Season Of Mists. Anne Mather

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      Piers straightened away from the door. ‘Was there no one you could have left him with? A—friend, perhaps.’

      Abby’s resentment stirred. ‘If you mean a man friend, then I’m afraid I must disappoint you. Matt and I live alone.’

      Piers shrugged. ‘Surely you have girl friends.’

      ‘That’s my affair.’ Abby was getting annoyed, in spite of herself. ‘And why shouldn’t I bring Matt here? This is where he belongs.’

      Piers’ eyes were harsh with contempt. ‘So that’s what you’ve told him.’

      Abby gasped, ‘I haven’t told him anything!’

      ‘You told him that I was his father.’

      ‘You are!’

      Piers’ lips curled. ‘Oh, please! Let’s not get into that again.’ He breathed heavily. ‘The fact remains, you told him who I was, you pointed me out. Why else did he come chasing after me, and subject both myself and Val to that embarrassing introduction?’

      ‘It wasn’t like that.’ Abby was having difficulty now in keeping her temper in check. He was so sure of himself, so arrogant. And she could not deny the little spurt of irritation she had experienced when he spoke of the other girl in that possessive way. ‘I got a shock,’ she continued. ‘It was—so unexpected. I didn’t tell Matt who you were—not in so many words. I didn’t have to. He guessed. And how could I anticipate what he would do?’

      Piers thrust his hands into the pockets of the worn black corded jacket he was wearing. ‘You’re telling me he saw a complete stranger and guessed I was his father?’ he demanded caustically. ‘Credit me with a little intelligence, Abby, please.’

      ‘You—bastard!’ Abby gazed across at him bitterly. ‘Do you think I wanted him to know his own father had disowned him? Do you think I’d have let him take the risk that you might deny all knowledge of him?’ She shook her head. ‘Until two years ago, he thought you were dead! I wish he still believed it.’

      Piers regarded her sceptically. ‘What are you saying? That he suddenly discovered we were related?’

      ‘He read a letter Aunt Hannah sent me,’ declared Abby tersely. ‘He saw your name in it and identified it as being the same as that on his birth certificate. He’s not stupid, you know. The chances of my knowing two men called Piers are rather remote, don’t you think?’

      Piers’ mouth compressed. ‘So you told him your story.’

      ‘No!’ Abby was indignant. ‘I didn’t tell him any story. I simply explained that—that our marriage hadn’t worked. That we were—incompatible.’

      ‘And I suppose there’s no connection between my writing to you about the divorce and your turning up here.’

      ‘No!’ Abby was adamant.

      Piers made a sound midway between acknowledgement and derision, and then walked broodingly across to the leaded windows. Beyond Aunt Hannah’s small patch of garden, a sleek Mercedes station wagon was parked in the road. Grey, with an elegant red line along the side, it gleamed in the early morning light, the sun glinting off polished metalwork and mirror-like chrome. Another of the estate vehicles, thought Abby, wishing he would go. The Roths spent more on cars every year than she and Matthew had to live on.

      ‘What does the boy know about me?’ Piers asked suddenly, keeping his back to her. ‘I suppose he believes I’m to blame for the—what was it you said—the incompatibility of our marriage.’

      ‘As a matter of fact, Matt blames me,’ Abby flung at him angrily. ‘That should please you. The ultimate irony!’

      Piers turned. ‘It doesn’t please me at all,’ he replied harshly. ‘The boy’s yours. Why don’t you tell him the truth? That although he bears my name, he’s not my son!’

      ‘Because it wouldn’t be true,’ retorted Abby bleakly. ‘Oh, why don’t you go away, Piers? You’re not wanted here. Don’t worry, I’ll see that Matt doesn’t bother you again. We’ll be leaving tomorrow.’

      ‘Will you?’ Piers walked back to his previous position, only nearer now, so that she could smell the warmth of his body, and the distinctive scent of the cheroots he evidently still favoured. Then he sighed before saying quietly: ‘I believe you when you say you didn’t expect to see me at the station.’ He paused to give his words emphasis before continuing: ‘I suggest it was an unfortunate incident, and that we both try and forget what happened.’

      If he had expected his mild words would appease Abby, he was mistaken. On the contrary, she preferred it better when he was saying what he really thought, not paying lip service to a dead, or dying, relationship.

      ‘How considerate of you!’ she exclaimed tautly, too conscious of his nearness and resentful of her own reactions to it. ‘Don’t patronise me, Piers. I don’t need it. Go, make your apologies to Miss Langton. She needs them—I don’t.’

      ‘I was not apologising!’ Piers’ tawny eyes glittered, hard and predatory, like a cat’s. ‘While I’m prepared to accept that you couldn’t have known I was meeting Val off the train, I still say it was the height of folly to bring the boy up here, particularly at this time, knowing he was bound to be curious about me.’

      ‘At this time?’ Abby plucked the words out of his mouth. ‘What do you mean, at this time?’

      ‘I mean with the divorce pending.’

      ‘Matt knows nothing about the divorce.’

      ‘Are you sure?’

      Piers was staring at her, and belatedly Abby wondered whether he might not be right. Apart from his initial enquiry, Matthew had showed no further interest in that other letter, and only now did she wonder whether, like Aunt Hannah’s letter previously, he had found his father’s communication and read it.

      Now she shook her head a little uneasily, unable either to deny or confirm his suspicions. ‘I don’t think he knows,’ she said finally. ‘But even if he does, what difference does it make?’

      ‘You ask me that!’ Piers drew a deep breath. ‘For God’s sake, Abby, the boy believes that I’m his father!’

      ‘So?’

      ‘God!’ With a groan of anguish, Piers thrust the long fingers of one hand through his hair. ‘Don’t you understand? It doesn’t matter what you or I believe. It’s what he believes that counts. Do you want him to get hurt?’

      ‘Why should you care?’

      ‘I’d care about any child in similar circumstances.’ Piers moved his shoulders impatiently. ‘Abby, you’ve got to tell him the truth. The boy’s bright enough. He’ll understand.’

      Abby’s control snapped. ‘Is that what you think? Is that what you really think?’ Her green eyes darted fire. ‘You supercilious prig! How dare you come here and preach to me about the son whose existence you’ve ignored for nearly twelve years! What do you care whether he’s hurt or not? What feelings of remorse will you feel when Matthew and I are safely out СКАЧАТЬ