Wish Me Luck (40 page)

‘I couldn’t bear it if . . . if I never saw you again,’ she said. ‘You’re . . . you’re all I have left of Robbie. I don’t suppose—’ Suddenly, her eyes were filled with a fresh hope. ‘I don’t suppose there’s any chance you could be carrying his child?’

Fleur pressed her lips together and shook her head. ‘No,’ she whispered. ‘I only wish I was.’

A week later Meg opened the door, half expecting to see Fleur standing there again. She had promised to visit as often as she could and had said that her commanding officer was being very understanding. The girl had already written twice to her during the week, trying to give comfort even though her own heart was breaking. Meg loved her for that.

But instead of her daughter-in-law standing there, there was someone she had expected never to see again. She felt as if she had been dealt a blow just below her ribs and the breath had been knocked from her body. She clutched at the door for support. ‘Philip! Oh my God!’

‘Hello, Meg.’

He, of course, had prepared himself for the sight of her, but she’d had no such warning. ‘May I come in?’

‘Yes – well – yes, of course. But – but—’ She stepped back to let him into the house. ‘Why are you here? Why have you come? Now, of all times. Why have you come now?’

‘I should have come years ago, Meg. I shouldn’t have abandoned you and . . . and our son so callously.’

Meg gasped at his open admission, but he wasn’t finished yet.

‘If I’d been more of a man, I’d’ve acknowledged him. Been a part of his life. And now – I’ve left it too late, haven’t I?’

‘Oh, Philip,’ she said. ‘We both made a mistake but . . . but you know, I won’t ever say I’m sorry for having Robbie. He’s been the light of my life. He—’ Tears filled her eyes and spilled down her cheeks as Philip clasped her hands. ‘He was a wonderful young man. You . . . you’d’ve been proud of him.’

‘So Louisa has told me.’

‘Louisa? She . . . she’s talked to you about it?’

Philip nodded soberly. ‘Yes. Come – let’s sit down and I’ll explain. Is there – is there somewhere we can talk alone? I understand you have your father living with you?’

‘Yes, I do, but he’s still in bed. He – since Robbie – he doesn’t get up until the afternoon. It . . . it’s hit him hard.’

‘And you, Meg. I can see you’re putting a brave face on it, but you’re devastated, aren’t you?’

And now the tears that she had tried so hard to keep in check ever since she’d had the telegram flooded down her face and she let out a howl of anguish like a wounded animal. She’d held herself together for her father’s sake, for Fleur’s sake, but Philip’s kind and understanding words had opened the floodgates of her grief.

‘Oh, Philip . . . how . . . am I to . . . bear it?’

He put his arms around her and held her close as she sobbed against his shoulder. Even in this dreadful moment, he felt again the stirring of the feelings he’d had for her all those years ago. And though he knew that for her all the passion that had once been between them was gone, he was honest enough to admit that if she had at that moment led him up the stairs to her bedroom, he would have gone willingly, like a lamb to the slaughter. He felt a surge of shame that after his lovely wife’s generous forgiveness, he could even think of being unfaithful again. Was it really possible to love two women at the same time? Once upon a time he would have dismissed such a notion as ridiculous, branding it as a man’s excuse for philandering. Yet now, he was not so sure. If it was love he felt for Meg, then, yes, it was entirely possible, for he knew he loved Louisa. He always had done. But theirs was the love that deepened and grew through their years together, based on true affection for each other and caring for each other.

Yet Meg had wielded such a seductive power over him. He’d been helpless against the consuming passion he’d felt for her all those years ago that had made him embark on a dangerous affair with her. He had believed, when it ended, that no one but the two of them had been hurt. He knew that she had kept her counsel, that she had told no one, not even her own son, who his father was. But it seemed that fate had had other ideas. In making their boy the spitting image of his father, there was no hiding the truth from those who’d known Philip in his younger days and had, more recently, seen Robbie.

There had been no hiding it – not even from his wife.

He let out a deep sigh and, above her head, he closed his eyes in anguish. He felt her pain and, even though he had never known Robbie, his own grief was for the lost years, the lost chances.

He felt ashamed of the flare of passion he was feeling for this woman, but now, all she wanted from him was comfort in her grief for the loss of her son. Their son. He held her tightly and stroked her hair and his heart was full of regret.

If only, all those years ago, he had been braver.

‘Come, Meg. Sit down.’ He urged her gently towards a chair. ‘Have you any brandy in the house?’

Meg gave a hysterical laugh as she dried her tears. ‘You, a doctor? Prescribing brandy.’

‘Very medicinal on occasions,’ Philip remarked dryly.

‘Under the sink in the scullery,’ Meg instructed.

As she sipped the amber liquid a moment later, she asked, ‘Why have you come?’

‘Louisa was at Middleditch Farm visiting Betsy when Fleur came home with the news that Robbie had been posted missing—’

‘Presumed killed,’ Meg ended flatly.

‘They haven’t said for sure though, have they?’

Meg shook her head and nipped her lower lip between her teeth.

‘Then – then he might be all right. He might have—’

‘Fleur doesn’t think so,’ Meg burst out. ‘She’s amongst it every day. She should know.’

‘Well, yes, but even if his plane was shot down, maybe he baled out, maybe—’

‘There were no parachutes.’ She looked up at him, her eyes brimming with tears. ‘And it was over the sea. I’m sorry – I know you’re trying to be kind. But we have to face it, Philip.’

‘Oh, Meg,’ he said softly. ‘Still as brave as ever.’

She smiled wryly. ‘That’s not a word I’ve heard used to describe me very often. Scheming, devious, wicked, a temptress. Oh yes.’ She put up her hand as he made as if to argue. ‘Yes, I was all those things, Philip. Once. But not any more. Not since the day that Clara Finch tried to kidnap my baby. I saw that as my punishment and if . . . if it hadn’t been for Jake, I might really have lost him. It was Jake who found him.’

Philip stared at her. ‘And it’s Jake you’ve always loved, isn’t it? I can see it in your eyes when you speak his name. You love him still, don’t you?’

‘Yes,’ she said simply, too weary to hide the truth any longer. ‘Oh, Philip, I was so wrong, so bad. To seduce poor Percy into marrying me just so that I had security . . .’

‘Now, Meg, I won’t have you blaming yourself for everything. Percy adored you and in the short time you were married to him, you made him very, very happy. You were loyal and . . .’

She raised her head and met his gaze. ‘But not faithful, eh, Philip?’

‘Well, no, but he never knew.’

She shook her head slowly. ‘That doesn’t excuse it.’

‘Of course not, but – but what I mean is – you didn’t hurt him.’

‘But I hurt Louisa.’

‘That was my responsibility. I betrayed my wife, not you. Meg, we share the blame for what we did. You don’t carry the burden of guilt alone, you know. And, like I said, I should have behaved in a more gentlemanly way. I should have admitted everything at the time and stood beside you.’

Meg shook her head. ‘No, no. You had everything to lose. Your career, your good name – and Louisa.’

‘I might not have lost Louisa,’ he murmured, as if thinking aloud. ‘She says now that if I had told her at the time, she might have been willing to have adopted Robbie. It’s been a great sadness to her that we have never had children.’

‘But she didn’t know that then, did she?’

‘No – that’s what I told her. It’s how she feels now, but I very much doubt she would have felt that way back then.’ He paused and then added, ‘She told me she came to see you a little while back.’

‘It . . . it was after she’d seen Robbie for the first time. In a cafe in South Monkford. It . . . it must have been a dreadful shock for her.’

‘I wonder why she never said anything then?’ Philip pondered.

Meg shrugged. ‘I wouldn’t admit that he was your son. I told her that my father had had fair hair and blue eyes, but I don’t think she believed me. I think she had seen the truth only too clearly with her own eyes when she saw Robbie.’

There was a long silence between them before Philip said softly, ‘And now she’s regretting that she didn’t give me the chance to meet my own son.’ He caught and held Meg’s gaze. ‘Would you have let me see him, Meg?’

She was silent a moment more before saying slowly, ‘Probably not. You see – I never told him the truth. Perhaps I should have done . . .’ And she went on to tell Philip how Robbie, after meeting Fleur, had begun to ask questions. ‘All he wanted was to know that Jake wasn’t his father. And, of course, I was able to answer him honestly about that.’

‘And he didn’t probe any further?’

She shook her head.

‘Yet someone or something must have put a doubt in his mind,’ Philip said. ‘About Percy not being his father, I mean.’

‘It was Betsy. She became hysterical when she knew that Fleur had met Robbie and that they wanted to go on seeing each other. Wouldn’t have him in the house and wouldn’t say why. Naturally, the young ones wanted to know.’

‘And so he asked you?’

‘Mmm.’

‘But you didn’t tell him.’

‘No. But Fleur knows now. Jake told her recently. Since . . . since Robbie was killed.’

‘Why on earth has he told her now?’

Meg gave a small smile, thinking of her feisty daughter-in-law and admiring her spirit. ‘She said she bullied him into telling her the truth. She told him it couldn’t hurt Robbie now and that she wanted to understand why her mother had behaved as she had.’ Meg sighed. ‘I don’t blame her for wanting to know. I would have done in her shoes.’

Philip gave a wry laugh. ‘You’d’ve found out months ago.’

And even Meg had to smile. ‘I felt so sorry for her. She didn’t mean to let it out that Jake had told her. He’d sworn her to secrecy. But I could see it in her eyes when she looked at me. Not disgust or anger or anything like that, but just . . . just something different. Just that – she knew.’

They sat together for several moments until Philip said, ‘So – what now, Meg?’

‘I don’t understand. What do you mean “What now?”’

‘What will you do?’

‘Do?’ She shrugged her shoulders helplessly. ‘What can I do but carry on as best I can? Care for my father, hope that Fleur will still visit us now and again.’

‘And Jake?’

‘What about Jake?’

‘Shall you – will you see him?’

‘I very much doubt that I shall ever see Jake again. Betsy will see to that.’ There was no bitterness or resentment in her tone, merely a calm acceptance of the inevitable, yet Philip could hear the desolation in her tone. She had lost her beloved son and the one man she had ever truly loved was also as good as lost to her.

As if seeing the sympathy written in his eyes, she reached out and touched his hand. ‘I’m not the only one to lose my boy. There are so many of us – too many of us – all over the world grieving for the waste of young lives.’

‘I know, I know,’ he said gripping her hand. ‘I’m just so sorry I never met him. But I’ll tell you this, Meg, if by some miracle he is still alive, then by God I will see him. I will meet him and I will acknowledge him as my son. I promise you that. If I’m given a second chance, I will try to behave as a father to him.’

Fleur threw herself into her work. When she wasn’t on duty she cycled down to the little cottage and attacked the garden as if it was personally responsible for Robbie’s death. It was the only way she could think of to stop herself sinking into a dark abyss of grief and regret. Ruth was a tower of strength and even Mrs Jackson and old Harry played their part in helping her to cope.

‘Time to plant carrots, love,’ Harry told her, leaning on the fence between the two back gardens and jabbing the stem of his pipe towards the freshly dug ground. ‘Fancy, it’s a year since you came and started all this, lass. Least you haven’t got all that grass and rubbish to get rid of this time, eh?’

‘No, but I could do to go and see Mr Clegg again. See if his pigs are still producing what I need.’

Ruth came to the cottage too, as often as she could. She still helped keep Harry’s house clean, his clothes washed and ironed. ‘And he’ll not have a bath from one month’s end to the next if I don’t personally drag the tin bath into that kitchen and push him into it,’ she said as they were cycling down one afternoon.

The picture of Ruth pushing Harry into the steaming bath, probably fully clothed, made Fleur smile. She chuckled – the first time she had really laughed since Robbie had been posted missing. ‘It’s only because he wants you to scrub his back for him.’

Ruth glanced at her friend, relieved to see a brief smile on her face. ‘Well, at least now his hair’s cut regularly. And his toenails. You should have seen them that first time I did them, Fleur.’ She screwed up her face. ‘Disgusting, they were. Almost curling round the ends of his toes!’