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Anger flared deep inside her at his scorchingly sarcastic and bitter tone. ‘Simon knows that I loved his father,’ she told him furiously.
‘Yes? And does he “love” him too, even knowing that he abandoned him?’
Tears weren’t far away, guilt, fear, resentment and an aching tug of love all mixed up inside her. Scott was so righteously indignant on Simon’s behalf, not knowing that Simon’s father was himself, or that Simon knew most of the circumstances of his birth and yearned for the love and companionship of his father in spite of knowing them. Pride came to her rescue, overriding all other emotions, unconscious hauteur in the tilt of her head as she said quietly, ‘I didn’t know until recently that Simon was aware of the identity of his father. Naturally he wants to know about him, and I’ve answered his questions as honestly as I could. I wouldn’t want any child of mine to believe he or she was conceived in anything other than love. Simon understands that had the circumstances been different his father would have been there to share his childhood, and yes, I think he does love him.’
‘Well, he didn’t evince much “love” the other day when he was here. In fact,’ he added shatteringly, ‘an uninformed bystander would probably think the boy was fonder of me than Rivers! Is that why you’re so anxious to get him away from here, Philippa; because you think your son is more attached to me than he is to his natural father? Doesn’t that tell you something? Doesn’t that warn you how much you’ve deprived him of? When you first came here I hated you because of the way you cheated me all those years ago. It never occurred to me that I’d begin to hate you for having another man’s child as well. Simon could have been our son, Philippa.…’
‘And if he had been?’ she challenged recklessly, holding her breath, her face pale as his eyes raked her vulnerable features. ‘If he had been, then you can rest assured that he would have known the love and security of growing up with both his parents. I’ve been there remember. I lost my father when I was fifteen and that was bad enough.’ The harsh clamour of the telephone put an abrupt end to their conversation, but it left Philippa feeling unsettled and vaguely anxious. Life was becoming far too complicated. She would feel much happier if only she knew that Scott was Simon’s father. She had seen the way Eve looked at Simon; the affection she gave him; how long would it be before Scott noticed and perhaps questioned it? And then there was Simon himself, so vulnerable, too emotionally responsive to his father already. With a considerable amount of effort she dragged her thoughts back to her work, trying to blot out all her fears and anxieties.
It was just after four o’clock when Sir Nigel’s silver-grey Rolls slid to a halt outside Garston Hall. Sir Nigel got out, dapper as ever, his eyes warming as he looked over Scott’s shoulder and saw Philippa hovering decorously in the back-ground.
‘Garston! Delighted to meet you at last. I’ve been following your progress in the F.T. for some considerable time. Allow me to introduce you to Raschid. Sheikh Raschid, Scott Garston. And Philippa, come and say “hello” to Raschid, my dear.’
Ignoring the furious look Scott was giving her, Philippa walked forward a little uncertainly to respond to her late employer’s warm greeting and greet the Sheikh. Sir Nigel had drawn Scott into a low-toned conversation, both men with their backs towards the Sheikh and Philippa, so that Scott did not witness the warm smile the Sheikh gave her, as he recognised her. ‘Ah yes, it is Sir Nigel’s charming and beautiful ex-secretary is it not? I noticed his office looked far less decorative without your delightful presence to enhance it.’
Ignoring his outrageous flattery Philippa responded demurely. She liked the Sheikh, and knew that beneath the cloak of flattery and charm, he possessed an extremely keen and shrewd mind.
At Scott’s request she showed them to the guest rooms which had been prepared for them, and mentioned the sports facilities available.
‘Delightful place he’s got here,’ Sir Nigel told Philippa as he gazed down into the courtyard from the window of his room. ‘Makes me think we ought to move out of London. Find ourselves somewhere in the country. Happy are you up here?’ He was too shrewd not to have noticed her slight loss of weight and the faint shadows under her eyes, but Philippa shrugged his concern aside. ‘Simon is certainly benefiting from it.’
‘Mm.… Must say it gave me a shock when you insisted on leaving like that. Thought you were quite happy with us. How is young Simon by the way?’
‘He’s at school at the moment. He should be back shortly.’
‘Mmm. Y’know it’s a strange thing, but as soon as I set eyes on young Garston, I couldn’t help thinking how like him your Simon is.’
It was too late to hide her shock. Philippa knew that her face was parchment pale, her eyes rounding with distressed pain. ‘Sir Nigel, I.…’
‘No need to say another word,’ he assured her. ‘Shouldn’t have said anything in the first place.’
Philippa knew that her old employer would have let the matter go at that, but she shouldn’t allow it to drop without talking to him. ‘Scott doesn’t know… about Simon,’ she told him awkwardly. ‘I.…’
‘Shan’t say a word my dear, I give you my promise. Care to talk to me about it?’
She outlined the story briefly to him, thinking tiredly that the whole situation was developing along the lines of a farce. If matters continued like this for much longer the only person who wouldn’t know he was Simon’s father would be Scott himself. Her thoughts were reinforced when Sir Nigel said ruminatively, ‘Mmm… well, I can see why you don’t want to say anything, but shouldn’t think you’ll be able to keep it a secret for much longer. Plain as the nose on your face that the boy’s his. I spotted the resemblance straight off. Garston must be blind.’
‘I think it’s more a case of seeing only what he wants to see,’ Philippa said quietly. ‘It would be very embarrassing for us both if the truth were to come out now. Scott would feel a moral responsibility for Simon I know, but no blame can or should attach to him for Simon’s illegitimacy. If he had known.…’
‘Well there’s always a job for you with us. If you want to come back, Philippa.’ He glanced at his watch. ‘I’d better go and see how Raschid is getting on. Will we see you at dinner?’
‘I don’t know.’
Scott hadn’t said anything to her about joining them for dinner, and as his secretary in the ordinary course of events she would not have expected to be included. However, the situation was complicated by the fact that she was living in his home. Hank was joining the party and so was Eve. Perhaps the fact that Scott had said nothing to her about it spoke for itself, she decided. The best thing to do would be to go and see Mrs Robinson and ask if she and Simon could have a light supper either in the kitchen or in her room.
She bumped into Simon as he hurried up the stairs, on her way to her room after s
eeing Mrs Robinson, his hair tousled, his skin tanned, he looked very different from the pale, almost listless boy who had accompanied her to Garston less than a month ago. His ‘Hi, Mum’ was cheerfully perfunct, but his carefully nonchalant, ‘Seen Scott?’ halted her, her forehead pleating in a worried frown.
‘Mr Garston has business guests, Simon,’ she told him quietly, ‘and please try to remember that you and I are here only because I’m working for him.’ He was looking sulkily rebellious and she could almost see the words tumbling from his lips, ‘Please, Simon,’ she begged, suddenly unutterably weary. ‘Why don’t.…’
She broke off as she saw the pleasure dawning in Simon’s eyes, and turned her head just in time to see Scott approaching along the landing. ‘Hello, son, how did school go today?’
Lean fingers ruffled Simon’s already untidy hair, the glowing face her son turned up towards his father making her insides melt with love and fear. Dear God, could Scott honestly not see that Simon was his? With every bit of casual affection and attention he gave Simon he was making it harder for them both to leave. One half of her mind registered Simon’s breathless chatter, the other trying to find a way of resolving her ever-present dilemma.
‘No, it’s your mother I’ve come to see,’ she heard Scott saying, the words focusing her attention on him. ‘It seems that Sheikh Raschid would be very disappointed if you don’t join us for dinner.…’
‘But, but I’m only your secretary.…’ Why was she insisting on hurting herself like this? What did she want him to say? That he would never willingly choose to include her among his dinner guests?
