The Hidden Years (76 page)

'I think it's wonderful,' Lady Susan enthused. 'One child
never makes a family, does it? I expect you're hoping for a girl this
time?'

'I don't think either of us mind just so long as the
baby's healthy,' Liz said quietly.

Edward was still taking his medication. On the surface he
appeared to be better, but there were still moments when she sensed the
helpless impotent rage building up inside him. Times when she feared
not so much for herself but for her unborn and vulnerable child. But
then his mood would change and he would become tearful, repentant,
dependent and helpless, reminding her of how much he needed her.

David was home from school for the Easter vacation. He had
been told about the pregnancy and seemed genuinely happy at the thought
of having a younger sibling.

This time, when she could have afforded to spend a little
more recklessly on preparing for the new arrival, Liz was careful to
keep her preparations to a minimum. Her condition was something that
was rarely mentioned between Edward and herself. He had withdrawn from
her quite pointedly during the early months of her pregnancy, but now
he seemed to be opening up to her again, although she knew
instinctively that he would never feel for this child the love he felt
for David.

Which meant that she would never be able to show it more
love than she did her son. Edward would be watching jealously to see
that this new baby received no special favours… no special
marks of maternal adoration.

She placed her hand on her stomach. The baby was due
towards the end of July, but already she was quite large. Far larger,
she was sure, than she had been when she was carrying David.

Her pains started on the thirtieth of July during the
early hours of the morning. On Ian Holmes's advice she had elected to
have the baby at home, and as soon as she realised how swift and sharp
her pains were she rang through to him, and to the local midwife.

They arrived within minutes of one another, just in time
to realise that the birth was going to take place very quickly indeed.

'That's the trouble with second babies,' the midwife
chuckled, 'they're always in such a rush… It all comes from
trying to catch up with their older brothers and sisters.'

As she chatted she was giving Liz instructions; a plump,
motherly woman, she had an air of serenity and experience about her
that would have calmed the most nervous of mothers-to-be, Liz
reflected, dutifully following her commands.

'Just one more push, now… Come along, my
lovely… Oh, yes, here she is… a beautiful baby
girl, and she's got the most wonderful head of hair… Here
you are!' She beamed, gently wiping clean the newborn infant, and
handing her to Liz just as she opened her mouth and gave her first
outraged cry.

Liz was still laughing gently at her new daughter when she
suddenly felt another sharp, searing pain explode inside her.

She tensed so much that the baby cried out in her grasp
and the midwife, who had turned away, turned sharply back, and then
exclaimed, 'Oh, my goodness… I do believe…'

Quickly removing the baby from Liz's grasp and placing her
expertly in the waiting crib, she said urgently to Liz, 'Better hang on
a second, my dear… I think we're going to have another new
arrival…'

'Another?' Liz stared at her and then gasped as she felt
the resurgence of pain engulf her.

'Well, now, aren't you a lucky girl?' the midwife was
saying beamingly. 'Twins, and a boy and a girl, although your young
man's a bit on the small side. Never mind— boys often are
smaller at birth. I suppose we shouldn't be surprised. Your stomach was
quite a size. Well, your husband is going to be surprised, isn't he?
I'll just clean you up a bit and then he can come in and see
you—'

'No…' Her denial was sharp and instinctive. She
wanted, needed this special time alone with her babies, so that she
could share with them, if only mentally, a special communion which by
rights should have included their father. Two babies, two special
gifts—she felt her heart melt and overflow with love as she
looked down into their faces. Her breath caught in her throat as she
looked a second time at her newborn daughter. Now in these hours just
after the birth she could see so clearly in her face the image of
Lewis. She felt tears well in her eyes as she hugged them both to her,
whispering weepily to them, 'So precious… You're both so
very very precious.'

Edward insisted on posting an announcement in
The
Times
, even though for some reason Liz would have preferred
him not to do so.

They had decided to call the twins Nicholas and Sage,
although Edward had baulked a little at this rather unusual name for
his 'daughter'.

Liz had insisted. It had been the name of Lewis's
grandmother, he'd told her in passing once, and even though she knew
she was being ridiculously, dangerously sentimental she hadn't been
able to resist the impulse, the need almost to give at least one of
her children something of its father.

She had promised Edward that neither twin would ever know
the truth about their parentage. Just as she had promised she would
never again meet with Lewis himself.

Edward had eventually asked the name of her lover and Liz
had told him, and since then the subject had been closed between them.

She wondered where Lewis was now… Back in
Australia, of course.

In the early days after the birth, when she felt weak and
emotional, she couldn't help wondering if he ever thought of her, of
how different things might have been, if… So many
ifs… Ifs she must not allow herself to contemplate even in
the privacy of her own thoughts.

Only Lewis McLaren wasn't in Australia. He was in London,
growing bitter and disillusioned as he dwelt on the pain of loving a
woman who had said she loved him in return but who had lied. And then,
by one of those chances of which fate was so fond, one morning when he
was staying with friends, he happened to see the announcement in
The
Times
, heralding the arrival of Major Edward Danvers's son
and daughter.

He knew instantly, of course. Knew and could hardly
believe the enormity of the deceit which had been practised against him.

His child, his children—claimed by another
man… His children… his children…

Without even thinking of what he was doing he hired a car
and drove straight down to Cottingdean.

The twins were three weeks old… Edward had been
suffering from a slight inflammation on his lungs, and Ian had insisted
on him going to the local hospital where he could be X-rayed.

Liz went with him. Edward was her husband and she
suspected that from now on he would be watching her jealously to see
that she did not favour the twins, did not give them more attention
than she gave him or David, and so, despite the fact that she was still
not fully recovered from the birth, and that she was feeding the twins
herself, she ignored Edward's half-hearted objections that her place
was with the twins and drove him to the hospital.

The wife of one of the mill workers, Mrs Palmer, had
offered to take charge of the babies in Liz's absence. She was a
cheerfully jolly woman with children and grandchildren of her own, and
she often helped out at Cottingdean when they had visitors. When Lewis
arrived on the doorstep she welcomed him in. She remembered him from
his previous visit and had rather a soft spot for him. A good-looking
man, and pleasant with it.

When he asked to see the twins, she thought it a bit odd;
men weren't generally interested in babies, but then he had probably
heard how they had been conceived and was curious about them, so she
took him up to the airy, warm nursery, and then excused herself for a
few minutes to go downstairs and see if she could find Chivers and get
him to make their visitor a pot of tea.

Left alone with his children, Lewis stared at them. The
girl was alert, bright-eyed, noisy; the boy… The boy was
quieter, more solemn… The boy—his son…
his child… Without knowing it he had picked Nicholas out of
his crib and was holding him. The girl started to cry as though she
resented the attention he was giving her brother. Soon the woman would
be back—but these were his children. This was his
son… The son who by rights should be brought up on Woolonga,
should be brought up to inherit… These would be his only
children, his only son, because he had made up his mind that he would
never marry again now…

The decision to walk downstairs, outside and get into his
car still holding the baby was not one he made consciously, but somehow
or other it was done… Somehow or other he was on his way
back to London, driving not back to his friends, but to the airport,
where he booked himself a seat on the first flight home… A
flight which was due to leave within the hour. How fortunate that he
had had his dead son included on his passport—it made it all
seem all the more the right thing to do somehow. He had lost one child already—he wasn't going to
lose another. He might not be able to have Liz but at least he had
their child—one of their children. He felt a moment's anger
with himself that he hadn't taken them both, but it was too late now.
He could not go back.

A father returning home with his child… Poor
man, he looked so haggard, thought the girl at the check-in desk. What
had happened to his wife? Even in these modern days a woman could still
die in childbirth…

She shivered a little.

When Mrs Palmer found Nicholas missing, she panicked and,
instead of summoning help, ran all over the house, as though expecting
to find the baby had somehow got up and walked into another room, so
that it was several hours before his disappearance was officially
reported to the authorities… not until Liz and Edward had
returned from the hospital, in fact, to find the whole house in turmoil.

She knew of course… the moment Mrs Palmer
mentioned Lewis's visit she knew… He had taken her
child— their child…

She raised stricken eyes to Edward's face.

'Don't worry,' he told her. 'We'll get him back!'

But how could she not worry? How could they get him back?

The authorities had to be told, and legally it was
confirmed to them that, since she had not yet registered the twins'
birth, and since the man was after all their father, there was little
that could be done to regain the boy twin, without the whole affair
receiving a lot of unpleasant publicity.

Lewis himself wrote to her, telling her that he intended
to keep his son and warning her that if she made any attempt to get him
back he would make the whole affair public.

Deep in her heart Liz sensed that Edward was almost glad,
although she knew he would never admit it. He probably wished that
Lewis had taken both children, she realised bitterly. And Joan Palmer,
overwhelmed by guilt, was only too glad when it was suggested that she
and her husband, who was near retiring age, might like to return to the
North of England to be near their married daughter. Derek Palmer was
given a generous pension and it was generally made known in the village
that the male twin Liz had given birth to had never been very strong
and he had suffered a seizure and died.

The fact that Liz lost so much weight, became so withdrawn
and clung so possessively to her one remaining child all reinforced
this news, and it very quickly became understood that Liz could not
bear to have the baby's name mentioned nor his death discussed. It was
a closed subject, which no one dared to raise even to express sympathy
to her.

Liz herself was inconsolable, stricken with grief and
guilt, to the point where Ian Holmes began to fear for her sanity.

She clung so possessively to Sage that he had to tell her
that if she wasn't careful she would destroy everything she had worked
so hard for… that her protectiveness towards her daughter
would alienate Edward so completely that he would very quickly begin to
resent and even hate the child.

Liz saw the wisdom of what she was being told. Already she
had noticed the way Edward turned away from the baby, the distant
dislike in his eyes whenever she cried, the way he refused to touch
her, hold her… The way he rejected her—and
suddenly she was very afraid for her, deeply afraid. She began to
subtly ensure that Sage was never left alone with Edward, to watch her
baby with anxious protective eyes, remembering how Edward had attacked
and hurt her.

What kind of home was she going to grow up in, what kind
of atmosphere? What had she done…?

'Oh, please forgive me, my darling,' she whispered over
her crib, her voice thick with tears. 'I wanted you so much and I've
been so selfish… Better perhaps that your father had taken
you both—and yet I could not have borne to let you
go… Not you… You're so like him, so much a part
of him…' Not to anyone would she admit that of the two it
had always been this child, this twin who had been closer to her
heart… closer to her by far than David. Not just because she
had been born before her brother, but because she had looked into her
newborn face and seen in it Lewis's. Sometimes she felt she could not
bear the weight of her love for her, her adoration almost. She was
terrified of showing it, though, in case it antagonised Edward even
more. Sage would always be her favourite child, her most loved child.
She couldn't help it, couldn't deny it and yet she must never allow
anyone else to know it, not even the child herself, because if she
did… if she did…

She was so afraid now after losing
Nicholas—mortally afraid that somehow if she allowed anyone,
anyone at all to know how precious Sage was to her, she would in some
way be imperilling her child's happiness.

Already Edward resented her, disliked her. David—well,
David loved everyone… But if Edward should turn publicly
against her, if Edward should publicly reject her, if Edward should
change his mind and make it known that Sage wasn't his…