The House of Adriano (7 page)

He only wanted Peter because he insisted the boy was an Adriano. Peter would not mean anything to him personally. He seemed too restrained and emotionlessly correct to be able to give the boy any affection. It did not mean anything to him that she loved him as her own son and losing him would mean tearing out part of her heart. He only wanted Peter because he could not bear that anyone who had the least drop of Adriano blood - how she hated that name! - should be brought up in surroundings other than fitted a member of that family.

Well, let
him
try to take Peter away from her, she told herself defiantly. He would find out she had meant what she said. She would fight to keep Peter. Surely the fact that she loved him would count for something and also the fact that she believed Peter would be unhappy away from her. Surely a magistrate, or whoever dealt with these matters, would take that into consideration, however impartial he was supposed to be - yet she still could not lose the feeling that she really had very little to fight with. Not only did she have so little to
offer
Peter, and they always took into consideration what was best for the child’s upbringing, but she was also no blood relation to him, while Duarte was his father’s cousin. The head of the house of Adriano, who could give Peter wealth and position.

She rolled over restlessly and tried to thump her pillow into more softness, wishing it was Duarte Adriano she could have been pummelling.

How right she had been to accept Eric’s opinion of his Spanish relatives and especially Duarte Adriano, Conde de Marindos, himself! He was overbearing and detestable, quite unconscious of anyone’s wishes but his own, using his wealth and position to gain whatever he wanted, not caring who he hurt. She was quite sure she had never in her whole life met anyone she disliked quite so much. Not just disliked - she positively loathed him. That flash of antagonism she had felt before she had even known who he was had been quite justified, which just went to show that one could rely on instinct and intuition after all. And when Marius Jenton had introduced them, her dislike had increased instead of abated. He had almost gone out of his way to bait her, even to accusing her of being unnatural in preferring a career to marriage, but that kind of man always did abhor the idea of women being independent. They always liked to think that women were still dependent on the mighty male. No doubt when he did eventually marry, his wife, poor creature, would have to become an absolute doormat, with which thought she at last did manage to fall asleep, only to be awakened not more than half an hour later by the alarm going
off.

She climbed out of bed tired and heavy-eyed, showered and started to prepare breakfast. Even a programme of exquisite ballet music on her little portable radio did little to soothe her jangled nerves, and by the time she was at last ready to start out for work she had got to the point of wondering how on earth she was going to get through the day. It was going to be almost too much to have to untangle Mr. Jenton’s muddled letters.

Peter left at the kindergarten as usual, she boarded her tram and went on to work, her thoughts still in a turmoil. It seemed positively unnatural when she arrived to find Betty chattering away in her usual inconsequential style.

Mr. Jenton rang for her fairly early that morning, and as soon as she entered his office she realised he knew something of what had happened.

“I didn’t think you would be in today,” he greeted her. His shrewd eyes went over her drawn face. “Feeling bad?”

“Not too good,” she admitted.
“You ...
you know something of what happened?”

“A few details,” he confirmed. “Duarte didn’t tell me exactly what happened, only that you’re reluctant to give up the child.”

Her soft lips set determinedly at that. “I’m not going to give him up.”

“You haven’t got much chance of keeping him,” he pointed out almost gently. “Duarte is a blood relative. That usually counts.”

“But what about Peter? Don’t his wishes count too? I’m sure he would rather stay with me.”

She did not feel that she was in the least conceited in saying that. Peter had not shown much interest in Duarte and she herself had been in his life for as long as he could remember.

“Perhaps,” he agreed. “But children do adapt themselves to a new home.” He paused, frowning slightly. “Don’t get the idea that I’m speaking on Duarte’s behalf, or anything like that,” he added slowly. “But after all, Eric was Duarte’s cousin, and he would naturally want to take charge of his cousin’s son. Another thing
...
”
He hesitated slightly, and Aileen, guessing what he was trying to say, completed the sentence for him.

“Duarte Adriano can give him more of an upbringing than I can?”

“Well, something like that,” he admitted awkwardly. “It must be very hard for you, whatever you say. Besides that, you might very well want to get married yourself one day. I know you say you’re a career girl at the moment,
but...
”
He shrugged. “These things happen. Many a confirmed career girl’s had a change of heart.”

“Peter still wouldn’t be any trouble. Plenty of widows with larger families remarry.”

“But Peter isn’t even your own child.”

“I feel as if he is my own - and I don’t care if Duarte Adriano does take the matter to court. I’ll fight him on his own ground.”

“You can’t, I’m afraid, my dear,” he said with that same sympathetic gentleness. “I understand how you feel about the child, but Duarte is sure to win.”

“He won’t. I won’t let him. I’ll find a good solicitor.”

“That might be a good idea,” he approved. “Go and see a solicitor, I mean. He will tell you just how you stand. It would be far better to give in gracefully, then you could always keep in touch with Peter. If there’s the bitterness of a court squabble
...
”
He shrugged. “You don’t know how things would be afterwards.”

So he thought Duarte would be vindictive and refuse to allow her to even write to Peter!

“Look, I’ll tell you what,” he said helpfully. “You take the rest of the day off. I’m sure you don’t feel up to coping with my muddled letters. Go and see a solicitor straight away and get things straightened out. Think it over for a while quietly and you’ll see it’s far better not to drag this thing through the courts.”

“Yes, I suppose it would be better to ... to think things over,” she agreed slowly, but she was not thinking things ov
er in quite the way he thought. “I ...
if you don’t mind, I’ll take you up on your suggestion.”

“Good girl,” he said approvingly. “If you’re sensible about this thing, I’m sure you’ll find Duarte is prepared to be generous.”

That lit a little spark in her eyes, but he apparently did not notice.

“Generous? In what way?” she asked quietly.

He made a noncommittal gesture. “Well, maybe he could arrange for you to visit Peter every now and again.”

“In Spain?” Her voice was sceptical. How did he think she was going to find the money to visit Spain every so often, good enough though her salary might be?

“Duarte has his own private plane. Maybe on your annual holidays
...” He
broke off with quite a beaming smile. “He’s not such a bad sort of chap when you get to know him.”

Aileen forbore to remark that she did not want to get to know him, and Jenton thereupon dismissed her with another cheerful smile, told her to see a solicitor so that she would realise it was no use fighting and losing what money she did possess, then go and spend the afternoon at the cinema, or something like that. Everything would seem settled and different in the morning.

“Yes, I suppose it will,” she agreed once again, and picked up her notebook and pencils to leave the office, thanked him for being so understanding and went out into the vast, luxurious vestibule with quite a different idea in mind.

She did not intend t
o
let Duarte win, and if, as Mr. Jenton seemed quite sure, he would win in any court battle, then she would have to find some other way out.

Her eyes were quite open now and she realised herself that she did not have a hope of winning. He had wealth, position and he was also related to Peter. She was only the little typist who had taken care of Peter since his parents’ death. It might even be suggested that she deliberately refrained from contacting his relatives, not through any desire to follow out what she had believed to be Eric’s wishes, but because she wanted to keep Peter for herself.

There was only one way and, although she knew it was the wrong way, she intended to take it. She had to take it. There was no other choice left to her. She could not give Peter up. The only thing she really regretted was having to deceive Marius Jenton.

When she left the office she did not go anywhere near a solicitor. Luckily she did not have many personal odds and ends in her office and what few items there were easily went into her handbag and the little wicker basket she always carried to take home her shopping. Luckily Betty was out on a message and did not query why she was clearing out all her personal belongings.

From the office she went straight to the bank and drew out all her money, almost five hundred dollars, what was left of the nest egg her mother had bequeathed to her from the ruins of the old grazing property. Perhaps it was dangerous to carry that amount around with her, but it would soon be put back into the bank, a different one, though - and under a different name. From there she went to Central Station.

It was a simple enough solution. Eric had managed to stay out of contact with his relatives for years and he had not even tried to hide his movements. Surely if she did the same thing, disappeared completely, they would not be able to find her. Only, unlike Eric, she would make a definite attempt to cover her tracks. A new city and a new name - then let Duarte try to find her and take Peter away from her.

She managed to book straight away on the Daylight Express to Melbourne, which left early the following morning. With the tickets in her handbag and a feeling of distinct satisfaction in her heart at being about to thwart Duarte even when it seemed he had the upper hand, she left the station, picked up a few items of shopping and went home.

For the rest of the day, until it was time to collect Peter, she was very busy. Their things had to be packed - clothes and a few personal belongings scattered about the flat. Luckily there was not too much and everything went into two medium-sized suitcases which she could carry herself with a bit of an effort. Since she had always believed in buying good clothes, although that restricted both their wardrobes, clothing did not cause too much bulk and there was even room for Peter’s toys. By tea-time she was fully packed except for overnight things, tired but once again conscious of satisfaction. Maybe what she was doing was quite wrong, but she could not let Duarte Adriano win, could not let him take Peter away from her.

When she went out to collect Peter she explained to the Misses Carstairs that she had to go away very suddenly and asked if they would hand a letter to the school authorities for her when they took the other children to school in the morning. Twittering with curiosity, they agreed readily enough and were too genteel to ask her outright what had caused the sudden departure, for which Aileen was heartily glad.

Mrs. Margetson was a different matter. Aileen had to invent a different story, telling her that the man who had come to visit Peter yesterday had been one of his relatives and that he wanted them to visit his family. Since business necessitated an immediate return for him, they all had to move quickly, which was why she had to give up her room without any prior notice. Mrs. Margetson was very understanding, making Aileen feel quite ashamed of having to deceive her.

Peter of course took it all as a great adventure. “Going away? On the train?” The great dark eyes, so like Duarte’s, looked up at her. “Where to?”

“A long way. I’ll tell you later, when we get on the train.” She did not want him mentioning their destination to anyone in the house, because Duarte was sure to make enquiries.

It was easy enough telling him they were going away, but there were other things she had to tell him which were not quite so easy, nor did she like the idea of involving a child in deception.

She dropped down on her knees at his side as he played with his one remaining toy.

“You like living with me, don’t you, Peter?”

His egression abruptly became serious
,
that oddly adult attitude becoming evident as soon as he realised that something was different from usual.

He nodded most emphatically. “I always want to live with you.”

“You remember that man who came to see you yesterday?”

His oddly unchildish brain apparently took a leap forward. “Did he say I couldn’t live with you any more?”

Aileen felt the breath catch in her throat. Sometimes that attitude of his could almost awe her. One moment he was a careless child, the next he could show an almost adult understanding - or was it because children were sensitive to atmosphere that he had guessed so right this time? Perhaps he had felt that she was upset.

“Something like that,” she admitted.

He nodded. “Good. Then we’ll catch the train and run away.”

It was quite simple to the childish mind. At the same time Aileen felt the breath catch in her throat again, because there was no question at all that he should go with Duarte Adriano. His response had been instant, that they should run away.

“There’s something else too,” she said quietly, stifling her dislike at having to involve him in this pattern of lies. “He will probably try to find us, so we shall have to change our names.”

Something inconspicuous, she told herself. In future she would pretend that she was a widow and that Peter was her own child. That would obviate any suspicious glances when people saw that she did not wear a wedding ring - she would have to acquire a ring, of course. Then she thought of her mother’s ring and slipped it on, surveying her hand with widened eyes. It was a perfect fit, which should have been a good omen, but it felt so heavy and strange on her hand that she shivered for some reason.

By the next morning everything was worked out. Peter was fully in agreement that she should be called his mother in future
-
in fact he thought it was a wonderful idea, and practised all evening, until he was put to bed. The taxi she had telephoned for arrived dead on time and they climbed in, Aileen handing over her two suitcases to be stowed away in the boot of the car and taking her little portable radio from Peter, which up to then he had been importantly holding for her.

The journey to the station was smooth and uneventful, and after she had posted a letter to Marius Jenton - a most awkward letter that had once again made her feel ashamed of the deception she was entering into - she picked up her suitcase and, with Peter at her side, again carrying the little radio with great care, they made their way to the platform where the Daylight Express waited. No doubt Duarte would try to trace her, but even if he did find out that she had gone to the station, he could get no further. People travelled all over Australia from Central Station. She could just as easily have gone north to Brisbane as south to Melbourne, or anywhere out west. Among everyone else at the station she would be quite inconspicuous, especially as it was a time of the year when many people were going on their holidays.