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She saw the glitter of tears darkening Lucy’s eyes and with a small murmur went to her and put her arms round her, wisely knowing that it was best to let her cry.
‘I promise you we won’t ask any questions,’ she said later when they were drinking their coffee, but Lucy shook her head firmly.
‘No… If I’m going to stay here with you, you should know the truth.’
It was at the back of her mind that since her pregnancy could not be kept a total secret it was inevitable that if her aunt and uncle did not know who the father was, they could quite innocently mention it to Fanny, from whom it might get back to Saul—always supposing he returned from the States—and that was the last thing she wanted to happen. If he learned about the child, Saul might feel he was under some sort of obligation towards it—and possibly to her—and she didn’t want that. If she couldn’t have his love, then she didn’t want anything from him.
Margaret listened silently as Lucy went briefly through what had happened, carefully editing Neville’s role in the affair.
‘He was so shocked to discover that he was my first lover that I knew then that he didn’t love me.’
‘Lucy, are you sure? You could be wrong. It seems to me that you almost deliberately encouraged him to believe the worst of you.’
‘But if he had loved me he wouldn’t have believed it, would he?’ she protested.
Margaret sighed. ‘Perhaps not, but human emotions are tricky things, my dear, and from what you’ve said to me it seems as though he would be bitterly resentful of any part Neville played in your life. People in love are notorious for not behaving in a logical fashion. Given the past, perhaps he was just testing you… hoping you would deny his accusations.’
Could her aunt be right? Lucy stamped firmly on the frail seed of hope burgeoning inside her. Saul had made no attempt to get in touch with her or show any interest in her at all since that fateful night. No, her aunt was wrong. He cared nothing about her at all.
That evening over dinner her uncle suggested that for the time being they keep the news of Lucy’s pregnancy to themselves.
‘Not because we’re ashamed or embarrassed, Lucy, but simply so that you’re not subject to unwanted questions. I suggest that, when the time comes, we’ll invent some fictitious father for the child, but we’ll think about that later.’
* * *
Later when Lucy was in bed and he and his wife were alone in the privacy of their own bedroom Margaret asked her husband anxiously, ‘Leo, what are we going to do? Lucy, poor child, looks worn to a thread. She loves him desperately, you know, and she’s far too proud to do anything about it.’
‘Yes I know, and she won’t thank us for any interference. I suppose old Patterson the solicitor would be the person most likely to have his American address? I’ll give him a ring in the morning.’
‘And if Lucy’s right and Saul doesn’t want her or the baby?’
‘Then his loss is our gain, isn’t it?’
* * *
‘Fanny’s on the phone for you,’ Margaret announced to Lucy a couple of days later. ‘She sounds very excited.’
Dr Carter had confirmed that Lucy was indeed pregnant, and although the nausea continued her exhaustion seemed to be lifting. She went into the study to pick up the receiver.
‘Lucy, you’ll never guess… I’m getting married again!’ The excitement faded from the bubbly light voice as Fanny quite obviously remembered that her deceased husband had been Lucy’s father, but Lucy wasn’t at all upset by her news, especially when she learned that Fanny was to marry their neighbour and friend, the colonel.
‘He proposed to me at the weekend—we won’t have a long engagement, only a couple of months. Oliver and Tara are both delighted, and I must confess that it will be a relief to share the responsibility for them with someone else again.
‘We’re having a small engagement party this weekend at his house and, of course, we both want you to be there. The children miss you.’
Of course she couldn’t refuse to go, and besides what was there to stop her from attending? After all, Saul wasn’t going to be there.
CHAPTER EIGHT
‘WELL that went off very well didn’t it?’
Lucy, her aunt and her uncle were in the drawing-room of the Dower House, drinking the chocolate her aunt had insisted on making on their return from the engagement party.
Fanny and the two children were spending the weekend at Tom’s house, and Lucy had been pleased to see how well both children, but especially Oliver, got on with him.
Before she left Tom had taken her on one side to tell her that he knew all about Oliver’s true parentage.
