AllFreeNovel
Share Us
"There you are! There never was a Teddy Williams. To maintain her respectability, your mother said she was a widow. She called her fictional late husband Williams to avoid the problem of changing her name."
Lloyd shook his head in disbelief. "It seems too fantastic."
"She and Maud continued to be friends, and Maud helped raise you. In 1933 your mother took you to Berlin because your real mother wanted to see you again."
Lloyd felt as if he were either dreaming or just waking up. "You think I'm Maud's child?" he said incredulously.
Daisy tapped the frame of the picture she was still holding. "And you look just like your grandfather!"
Lloyd was bewildered. It could not be true--yet it made sense. "I'm used to Bernie not being my real father," he said. "Is Ethel not my real mother?"
Daisy must have seen a look of helplessness on his face, for she leaned forward and touched him--something she did not generally do--and said: "I'm sorry, have I been brutal? I just want you to see what's in front of your eyes. If Peel suspects the truth, don't you think others may too? It's the kind of news you want to hear from someone who . . . from a friend."
A gong sounded distantly. Lloyd said mechanically: "I'd better go to the mess for lunch." He took the photograph out of its frame and slipped it into a pocket of his uniform jacket.
"You're upset," Daisy said anxiously.
"No, no. Just . . . astonished."
"Men always deny that they're upset. Please come and see me later."
"All right."
"Don't go to bed without talking to me again."
"I won't."
He left the junk room and made his way upstairs to the grand dining room, now the mess. He ate his canned beef mince automatically, his mind in turmoil. He took no part in the discussion at the table about the battle raging in Norway.
"Having a daydream, Williams?" said Major Lowther.
"Sorry, sir," Lloyd said mechanically. He improvised an excuse. "I was trying to remember which was the higher German rank, Generalleutnant or Generalmajor."
Lowther said: "Generalleutnant is higher." Then he added quietly: "Just don't forget the difference between meine Frau and deine Frau."
Lloyd felt himself blush. So his friendship with Daisy was not as discreet as he had imagined. It had even come to Lowther's notice. He felt indignant: he and Daisy had done nothing improper. Yet he did not protest. He felt guilty, even though he was not. He could not put his hand on his heart and swear that his intentions were pure. He knew what Granda would say: "Whosoever looketh on a woman to lust after her hath committed adultery with her already in his heart." That was the no-bullshit teaching of Jesus and there was a lot of truth in it.
Thinking of his grandparents led him to wonder if they knew about his real parents. Being in doubt about his real father and mother gave him a lost feeling, like a dream about falling from a height. If he had been told lies about that, he might have been misled about anything.
He decided he would question Granda and Grandmam. He could do it today, as it was Sunday. As soon as he could decently excuse himself from the mess, he walked downhill to Wellington Row.
It occurred to him that if he asked them outright wh
ether he was Maud's son they might simply deny everything point-blank. Perhaps a more gradual approach would be more likely to elicit information.
He found them sitting in their kitchen. To them Sunday was the Lord's Day, devoted to religion, and they would not read newspapers or listen to the radio. But they were pleased to see him, and Grandmam made tea, as always.
Lloyd began: "I wish I knew more about my real father. Mam says that Teddy Williams was in the Welsh Rifles, did you know that?"
Grandmam said: "Oh, why do you want to go digging up the past? Bernie's your father."
Lloyd did not contradict her. "Bernie Leckwith has been everything a father should be to me."
Granda nodded. "A Jew, but a good man, there's no doubt." He imagined he was being magnanimously tolerant.
Lloyd let it pass. "All the same, I'm curious. Did you meet Teddy Williams?"
Granda looked angry. "No," he said. "And it was a sorrow to us."
