“And presumably you found out about his death.”
“Correct.”
“How did you find out?”
Stevie gave Derek a hard stare and began to laugh.
“What’s this, the Spanish Inquisition? You sound like Torquemada.”
“I’m sorry,” Derek apologized swiftly, looking chagrined. “I’m afraid I’m a bit guilty of being curious myself. After all, we’ve never ever discussed this before.”
“I know that and I cut off any discussion with Mom years ago. And you never asked me. Good thing you didn’t, too!” she exclaimed, and laughed again.
“If you didn’t know this man, had no contact with him, how on earth did you know that he had died?”
“It was in the papers,” she improvised.
“Ah, so he was well known, then,” he asserted.
“Sort of.”
“And was John Lane his real name?”
“Only partially.”
“You changed the surname for convenience?”
“I thought it better, wiser to keep him totally an-onymous.”
“Would I recognize the name? Did I know him?”
Stevie stood staring at Derek, who had now seated himself in a chair near the fireplace.
140 / Barbara Taylor Bradford
“Was he an actor?” he asked when she did not respond.
“Listen, Derek, I don’t really want to continue this conversation. It happened years ago. It’s not very important who he was.”
“Chloe seems to think it is,” he reminded her.
Stevie let out a long, weary sigh. “I don’t know why she’s got a bee in her bonnet about her father all of a sudden. She’s not mentioned him to me for years; now she’s bothering you and God knows who else. As if it mattered in the scheme of things. Here’s a girl who’s had everything handed to her on a plate.
Now she wants to know about her father. A man who has done nothing for her, played no role in her life. Come on, Derek, let’s be fair.”
“You’re absolutely right; unfortunately the young are just that:
young
. She seems to think you’re being unfair. And please don’t kill the messenger; I’m only relating what she said.”
“Derek, surely I’ve made it clear. It was a one-night stand! I’m embarrassed. I told you that before.
The grieving widow of three years had a fling one night and got caught. It’s an old, old story, and it’s happened to countless women since the beginning of the world…sleeping with a man for the first time and getting pregnant.”
“I understand.”
“Unfortunately, Derek, there’s nothing I can tell you or Mom or Chloe about him…because of the circumstances.”
Power of a Woman / 141
“I know. But listen to me for a moment. You said you met him at a cocktail party. So it was most probably at our house, wasn’t it? And no doubt he was an actor. In which case, I would have known him. Tell me his real name, and I’ll think of something suitable to say to Chloe.”
“I didn’t meet him at your house, Derek! Mother and you did not know him!” Stevie exclaimed, her voice full of exasperation, her face taut.
Derek looked at her keenly. He knew without a shadow of a doubt that she was lying.
After Derek had left, Stevie changed into her night-gown and then went back into the study adjoining her bedroom. Seating herself at her desk, she opened her daily journal and reached for the pen.
But she did not write, merely gazed blankly at the empty page, her mind awash with so many different and troubling thoughts.
A sudden knock on the door startled her, made her jump, and she sat up in the chair. “Who is it?”
“It’s only me,” her mother said from the doorway.
“Another nocturnal visitor, I see.”
Ignoring her sarcasm, Blair glided into the room, came to a stop at the desk, and put a hand on Stevie’s shoulder. “Derek thinks he’s upset you.”
142 / Barbara Taylor Bradford
“He hasn’t. He never upsets me, and he should know that after over thirty years. Look, Mom, I know he means well, but—”
“But the road to hell is paved with good intentions.”
“I didn’t say that, Mother.”
“That’s what you meant. Come, sit with me on the sofa.”
Stevie got up, followed her mother, seated herself next to her, and said, “I hope you haven’t come here to rehash everything Derek and I discussed.”
“Certainly not. Nor do I want to start asking questions about something that happened so very long ago. The details of your relationship with John Lane, or whatever his name was, are your business.
You didn’t want to tell me anything at the time.
Now it’s eighteen years too late.”
“An intelligent comment at last.”
“Derek feels the same way I do, you know, Stevie.
He’s rather sorry he started this tonight, but we were both concerned about Chloe. She seemed so troubled this afternoon. Full of questions about her father.”
“God knows why! I’ve been mother and father both to her, and frankly, I thought I’d done a good job. I’ve nurtured her, loved her, given her understanding and guidance. Furthermore, the whole family loves her, supports her, caters to her, and actually spoils her terribly. She has everything a girl could ever possibly want. An education, Power of a Woman / 143
money, a future. And now, suddenly, she’s running around asking, ‘Who’s my father? Why won’t she tell me about him?’ That’s her new cry.” Stevie shook her head and gave her mother a hard stare.
“I can’t tell her anything because I didn’t have a relationship with him. It was a one-night stand. He was a total stranger.”
“Derek told me all that,” Blair replied, and sighed.
“I know you sacrificed a great deal for Chloe, so I’m not one bit surprised that you’re feeling impatient with her now.”
“I never thought of it as a sacrifice, Mother,” Stevie muttered with a frown.
“Yet it was, in my opinion. You were so devoted to her, you never gave yourself a chance to meet anyone, to have a life of your own, get married again. And you could have, Stephanie. By then the boys were all away at boarding school and you had Nanny for Chloe.”
Stevie made no comment; she knew that everything her mother had just said was true. But she had felt so guilty about the circumstances of Chloe’s birth, she had overcompensated in so many different ways. She had denied herself the possibility of personal happiness with a man, had chosen instead her children and her work.
“The young are very selfish, Stevie dear,” Blair remarked. “Well, we’re all selfish, I suppose; that’s the human condition. But the young are more selfish. I remember I was, and so were you when you were a girl. And then there’s that awful, 144 / Barbara Taylor Bradford
all-consuming self-centeredness of the young. When we’re in our teens and twenties we think we’re the only thing that matters in the entire world. And that’s what Chloe is going through now, Stevie. She has the pressing need to know about her biological father because of her need to know about herself.
In a way, it has nothing to do with you, it’s not against you. I hope you realize that.”
“Yes, I guess I do, Mom. I’m just a bit annoyed she dumped all of this on Derek this weekend. I wanted you both to have a rest, enjoy yourselves.”
“Oh, but we did, and we’ve loved being here. It’s been wonderful, very cozy and relaxing. You’ve spoiled us.” Blair shifted slightly on the sofa and looked at Stevie closely. “Do you think Derek looks tired?”
Stevie shook her head. “Not at all. He seems marvelous to me. Full of vim and vigor.”
Blair smiled. “I do worry about him, you know.
A long run in a play is always very taxing. Are you coming to London for Christmas?”
“Don’t we always? I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”
After the merest hesitation, Blair asked, “Is she serious about not going to college?”
“I honestly don’t know, Mom. I’ve decided to play the waiting game…let’s see what she says after she’s graduated from Brearley next summer.”
“And what about her working at Jardine’s?”
“That could be a whim. She seems to be Power of a Woman / 145
somewhat focused on Gideon at the moment. And I don’t know why. She and Miles are closer.”
“What
about
Gideon, Stevie? Miles seems to think his brother is depressed. He told Derek he’s very gloomy.”
“Gideon has always been rather gloomy…perhaps morose is a better word. It’s funny, they’re so different in temperament. Miles is positive; his cup is always half full, while Gideon is just the opposite.
Anyway, as far as Gideon’s present mood is concerned, I personally think he’s suffering from women trouble. More precisely, Margot trouble. I’ve noticed this odd mood of his in the past few months whenever I’ve been in London, and I think he’s perturbed because he broke up with her.”
“Is that all! Goodness, we’ll soon fix that!”
Stevie laughed. “Oh, Mom, there’s no one like you. You’re always so positive you can cure what ails us.”
After her mother had left, Stevie went back to the desk and once more picked up her pen. Again she did not write anything in her journal. Instead, she sat back, her thoughts centering on Chloe. I mustn’t be too hard on her. My mother’s right. This is not about me. It’s about her. If only I could tell her something about her father, but I can’t.
Stevie thought about him for a brief moment. She closed her eyes, and his image danced around 146 / Barbara Taylor Bradford
in her head, as it had so often in the past. Thinking about him was futile, she knew that, but there were moments when she couldn’t help herself. Like now.
How different her life, their lives, would have been if only she had had more courage…the courage to tell him the truth. It was all too late now. No use dwelling on the past. As her mother had said earlier, it was eighteen years too late.
Almost against her own volition, Stevie rose and went to her briefcase, where she found her keys.
Crossing the floor, she unlocked the large cupboard, bent down to the safe, and punched in the code on the keypad, then turned the handle. All of her diaries were stacked in neat piles inside the safe; it took her only a split second to find the one dated 1977. She took it out and went and sat on the sofa in front of the fire.
Stevie sat staring at the diary for a while without opening it, smoothing her hands over the gold-em-bossed numbers on the leather front:
1977
. What a year that had been. All kinds of memories flooded her, and
he
jostled for prominence in her mind. But she shook off thoughts of him, swiftly began to flip the pages until she came to the first week of December. Here it was, that fateful day, the day she had made all of her decisions. She began to read.
Power of a Woman / 147
December 5th, 1977
I’ve been thinking a lot about the predicament
I’m in. In fact, I’ve thought of nothing else really
for days. And tonight I made my decisions. I’m
going to have the baby
.
Last week, when Jennifer Easton took me to
see her doctor, I was thrilled when he confirmed
that I was about eight weeks pregnant, as I
suspected. And then on the drive home reality
took over. I began to panic. Jennifer told me
about a doctor in Mayfair. A well-known doctor
who was associated with a clinic. Jennifer said
that all I had to do was go and see him for an
examination and explain my circumstances. He
would then check me into the clinic and perform
a D & C. When I came out I would no longer
be pregnant. But I don’t want to have an abor-tion. I want the baby. His baby. I never thought
I would love another man after Ralph, but I do.
I love him. We cannot be. But I can have his
child. Some people are not so lucky
.
Jennifer asked me what I’m going to tell
people if I go ahead and have the baby. I’ve
decided I’m not going to tell them anything.
They can’t force me to, and nobody’s going to
put me up against a wall and shoot me because
I’m silent. My mother and Derek
148 / Barbara Taylor Bradford
won’t be a problem. Alfreda might make trouble,
but I don’t care about her. And anyway, I’m
holding all the cards as far as the Jardines are
concerned. My three sons. Sons who are in my
custody. They are Jardines. Heirs to the
Jardines. As for Bruce, whatever he really thinks
he’ll be diplomatic, careful with me. He needs
me at Jardine’s. He’s not a well man; sometimes
he seems much older than his years. Daily he
grows more dependent on me. No, I won’t explain myself. Not to anyone. I cannot tell him
either. What to do? I’ll have to break off with
him. It will be difficult because I care about him
.
There was more on the page, and the page after that, but Stevie had read enough. And so she closed the diary without finishing that particular entry to the end, just sat there, absently gazing at the dying embers in the grate.
Rightly or wrongly, those had been her decisions and she had abided by them. She filled with sadness.
It was an old familiar, that ache inside. She had learned to live with it long ago.
W
HENEVER SHE WAS WITH ANDRE BIRRON, STEVIE
found herself smiling. There was something about him, about his demeanor and his personality that made her feel at ease, even happy, and it seemed to her that he brought out the best in her.
André was a small, stocky, energetic man with silver hair, a round, cherubic face, and shrewd eyes that looked like shiny black buttons. He had been a friend of her husband who had described André to her as “a little leprechaun of a man,” and that first description had stayed in her mind ever since.
She had met André just before Nigel was born, when she had been heavy with child and slow on her feet. André, the father of two himself, had been very solicitous of her, and caring. This kindness aside, they had taken to each other at once. Despite the difference in their ages they had become fast friends over the years.
150 / Barbara Taylor Bradford
After Ralph’s unexpected, very sudden death, André had gone out of his way to stay in touch with Stevie. “I must keep a fatherly eye on you,” he would say whenever he came to London. And for many years now he had been her mentor; she listened to him, took his advice, and had never regretted doing so, since he always brought to her problems an un-prejudiced point of view. And he was wise in the ways of the world.