Wish Me Luck (38 page)

‘Well, she can’t have done because he lives with her now.’

‘She’s changed. But back then, she swore that she’d never forget and never forgive.’

‘Did she?’ Now Fleur was surprised. ‘She doesn’t strike me as being like that.’

‘No. Like I say, she’s changed since then. Life changed her. I know now that she’s sorry for everything she’s done. I could see that when I met her at your wedding. I asked her about her father and she said, “How could I turn him away, when I’d been just as bad?”’

‘But she hadn’t done anything, Dad. It was her father’s fault,’ Fleur said, mystified. She still couldn’t reconcile the picture of the sweet old man sitting by the fire in the little house in Nottingham with the heartless womanizer who’d dumped his family in the workhouse and run away with his mistress.

‘I’m coming to that, love. But I want you to see the whole picture. And to do that, you have to hear what led up to – well – what Meg did.’ Even now, though he had promised to tell her everything and had begun the tale, there was reluctance in his tone. He still didn’t want to speak ill of Meg. Not even after all these years.

‘Whatever did she do, Dad, that was so bad?’

He was silent for a moment, lost in memories in which Fleur had no part. Now, in short staccato sentences, he answered her question, explaining everything. ‘After she found out about her father and Alice she became very bitter. The tragedies didn’t end there. Her little brother, Bobbie, died. Then Isaac Pendleton – he was a one for the ladies, an’ all – he took up with her mother. And that was the last straw for Meg. She never forgave her mother – called her some wicked names. And Meg herself became hard and calculating. There was only one person she cared about then. Herself. She left the workhouse and got a job working for Percy Rodwell.’ Now Jake’s mouth suddenly became a hard line. ‘She wound him round her little finger and he fell for it. Poor sod!’

Fleur twisted to look up into her father’s face. She saw his pain and, yes, now there was anger and disgust there too. ‘Were you in love with her, Dad? Were you in love with Meg all those years ago?’

Jake stared down into his daughter’s eyes. ‘Oh yes. I loved her then and—’

There was a breathless silence until Fleur whispered, ‘And you love her now, don’t you, Dad? You’ve always loved her.’

‘Fleur, love.’ He squeezed her shoulders again. ‘I know you feel now that you’ll never love again. That Robbie was the love of your life – and maybe he is. Who’s to say? But you may well meet someone one day, fall in love, get married—’

‘Never! I could never love anyone the way I love Robbie.’

‘Listen to me, love.’ Her father gave her a gentle shake. ‘No, not in the same way, maybe you won’t, no. I can understand that. He was your first love and that’s very special. But you might love someone else differently. There are all kinds of love, Fleur. Passionate, overwhelming and for life. Then there’s infatuation that seems like love, but isn’t and dies as quickly as it flared. And then . . .’ He paused again and took a deep breath before he said, ‘And then there’s the way I love your mother. After Meg went, I left the workhouse and I came to work for the Smallwoods here. Their daughter had gone, of course, and they never heard from her again as far as I know. A year or two later, Betsy came to work at the farm too. In fact, I sort of got her the job there. She’d spent several years in the workhouse. She was a shy little thing and I always felt protective towards her. The Smallwoods treated us both as their own and Betsy grew and blossomed. She was a pretty lass and – well – that’s how it happened. I married her before I went to the war, and when I came back you were born and then Kenny.’

There was a long silence whilst Fleur digested all that he had told her.

‘There’s a bit more you ought to know,’ Jake said at last.

‘More!’ Fleur forced a smile.

‘When Meg went to work for Percy he was engaged to Miss Clara Finch – had been for years – and when he married Meg Clara sued him for breach of promise.’

Fleur gasped. ‘Never!’

‘Oh yes. There was a big court case and it was the talk of South Monkford for weeks.’ His mouth twitched. ‘You see, the judge found in Miss Finch’s favour, but he awarded her damages of one farthing.’

Fleur stared at him for a moment and then burst out laughing, but Jake’s face had sobered now. ‘Clara was a bitter, dried-up old spinster, and after Percy Rodwell died, she tried to force Meg to hand over her baby – Robbie – because she believed in her twisted mind that the child should have been hers. Hers and Percy’s. When Meg refused, Clara had her turned out of the shop and her home – the Finches owned both properties – and she tried to kidnap Robbie and have Meg thrown back in the workhouse. With the power the Finches wielded in South Monkford then, I doubt Meg would ever have seen the light of day again if . . .’ He stopped and was silent.

Intuitively, Fleur whispered. ‘You helped her, didn’t you, Dad? You helped her get out.’

‘She was locked in the punishment room and her boy was missing. We found him – Robbie – in the dead room in a coffin. Clara, in her twisted mind, had had him hidden there until she could take him home. Just think.’ Jake tried to inject a note of lightness into their conversation. ‘Your Robbie might have been a toff and brought up at South Monkford Hall.’

The dead room. The punishment room. Fleur shuddered. It all sounded like another world from the safe and happy childhood she had known.

‘It was then I found out about my own mother – just who she was. Maybe if all that hadn’t happened, I might never have known.’ For a long moment, Jake was silent, then he came back to finish his telling of the story. ‘That was when Meg changed from her hard and calculating ways. Almost losing her son had jolted her because there was never any doubt about her love for him. After that . . .’ Jake sighed softly. ‘She left the district and I . . . I never saw her again. Not until your wedding day, Fleur.’

‘I suppose poor old Clara Finch wanted something of her sweetheart’s,’ Fleur said with understanding. ‘She wanted Percy’s son.’

‘Ah,’ Jake said, ‘but that’s the irony of it all. You see, love, Robbie wasn’t Percy’s child.’

Her eyes wide, Fleur stared at him wordlessly. Surely, after all, her father wasn’t about to tell her that he was, in truth, Robbie’s father too?

‘Perhaps you can’t see it like I can, because you wouldn’t remember his father as a young man.’

Her voice was husky as she asked hesitantly, ‘Dad, just tell me. Who was Robbie’s father?’

‘The man you call Uncle Philip. Dr Philip Collins.’

‘I can’t believe it. I mean, how—?’

Despite the seriousness of their talk and all the long-held secrets he had just revealed, Jake laughed. ‘Now surely I don’t need to be explaining the facts of life to you, lass, do I?’

Fleur smiled briefly and shook her head. ‘I mean, when did it happen? Before
he
married Aunt Louisa?’

Sadly, Jake shook his head. ‘No, love, nothing so above board as that, I’m sorry to say. They had an affair.’ His mouth hardened again. ‘While Percy was ill with the influenza that killed him. Of course, Meg was able to make out the child was his, but there’s no hiding it now. Not for anyone who remembered Philip in his younger days and then . . . saw your Robbie.’

‘Oh, Dad.’ Fleur clutched his arm. ‘Auntie Louisa saw him. I introduced them. In a cafe in South Monkford. Just after I’d met him. You know – the day I invited them out to the farm and—’ She bit her lip. ‘Aunt Louisa seemed – well – odd. Now I know why. She . . . she must have guessed.’

Slowly, Jake nodded. ‘I wondered at the time if she suspected. Poor Louisa, specially as she’s never had any family herself.’

‘Did Uncle Philip know he had a son?’

‘I’ve no idea. But knowing Meg as she was then, I’ve no doubt she told him. Maybe—’ He began to say something and then stopped himself. ‘No, that’s not fair to speculate. I shouldn’t judge her.’

‘No, none of us should. I certainly won’t. She’s Robbie’s mum and she’s been kind to me and . . . and she’s suffering now. Whatever she did in the past, Dad, she’s paying for it now.’

‘Aye, love,’ Jake said sadly. ‘I know she is.’

And once more the haunted faraway look that Fleur had so often seen on her father’s face was there again. But now, she understood exactly what caused it.

‘Oh, Philip – I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have . . . I mean . . . I wish—’

‘Now, now, my dear. What’s the matter?’

Philip took her arm calmly and led her into the front sitting room. The huge room was cold; no welcoming fire burned in the grate. They were trying to economize on coal and only lit the fire when the room was to be used for a lengthy period. Otherwise, they now sat in the two easy chairs in the corner of the kitchen, close to the wireless on which Philip loved to hear the latest war news.

Louisa clung to him. ‘Forgive me, Philip, oh, say you forgive me.’

‘I’m sure I shall, darling, if only I knew what it is I’m supposed to be forgiving. Here, sit down. Let me make us both some tea.’

‘No, no, I should do that. That’s my job.’

‘Not just at this moment. I can see you’re upset. Sit down whilst I make it and then we’ll talk about it. Whatever it is.’

‘But . . . but you’ve got surgery, haven’t you?’

‘There’s no one out there at the moment. My patients are remarkably healthy today, it seems.’ He smiled at her archly, trying to lighten her mood. ‘I must be a better doctor than I thought.’

‘Oh, Philip, you’re a wonderful doctor.’ Her eyes filled with tears. ‘A wonderful man. I don’t deserve you. I . . .’

‘There, there, my dear. Please, don’t upset yourself. We’ll sort it all out – whatever it is.’

Philip was becoming increasingly worried about his wife. From being a calm, serene, perfect doctor’s wife, she had in recent weeks become nervy and irritable and weepy. Had she been one of his patients, he would by now have diagnosed a nervous breakdown. And whilst he could scarcely believe – didn’t want to believe – that that was what might be happening to his wife, ethics aside, it would be better for her to be treated by someone else. He was no expert in psychiatric cases.

He shuddered at the thought, but if that was the case, then it would have to be faced. She was such a tender-hearted person and even though they weren’t experiencing particular hardship themselves, nor the loss of a close relative, still the community as a whole was being badly hit. And Louisa felt it, he knew. As he set her cup of tea on a small table beside her, he sat down opposite, leant forward and took her hands in his. ‘Now,’ he said in the kindly but firm tone he adopted when speaking to a distraught patient, ‘tell me what is troubling you.’

Fresh tears spilled down her cheeks.

‘Oh, Philip – he’s dead.’

‘Who’s dead, my love?’

She raised her red-rimmed eyes to look into his face as she whispered, ‘Meg’s boy. He’s – he’s missing, believed killed.’

She felt his hands holding hers twitch involuntarily and saw the colour drain from his face. They stared at each other for long moments before, haltingly, Louisa broke the silence. ‘You . . . you do know who he really is, don’t you, Philip? Who . . . who his father is?’

The colour flooded into his face and she had her answer without him saying a word. Before he could speak, she rushed on. ‘I wish you’d told me. I wish you’d had enough faith in my love for you to have told me the truth at the time. I presume you’ve always known?’

Wordlessly, Philip nodded.

‘I know – I know you wanted to spare me the hurt.’ Now it was she who was giving comfort. ‘The fact that you’d been unfaithful to me – and with Meg of all people. But don’t you see, if only you’d confided in me, perhaps, all those years ago, we could have adopted him? Brought him up as
our
son. Oh, Philip, I wish you’d told me then.’

He shook his head as he said heavily, ‘No, my dear, it would never have worked. You . . . you say you’d have forgiven me, but you’re speaking now with the benefit of hindsight. Back then, you didn’t know that we’d never have children of our own. You didn’t know that someone else’s son could have filled the void in our lives—’

‘But he was
your
son, Philip. I could have loved him, I could have—’

‘Could you really, Louisa, have loved
Meg
’s son? Be honest now, since we’re talking honestly. Let’s be absolutely straight with each other.’

When she didn’t answer, he added softly, ‘No, I thought not.’ He smiled wryly. ‘Besides, Meg wouldn’t let Clara Finch have him, would she?’

‘Of course she wouldn’t,’ Louisa cried now. ‘Meg knew – though Clara Finch didn’t – that he wasn’t Percy’s son. But if
you’d
wanted him, she’d’ve let him go.’ Her lip curled. ‘Remember how selfish she was, how self-centred? Oh, she’d’ve let you have him like a shot. Been glad to be rid of him, I dare say.’

‘I think you’re wrong, my dear. Whatever Meg may have been – and yes, I admit, she did some reprehensible things—’

‘Reprehensible? Reprehensible, you call it. Unforgivable, I’d call it. Seducing poor Percy. Yes – yes – she seduced him, Philip. Poor, bumbling Percy Rodwell didn’t know what had hit him when she batted her eyelashes at him and smiled so winningly.’