If I Were You

by Lynn Austin

  “Sure. You know you’re always welcome.”

  “I should warn you, though. We just got home from Robbie’s birthday party at the club and he’s a bit wound up from all the excitement. I need to calm him down so he’ll sleep tonight.”

  Tom laughed. “Well, the farm is the place to do it.”

  “Thanks, Tom. We’ll be there shortly. I’ll bring some leftover cake for your reward. There was enough to feed an entire regiment.”

  Eve’s tension from the exhausting day began to release as she left the suburbs and drove into the countryside. She felt free and happy out here, away from the women she had nothing in common with. Memories of her childhood in the village always flooded back as she watched Tom’s cows grazing in the pasture or saw his flock of sheep on the hillside. In the years since she first met Tom, he had become a good friend to her and Robbie. She also felt a stirring of affection and attraction toward him, but even though the times when she felt unbearably lonely were too many to count, she resisted the pull. She had loved Alfie and Louis and had lost them both. She wouldn’t risk the searing grief love brought. Eve understood, at last, why Mum wouldn’t go to the cinema with Williams. Besides, a relationship with Tom would complicate her life. She had committed fraud when she’d assumed Audrey’s identity, so a marriage to Tom or anyone else would be illegal under her false name.

  Tom waited outside for them. He bent to kiss Eve’s cheek as he took the plate of cake she’d brought. “I’ll run this inside the house real quick,” he said. He was back in a flash. “So did you have a nice party?” he asked as he ruffled Robbie’s ginger hair.

  “Yeah! You should see all the presents I got!”

  “More than any four-year-old could possibly need,” Eve added. “How about a walk in the woods?” The stretch of woods lay just beyond the pasture and she instinctively walked toward the trees and the sound of the rushing creek as if pulled by ropes. How she longed to be a carefree girl again, roaming through the trees with one of Granny Maud’s sausage rolls and a scone pinned in a napkin. If only she could go back in time to the days before Granny died. Before she went to work at Wellingford Hall. Before the war and the endless days of fear and sorrow and grief. Before Alfie. And Louis. Back to an innocent time when she believed in a Good Shepherd who would never abandon her.

  They reached the woods. The lovely sound of birdsong trilled above them. “Hear that, Robbie?” Tom asked. “That’s a meadowlark.”

  “How can you tell?”

  “Because every bird sings its own special song. I can teach you some of them, if you’d like.”

  Eve hurried forward, not waiting to hear Robbie’s reply, hoping Tom wouldn’t notice her tears. Granny Maud knew all the birds’ songs, too, and had been teaching Eve before . . . before she was laid to rest in the graveyard behind the village church and Eve’s life changed forever.

  She halted beneath a huge tree with branches that nearly touched the ground. “What a perfect climbing tree!”

  “It was my favorite when I was a boy. Want to try it, Robbie?”

  He drew back, shaking his head. “Uh-uh!”

  “Oh, dear. Don’t tell me my son is turning into a city boy!” Eve said, laughing. “We can’t have that!” She kicked off her shoes and scrambled up the trunk, halting on a branch above them. “This brings back so many memories,” she said, laughing again. “Oh, how I’ve missed the woods! Come on up, Robbie.”

  Tom lifted him up to the first branch, helping him until Eve could reach down to pull him up beside her. But she could tell he was scared, so she let Tom lift him down. She sat on the branch, legs dangling, the bark rough against her palms. “I would be content to live in a tree if there was a way to do it,” she said with a sigh.

  “You surprised me, Audrey,” Tom said when she’d climbed down again.

  “Oh? Why’s that?”

  “Well, the way Bob described you, I pictured a dignified princess who lived in a castle. Where did you learn to climb trees?”

  “Um . . . My friend Eve Dawson taught me.” She looked away so he wouldn’t see she was lying.

  “I heard all about Eve, too.”

  “Really? What did you hear?”

  “That she was funny and brave and full of life. Whatever happened to her?”

  “We lost touch after the war.”

  “Well, she did a good job teaching you to climb. You scrambled up that tree like a monkey.”

  Eve met his gaze, and the love and longing she saw in Tom’s eyes startled her. Her heart lurched. She could easily fall in love with Tom if she allowed herself. He was her closest friend. She imagined being held in his arms, kissing him, and her heart skipped faster. Maybe she already was in love with him. Eve quickly looked away, dismissing the thought. Impossible. The Barretts would never approve.

  But Mum would. Granny Maud, too. They would have liked Tom Vandenberg.

  Eve continued walking, following the creek through the woods. The rushing water was like music to her soul. Her sighs of contentment blended with the sigh of the branches swishing in the wind, the rustle of leaves and twigs beneath her feet. Much too soon, Robbie slowed down. “You’re not tired already, are you?” she asked.

  “My tummy hurts.”

  “I’m not surprised after all the cake and ice cream you ate.”

  “Can we go home?”

  I am home, she wanted to say.

  “Want me to carry you, buddy?” Tom asked. Robbie nodded, and Tom swung him up onto his shoulders as if he weighed nothing at all. Eve had never known her father, but he must have been a lot like Tom, a hardworking man who loved the land and his animals, a man with a warm smile for everyone. She knew the ache of growing up without a father and regretted that her son would know it, too.

  “Right, then. I guess we’d better head home,” Eve said when they reached the farmyard. Tom settled Robbie into the backseat. “Thanks, Tom,” she said after a quick embrace. She loved the scent of woods and fresh air on his clothing but didn’t dare to linger in his arms.

  “Anytime.”

  She drove away, sorry she had to leave. The Barretts had so enfolded Eve into their lives that she forgot, at times, that they weren’t her real family. But today she felt the uncomfortable tug between the woman she truly was and the woman she had become. Between the woman who belonged in the woods and the one who threw elaborate birthday parties at the country club. Eve wiped away tears as she drove, wishing for Robbie’s sake, for her own sake, that she had never chosen to become Audrey Barrett.

  WELLINGFORD HALL

  Tildy baked a birthday cake for Bobby when he turned four. Mrs. Smith stuck candles on top of it and the servants gathered around to sing “Happy Birthday to You.” Audrey remembered her own birthday parties on Wellingford’s lawn with white tablecloths and silver serving dishes and children she didn’t know. She had stood off to the side and watched them play, too shy to join them. But Alfie would always come and take her hand and pull her into the festivities.

  “Make a wish, Bobby,” Audrey told him. “Then blow out the candles.” He did as he was told. Audrey wondered what he wished for. She had given up on wishes the day Robert died.

  When they’d all eaten their fill, Audrey asked Tildy to put a piece of cake on a plate for her father, and she carried it to him in his study. “Father?” she said, knocking on his door. “I brought you a piece of cake. It’s Bobby’s birthday today.” He didn’t reply. She slowly opened the door and went in, steeling herself. He had returned to Wellingford Hall shortly after Eve disappeared four years ago, and had become increasingly reclusive ever since, holing up in his study, day after day, year after year until it had become a hoarder’s lair. He seldom left the room, eating here, sleeping here, and refusing to allow the servants inside to clean. Audrey skirted around mounds of trash and piles of newspapers and approached his desk, where he sat staring at an empty Scotch bottle. “I thought you might like some cake, Father. Tildy made it for Bobby’s birthday.”

  “I’m
selling the manor house,” he said without looking at her.

  “Excuse me?”

  “Pack your things and get out. Tell the servants they’re through working here. I’m selling Wellingford Hall and moving back to the north country where I belong.” He slurred his words. He was drunk.

  “You don’t really mean that, Father—”

  He cut her off with a shout. “It’s done! I’ve already signed with an estate agent! I never want to see this cursed place again!” His words knocked the wind from her. She needed to sit down, but rubbish covered every chair except the one he sat on.

  “What about your grandson? Wellingford Hall is his inheritance. You can’t sell his family home.”

  “What grandson?” he said with a growl. “I don’t have a grandson.”

  A well of pity opened in Audrey’s heart. Losing Mother and then Alfie had been too much for him. His grief and long confinement in this room had caused his mind to slip. She tried to speak slowly, to help him understand. “Yes, you do, Father. My son, Bobby, is your heir. Robert Clarkson Barrett, remember?”

  He turned to look at her, eyes glittering. “I know who you mean, Audrey. I haven’t lost my mind. But that boy is not my heir.”

  Audrey stared at him, certain he was merely confused. “Of course he is. Bobby is my son. I’m your daughter—”

  “No, you’re not!” His shout roared through the room. “You’re not my daughter!”

  His words slammed into Audrey as if he had knocked her against a wall. Father wore a sick smile on his face as he stared at her.

  “Didn’t your mother, the great Lady Rosamunde, ever tell you the truth?” he asked. “You aren’t mine, Audrey. I never did learn who sired you, but it wasn’t me. You’re the product of one of her many dalliances. An unfortunate accident. She probably didn’t know who your real father was, either.”

  Audrey wanted to run from the room to escape his words, but she couldn’t move, galvanized by his hatred and her utter shock. All she could think was No wonder you never loved me.

  “I’m done with all of this,” Father said, gesturing to the ravaged room. “I’ve lived my entire life for nothing. Nothing! I’m going to sell this monstrosity and be done with it.”

  Desperation dropped Audrey to her knees. “Please don’t do this to us! What about me? What about my son?”

  “Go find a rich, gullible fool to live off like your mother did.”

  Audrey couldn’t believe he would be so cruel. “You wouldn’t really leave us destitute, would you?”

  His expression softened, but only for a moment. “Your mother had a trust fund from her grandfather. I have no idea how much is left in it, but maybe there’s a quid or two.”

  Audrey rose to her feet on trembling legs. She no longer pitied this wreck of a man. She hated him. He was leaving her and her son homeless and alone. Where would they go? What would they do? She ran upstairs to the room that was no longer her room, struggling to comprehend that her father wasn’t her father. The home she loved wasn’t her home. The shock of it nearly paralyzed her. And the shame. Audrey longed to dissolve into tears and sob her heart out, the way she had as a child before Eve comforted her with strawberries. The way she’d fallen apart after Robert died. Eve said she had to go on living for her son’s sake, and she’d been right. Audrey couldn’t break down now, either.

  She wished she knew what had become of Eve. Eve had always given her courage when she’d needed it—and she needed it now. But she had no idea where she was. She hadn’t written to Audrey as she’d promised. None of the servants had heard from her, either. Why had Audrey ever allowed her best friend to walk away? Why hadn’t she begged Eve to stay? Audrey had been so disappointed in Eve for having an illegitimate baby, when all along, Audrey was an illegitimate child herself.

  She couldn’t dwell on that right now. She had to come up with a plan. If Eve could struggle through her own pain and shock after the V-1 rocket attack in order to save Audrey’s life, then she would set aside her own anguish and outrage in order to provide for her son. Father had mentioned Mother’s trust fund, so she would begin there. She would contact her uncle in London.

  Audrey composed herself, waiting for her hands to stop trembling, her weak knees to strengthen. Then she hurried downstairs to the sitting room and riffled through her desk for her address book. How long had it been since her uncle last telephoned? Audrey couldn’t recall. He had long grown tired of inviting her to London and hearing her refusals. She had become as much of a recluse as her father.

  She found the telephone number and went into the front hall to make the call. “Hello, this is Audrey Clarkson, your niece,” she said when her aunt came on the line. “There’s something I need to discuss with Uncle Roger, and I wondered if it would be convenient for me to drive up to London to see him this weekend.”

  “Let me check our calendar, dear . . .”

  Audrey twisted the telephone cord around her finger. “It’s rather urgent,” she added.

  “Right, then. Why don’t you come on Friday afternoon and join us for dinner? Sylvia will be here with her family, but I’m sure we can make room for you, too.” Audrey wrote down directions to the town house, barely remembering it from years ago. She would leave Bobby with the nurse for the weekend and drive up to London alone. She wondered if her uncle knew that Alfred Clarkson wasn’t her father. Should she tell him? Might he know who her real father was? She closed her eyes as she hung up the phone, wishing she could awaken from this nightmare.

  Audrey remembered her uncle’s London town house as if she’d dreamt about it a long time ago. From the outside, the five-story home that had belonged to their family for several generations seemed to have survived the war unscathed. She remembered it as being more opulent than her own home, with a centuries-old coat of arms in the foyer and gold-framed oil paintings of her ancestors. But once inside, Audrey found that the splendor she remembered from childhood had faded, as if the war had sanded all the gilt from the edges of this once-splendid house. It occurred to her that her uncle might have reached out to her after the war because he needed her father’s money.

  The housekeeper met Audrey at the door and showed her to one of the bedrooms. “The missus said for you to come down for drinks at seven. Dinner is at eight.”

  “Is one still expected to dress for dinner?” she asked.

  “Yes, of course.”

  Audrey remembered the ritual from before the war. Mother and Father always changed into formal attire for dinner. Audrey thought that the war had done away with such formalities but had added a gown to her bag just in case. She was glad she had. She brushed her hair, slipped into her dress, and made her way down to the parlor shortly after seven.

  “Audrey! So good to see you!” her uncle said. “You look splendid! Let me fix you a drink.”

  She normally didn’t drink, wary of following in her mother’s footsteps, but she accepted it, hoping it might steady her nerves. She had come prepared to grovel and plead as she asked her uncle to help her find a place to live and a way to support herself and her son, ready to return to her place among the aristocracy. But first she needed to make polite conversation with him and her aunt, who were nearly strangers to her, and then with her cousin Sylvia and her husband after they joined them downstairs. Audrey dreaded making small talk and felt as awkward now as she had as a young girl. Perhaps even more so, knowing she would be forced to beg. She took a sip of her drink, then set it aside, despising the taste.

  By the time the family assembled, drinks in hand, Audrey’s stomach had twisted into a tight knot. She was about to ask her uncle if she could speak to him in private before dinner to end the suspense of waiting, when her cousin’s young son and daughter joined the gathering, interrupting them. The son was perhaps eight years old, the daughter a year or two younger. Like Alfie and me. They had come downstairs with their governess to see their parents for a few minutes before going to bed. Audrey’s heart squeezed when she saw the daughter nervously bi
ting her lip, the son standing stiffly at attention. Their parents might have been strangers, greeting them for the first time. Audrey remembered standing before her parents this way, desperate for their approval and love. And never receiving it.

  She held her breath, hoping her uncle’s family would be different from hers, hoping for signs of warmth and affection for the children’s sakes. Yet the icy ritual played out just as it had for her and Alfie. This was how the gentry lived and raised their children. One must control one’s emotions. One mustn’t cry or carry on. “Oh, for pity’s sake, Audrey.”

  As she witnessed the frigid scene, Audrey suddenly caught a glimpse of her own mother. She would have been raised this way, too, with parents who were cold and aloof. Parents who disdained displays of emotion. Might Mother have longed for warmth and affection as a child, just as Audrey had—and been denied? This might explain why Mother treated Audrey the way she had. How could her mother show warmth and tenderness if she had never experienced them herself?

  Nor had she received love from Father. Their marriage had been a mutually beneficial arrangement, lacking love. Mother had never known the joy that Audrey had discovered with Robert, loving her husband with complete abandon, opening her heart and soul to him, and being fully loved in return. Had Mother been so desperate to be loved that she had turned to other men? As shameful as the circumstances of Audrey’s conception had been, Audrey felt a stab of pity for her mother.

  Her cousin’s children were bidding the adults good night. The girl bussed her grandmother’s cheek, then nodded to her mother. None of the adults set down their drinks or shifted from their languid poses to envelop the children in a hug. The governess led them away. Did they long for the warmth of their parents’ arms as much as Audrey had?

  She turned away to hide her tears, pretending to look for something on the bar cart. She tried to imagine Robert and herself sitting here while their son, Bobby, stood rigidly before them, waiting for a gesture of approval and love. The image made Audrey shudder. Robert wouldn’t want this legacy for his son. He wouldn’t want Bobby to grow up the way she and Alfie had. And Audrey knew with all her heart that she didn’t want it for her son, either. She had come to London determined to reenter life among the gentry, as her mother would have wished. But as she observed her uncle’s family, she knew she needed to find some other way to support her son besides returning to this. But where could she go? How would she and Bobby live?