No strings attached,’ he added as she hesitated.
‘Strings?’
‘As in having to sleep with me in return.’
Esme’s mouth went into a line. Did he have to be so blunt?
‘If that’s meant to be reassuring—’
‘It is, yes.’
‘—then I wouldn’t consider a career in public relations if I were you.’
He laughed briefly. ‘You know us computer geeks—not famous for our people skills.’
Esme pulled a face in reply. Whatever Jack Doyle was, he was no one’s idea of a geek. Too handsome, for a start, and skilful enough in manipulating people when he chose. He’d seduced her rather effortlessly.
And somehow he seemed to have seduced her son. Normally taciturn, Harry had told him more in one afternoon than he had her in months.
She was jealous. Awful, but true. Man and boy had made some connection without any knowledge of the real one between them. And if they ever found out?
She suddenly felt scared. She loved Harry so much, to lose him would be unbearable. But what if he was given the choice—the simple life he led with her versus the things Jack could offer him?
No, it wouldn’t come to that.
She pushed up from her chair, ‘I’d better get Harry?’ He followed her to his feet ‘I’ll show you up to the attic’
‘I think I can find the way.’
‘Of course.’
He’d forgotten. Sometimes she forgot herself. Another life.
They walked out into the hall and she let him take the lead. It was his house, after all. A fact she no longer minded. Harry was now the main issue.
‘If you’ll consider it, anyway,’ Jack resumed as they climbed the staircase, ‘my paying for Harry’s education.’
She wanted to refuse point-blank, but did she have the right to turn him down on Harry’s behalf?
‘I will. Thank you.’ She forced the words out.
If he’d mocked her half-hearted gratitude, it would only be what she deserved, but it seemed Jack Doyle was a bigger person than her.
‘You only have to ask, OK?’ he added simply.
She nodded in acknowledgment as they walked along the gallery to the closed stairs that led to the attic.
In her family’s day this third storey had been used for junk, and the change was quite remarkable. An office suite now ran the length of the floor, skylights flooding the space with light, and banks of computers and other high-tech equipment built into the walls.
Harry was glued to one screen with a slightly older boy, playing an adventure game.
‘Harry.’ She tried to draw his attention. ‘Harry.’
Momentarily distracted, he turned to utter a, ‘Hi, Mum,’ before fixing his eyes back on the monitor.
Esme frowned at his back. She’d expected to find him contrite or perhaps upset and was somewhat cross that he wasn’t either.
‘Harry,’ she said more firmly, ‘we have to go.’
‘Five minutes.’ This time he didn’t even turn.
Esme breathed in deeply. She didn’t want to create a scene with Jack Doyle as witness, but said with quiet insistence, ‘No, now, Harry. We have to talk about what happened at school.’
She finally gained his attention. Well, enough of it for him to swivel round and announce, ‘I’m not going back. I can’t, anyway. They expelled me.’
‘No, they didn’t—’ that wasn’t Esme’s impression ‘—we just have to go in and see Mrs Leadbetter and clear the whole thing up.’
‘I’m not going.’ His expression became mutinous and he glanced towards the man standing at her shoulder for support.
But Jack shook his head, a gesture Esme caught out of the side of her eye.
‘Harry...’ She tried to appeal to reason.
Harry, however, presented his back again. Esme was shocked by his rudeness but too inhibited to react.
Not so Jack. He crossed to a wall switch and abruptly turned off the power.
Even Esme knew that was a bad thing to do to a computer.
Both boys looked up at him, slightly fearful.
‘Eliot—’ he inclined his head to the door ‘—go get a drink or something.’
‘Sure.’ The boy didn’t need telling twice.
Neither did her son. ‘Harry, your mother’s speaking to you.’
She immediately had Harry’s full attention, courtesy of Jack Doyle.
‘You want me to go?’ Jack added to her.
She made a slight face that could have been interpreted as yes or no.
At any rate, he stayed, taking a step back to lean against some shelving.
Harry stared at her resentfully.
‘Look, I’m not angry with you,’ she stated from the outset, ‘I simply want to know what happened.’
‘I started a fight.’ No hint of regret. ‘Was it one of the bullies you hit?’ she guessed. He nodded. ‘Dean Jarrett.’
‘Why?’ she asked simply.
He chewed on his lip, in no hurry to give an answer, and glanced sideways to Jack.
Esme raised a questioning brow at the man, too. Jack shook his head. ‘He hasn’t told me.’
‘Dean said things,’ Harry finally admitted. ‘Things?’ Esme echoed.
‘Bad things.’ Harry was clearly reluctant to be specific.
If Esme felt impatience, she quelled it.
‘Look, Harry,’ came from Jack, ‘giving the story in instalments isn’t going to make it sound any better.’
Esme didn’t appreciate this interruption, fearing Harry would clam up altogether.
But she couldn’t have been more wrong, as he suddenly began to relay, ‘Dean wanted me to give him some of my pocket money, otherwise he and Dwayne were going to bash my head in. I said I’d get my dad to bash his in, but he just laughed and said everyone knows I don’t have a dad because... because you’re just a posh tart,’ he finished in an embarrassed rush.
No wonder he hadn’t wanted to tell her.
Esme was speechless for a moment, horrified that children could be so hateful to each other, angry that some stu
pid parent had gossiped about her in front of their child, but, most of all, hurt for Harry, feeling so vulnerable he’d invented a father.
‘Do you know what those words mean?’ she asked Harry at length.
‘Not really,’ he admitted, ‘but I know it’s something nasty. That’s why I hit him.’
‘Why didn’t you tell the head this?’ Jack Doyle asked the next question for her.
Harry lifted his shoulders in a gesture of hopelessness. ‘They don’t listen.’
‘Yes, well—’ a determined Esme said ‘—they’ll listen to me.’
But Harry was unconvinced, repeating stubbornly, ‘I’m not going back.’
‘I’m sorry, Harry,’ Esme didn’t want a fight with him, ‘but you have to go to school. It’s the law.’
‘Your mother’s right,’ chimed in Jack.
A beleaguered Esme was, for once, grateful for his support.
Unfortunately Harry wasn’t. ‘I thought you were on my side, but you’re not. You’re like the rest. None of you understand.’
‘We do, Harry,’ Esme tried to placate him.
But Harry lashed out at her, too. ‘No, you don’t or you wouldn’t make me go back or make me move house or... or...or marry that stupid Charles,’ he shot out as the final straw.
‘Harry!’ Where had that idea originated? ‘I’m...Harry!’ she called out as the boy suddenly ran past her to the door.
For a moment she was too surprised to follow.
When she tried to, Jack stopped her, a hand on her arm. ‘I’d give him a chance to calm down.’
‘But what if he runs away?’
‘He’d have to scale the gates first.’
He had a point, but Esme was still worried. Defiance was a new thing for Harry. She wasn’t sure if she or Harry knew how to handle it. Perhaps a breathing space was needed, but she fretted that he might do something stupid in the meantime.
‘I’ll go and check on him if you like,’ Jack offered, seeming to read her mind.
‘Would you?’ she echoed uncertainly.
‘Yes, of course.’ Jack drew her towards a leather sofa. ‘Just sit here and rest for a while. You look exhausted.’
Esme felt it and went, unresisting, even as she murmured, ‘I can’t hang around too long. It’s his teatime soon. And there’s the car, as well.’
The Mother And The Millionaire Page 13