His Wedding-Night Heir (Wedlocked!) Read online

  ‘My weight gain,’ Cally said levelly, ‘is absolutely normal.’

  Adele shrugged. ‘If you say so. But it’s hardly any wonder that Nick prefers to spend his time elsewhere these days.’ She paused. ‘I suppose he’s told you that I’m going?’

  ‘No,’ Cally said slowly, still smarting from the previous jibe. ‘He hasn’t mentioned it.’

  ‘Then you heard it from me first.’ Adele sat down on the chair opposite. ‘I’m moving down to an apartment near St Tropez, my dear. Far more my style than that dreary Dower House, and more than I can actually afford, but Nick’s stirred himself to be generous for once. Et voilà.’

  She smiled. ‘I gather he needs the Dower House vacated for some purpose of his own. I thought you might know what it was.’

  ‘Why should I?’ Cally found the last of the strawberries over-sweet, and pushed her plate away.

  ‘Well, it’s always been the place where the Tempests dump their unwanted women—once they’ve served their purpose.’ Adele yawned. ‘I’d say you’d make the ideal candidate, once you’ve produced the heir and Nick pensions you off.’ Her eyes, bright with malice, met Cally’s. ‘That is what he’s planning—isn’t it?’

  ‘I wouldn’t know,’ Cally said quietly. ‘I don’t have your genius for intelligence-gathering.’

  ‘Oh, it won’t happen quite yet, naturally,’ Adele went on languidly. ‘The place isn’t ready for immediate occupation, particularly as I’m sure your taste in décor and mine are poles apart. But I guess Nick will be putting in his personal design consultant for the makeover.’ Her smile was sly. ‘I wonder what colour she’ll pick for the nursery? Green, I dare say. You must drop me a postcard and let me know.’

  She got to her feet. ‘Well, I have things to do before I leave in the morning, so perhaps you’ll make my farewells for me.’

  ‘Of course,’ Cally said, her voice wooden. ‘Goodbye.’

  ‘Adieu to you too.’ Adele lingered for a moment. ‘You know, I feel quite sorry for you, Cally. You’ve been dealt a rotten hand, and no one’s told you the rules of the game, but you’re still putting up your own pathetic fight. It’s almost—admirable. So, good luck with the Dower House. I think you’ll need it.’

  Cally sat motionless, watching her walk away across the lawn, her figure dwindling into the distance. When she was sure the other woman was out of sight, and out of earshot, she rose slowly and stiffly from her chair and went back into the drawing room.

  She stood for a moment, looking round, until her eye fell on a large Worcester bowl reposing on a small table.

  She picked it up by the rim. She said aloud, quietly and conversationally, ‘I think I’ve had enough.’

  Then she drew back her arm and sent the bowl flying towards the fireplace.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  HER aim, for once, was unerring. The bowl hit the heavy stone mantelshelf and shattered, sending a hundred noisy fragments cascading on to the hearth.

  She stood, panting a little, regarding the havoc she’d created. Aware at the same time that there were footsteps in the hall, approaching fast. The drawing room door was flung wide as Nick strode in. He’d clearly been back for some time, because the dark business suit he’d been wearing earlier had been replaced by jeans and a casual shirt.

  ‘What the hell…?’ he began furiously, then checked, his narrowed gaze scanning his wife, who was standing with her hands clenched and her eyes blazing out of her pale face, then moving to the debris on the hearth.

  ‘Another accident?’ he asked.

  ‘No,’ she said, the word swift and staccato. ‘And what are you doing here?’

  ‘I live here,’ he said. ‘Or I have what passes for a life.’

  ‘But you were supposed to be going to Wellingford.’

  He shrugged. ‘Something happened that I needed to attend to. I’ll go tomorrow.’ He looked back at the hearth. ‘So how did it happen?’

  ‘I did it on purpose.’ Cally lifted her chin stormily. ‘Because I felt like it,’ she added for good measure.

  ‘Really?’ Nick’s brows lifted. ‘And did you find it therapeutic? Maybe I should try it.’ He walked to the fireplace and took a porcelain figurine from the mantelshelf. ‘I’ve never liked this,’ he said, almost conversationally. He took a couple of long strides backwards, then shied it. It broke with a satisfying crack, and the small head rolled sadly across the hearth.

  Cally found she was holding her breath as she watched.

  ‘No,’ he said, after a second’s pause. ‘Sadly, that doesn’t do it for me. But don’t let me stop you wrecking the place in your quest for fulfilment,’ he added, too pleasantly. ‘In the meantime, perhaps I can find mine in other ways.’

  The next moment Cally found herself scooped up into his arms and dumped down on to the yielding softness of one of the sofas, while he stood over her and made to unfasten the belt of his jeans with stark and unmistakable purpose in his dark face.

  Something froze inside her. ‘Oh, God.’ She struggled upright. ‘Are you mad? Don’t—don’t you dare touch me!’

  ‘Why not?’ His tone bit. ‘What have I got to lose?’

  She didn’t look at him. She said with difficulty. ‘Maybe—the woman you’re supposed to love.’

  ‘The woman I do love.’ The bitterness in his voice made her flinch. ‘The woman I shall love to the end of my life, God help me.’

  The pain of that made her voice falter. ‘And, besides, you—we—might hurt the baby.’

  ‘Ah, yes,’ he said harshly. ‘Our child.’ He turned and moved away to the sofa opposite. Sat down. ‘However, I think any lasting damage might well be to each other.’

  There was a pause, then he said, ‘I was actually coming to find you when I heard the crash. It seems to me there are matters we need to discuss.’

  ‘Let me guess,’ Cally said. ‘Could one of them be the Dower House?’

  His brows lifted. ‘Well—yes. But how did you know?’

  ‘I’ve had a visit from Adele,’ she said. ‘She came to tell me she was leaving. She even made it sound as if you’d paid her off.’

  ‘Really?’ He sounded politely interested. ‘Then for once she was actually telling the truth.’

  Cally gasped. ‘You mean you—bribed her into going?’

  ‘I bought her an apartment in the South of France and agreed to pay her removal expenses on condition that she takes that old witch of a housekeeper with her and that neither of them return.’

  She said faintly, ‘My God.’

  ‘You disapprove?’ He shrugged a shoulder. ‘Now, I felt it was money well spent.’

  ‘Of course,’ she said. ‘Especially as it frees up the Dower House.’ She threw back her head. ‘You don’t have much mercy, do you, Nick? Can’t you imagine what it will be like for me—what it will do to me—living so near—seeing you all the time? Seeing you with her.’ The word seemed to explode out of her as her voice rose. ‘Is she going to be moving into the Hall with you—part of the “working relationship” you mentioned? Is that the cosy plan?’

  She shook her head. ‘Just—don’t ask her to do any interior design work for the Dower House, that’s all. In fact, don’t let her take one step over the threshold. Because I really couldn’t stand that—not again. This time I’m choosing my own colours, my own décor. And your mistress will not—not—be involved.’

  Out of the corner of her eye she was aware of movement—a shadow falling across the carpet.

  She looked round and to her horror saw Cecily Tempest standing at the French windows. Saw her face frozen in shock, and realised she must have heard everything as she crossed the terrace.

  ‘My mistress? Cally—what the hell are you talking about?’ Nick said hoarsely.

  ‘Oh, I forgot,’ she flung back at him. ‘I wasn’t supposed to let the cat out of the bag, of course.’ She got unsteadily to her feet. ‘I’m sorry, Cecily. I apologise for breaking the taboo. For mentioning her in your presence. For once speaking the
terrible, unsayable truth.’

  She took a choking breath. ‘But you see I can’t go on pretending. Not any more. I can’t go on letting people think that everything’s all right when I’m dying—bloody dying inside.’

  ‘Cally, my poor girl.’ Her mother-in-law’s voice was warmly compassionate. ‘You’re surely not talking about Vanessa Layton?’

  Cally squared her shoulders. ‘Yes, but I truly didn’t mean you to hear,’ she said quietly. ‘I—I suppose I forgot that Nick and I weren’t alone in the house. I—I’m so sorry.’

  Dr Tempest turned to her son. ‘Nick—what on earth is this?’

  He spread his hands almost helplessly. ‘I swear I haven’t the faintest idea. She—Cally—can’t have thought such a thing.’

  Cally rounded on him. ‘How can you say that?’ she demanded, her voice hoarse. ‘When I saw you with her—on our wedding day. Adele told me where you were—what you were doing—so I went there—I went to the cottage. I saw you holding her in your arms—heard what you were saying—what you promised. Everything.’ She swallowed convulsively. ‘Then you took her up to the bedroom and I watched you at the window—drawing the curtains so that you could be with her just hours after you married me. And that—that’s when I ran away.’

  There was a silence, then Nick said, ‘Oh, dear God,’ as horrified comprehension dawned in his face. ‘Adele told you that?’

  ‘The Dowager Lady Tempest seems to have a great deal to answer for,’ Cecily Tempest said grimly. ‘But at least, my dear Nick, you have dealt with that particular problem. After tomorrow she’ll be out of your lives, and incapable of doing any more harm. As for this beloved girl of yours,’ she went on. ‘The time has come for total honesty, I think, and I feel very strongly that the truth should come from me.’

  She walked across to Cally and took her cold hands in hers, urging her to sit down again. ‘My dear child, Vanessa Layton is not and never could be Nick’s mistress. But a relationship does exist which Nick, out of consideration for my feelings, has always tried to keep hidden from me.’

  She took a deep breath. ‘You see, Cally, Vanessa is Nick’s half-sister. My late husband’s illegitimate child by the woman who was once his secretary.’

  Cally stared at her. ‘His—sister?’ Her voice was barely a whisper.

  Nick said roughly, ‘Cally—I tried to tell you, but you refused to discuss it. You said you already knew about it—from Adele.’ He banged his clenched fist into the palm of his other hand. ‘I should have realised that if that arch-bitch had really known the truth she’d have seen it as a golden opportunity for blackmail.’ He looked at his mother. ‘But you—you knew? And said nothing to me all this time?’

  ‘Yes,’ Dr Tempest said firmly. ‘I’ve always known about Vanessa. But my ridiculous pride would never let me admit it before. I was even content to let you go on sheltering me in my supposed ignorance. But in the light of all this sadness—these terrible misunderstandings—all that no longer matters. It’s time we all stopped pretending.’

  Nick’s tone was strained. ‘Mother, I—I can’t believe this. How did you find out?’

  ‘In the usual sordid way,’ his mother said ruefully. ‘I used a private detective. Oh, I was accustomed to your father’s endless philandering—all the one-night stands that he assured me weren’t important to him, even though they mattered to me, hurt me very deeply.’

  She shook her head. ‘But somehow I knew instinctively that the relationship with Barbara Miller was different. And I told myself that I deserved to discover the truth.’ Her smile was sad. ‘Perhaps I even believed it. I certainly wasn’t expecting details of a full-blown liaison that had been going on for months, ever since her husband had gone abroad on some academic exchange scheme. Because, frankly, that wasn’t how it worked with Graham. It was invariably a brief fling, then back to me to play the repentant model husband. But not this time. He was moody, preoccupied. Too distracted to cover his tracks properly.

  ‘The report from the detective explained why. Apparently, Barbara was pregnant, and Graham, who had totally refused to have more children after Nick was born, was jubilant. Planning, in fact, a whole new life with this younger woman.’

  Cally’s heart was resounding like a triphammer, and she couldn’t look at Nick. She didn’t dare in case the tight knot of misery in her chest exploded in tears.

  She said shakily, ‘Cecily—please. Don’t do this to yourself. There’s no need…’

  ‘Ah, but there is,’ her mother-in-law corrected quite gently. ‘It’s something I should have spoken about a long time ago, instead of burdening my poor Nick with all this guilty secrecy—and nearly wrecking his life into the bargain.’

  She looked down at her hands, twisting the thin platinum wedding ring. ‘At the time, my dears, that was the very last straw—the moment when I decided to accept that my marriage was over and resume my own life, my career.’

  Nick went on staring at her. ‘But there was no divorce.’

  ‘He never asked me,’ Cecily said simply. ‘Because Mrs Miller changed her mind and decided to stay with her own husband.’ Her mouth curled slightly. ‘Apparently she’d been to the States to visit him, and would therefore be able to convince him the baby was his. Very convenient. Later, I gather, she came to regret her decision, and the affair was resumed. Graham even secretly contributed to his daughter’ s support,’ she added with a faint grimace. ‘But there was no more talk of marriage, and by this time I was spending the greater part of my time abroad, and wasn’t around to be caused more pain.

  ‘But I still couldn’t let it go somehow. Then Barbara died, and her husband moved away, so your father was forced to lose touch with Vanessa. And I presumed—hoped—that would be the end of it. That I would never again have to acknowledge the existence of this child who wasn’t mine. I hadn’t allowed, of course, for Graham confiding in Nick—making him become involved too.’ She smiled at her son. ‘Wasn’t that what happened?’

  Nick nodded, his face sombre. ‘It was when Dad was dying. He sent for me—made me promise that I’d find her—be a brother to her. Make sure she wanted for nothing. But all in the strictest confidence. Neither you nor Geoffrey Miller were ever to find out.’ His laugh was brief and harsh. ‘I wasn’t happy about it, but in the end I did as he wanted. And I really thought I’d managed it, until now.’

  ‘I was very angry with you at first,’ his mother said. ‘But I soon came to see that you were trying to behave decently in an impossible situation. More sinned against than sinning. Also that it had all happened a long time ago, and really didn’t matter any more.’

  She sighed. ‘I only wish I’d told you so, there and then, and saved all this heartache. We could easily have left that nice, trusting man Geoffrey Miller in his fool’s paradise. I quite saw that he shouldn’t be wounded in such an appalling way. But I—I should have had the guts to be honest.’

  She was silent for a moment, then she shook herself, as if she was dispensing with unpleasant memories.

  ‘And now, my darlings, you have to be honest with each other.’ Her tone was brisk. ‘Nick dear, I suggest you take your wife somewhere quiet and private, and try to set the record straight.’ She reached for the newspaper lying beside her on the sofa and folded it at the crossword. ‘I’ll tell Margaret not to wait dinner for you,’ she added serenely.

  Cally’s breathing seemed to stop suddenly. She felt angry, remorseful and scared, all at the same time. So she’d been wrong—completely and terribly wrong—about Vanessa Layton, but that changed nothing else. There was still a huge unhappy question mark hanging over her marriage. And being alone with Nick—as past experience had shown—was no guarantee she would receive the answers her lonely, frightened heart demanded.

  Was it the kind of risk she could really afford? But was there any way out?

  ‘Cally?’ Nick was standing in front of her, his expression unfathomable, his hand held out in inflexible demand.

  Without a scene in front of
Cecily, who’d surely suffered enough traumas for one day, there was little she could do. So, with what dignity she could command, she allowed herself to be helped to her feet and led from the room.

  In the hall, she said breathlessly, ‘Shall we—talk in your study?’

  ‘It’s not very private, and rarely quiet,’ he said. ‘I have a better idea.’

  As they reached the stairs she tried to pull away. ‘Nick—this is silly. It’s the middle of the afternoon. People don’t go to their bedrooms at this time of day.’

  ‘Yes, they do,’ he said. ‘If they want to make love.’

  ‘But I don’t.’ It emerged almost as a bleat, she realised bitterly.

  ‘Tough,’ Nick said pleasantly. ‘Then you’ll just have to lie still and think about something else, won’t you, darling? Why not give circumstantial evidence some consideration?’

  Cally bit her lip, giving him a mutinous glare. ‘Everything’s a joke to you. But I had good reason to think as I did. Today you said you’d be in Wellingford, yet I saw you with her—with Vanessa in Clayminster High Street. I saw how you behaved towards each other. It—it looked like love.’

  ‘It’s a kind of love,’ he said quietly, after a pause. ‘We share the same blood, and we’ve been through hell together. That—engenders affection.’

  He closed the bedroom door behind them. ‘Tell me something, Cally. Why blindly accept the word of a woman who’s never liked you, yet condemn me out of hand? Why didn’t you just march up the path a year ago, hammer on the door, and demand to know what was going on?’

  She walked over to the dressing table, rearranging brushes and combs with nervous fingers. She sent him a sideways glance. ‘Would you have told me?’

  ‘Yes, of course,’ he said instantly. ‘Although it would have been unfair, in some ways, to burden you with such a secret so soon in the marriage. The original plan was that Vanessa should come to the wedding and that we’d explain the whole thing to you together. When she didn’t turn up as promised, I called her mobile. She was at the clinic, and in a terrible state. They’d sent for her, only to tell her that there was a less than one per cent chance of Tony ever regaining consciousness, and that if he did he’d be seriously brain damaged. It was the first time they’d suggested doing away with life-support.