‘You’re the best boy in the whole world, and–’ Glynnis stopped speaking and she felt all of the strength draining out of her, as she stared at the man walking along the terrace towards them. She couldn’t take her eyes off him and she felt her chest tightening. It was Robin Ainsley. The last person in the world she wanted to see. She was gripped by an internal shaking and her mouth was dry.
Robin lost all of his colour when he saw Glynnis, and then the child.
His child.
Oh my God, he thought, wondering why he had come here to see his mother, today of all days. He should have phoned first, he usually did. There was no way he could retreat. How could he turn and run like a scared rabbit? But he
was
frightened…of her, and of himself most of all. He had never stopped loving her or thinking about her or dreaming about holding her in his arms and making love to her. Theirs had been such an all-consuming passion: together they had soared…
And oh how lovely and desirable she looked this afternoon. She was wearing a blue silk frock, the exact colour of the sky, the exact colour of her eyes. And her face was ravishing in its beauty and voluptuousness. She was around thirty now, just as he was, and these few additional years truly became her. Her hair was worn in the same soft pageboy he remembered, and it was luxuriant, a deep chestnut colour touched with natural streaks of gold. God, how he wanted her again. But he couldn’t have her. He had renounced her and he knew within himself how much he had hurt her. She could never want him, not ever again. And she was forbidden to him anyway, he understood that. But he could dream, couldn’t he?
As Robin came to a stop, he looked across at his mother. Emma’s face was inscrutable. He hurried over to her and kissed her on the cheek. ‘Hello, Ma.’
‘Hello, Robin, darling,’ she murmured, and then hissed against his ear, ‘Why didn’t you phone?’ Drawing herself up, Emma then added in a normal voice, ‘You remember Glynnis, don’t you?’
‘Yes,’ he managed, and had no option but to walk across to the only woman he had ever truly loved. His legs felt unexpectedly weak and he was startled. ‘Hello, Glynnis,’ he said and was relieved his voice sounded so normal. Robin offered her his hand.
‘Robin,’ she answered in a low throaty voice and reluctantly took his outstretched hand.
He discovered her hand was icy in his, and he wanted to hold onto it, to warm it, but he realized he could not. He let it go. Reluctantly. Turning around, he looked down at her little boy,
his
little boy, and said, ‘I’m Robin…
hello.’
‘I’m Owen, and I’m pleased to meet you.’ He was very solemn.
‘Mind if I join you all, old chap?’ Robin asked, smiling warmly.
‘Oh no. That’s all right. Isn’t it, Mom?’
All Glynnis could do was nod.
Emma explained, ‘Robin is my son, Owen, just as you are your mother’s son.’
And mine, Robin thought, as he sat down in one of the wrought-iron garden chairs. He had an overwhelming need to hug this boy, hold him close. This was their love child. His and Glynnis’s.
Suddenly Emma said, ‘Oh Robin, I’m sorry to disturb you, but would you please go and ask Hilda to bring another cup and saucer for you?’
Robin stood up, excused himself, and went through the French windows into the library.
Glynnis looked across at Emma mutely, unable to speak and especially in Owen’s presence.
At once Emma recognized the look in her eyes. It was one of pure terror. Leaning closer to Owen, Emma said to him, ‘Do me a little favour, run after Robin. He’s gone to the kitchen. You’ll find it, just through those doors and across the big Stone Hall. Ask him to please bring me a glass of water.’
‘Will I find the kitchen?’ Owen asked, a bit nervously, staring at her.
‘You’re a clever boy, of course you will,’ she reassured him.
Once they were alone, Emma explained in a quick low voice, ‘This is all an accident, Glynnis, truly it is, my dear. Robin always telephones me if he’s coming, to make sure I’m here. For some reason he didn’t today.’
Glynnis could not speak. Tears filled her eyes. All she could do was nod. Oh how she loved him. She had never stopped loving him.
Robin.
The name she could barely say…except when she was alone and wept into her pillow and said his name over and over and over again.
Robin Ainsley.
Her one true love. The only man she had ever loved…would ever love. Oh, to have him hold her in his arms once more; what she would give to have that. Nothing else. Just that. To be in his arms for a few brief moments.
As if from a distance she heard Emma saying, ‘You mustn’t see him, Glynnis. You mustn’t see him alone.’
I
t was seven years since he had seen her. Seven long years. But he knew he was already entrapped again…longing to be with her, to hold her in his arms, if only for a moment. He would settle for that, or less: a few minutes talking to her, just holding her hand.
He had been married for six years, had a small child, a son. His name was Jonathan. But little Johnny was very much his mother’s child, a lot more like Valerie in appearance than him. A handsome, fair-haired boy, but there was not much Harte in him, at least so it seemed to Robin.
It was the other son,
her
child Owen, who was so obviously out of his loins. The boy was his spitting image, even down to his hands. He had noticed the boy’s long tapering fingers on Friday afternoon. Had his mother seen the likeness? Perhaps. And did it matter? Of course not. He had been quite certain for some years now that his mother had known of his love affair with Glynnis. She was shrewd, and understood the human heart. Furthermore Glynnis had worked for her for several years and they had become close. Perhaps Glynnis had even confided in his mother at some time or another, but
he
would never know the truth about that because Emma would never betray a confidence.
As he drove at a steady speed along the main Harrogate road on the Saturday night, heading from Leeds to Pennistone Royal, he thought of his mother’s reaction yesterday. She had been perturbed by his unexpected arrival, had hissed in his ear that he should have phoned. And yet she had hidden her irritation behind her famous inscrutable mask. She was good at that, disguising her real feelings, dissembling.
A smile struck his face as he thought of Emma. They locked horns at times, and could often quarrel. On the other hand, he really loved his mother, respected her, and he knew he was her favourite son. Still, he didn’t think she would approve of what he was about to do. Neither did he. Put simply he couldn’t help himself. He had to speak to Glynnis in private.
Now he asked himself if she would listen. Or would he get the door slammed in his face? He wasn’t sure. All he knew was that he had to see her.
As Robin drove up to the back of Pennistone Royal he saw that the house was dark, except for a couple of upstairs rooms: his mother’s and Glynnis’s. He had spoken to his mother earlier that day and she had told him she was dining alone with Glynnis, that Winston and Charlotte were coming over for lunch on Sunday. He had thought of cajoling an invitation out of her for the lunch, but decided not to put her on the spot in that way. It wasn’t fair.
Parking near a copse of trees, Robin got out of the Humber and closed the car door gently. Then he walked quickly towards the service entrance of the house.
He glanced up. It was a beautiful June night, the sky a very deep blue, so deep it was almost black, was filled with a generous abundance of shining stars. There was a gorgeous full moon, perfectly spherical and brilliant, and it lit his way.
Fumbling in his jacket pocket, Robin pulled out the key to the kitchen door, which he had owned since he was a teenager, and let himself in, careful to lock the door behind him. Moving quietly across the floor, he pushed open the door which led to the back service corridor.
Within seconds he was climbing a steep staircase; this led up to the first and second floors. Bypassing the first floor, his mother’s domain, he went on, climbing further still, and finally opened the door to the bedroom floor. He stepped into the corridor and made his way to the Blue Room, knowing
she
was the occupant of that suite.
Owen had told him yesterday, when he had taken the child to see the cows. He had confided proudly that he was in the Gold Room, all alone. The boy had also explained that they were staying at the Hyde Park Hotel in London. It had only taken a little prompting from him and Owen had innocently revealed quite a lot. What pleased Robin was that the child appeared to like him.
The corridor was dimly lit by the moon shining in through the tall window at the far end. Robin tiptoed down the long carpeted hallway until he came to the door with the brass plaque engraved:
Blue Room.
Tapping lightly, he stood waiting.
Several seconds passed before the door was opened a crack.
When Glynnis saw him her eyes widened in astonishment. He brought a finger up to his lips, making a shushing sound. Pushing against the door, he slipped into the room before she could stop him.
Glynnis stepped back swiftly, glaring at him.
Robin closed the door, leaned against it, and said in a whisper, ‘I have to talk to you.’
She backed away and, balking at his presence, she moved across the sitting-room floor quickly, stood leaning against the desk in front of the window. And then obviously realizing, all of a sudden, that she was dressed only in a flimsy silk nightgown she flew into the bedroom.
He did not move, remained standing where he was, leaning nonchalantly against the door, although he didn’t feel at all nonchalant. As tense and anxious as he was, he was telling himself not to follow her into the other room. Aware of her modesty, from their earlier days together, he was quite certain she had simply gone to get a robe. And a moment later she reappeared wearing a blue silk kimono over the nightdress.
Robin locked the door and walked towards her.
‘Why have you locked the door?’ she hissed, her blue eyes angry, her face strained, even fearful.
‘For no other reason than our son, Owen. If he wakes up he might be afraid in a strange room, and come looking for you. This way, if he does knock on the door, he won’t be able to open it. And I can go into the bedroom until you’ve taken him back to his own room.’
Glynnis said nothing.
Robin said, ‘He shouldn’t see me in here, especially late at night.’
‘Nobody should.’
‘I know.’
‘What actually
do
you want?’ she demanded in a curt whisper, her eyes growing icier by the minute. But he noticed that she was trembling uncontrollably.
‘To talk to you, Glynnis.’
‘I’ve nothing to say to
you.’
‘But I do, to you. I realize this is not the time and place, and I came to ask you to meet me when you come back to town.’
‘I won’t!’ she snapped.
‘In case you change your mind–’ He searched around in his pocket, took out an envelope. ‘In here there’s an address and a latchkey. I want you to have them.’
‘Why?’
‘I want you to meet me there next week. Just to talk. I need to talk to you.’
‘I told you I don’t want to listen to
you
about anything.’
‘The address–it’s for Edwina’s mews house in Belgravia. Her bolt-hole when she comes over from Ireland to do her shopping, or for business. There’s a phone number as well. Please, Glynnis, come and meet me. On Wednesday.’ He offered her the envelope but she crossed her arms tightly and pursed her lips, the eyes suddenly flinty as she stepped to one side.
Placing the envelope on the desk, Robin continued, ‘I just want to tell you why things happened the way they did, that’s it, really.’
‘Oh Robin, please,’ she muttered, ‘you must go.
Now.’
He didn’t move. He gave her a small smile. ‘The boy is so handsome, Glynnis, and bright, and very well mannered.’
She was totally silent.
Suddenly, he made a move towards her, so quickly she was taken unawares and caught offguard. Before she could utter a word of protest, or run, his arms were around her and he was pressing her tightly against his tall, lean body. ‘Oh Glynnis, Glynnis,’ he whispered hoarsely, and then kissed the hollow of her neck, her cheeks, and finally his mouth found hers.
Against her will she responded ardently; she kissed him back and clung to him, murmured his name, and she suddenly felt him harden against her thigh. He wanted her. She wanted him. And for a moment she nearly gave in, gave way, almost pulled him into the bedroom, to her bed.
But she did not. With enormous resolve she pushed him away gently, and a sob caught in her throat.
‘Oh darling, please,’ he begged, his eyes riveted on hers; they were twin reflections of his own, not only in their colour but the overwhelming desire raging there.
‘No, Robin, no.’
‘Yes, Glynnis, yes.’
Shaking her head, walking to the door on trembling legs, she turned and looked at him intently. ‘Please, you must go.’
‘There’s a phone number for Edwina’s mews,’ he reminded her. ‘Please phone me between twelve and twelve-thirty if you’re not coming.’
She was silent.
When he stopped at the door, he added softly, ‘You must let me know if you’re not coming.
Promise?’
All she had the strength to do was nod.
After he left she lay on the bed in the dark, thinking about him, thinking what a narrow escape she had had. She had almost succumbed to his charms, and where would she have been then? Not only hating herself for running back to him the moment he beckoned, but guilt-ridden as well for sleeping with him. Richard was a good man, and he had been good to Owen; she knew he loved her, with great devotion. She loved him back, in her own way, and she had tried to be a good wife, was as devoted as he was as a husband. She had been a good mother to Owen, perhaps that most of all.