Authors: Lucinda Riley
The distant coldness he felt from her was entirely new to him. He desperately wanted to throw his arms around her, search for the passionate, spirited woman she’d once been. “Could we at least go somewhere else and talk?” he begged her. “It’s unbearable here.”
“You’ll find there are no hotels where we can take tea in this area,” she replied with a hint of sarcasm in her voice. “Besides, this is my home.”
“Anni, please, I know how you’ve suffered and what you must think of me, but I promise you that I’ve never stopped loving you or thinking about you for the past eighteen months.”
Anni watched him impassively. “Whatever has happened in the past, Donald, I’m here, and you’re there, married to another.”
“Whatever my circumstances, my feelings for you remain unchanged. Please, this is me you’re talking to,” he said urgently. “You, more than anyone, know who I am.”
“I thought I did once, yes. But what’s the point now?”
“The point is, my darling, that after all these dreadful months, I’ve found you and we are sitting in the same room together talking. Can you not understand what that means to me?”
She didn’t answer. There was a brief knock and then the door opened. Anni’s landlady walked in, holding a screaming child in her arms.
“Sorry to disturb you, Anni, but he’s giving off hell in the kitchen and none of us can hear or think.”
Donald watched as Anni took the child into her arms. “Thank you,” she said to her landlady, who cast a further suspicious look at Donald, then at the baby, and left the room.
Donald was confused. “Is that her baby?”
Anni surveyed him carefully, as if she was weighing something in her mind. Eventually, she sighed. “No, he is mine.”
Donald stared at the baby, his brain slowly computing the beautiful honey-brown skin, the shock of dark hair and the bright blue eyes staring at him inquisitively.
He found his voice. “I . . . is he—?”
“Yes, Donald, this is Moh, your son.”
4 September
After that, using the health and welfare of my son as leverage and brooking no refusal, I made A gather the few possessions she had. Then I drove her and my son away from the terrible house in which I’d found them. We stayed in a hotel that first night before traveling down south. I had little idea of where I was taking her. I simply knew I could never leave her again. All of her old fire seemed to have left her, as if she was empty inside, as though nothing really mattered any longer. On the long car journey, she barely spoke a word, and only then to reply monosyllabically to my questions . . .
“Are you hungry?” Donald asked Anni as they drove through the Derbyshire Dales.
“No. But I should change the baby’s napkin.”
“Of course.” Donald pulled into a hotel on the outskirts of Matlock and the three of them climbed out of the car. As he waited in the restaurant for Anni to return, he asked if the hotel possessed a telephone, for he needed to make a call. On the long, silent journey, he had begun to formulate a plan. He would throw them all on the mercy of Selina, who, he was sure, for a time would be prepared to offer Anni and the child a room in her Kensington home. As a temporary measure, it was the best he could think of, and at least he knew that Anni wouldn’t be able to disappear again if she was right under his sister’s nose.
The waiter said that they did indeed have a telephone and Donald went off to use it. When he came back to the restaurant, Anni was sitting at the table, with the baby fast asleep in her arms.
“I’ve just spoken to Selina, and you’ll stay there until I’ve sorted out something more permanent,” said Donald.
“I see,” Anni replied, giving no indication as to whether the arrangement suited her or not.
“I’ve ordered soup and sandwiches, will that be sufficient?”
“Thank you.”
Donald reached a hand across to her in desperation. “Anni, please, I can’t imagine what you’ve been through or how much you must hate me, but I’m here now, and I swear I’ll never let you down again. You have to trust me, please, and believe that if I hadn’t truly thought that you were lost to me forever, I would never have married Violet.”
Anni raised her eyes slowly to him. “Do you love her?”
“I’m fond of her, yes,” he replied honestly. “She’s sweet and young, and I wouldn’t want to see her hurt, certainly. But no, I don’t love her and I never have. It was, to all intents and purposes, an arranged marriage, just as you have in India.”
“She’s very beautiful.”
“Yes, she is, but—for God’s sake.” Donald shook his head in frustration. “I can’t keep going over and over the reasons why. We all do things that we live to regret.”
Anni ate her soup in silence and then attempted a sandwich. The food seemed to revive her, brought some color to her cheeks. Donald surmised that she was almost certainly malnourished.
They returned to the car, and both Anni and the baby fell asleep for the rest of the journey. Donald tenderly roused them when they arrived outside Selina’s house in Kensington.
“We’re here?” she asked.
“Yes. Shall I help you with the baby?”
“No!” A flash of fear passed across Anni’s face. “Does Selina know of the child? I didn’t tell her when I saw her that time in London.”
“I told her, and she wasn’t shocked,” Donald comforted her. “She understands now why you disappeared.”
With the maid settling Anni and the baby into a bedroom upstairs, Donald drained a hefty gin with Selina in the drawing room.
“Oh, Donald, it really is all so tragic. I know only too well how Anni must have felt. She must have been terrified. And here’s me with my little girl safe and secure in a nursery, and a new one on the way. The contrast couldn’t be more stark, could it?” she sighed.
“No. Goodness, Selina, if you’d seen where Anni was living—it was a slum.”
“Well of course Anni and her baby can stay here temporarily, but what on earth will you do long-term?” she asked him. “After all, that baby is your son and, until you and Violet have a child, technically
could be your heir, but I dread to think what would happen if Violet should ever find out about him.”
“It’s a bloody mess, the whole damned thing. But most importantly, I’ve found Anni. I love her, Selina. My only thought was to get her and our baby out of that hellhole. I haven’t had time to really think about the ramifications. One of the solutions would be to install her in a house up here in town, visit her and my son whenever I was in London, but I don’t want to treat Anni as though she were my mistress and I’m sure she wouldn’t countenance it either.”
“Has she given an indication of what
she
wants?” asked Selina.
“She’s hardly said a word,” he replied miserably. “She’s simply been surviving for the past few months. I’m sure it will take some time before she regains her strength, both mentally and physically.”
“Well, at least I can provide her with a warm bed, good food and a nursemaid who can take the baby from her to let her rest. Another little one in the nursery won’t make any difference.” Selina smiled. “After all, they are cousins.”
“And I only wish the world could know it.”
“Well, they can’t, and that’s that. None of this is poor Violet’s doing and although I could never say that she and I will be close, I wouldn’t want her to ever suffer the indignity of knowing her husband had a”—Selina refrained from saying the correct term—“child by another woman.”
“You’re right, of course,” said Donald, pouring himself another gin from the tray. “My immediate plan is to go down to Devon and confront Mother. I must know for certain whether it was her who’s put us all in this mess.”
“Will you tell her about the child?”
“Oh yes.” Donald smiled grimly. “I can’t think of a thing that would distress her more than to know she has a half-caste illegitimate grandson whom I could recognize as the heir to the Astbury estate.”
“My God, Donald. The news might seriously finish her off!”
“I doubt it. Even though she acts as though she’s eighty, we must remember our mother isn’t even fifty yet,” Donald reminded her. “She’s as tough as old boots underneath all the drama and will probably outlive us all. This appalling situation, if we’re both right, is down to her. I’m simply not frightened of her any longer.”
Anni professed she was too tired to join Selina and Donald downstairs for dinner that evening and the maid took her some supper up
on a tray. Before he retired for the night, Donald went to her bedroom and knocked on the door.
“Who is it?”
“It’s Donald. May I come in?”
Receiving no reply, he opened the door and found Anni nursing the baby in bed.
“My apologies,” she said, pulling Moh from her and covering herself.
“I don’t mind,” said Donald. “I think it’s rather wonderful. Most women that I know of don’t feed their babies themselves.”
“I had no choice, I couldn’t afford the extra milk. But he’s getting big now—he’ll be a year old next month and I’m not enough to satisfy him. I think that’s why he cried so often when we were in Keighley.”
“Oh, Anni,” Donald said with a sigh, “may I come and sit down?”
“If you wish.”
Donald perched on the bed and looked at the baby, sated for now and sleeping in Anni’s arms. “May I hold him?”
“Of course,” Anni replied, and passed Moh over to him.
Donald could smell the warm, milky scent of his skin and the sweetness of the talcum powder the nursemaid had used after his bath. He looked down into his son’s face and was overcome with such a wave of love, it brought tears to his eyes.
“I can hardly believe that we made him.”
“Every child is a miracle, whatever life they are born into,” Anni said.
“Anni, do you hate me?”
She paused before she answered him. “I have wished to, Donald, many times. I may not like you much at present, but I’ve loved you since the day I first met you.”
“And now that I’ve found you? Do you trust me to take care of you and our son?”
“What choice do I have?” she asked him sadly.
• • •
The following day, Donald left Anni and Moh in the capable hands of Selina and the nursemaid and motored south to Astbury Hall. Immediately on arrival, he went straight to the dower house, where his mother now lived, on the edge of the estate.
“Is she in, Bessie?” he asked the startled maid as he marched into the house.
“I believe she’s upstairs resting, my lord.”
Donald took the stairs two at a time, then knocked on his mother’s door.
“Come,” said a voice, and Donald entered Maud’s bedroom to find her sitting in a chair by the fireplace reading a book.
“Donald, what on earth are you doing up here?” she said with a frown of displeasure.
“You and I must talk. Please put down your book, Mother. There are some questions I want you to answer,” Donald replied, sitting down opposite her.
Startled by her son’s vehemence, Maud did as she was told. “What is it?” she asked him.
“I’ve recently discovered that a number of letters addressed to me went missing last year at Astbury Hall, and I have every reason to believe that you had a hand in making sure I didn’t receive them.”
“Letters?”
Donald watched as his mother tried to feign ignorance. “Yes, Mother, letters. Letters from India, Paris and then Yorkshire, from a certain young lady whom you’d somehow discovered I was very fond of. Who, Mother, just for the record, I was and continue to be in love with.”
“I . . . really, Donald, we get so much post, letters from all over the world. Surely, the postal service is at fault if they didn’t arrive? I hardly think you can blame me if they’ve gone astray.”
“Oh, I think I can, Mother. And it would be perfectly easy for me to go to the servants at the hall—who you might care to remember are under
my
employ these days—and ask them for the truth.”
Donald made to stand, but Maud hushed him immediately back down into the chair.
“Have you taken leave of your senses? The last thing we want is the servants talking about our private business,” she hissed.
“I can’t say I care a damn.”
“Not even if it reached Violet’s ears?”
“As well it might, given that I’ve finally found Anahita. She’s currently staying with Selina in London until I decide what is best to do.” Donald had a dreadful urge to laugh at the horrified look on his mother’s face.
“What exactly do you mean, what is best?” repeated Maud. “Surely, you can’t mean you’ll tell Violet about this . . . liaison you had with that Indian girl?”
“I haven’t decided yet, but unless you come clean and admit it was you who held her letters back, I might be very tempted to do so.”
“Good God, Donald! Are you completely mad? You’ll bring this family to its knees. Violet would divorce you immediately, and then what would become of Astbury?”
“Do you think I care? That I’ve ever cared?” he shot back. “You knew full well that I was prepared to sell it and had even found a buyer. That wouldn’t have suited you though, would it, Mother? Admit it, before I go and tell Violet. Trust me”—he eyed her—“I have absolutely nothing to lose. Selling Astbury was my plan in the first place. I’d be quite content to live a quiet life with the woman I love. And by the way,” Donald said, playing his trump card, “Anni has recently given birth to our baby. Which means I have a son, and you a grandchild.”
Donald watched his mother crumple in front of him. But still, he persisted. “So, Mother, would you like me to go and tell my present wife all this? Can you imagine the scandal?”
“Stop it! Stop it! How can you be so cruel? I’m your mother!” she moaned.
“Yes, a mother who put her own needs and wants above those of her son. Anni is an aristocratic and educated Indian woman. Not some common little peasant I’ve dragged out of a brothel!”
“
Please!
”
“And it may interest you to know too, that there are a number of mixed-race marriages among society these days. But no, Mother, your prejudice wouldn’t allow for your son to marry such a woman. You are, and always have been, cold, calculating and bigoted. I—”
“
Stop!
Enough!” Maud screamed, and abruptly burst into tears.