A Wild Surrender

by Anne Mather

  ‘You and Mum got married when she was nineteen, didn’t you?’

  ‘That’s right.’ Her father nodded. ‘And to begin with we were very happy.’

  ‘But?’

  He sighed. ‘I suppose you were about thirteen years old when she told me she’d kept track of Matthew’s life for the past eighteen years. I thought at first she’d kept in touch with Jacob Brody, but after what you’ve just told me I doubt it. But somehow, maybe via a third party, she’d learned that Matthew was going to go to Princeton University that autumn. She told me she wanted to get in touch with him, to go and see him, to try and mend the rift between them.’

  ‘Oh, Dad!’

  ‘Yes.’ He sounded weary now. ‘It was a shock. I don’t deny it. Her own parents were dead by that time. You remember they were killed in that train accident when you were twelve years old? Maybe she’d been thinking about it since then. I don’t think Sara would have done anything against her parents’ wishes, but after they were dead…’

  ‘So did she go?’

  ‘Oh, yes. According to her, Matthew was delighted to see her. Somehow I doubt that, too, but anyway, he didn’t turn her away. I know Jacob Brody wasn’t too happy about the arrangement. He and his wife regarded themselves as Matthew’s parents. There was an exchange of letters in which he voiced his disapproval. But Matthew was above the age of consent, and I’m sure your mother had taken that into consideration when she made her move.’

  Rachel was appalled. ‘And has she seen him since then?’

  ‘A couple of times,’ agreed her father flatly. ‘You remember that trip to Paris she made with your aunt Laura? That was to see Matthew. Then once she flew out to Miami and met him there.’

  ‘But not to St Antoine?’

  ‘Not until now.’ Ralph Claiborne sighed again. ‘That’s what worried me so much. She’d heard that Matthew’s father had had a heart attack or a stroke, or some such thing, and she told me she wanted to be with Matthew, to comfort him at this time.’

  ‘But you didn’t believe her.’

  ‘No.’ Her father was honest. ‘Rachel, Jacob Brody is her son’s father! No one has a stronger hold on her affections than him.’

  Rachel was bewildered. ‘But you’re my father.’ She thought she might cry again. ‘Don’t I mean anything to her at all?’

  ‘Oh, Rachel, of course you do.’ Ralph leaned across the table and covered her hand with both of his. ‘We both love you very much. You know that.’

  ‘But a son means so much more. Is that it?’

  ‘No.’ Her father was looking worried again now. ‘Oh, Rachel, dear, don’t press me. Your mother has her own way of doing things, as you should know. She’d never forgive me if I started rocking the boat now.’

  Rachel couldn’t believe it. Pushing herself up from the table, she said, ‘Don’t you think she’s the one who’s rocking the boat, Dad?’ She gazed at him despairingly. ‘She’s talking about staying on the island. She says she wants to be with Matt. What else does she have to do before you realise we come a very low second on her list?’

  Ralph gazed up at her with anxious eyes. ‘She said that? She said she wants to stay on St Antoine?’

  ‘Well…’ Rachel had to be completely honest. ‘She said she was happy there. She didn’t say she wasn’t coming back, but she didn’t say she was either.’

  ‘Damn her!’

  It was the first time she’d heard her father swear in connection with her mother. She knew they’d had arguments from time to time, but her father had always moderated his language in her presence. Now, however, he seemed almost desperate in his need to voice his feelings. Rachel felt guilty for being the one to burst whatever bubble he’d been living in, but he had to know what her mother was thinking. He had to know there was a chance she might not come back.

  A sudden knock at the kitchen door had them both lifting their heads in surprise. ‘It’s only me, Ralph,’ called a light feminine voice, and Rachel’s aunt Laura opened the door and came confidently into the room.

  ‘Oh, Rachel!’ she exclaimed when she saw her niece, and Rachel guessed she was the last person Laura had expected to see. ‘I didn’t know you were due back today.’

  ‘She wasn’t,’ said Ralph heavily. ‘Apparently your sister is considering staying in St Antoine, so Rachel decided to come home.’

  That wasn’t quite how it had been, but Rachel was happy to allow him that concession at least.

  Laura gasped, however. She was a pretty woman, a few years younger than her sister, and plumper. ‘You’re not serious?’ she exclaimed. ‘Oh, that silly woman! I mean—’

  She broke off abruptly, looking to Ralph as if for guidance, and her brother-in-law ran a heavy hand down his face. ‘Rachel knows about Matthew,’ he said. ‘Sara’s told her.’

  ‘Oh…’ Laura appeared relieved. ‘Well, anyway, Matthew’s what? Thirty-five? Thirty-six? He won’t want his mother on his back for the rest of his life.’

  ‘Tell me about it.’ Ralph got to his feet and lifted his shoulders in a weary gesture. Then, forcing his thoughts into other channels, he nodded his head towards the dish she was holding. ‘What’s that you’ve got there?’

  ‘Oh, it’s just a casserole I made for your supper,’ said Laura deprecatingly, looking apologetically at Rachel. Then, as if some explanation was necessary, she continued, ‘Your father gave me a key so I could get in and tidy the place while he was at work. Obviously I didn’t expect him to be home this morning. Or you either,’ she added. She forced a smile. ‘Did you have a good trip? Or is that a silly question?’

  ‘It’s a silly question,’ grunted Ralph.

  Rachel, who was beginning to feel like a third wheel, said, ‘I’ll just use the bathroom, Dad. Then I’ll go back to my apartment. I dare say I’ve got some tidying up to do before I go back to work.’

  ‘You could stay here,’ suggested her father, but Rachel shook her head.

  ‘No, I couldn’t.’ She smiled at Laura. ‘Excuse me.’

  Her father patted her shoulder as she passed him, but Rachel didn’t have the strength to return the gesture. It hurt a little to know that even her aunt had known about Matt’s existence, but obviously she would. When Sara had been pursuing Jacob, Laura wouldn’t even have reached her teens. But she’d definitely have been old enough to know her sister was pregnant.

  She went into the bathroom that adjoined her parents’ bedroom. She wasn’t surprised to see how pale she was. She was surprised her aunt hadn’t commented on it. But then, she suspected Laura had had enough to do, making excuses for running after her father while her mother was away. Sara needed to get home soon, before her sister took over her husband as well as her home.

  The urge to cry again swept over her, and she stifled a groan. Dear heaven, she felt as if her whole metabolism was breaking down. She never cried; not normally. But then again, these were hardly normal times.

  She was walking back along the hall again when she heard her name mentioned. Not by her father, this time, but by her aunt.

  ‘You didn’t tell Rachel the truth?’ she was saying, her voice full of impatience. ‘Oh, Ralph, the girl’s thirty, for goodness’ sake! I don’t care what Sara thinks. She deserves to know!’

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  DON GRAHAM stopped by Rachel’s desk on his way back to his office.

  ‘Rachel,’ he said, and for once there was no trace of censure in his tone—which hadn’t been the case for the past three weeks.

  Since her return to work, he’d seemed to be constantly on her case, and she couldn’t exactly blame him. Her concentration was spotty, at best, and she knew her work was suffering.

  But what could she do? Her whole world seemed to have tilted on its axis, and although the relief of learning that Matt
wasn’t her brother was paramount in her thoughts, the knowledge that he’d known the truth all along put an entirely different complexion on their relationship.

  Which was good—and bad.

  Thanks to Aunt Laura’s intervention, she now knew that she’d been adopted by the Claibornes when she was only a few days old. Her biological mother had been a law student, who’d had no intention of keeping the baby in any case, but who had died from a blood infection soon after the birth. She’d been unmarried, and no one seemed to know who Rachel’s father had been. Another student seemed the most likely solution.

  Sara’s reasons for keeping this from her daughter seemed selfish, in retrospect, but Rachel wasn’t into judging anyone. It had been common enough in the past for parents to keep their child’s adopted status a secret, and after what Sara must have suffered when her son was taken from her there was some justification for her decision.

  After the first initial shock Rachel had been prepared to be generous. She believed her father when he said he would have told her sooner, and, after all, he’d suffered enough in his own way.

  Not that he seemed to be suffering now, she acknowledged. Aunt Laura was making herself a very satisfactory substitute so far as a housekeeper was concerned. It was to be hoped her mother knew what she was doing, Rachel mused ruefully. Laura might just try to dislodge her sister in a far more intimate way.

  And as for Matt…

  Well, if it hadn’t been for Matt there wouldn’t have been this dilemma. For her, or her mother.

  But Matt was a factor. Rachel knew in her heart of hearts that if she’d known the truth she’d never have left the island as she had. And it would be so easy to blame Sara for that, too.

  God knew what he must think of her. Would her mother have explained that so far as Rachel had been aware he was her brother? Or would that have been too much like admitting defeat? And, in any case, Sara had no idea how far their relationship had gone.

  So far as Matt as concerned Rachel had left without even saying goodbye. And after what they’d shared that must seem the deepest cut of all.

  Or perhaps not. She didn’t know how Matt felt about her. Yes, he’d been attracted to her. Yes, he’d made love to her. But he must have made love to dozens of women, and surely if he’d really cared about her he’d have come after her. Just because she’d instinctively known that he was going to be the love of her life it did not mean that he felt the same. Obviously he didn’t.

  ‘Rachel?’

  Don Graham was still standing beside her desk, and Rachel realised that once again her thoughts had been wandering.

  Colour stained her cheeks. ‘I’m sorry.’ She pushed back her chair and got awkwardly to her feet. ‘Did you want me, Don?’

  The possibility that he was thinking of dismissing her crossed her mind. And who could blame him? Her work definitely wasn’t up to standard. She hadn’t signed up any new accounts for the past three weeks.

  ‘You’ve got a visitor,’ he said in a calming voice. ‘It’s your mother.’

  Rachel stared at him in disbelief. She and her father had been getting used to the fact that Sara Claiborne would return home when she was ready and not before. And her father had said nothing about her mother coming home when she’d phoned him the night before.

  ‘Yes, your mother,’ said Don Graham kindly, squeezing her arm. ‘Look, your dad’s told me she’s been staying with friends, and that there’s been something of an upset in the family. But she’s here now, and she seems eager to speak to you.’

  Rachel swallowed, glancing across the office to where a wall of frosted glass hid the reception area. Her mother was here? At the Chingford Herald? To see her? Why?

  ‘I’ve told Valerie to put her in the interview room,’ went on Don Graham evenly. ‘I’m sure you have lots to talk about, so I’m giving you the rest of the day off. It’s Friday. I’ll see you again on Monday. Okay?’

  Rachel was tempted to say no, it wasn’t okay. Why should she be available when her mother wanted her, when for the past few weeks she hadn’t heard a word from her?

  But she wasn’t that kind of person. Whatever her mother wanted, whatever reason her father had had for keeping her return a secret, she had to deal with it.

  ‘Okay,’ she said in a low voice, aware that once again she was attracting attention from the people around her. ‘Thank you.’

  Don Graham merely arched his brows and walked away, and, feeling much like a condemned woman on her way to the scaffold, Rachel walked slowly towards the office door.

  Sara Claiborne was seated at the table in the interview room. Someone, probably Valerie, had supplied her with a mug of coffee, but she had barely touched it. And as soon as she saw her daughter she rose immediately to her feet.

  ‘Oh, Rachel,’ she said, and there was a break in her voice. ‘I’ve been such a fool!’

  Rachel closed the door behind her and leaned back against it. Despite fair warning, she found that seeing her mother again had made her legs feel decidedly wobbly. And, although she was sure Sara would have appreciated a hug, too much had happened to allow her to expose her emotions once again.

  Squaring her shoulders, she said instead, ‘Dad didn’t tell me you were back.’

  ‘That’s because your father doesn’t know yet,’ said her mother heavily. ‘I just flew in this morning and came straight here. I guessed you’d be at work and I needed to speak to you.’ She paused. ‘Alone.’

  Rachel pushed away from the door. ‘Well, don’t you think you ought to ring Dad first? He’s been really worried about you.’

  ‘I’m sure your aunt Laura’s been looking after him,’ said Sara, somewhat cynically.

  ‘Well, you can’t blame Dad for that.’

  Sara sighed. ‘I’m not blaming anyone, Rachel. Except perhaps myself.’ She spread an arm. ‘Look, can we go somewhere we can have a private conversation? I never trust newspaper offices. They have microphones everywhere.’

  Rachel shook her head. ‘How about McMillan Court?’ she asked, naming the complex where her parents’ apartment was situated. ‘It’s private there.’

  Her mother hesitated. ‘Couldn’t we go to your apartment, Rachel? I don’t want us to be interrupted.’

  Rachel bit her lip. It was true that although her father would be at work Aunt Laura had a key, and might well be doing a little housework in his absence.

  ‘All right,’ she said at last. She glanced at her watch. ‘There’s a bus in fifteen minutes.’

  ‘We’ll get a cab,’ said Sara firmly, bending to pick up her handbag, and Rachel suddenly noticed the suitcase standing behind the door.

  ‘Okay,’ she said, reaching for the handle of the case. ‘I’ll just get my things.’

  Traffic being what it was, it took them almost an hour to reach Rachel’s apartment. An older complex than the one where her parents lived, it was nevertheless equipped with all the usual amenities. A lift transported them to the seventh floor, and Rachel opened the door to number 702.

  Not surprisingly, perhaps, her mother had said little in the taxi. There was a definite rift between them, and although they’d spoken about the weather, and the contrast between the chilly March day outside the windows and the heat of St Antoine, they were casual comments that anyone might have made.

  Once they stepped inside Rachel’s apartment, however, she heard her mother breathe a sigh of relief before collapsing somewhat ungracefully onto the sofa in the living room. Sara leaned back and closed her eyes, and for the first time Rachel allowed herself to notice that the years her mother had appeared to shed in St Antoine had returned, with interest.

  Grey streaks were appearing in her hair again, and beneath her fur-lined jacket her flared woollen trousers and crew-necked sweater were anything but flamboyant. She looked pale, and
tired, and when she opened her eyes again Rachel was amazed to see they were filled with tears.

  ‘Oh, Mum,’ she exclaimed, starting towards her, sympathy for the woman who’d raised her overcoming any resentment she’d been feeling. But her mother’s next words halted her in her tracks.

  ‘Matt and I have had such a terrible row,’ she said brokenly, tears starting to trickle down her cheeks. She sniffed noisily. ‘He hates me. I know he does. Oh, Rachel, why did you ever go to St Antoine?’

  Rachel sat down rather abruptly on the arm of the nearest chair. ‘Why did I ever go to St Antoine?’ she echoed faintly. ‘You know why I went, Mum. I was looking for you.’

  ‘Oh, I know that.’ Sara was testy. Sitting up, she reached into her handbag for a tissue. ‘I know why you went there, you silly girl. I want to know what you think it had to do with you?’

  Rachel’s jaw sagged. ‘Mum—Dad was worried about you. I was worried about you. We didn’t know what to think.’

  ‘Your father thought I’d gone there to see Jacob, didn’t he?’ Sara spoke impatiently. ‘As if I would. But he had no right to send you there, involving you in my affairs.’

  Rachel straightened her spine. ‘So why don’t you take this up with Dad?’ Any sympathy she’d been feeling had quickly fled. ‘I can’t imagine why you would come here to talk to me.’

  ‘Can’t you? Can’t you?’ Her mother stared at her. ‘Didn’t you hear what I said? Matt and I have had a terrible row.’ She swallowed convulsively. ‘About you!’

  ‘Me?’ Rachel was glad she was sitting down at that moment. She didn’t think her legs would have supported her. But she had to ask the obvious question. ‘Why?’

  ‘Oh, don’t be coy.’ Sara was contemptuous. ‘I know what’s been going on—don’t you understand? Between you and Matt.’ She paused. ‘He told me.’

  Rachel didn’t know what to think. She couldn’t think of any occasion when she might have come under discussion between Matt and her mother.