Emma had edged her way miserably to the bedroom door where she turned and looked back towards him like a rejected child. Stephen picked up his one of his stack-heeled boots and threw it at her. She got quickly through the door shutting it just in time to hear it crash against the other side.
In the beginning, Kate had been so hurt by what Emma had done she couldn’t bear to be in the same room as her sister. She had retreated quietly into her own sorrow; seeking refuge in her bedroom, safely away from Emma and Angie. But as the days went by and she had seen Emma’s tear swollen face and look of desperation she'd taken her into her arms and softly called her ‘poor wee one’ like Joe would’ve done. Emma knew she didn’t deserve such compassion from a person she had so badly wronged, but without Kate she was lost. The person she’d hurt so badly was the one she needed the most.
***
The gates to the Barton house were crafted in intricately woven wrought-iron. Beautiful variegated ivy climbed round the side-poles and had spread its elongated fingers to cover the old wall that surrounded the garden. Ahead of this beautiful entrance stood old oak trees, now clothed in the rich orange of autumn. Like a battalion of soldiers, they waited silently to defend Meadow's End, the Barton family home.
Kate’s resolve began to ebb away from her when she saw the vast brick walls of the Barton’s home way-off in the distance. Emma gave a low whistle as they stood holding onto the gate, peering through the wrought iron tendrils and surveying the imposing scene. “We can’t go in there,” she said. “No way am I going in there.”
“Yeah, you bloody well are.” Emma gazed at Kate in astonishment. “You swore again. You never swear.”
“Well... you’re put off so easily. So they’ve obviously got money, loads of it if their house is anything to go by but it doesn’t change anything. I'm scared as well, but you know what they say...fate favours the brave.” Emma looked puzzled. “What?”
“Oh, never mind. Come on. The only way we’ll get this sorted out is if we speak to them.” Emma followed Kate through the immense black gates shaking her head. She was unconvinced this was the right thing to do, but she trusted Kate more than anyone else in her life. She was putting her faith in her sister because if anyone could sort out the mess she was in, she could.
The driveway to the house was long and meandering and bordered on the right by a small paddock that had been allowed to have its head. In the summer months, nature exploded into a beautiful meadow filled with wild flowers. A few late poppies with their fiery red petals had challenged the last months of the year and were dotted across the paddock. Creeping Soft Grass intermingled with fronds of bracken fluttered delicately in the breeze, animated into a bobbing dance.
To the left of the drive was a beautiful old cottage-wall that gave perfect privacy to the house. Against this backdrop grew Bullace and Black Bryony and across these climbed Travellers Joy with its familiar and pungent summer scent of vanilla. Amongst all these shrubs and in the meadow grew the humble dandelion. In the hottest months of the year this commonest of flowers cut a beautiful golden swathe across the gardens and meadow, and was presently resplendent in fluffy umbrella like seed heads.
Most of the flowers and shrubs were coming to the end of their flowering season, but this did not detract from the breathtaking beauty of the place. Instead, the sight of early autumn gradually cloaking the huge garden with shades of orange, russet and gold simply aided nature's artistry. The girls surveyed the scene with wonder. Never before had they seen anything so awe-inspiring.
“This has to be heaven on earth,” said Kate, her eyes wide as she appraised the tranquil beauty all around her. Emma nodded in agreement.
“Anyone who could create this must be a good person,” Kate said. “It’s funny, but I don’t feel nearly as scared now.” She took her sister’s hand and pressed it lightly. “Are you ready?” she said softly. Emma took a deep breath. “I’m ready.” Kate closed the great wrought iron gates behind them and they took their first steps on to Meadow’s End.
***
The nearer they got to the house the larger and grander it became. The vast front door grew taller and taller as they walked further down the drive, its solid presence engulfing them both. Kate reached up to lift the knocker, just within her reach. When she dropped it against the door the sound of metal hitting solid wood reverberated around them. She felt strangely vulnerable, as though the glare of a spotlight had suddenly been switched on and was shining solely on her. She turned to Emma and pulled a face to show that she was nervous. A voice from inside the house called out. “Just a moment please.”
Keys turning in locks preceded the opening of the door and a smiling woman with iron-grey hair and small eyes stood in front of them. “Can I help you?”
“Yes please. We’d like to speak to Stephen Barton if that’s possible.”
“I’m afraid it isn’t. He’s not here.” Another voice came from inside the hall. “Who is it, Cecily?” Diana Barton came to the entrance, smiling.
“We’d like to see Stephen, please,” said Kate in a voice that she hoped sounded more confident than she was feeling.
“He isn’t here. He left for university yesterday.” Kate’s face fell and she faltered unsure of what to say next. Emma grabbed her arm. “Kate, I don’t feel very well.” Kate held onto Emma as they stood awkwardly in front of the two women. This wasn’t what Kate had planned. A look of impatience crossed Cecily’s face as Diana Barton reached forward and held onto Emma’s arm. “You'd better come inside.”
Diana led them into a large hall, the panelled walls and ceiling giving the room an austere atmosphere. She walked them to a bright study, offering Emma a seat on a squashy tan-leather settee, lifting her feet up so she could rest against the soft cushions. “Cecily.” The housekeeper came into the study, her smile firmly fixed in place.
“Could you bring a jug of water please, and some glasses?” Cecily nodded, her low-heeled shoes clip-clopping against the oak parquet floor. Diana patted Emma’s hand and felt her forehead. When Cecily returned she poured the water into two glasses and handed one to Emma and the other to Kate. As Emma sipped the water, she relaxed and the colour returned to her cheeks.
“Thank you, Mrs. Barton.”
“It’s no trouble, no trouble at all,” smiled Diana. She looked closely at Emma. “You’re looking a bit better. You’re friends of Stephen? What are your names?”
“I’m Kate and this is my sister, Emma,” Kate answered. Diana frowned. “No, he hasn’t mentioned you. I thought I knew his crowd. Did he not tell you he was going to university?” Both girls shook their heads.
“He did leave in a bit of a hurry but we're thrilled that he decided to take a place at Cambridge.” She turned to Emma and felt her forehead again. “You’re still a little warm. Do you think you may have ‘flu?” Emma turned her gaze to Kate as if to say “what do we do now?” Kate took a deep breath knowing she was about to deliver some shattering news. “Mrs. Barton...Emma’s pregnant.” Diana looked shocked. “But she’s just a child. You poor girl. What will you do?” Diana turned to one then the other. Kate and Emma gazed steadily at her, their eyes willing her to understand. Long moments passed as comprehension dawned on her, her face registering disbelief. She released Emma’s hand and stepped back from them. Walking over to the window, the cogs and wheels of her mind worked quickly as she weighed-up what the girls were telling her. “I need to hear this from you in your own words, clearly and concisely so there can be no misunderstanding.” She swallowed hard, dreading what she knew they were going to say. “Are you saying that Stephen is the father of your child?” She turned to Emma. “Well?” Emma nodded. Acid bile rose in Diana’s throat. She poured water into a glass and drank deeply.
Leaning against the large walnut desk she rested her head in her hands for a few moments then look across to the sisters again, studying them. She scrutinised their faces expecting to see deviousness and underhandedness. Instead she saw innocence and honesty on Kate�
��s face and fear and rejection on her sister’s. It didn't make her feel any better. She could have dealt with them more easily if she'd felt they were lying; trying to make a fast buck. Her intuition told her the opposite.
She was well aware that Stephen was capable of something like this. He was cunning and artful. If the girls were telling the truth and a gut feeling told her they were, it answered perfectly why he’d altered his plans so urgently in the last few days. She went over to a console where she poured herself a brandy. “You’ll have to forgive me,” she said, “but I've had a shock. That's if it is the case that Stephen's to be a father.”
“It is the case, Mrs. Barton,” said Kate, frowning. “Please don’t doubt it.” Diana didn’t answer her. Tossing the brandy down her throat in one she recoiled at the after-taste. She couldn’t know this was familiar territory for the girls. They glanced knowingly at each other.
“So,” she said turning from the table, wishing she'd imagined the girls in the study. “You came to tell Stephen he's to be a father.”
“He already knows,” said Kate. Diana inhaled slowly. She'd been right about him. “Now why doesn’t that surprise me?” she said under her breath. “How well do you know Stephen, Emma?” Kate was about to speak, but Diana raised her hand to silence her. “Let your sister speak. I know you're trying to protect her but I want to hear it from her.” She looked over to Emma and lifted her chin, indicating for her to speak.
“A few months,” Emma answered in a small voice.
“And what makes you think you’re pregnant?” Emma looked embarrassed and lowered her eyes, lifting them only occasionally as she spoke so as not to make eye contact with Diana.
“I’ve missed two periods and I’ve had sickness in the mornings and it hurts here,” she said, pointing to her breasts. Diana nodded. “Have you seen your doctor? Have you told anyone else?”
“Only Kate,” Emma replied, “and I haven’t been to the doctor.”
“What about your mother?” Emma shook her head.
“Why?” Emma shrugged and looked away. Diana rubbed her hand across her eyes. “I need to speak with my husband. He should know what's happened.” She quickly glanced around the room, knowing it would be naive to leave the girls by themselves. “I’ll send Cecily to sit with you.
The girls and Cecily sat in the study in silence. Cecily wore an unwavering smile and Kate began to think that the woman had something wrong with her. Emma was the first to speak. “I need to use the toilet. Where is it?” Cecily shook her head. “No, you’re not leaving here until Mrs. Barton says you can.” Her smile disappeared in a flash from her face.
“But I’m desperate.” Cecily was immovable. “No, Missy. You wait here until Mrs. Barton comes back. You heard what she said.” Seconds later they heard heavy footsteps getting closer to the study and Diana’s light, cut-glass voice in the background. Matthew Barton's large frame filled the entrance. Kate and Emma were both startled as he came through the door and Cecily smiled with satisfaction when she saw how scared they were.
Matthew Barton was fifty-five and a solicitor; a man who had soared high above his humble beginnings. His family had lived a few streets away from where Kate and Emma now lived. He would never have admitted this part of his personal history, particularly to his colleagues in the practice he alone owned, much preferring them to believe he'd been born to an educated family. He’d also kept Diana in the dark about his modest beginnings, telling her his family were all dead.
He’d lived with his parents in a two-up-two-down, back-to-back, and had been determined to erase them from his life. Their unrefined behaviour was an embarrassment to him. Once, he had returned home from school to find his grandmother gnawing hungrily on a pig’s trotter. It had disgusted him and he’d vowed to himself there and then he would get out of the life he so hated: eliminate his background of poverty as if it never existed.
His father had had the unfortunate habit of belching loudly or breaking wind where ever he was if the need arose, and Matthew assumed he wouldn’t have changed in the last thirty years. He didn’t know for sure because he hadn’t visited them once since leaving university. For all he knew they were dead. They were a part of his life he would sooner forget.
“What do you want?” he demanded. Emma recoiled in fright and Diana began to plead with him. “Matthew, please, give them a chance to explain. Let them tell you what happened.”
“I don’t need them to tell me, I’ve heard it from you.” He paced the room with his hands clasped behind his back, his steps falling loudly on the wooden floor. “And I’ve heard all I want to hear.” His face looked bilious. Bluish lips pulled back over his teeth contorted his face into a scowl. “All right, let me have it. How much do you want?” He stopped pacing and looked from one to the other. “Well? Don’t tell me you weren’t hoping for a hand out because I know this is all about money.”
Emma left the settee and clung to Kate who was standing by the study window. Matthew noted their ill-fitting clothes and their scuffed shoes; the efforts made to make them look better glaringly obvious. They were devoid of any charm, a couple of refugees blown in from a storm. He laughed. “What the hell would my son want with a couple of gypsies like you? Oh please, don’t waste my time.” A thought struck him. “I know what this is. It’s blackmail, isn’t it? You’re trying to blackmail my family.” He paused. “Well you can forget it.”
Diana remained silent. She knew her husband’s violent temper only too well. He’d used it to heartbreaking effect upon her many times, particularly when he'd had a bad day or lost a case. She would know his mood the moment he arrived home. If he was in a happy frame of mind he would buy her flowers, her favourite dusky-pink roses, and suggest they dined at a favourite restaurant. If he was not he would close the front door with an almighty slam and retreat into his study taking a bottle of whisky for company.
He’d bullied her more times than she cared to remember, both verbally and physically. When he was angry, whether she'd done something to upset him or not he would punish her, distort her words to make him appear to be the victim. He would ask her some unimportant question because he needed to start a dialogue with her. Not content to have his disagreeable frame of mind alone he would drag her into battle.
On occasion he'd beaten her. One evening a few months earlier, the telephone rung and Cecily had answered. She told Diana that Matthew was going to be late. “I hope you don’t mind my saying, Mrs. Barton, but Mr. Barton sounds a little under the weather.” Diana had sighed heavily, resenting the patronising tone in her housekeeper’s voice. They both knew what ‘under the weather’ meant. Diana decided to go to bed early. She hadn’t wanted to be downstairs when Matthew got back.
The slam of a car door had woken her. She’d got out of bed and pulled the curtain aside. As drunk as Matthew undoubtedly was he’d driven home. She watched him stagger towards the front door then heard him fumbling, cursing loudly as he tried to insert his key into a lock that wouldn’t keep still. Diana had hastily gone back to bed when she’d heard the door close. Heading his way up the first flight of stairs he’d paused on the first-floor landing, wobbled up towards the second floor a few steps, trying to work out where his bedroom was. “Blasted house,” he’d cursed. “Too bloody big, anyway. I never wanted to live here but Daddy’s spoilt brat had to have her own way because it belonged to Daddy,” he’d mimicked. “I said... I never wanted to live in this fucking enormous house.”
Diana trembled as Matthew groped around in the dark for the door handle. He’d staggered into the room, startling himself as he tottered forward. He’d laughed and belched again which made him laugh even more. “Like father like son,” he said, his words tripping over each other. “Hey, Di...aa...naah. Can you hear me?”
“Oh, Matthew, why do you do this?”
“That’s it. Start fucking complaining. That’s all you ever do, isn’t it? I work and I work to give you everything you want and is it enough? No, of course it isn’t. I’ll tell you
what I’ll do,” he’d shouted. “I’ll sit on my royal arse and do tapestry all day.” He lunged forward and grabbed her wrist. “Are you going to be friendly to Matty tonight? I’ve had a hell of a day and I need some tender loving care.”
Releasing his grip on her wrist he’d launched towards her across the bed, agile for a man of his size. Pulling her chin closer to him so that he could kiss her he pawed at her body. She’d flinched away from him in disgust. He stank of whisky and cigars.
“Don’t turn away from me. You owe me. I’ve given you everything and what did you give me? One lousy son who isn’t up to it. He doesn’t take after my side that’s for sure.”
His attitude changed and he began to wheedle in a maudlin voice. “You’ve used me and all I ever wanted was for you to be happy. I have no family but you. I know you hate me. You all do, even that half-witted woman you call a housekeeper. She looks down her nose at me, damn it. And I pay her bloody wages. Come on, Di. You know what I like.” Diana had pulled away from him and ran to the door.
“No you don’t, lady. You leave when I say you can.” Then he’d taken hold of the front of her night-dress and ripped it down the centre.
“Matthew, stop it,” she’d cried, but this had provoked him even more. He’d picked her up and taken her to the top of the stairs. “Right. Which way d’you want to leave this house, because I want you out of here. You can go down the stairs or through the landing window. Either way you probably won’t survive it. Think of all the insurance money I’ll get. I have you well insured, my darling. I’ll be able to retire within a month.”
***
Diana could see Matthew had frightened the girls half to death. “Darling, I think we should let them go now. There’s no point in continuing if you’ve already made up your mind. Anyway, won’t you be late for the office?” He looked at his watch. “Damn. I’m already late.” He turned to leave the study. “Get rid of them, Diana, and you...” He swivelled to face Emma, pointing an accusatory finger at her. “Get rid of that brat you’re carrying. You won’t get anything here. If you’re pregnant cut your losses. Make them leave, Diana. I’ve seen enough of them. They make the place look untidy.” Then something occurred to him. “And you can forget the hearts and flowers stuff. You’re so gullible. They’d only have to squeeze a few tears out and you’ll be taken in. I want them gone from this house and they’re to receive nothing.”
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