Sins (26 page)

‘My family history is perfectly well known. My own title testifies to the position of my father,’ Emerald glared.

‘You refer, I assume, to the title of Lady Emerald Devenish?’

‘Yes, of course,’ Emerald said impatiently. Her mother-in-law was deliberately drawing out the situation and all she wanted to do was be reunited with Alessandro.

‘You are very proud of your relationship with the late duke, so I am told, Emerald.’

‘With Daddy…of course. He was my father.’

‘Ah. I’m sorry, my dear. If only that were true. Sadly, I’m afraid that it isn’t. You see
your
father wasn’t the
duke; he was a Frenchman, an artist, a painter, who died fighting in the Spanish Civil War.’

For the first time in her life Emerald was lost for words. What her mother-in-law was saying was ridiculous.

‘No,’ she denied vehemently, ‘that’s not possible.’

‘Oh, but, my dear, I’m afraid it is, and not just merely possible, but actual fact. You shall see for yourself. I have all the information, all the papers here.’

She produced a large foolscap envelope, which Emerald stared at as though it were alive, so great was her shock.

‘I must say that when I instituted enquiries into your background I had not dared hope that they would yield such a rich crop. To be frank, it was for evidence of your own immoral behaviour for which I was looking, not your mother’s. Such a dreadful secret to have had to keep all those years, don’t you think, Emerald? Not one but two children born to a nobody, a penniless artist who supported himself by seducing foolish rich old women and amused himself by seducing even more foolish young women, of which your mother was one. No wonder she married the late duke in such haste. She would have been ruined had she not done so. A silly, common little millowner’s granddaughter, who had not understood the rules that governed the society in which she was attempting to move. At best, all she could have looked forward to without the late duke’s name to shield her and give her respectability would have been the life of a rich man’s mistress.’

‘You’re lying! None of this is true.’

Why was her heart pounding so fast? She knew that what Alessandro’s mother was saying couldn’t be true. It was preposterous–impossible for her to be the daughter of a common painter. But Emerald didn’t like the way her mother-in-law was looking at her, mockery shining in the bead-sharp eyes, like a cat at a mouse hole.

‘My father—’

‘I take it you mean the late duke?’

‘He would never have married my mother if…if she had done what you are trying to say.’

‘My dear, it was because she had done what I said and because he hoped there would be a child–a son–as a result that he did marry her. You see, the man you refer to as your father was incapable of fathering a child on any woman.’ She gave a small shrug. ‘There are such men whose preference is for their own sex, and the late duke’s inclinations in that regard were, I understand, well known in certain quarters. In fact, his relationship with a certain young German was considered important enough by Winston Churchill for him to have the late duke virtually put under house arrest. That was after he and your mother had been holidaying on the Côte d’Azur where you yourself were conceived.

‘Since you are now acquainted with the facts, I am sure you will understand how impossible it is that you continue as my son’s wife. Fortunately, since our principality is Catholic and you are not a Catholic, the matter of annulling the marriage will be simple enough.’

Emerald managed to pull her attention out of the maelstrom of shocked and angry thoughts seething inside
her head for long enough to recognise the danger of the princess’s words.

‘There is no question of our marriage being annulled.’

‘No question indeed. On that we are agreed. My son
cannot
remain married to you.’

‘Alessandro loves me.’

Alessandro’s mother laughed, the first time Emerald had heard her do so, the silvery iciness of the sound chilling her own hot and turbulent emotions.

‘Yes, of course he does, but Alessandro has loved many things in his life, with equal passion, only to forget them as he has outgrown them: his toy soldiers, his first pony…He will grieve for you for a while, but naturally I shall ensure that he has plenty of pretty girls around him to distract him and eventually he will marry the daughter of a fellow ruler, someone who understands what her duty to him and to our country is.

‘Now, to the practicalities…’

‘I am not going to let you do this. We are married.’

‘Are you? You gave what in effect was a false name–a name that does not by rights belong to you since you are not the daughter of the late duke. You are a harlot, not a royal bride, you are not of our religion and you are not in possession of my son. I, on the other hand, am in possession of evidence that, if I chose to make it public, would ruin you and your mother for ever. You would lose your title and no doubt with it your inheritance. There would be no proposals or offers of future marriages. Propositions would be all that you could look forward to.

‘I am being charitable, Emerald. I am prepared to keep
your mother’s secret and in doing so allow you to keep the title to which you have no right, and your inherited fortune, in return for your agreement to an annulment of your marriage to my son. If, however, you refuse to give your agreement, then you can look forward to what I have just outlined to you.’

‘You must think me a fool. I don’t believe this concoction of lies you have told me. Anyone can produce forged documents, statements…anyone can tell lies.’

The dowager smiled at her. ‘Why don’t you tell your mother what I have told you, Emerald, and ask her to tell you the truth? I will be generous to you,’ she said, getting up and moving towards the door. ‘I shall give you the weekend but if I have not heard from you by Monday lunchtime then I’m afraid on Tuesday morning the papers will be carrying an exposé of your mother’s secret. Fascinating reading, I’d say. Then your marriage to my son will be annulled, anyway. The Prince of Lauranto does not take as his wife the bastard daughter of a millowner and a French artist.’

Emerald returned to Eaton Square to find she had the house to herself, apart from the staff. Her godmother had taken Lydia and Gwendolyn to Gwendolyn’s parents for a short visit, and Emerald had no idea where the sheep shearer was and cared even less.

How unthinkable it was that they should all get to hear of Alessandro’s mother’s ridiculous accusations. Unthinkable and unbearable, just like the accusations themselves. They couldn’t, they must not be true. And
yet deep down was a doubt, a fear, an anger that maybe they were.

Emerald looked towards the telephone. She needed to speak with her mother, but not over the telephone, with heaven alone knew who listening in to their conversation.

There was no choice. She would have to go to Denham.

It was late in the evening when Emerald’s train finally pulled in to Macclesfield station. Fortunately a lone taxi driver was still in place at the rank.

‘Denham, and hurry,’ she told him as she stepped into the car. She didn’t want to arrive to find that the house was locked up and everyone had gone to bed.

‘Well, Your Ladyship, I mean Your Highness,’ the housekeeper greeted her when she opened the door to Emerald’s impatient knock.

‘I want to see my mother–where is she?’ Emerald demanded, her expression hardening as the door to the sitting room opened and her mother came into the hall.

‘Emerald!’ Amber exclaimed. ‘What on earth…? Is everything all right?’

‘There’s something I want to know. In private,’ Emerald added, looking pointedly at Mrs Clements.

‘What about the cocoa? Shall I make an extra cup for Her Highness?’ the housekeeper asked Amber, ignoring Emerald.

‘No, that’s all right, thank you, Mrs Clements,’ Amber smiled. ‘I’ll see to that. You go on up to bed.

‘Now, Emerald,’ Amber said quietly as soon as the housekeeper had gone upstairs, ‘come with me to the kitchen, and you can tell me what it is you’ve come here for whilst I’m making the cocoa.’

‘I don’t want cocoa,’ Emerald objected. ‘I—’

‘Perhaps not, but Jay and I do.’

Whatever it was that had brought her eldest daughter here at this time of night it was obviously important–at least to Emerald herself.

Jay, who had been out with his dog, looked as astonished as Amber had when he came back into the kitchen and saw Emerald there.

Her smart London clothes looked out of place in the homely warmth of the kitchen, just as Emerald herself did, but then Emerald had never thought of Denham as home, despite the fact that she had lived there for so long. No, Denham wasn’t good enough for a girl whose father was a duke, or so Emerald had always claimed. Would her daughter be happy now that she had her prince and his title? For Emerald’s own sake Amber hoped that she would. She suspected that to Emerald, happiness would always have a different meaning than it ever had done to her.

‘I want to speak to my mother alone,’ Emerald told Jay arrogantly. She didn’t want her stepfather there to defend and protect her mother as he always did. She would have a far better chance of getting the truth out of her without Jay around.

She saw the look that her stepfather gave her mother
and the small nod she gave back to him. She saw too that he was not happy about leaving them together. Emerald had never been able to see or understand why people treated her mother the way they did, fussing over her and going out of their way for her.

‘Emerald, what is it? What on earth has brought you here at this time of night?’ Amber asked quietly as soon as they were alone.

‘I need you to tell me the truth. Who was my father?’

‘Not still taking those ruddy pills, are you?’

Ella shot Oliver Charters a bitter look. ‘What if I am?’

‘Then you’re a fool,’ he told her bluntly, ‘and I never had you down as that.’

Guilt and chagrin fuelled Ella’s antagonism towards him. She’d got a new prescription from Dr Williamson, but she’d cut down to just one of the pills a day instead of the two she had been taking. Well, at least some days she only took one.

The fashion editor’s PA came into the small cramped office, bringing a halt to their conversation as she riffled through some papers on one of the desks and then made a triumphant sound, having found what she was looking for before exiting the office, leaving Ella stuck by her own desk whilst Oliver lounged against the door.

Removing a pack of cigarettes from the pocket of his jeans, he flipped it open and offered it.

‘Smoke?’

Ella shook her head. Why didn’t he go away and do what he was best at, ogling the models, she thought nastily, instead of standing here in her space as though
he had all the time in the world? She tried desperately hard not to look at him but somehow her gaze had a will all of its own, and as he drew on his cigarette and then exhaled with a slow sound of pleasure her eyes flew to his face as though magnetised.

‘There’s nothing quite like that first drag,’ he said, adding in a deliberately mocking tone, ‘Well, almost nothing. Stop taking them, princess,’ he told her in a far more abrupt voice. ‘Take my advice and go and do what you were born to do.’

‘Meaning what, exactly?’ Ella challenged him.

‘Meaning, leave this place, get married, go and live in the country and have a couple of kids.’

‘That’s the last thing I want to do,’ Ella snapped defiantly.

‘Suit yourself.’ Oliver finished his cigarette and then slouched out of the office without even saying what he had come in for in the first place.

Ella fumed as she took out her feelings on her typewriter, thumping down the keys as fiercely as though against Oliver Charters’ flesh.

In the corridor outside Ella’s office, Oliver cursed himself under his breath. What the hell was the matter with him? Why should he care what kind of mess she made of her life? Just because he had kissed her didn’t mean he had to take ruddy responsibility for her, like she was a helpless kid or something and he was the only person around to watch out for her.

Emerald and Amber looked at one another.

She hadn’t meant to say it like that, Emerald admitted
to herself as she waited for her mother to answer her. But not to spare her mother’s feelings; far from it. Rather she’d planned to lead more carefully into it before she sprang the trap so that her mother wouldn’t have any warning and thus be able to avoid it and lie to her.

Amber had to sit down. Somehow she had known always that this would happen eventually.

She took a deep breath and simply said, ‘How did you find out?’

Emerald felt as though the ground was rocking beneath her feet. This wasn’t what was supposed to happen. Her mother should have protested that Emerald knew exactly who her father was; she should have denied and denied again that there was any truth in Alessandro’s mother’s allegations.

Blind fury and panic filled her. She stepped up to her mother and raised her hand, slapping her so hard across the face that tears of pain filled Amber’s shocked eyes.

‘It can’t be true. It
mustn’t
be true. I will not have a painter, a filthy peasant, as my father. My father was the Duke of Lenchester. Say it,’ she demanded savagely. ‘Say that my father was the Duke of Lenchester.’

Amber looked away from her. She had always known that Emerald had to be protected from the truth and she had promised Robert that she would be. Robert, who had loved the little girl he had claimed as his own every bit as much as he had loved the son she and Jean-Philippe had previously given him.

Amber had been only seventeen when she had first met Jean-Philippe and been seduced by him, believing that he loved her.

It had been Robert who had helped her to face the awful truth that Jean-Philippe had no intention of marrying her, as she had believed he would. Dear kind Robert, who had rescued her, saved her from the consequences of her folly that magical hot summer in the South of France when she had succumbed to Jean-Philippe and her own love for him, offering her marriage to protect her reputation. Robert, whose own desires lay not with her sex but with his own.