Savage Innocence

Marion frowned, handling the envelope as if its evident age and discoloration offended her sensibilities. ‘What is it?’

‘Read it,’ urged Isobel, endeavouring to control her impatience, and Marion pulled a face as she extracted the letter.

‘Very well,’ she said, flicking a speck of dust from her fingers. ‘But I can’t imagine why you would think…’

Her voice trailed away as she began to read. Watching her expression, Isobel soon became convinced that what she was seeing was as much of a shock to Marion as it had been to her. Her sister looked up once, when she was about halfway through the letter, and gave Isobel a disbelieving stare, but she waited until she’d reached Robert Dorland’s signature before making any comment.

‘Do you think this has something to do with you?’

Isobel shrugged. ‘Don’t you?’

Marion looked down at the letter again. ‘How would I know? Who is this Robert Dorland? Some relation of Daddy’s, I suppose.’

‘His brother,’ Isobel told her. She flicked through the other letters she was holding. ‘I’ve read all of these, and that one was the last.’

Marion held out her hand. ‘Can I read them?’

‘Of course.’ Isobel handed them over. ‘But not now. I—well, I’m expecting somebody.’

Marion’s expression tightened. ‘Not Jared Kendall?’

‘No, not Jared,’ agreed Isobel wearily. ‘Though if he was coming here, it would be nothing to do with you.’

‘It would if his father-in-law found out I’d known about it, and done nothing to try and put a stop to it.’

Isobel caught her breath. ‘Marion, you’re not my keeper.’

‘No, but Howard and Elizabeth are friends,’ declared Marion, fitting the letter back into the envelope. ‘We’ve even had dinner with them occasionally.’

‘Very occasionally,’ remarked Isobel drily. Howard Goldman and the Rimmers happened to belong to the same golf club, and Marion had been trying for years to cultivate the right kind of social circle. So far their contact with the Goldmans had been restricted to charity dinners and the like, but Marion had ambitions.

‘Nevertheless—’

‘Nevertheless, nothing,’ said Isobel shortly. She squared her shoulders. ‘Did you know anything about this?’

‘This?’ Marion held up the letter. ‘No. How could I?’

‘You’ve never heard of Robert Dorland?’

Marion was indignant. ‘Isobel, I was only three years old when Mum and Daddy adopted you.’

‘Yes.’ Isobel acknowledged what she’d already accepted herself. ‘So what do you think I should do?’

‘Do?’ Marion blinked. ‘What do you mean? What do I think you should do? What can you do? These letters are—what? Twenty-five, thirty years old?’

‘I’m only twenty-six, Marion.’

‘Oh, yes. Right.’ Marion pulled a wry face. ‘Well, it hardly matters now.’

Isobel dropped down into the armchair opposite. ‘Don’t you think so?’

‘How could it? This man—this Robert Dorland—is probably dead by now.’

‘He might not be.’

‘No.’ Marion conceded the fact with ill grace. ‘But what are you going to do? Turn up on his doorstep and expose the secret he’s been keeping all these years: you!’

‘He is my father.’

‘Is he?’

‘Of course he is.’ Isobel stared at her. ‘Surely you don’t think he’d have gone to all that trouble if—’

‘Oh, I’m sure he thought he was your father,’ declared Marion dismissively. ‘But your mother was hardly a paragon of all the virtues, was she? I mean—’ Her lips twisted, and Isobel could almost see what she was thinking. ‘Getting involved with a married man! How do you know she wasn’t lying about your paternity in the hope of making a better life for herself?’

‘Because Robert Dorland wouldn’t even have known he had a daughter if she hadn’t been killed,’ retorted Isobel tersely. ‘For pity’s sake, Marion, what are you implying here?’

‘Well, you don’t know anything about her, do you? She could have been—well, anything.’

Isobel sprang to her feet. ‘I think you’d better go now.’

‘Oh, Isobel, don’t be so melodramatic.’ But Marion got to her feet anyway, clearly aware that she had overstepped the mark. ‘All right. Maybe I’m not being very—sympathetic about her, but you know I don’t mean anything by it. It’s just my way.’

‘Yes.’ Isobel knew Marion’s ways very well. She snatched the bundle of letters out of her sister’s hands and folded them within her arms. ‘Well, I don’t think you’ll be needing these,’ she said, stepping aside so that Marion could walk towards the door. She took a breath. ‘Oh, and here are the keys,’ she added, lifting them off the table by the door. ‘But you’ll have to get Malcolm or somebody else to clear out the rest of the junk. There’s far too much for me to handle.’

‘Isobel…’

Marion tried again to placate her sister, but Isobel had had as much as she could take for one day. ‘I’ll be in touch,’ she said, guiltily, aware that she was planning to leave town without giving her sister her new address. ‘Goodnight.’

‘Goodnight.’

Marion took the keys and left, but after she’d gone Isobel found herself in tears again. Dammit, she thought, what was wrong with her? The sooner she got out of Newcastle the better.

She’d barely dried her eyes before Michelle arrived. Her friend came into the apartment looking at Isobel with anxious eyes. ‘What’s wrong?’

Isobel sighed. ‘Don’t ask.’

‘Jared Kendall,’ said Michelle disgustedly, taking off her jacket. ‘Honestly, Issy, I thought you were going to be sensible about him.’

‘I am being sensible.’

‘Oh, right.’ Michelle flicked her neck with a sardonic finger. ‘So what’s this? A mosquito bite?’

Isobel covered the mark Jared’s teeth had made with defensive fingers. ‘Jared hasn’t upset me,’ she denied. ‘It was Marion, if you must know.’

‘Oh, yeah?’ Michelle flopped down onto the sofa, spreading her ample bulk over both cushions. ‘So what’s she done now?’

Isobel hesitated. ‘I found some old letters in the loft today.’

‘Big deal.’ Michelle pulled a face. ‘Isn’t that what you usually find in lofts? Old papers; old letters; junk? What’s that got to do with the green-eyed monster?’

‘The letters were from my father.’

‘So?’

Isobel sighed. ‘My real father!’

Michelle frowned. ‘Your real father?’ She shook her head. ‘I thought you didn’t know who your real father was.’

‘I didn’t. Until today.’ Isobel looked doubtful. ‘It turns out he was my father’s brother.’

‘Are you serious?’ Michelle’s blue eyes were wide. ‘Holy Moses! And they never told you?’

‘They didn’t tell anyone,’ said Isobel unhappily. ‘My father—my adoptive father, that is—made that a condition when he agreed to take me.’

Michelle still looked confused. ‘But I didn’t know your father had a brother.’

‘Nor did I.’

‘And your real mother—?’

‘She’s still dead.’ Isobel looked wistful now. ‘It turns out that when she was killed the authorities discovered that she’d named Robert Dorland as—as my father.’

‘Robert Dorland?’

‘That’s right.’

‘So where is he now?’

‘I’m not sure. At the time the letters were written, he was living at somewhere called Tregarth Hall in Polgarron. That’s in Cornwall.’

‘Cornwall?’

‘Mmm.’ Isobel nodded. ‘It turns out I was born in London, not Newcastle.’

‘I don’t believe it!’ Michelle was amazed.

‘Of course, the facts of—of my adoption are the same. My mother was still unmarried at the time I was born. Her—association with my father was very brief.’

She was feeling weepy again now, and when she turned away to go into the kitchen Michelle sprang up from the couch and went after her. ‘Hey,’ she said, putting her arm about the other woman’s shoulders. ‘It’s nothing to cry about. At least you know who you are now.’

‘Do I?’

‘Sure you do.’ Michelle sighed, searching for the right words. ‘Are you telling me Marion knew about this all along?’

‘I don’t think so.’ Isobel drew away from her, pulling a tissue out of the box she kept on the counter and blowing her nose before going on. ‘She seemed as shocked as me.’

‘Then, what—?’

‘Oh, it was something and nothing,’ said Isobel tiredly. ‘She suggested that Robert Dorland might not be my father after all. That my mother might just have used his name—’

‘To what advantage?’

‘That’s what I said,’ said Isobel eagerly. ‘I mean, if she hadn’t been killed, he would never have known.’

‘Precisely.’ Michelle snorted. ‘For goodness’ sake, don’t let her upset you. As I’ve said many times before, she’s a jealous cow.’

‘But why?’ exclaimed Isobel blankly. ‘She’s the success of the family, not me.’

‘Well, obviously she doesn’t think so,’ retorted her friend shrewdly. ‘It must have been a sickener for her when she found out about you and Jared. I mean, doesn’t she spend all her time trying to insinuate herself with the divine Elizabeth?’

‘Don’t say that.’ Isobel couldn’t allow Michelle to ridicule Jared’s wife. ‘Life hasn’t been easy for Elizabeth, you know that.’

Michelle grimaced. ‘I know what she wants everyone to believe,’ she remarked drily. ‘But, okay. I won’t say anything bitchy about Mrs Kendall if you’ll stop getting mopey over Marion’s maliciousness. Hell, she’s probably afraid you’re going to go looking for him.’

Isobel frowned. ‘Why should that bother her?’

‘Come on.’ Michelle was impatient now. ‘What was that address you just told me? Tregarth Hall? That doesn’t sound like a semi in a nice, but unspectacular, part of town.’

Isobel stared at her. ‘You’re saying you think my father might be a—a wealthy man?’

‘It’s possible,’ said Michelle, shrugging as she opened Isobel’s fridge. ‘Ah, wine,’ she noted approvingly. ‘I thought you’d never ask.’

Isobel sniffed again, but her mouth tilted a little at her friend’s good-humoured common-sense. ‘I don’t want any,’ she said, helping herself to a can of Coke. ‘It’s all yours.’

Michelle lifted the bottle out of the fridge and looked for the corkscrew. ‘So you’re really going through with this, then?’

Isobel looked down at her stomach. ‘You mean the baby?’

‘I mean the baby,’ agreed Michelle, pouring herself a glass of Chardonnay. ‘Does Marion know about that?’

‘Heaven forbid!’ Isobel spoke fervently. ‘She’d say, Like mother, like daughter.’

‘Mmm.’ Michelle headed back into the living room. ‘And you’re still determined that Jared doesn’t need to know either?’

Isobel nodded vigorously. ‘It was never meant to happen, Michelle. You know that. It’ll be better for all of us when I go away.’

‘Well, if you want my honest opinion, I think he’s bloody lucky to have known you,’ declared her friend staunchly. ‘I hate to say anything good about the bastard, but he hasn’t had the happiest of marriages with the—with Elizabeth, has he?’

‘No.’ Isobel’s throat was tight.

‘And, contrary to what you say, I think he would do something about it, if he knew.’

‘What? Get a divorce? I don’t think so. Apart from the fact that Elizabeth’s disabled, it’s common knowledge that he was driving the car when the accident happened.’

Isobel was getting emotional again, and Michelle apparently decided it was time to back off. ‘Who knows?’ she said lightly. ‘What he doesn’t know won’t hurt him, I guess.’ She sank down onto the sofa again, and took a sip of her wine. ‘So…what are you going to do about the letters?’

Isobel perched on the chair opposite. ‘What do you think I should do?’

Michelle arched improbably thin eyebrows. ‘How should I know?’ Her eyes narrowed. ‘But I guess, looking at you now, that you’ve got a plan in mind.’

‘I had,’ admitted Isobel ruefully. ‘Now, I’m not so sure.’

‘Why not?’

Isobel bit her lip. ‘I had thought of looking for somewhere to live near—near Polgarron.’

‘Ah. And?’

‘Well, if your suspicions are true, and he—does have money, I don’t want him to think I’m looking for him now because I think he—owes me something.’

‘He does.’

‘Michelle!’

‘He does, dammit. You are his daughter.’

‘If it’s true.’

‘Do you doubt it?’

‘No.’

‘There you are, then.’ Michelle was triumphant. ‘I suggest we drive down the first weekend of the holidays.’

Isobel caught her breath. ‘You’ll come with me?’

‘And see you settled? What else?’

‘Oh, Michelle, thank you.’ Isobel went and gave her friend an impulsive hug. ‘I thought I’d have to go on my own.’

‘How are you going to haul all your stuff in that match-box of yours?’ demanded Michelle, disparaging Isobel’s car with affectionate familiarity. ‘No, we’ll take the estate car. Phil can manage with my car for a few days, and we’ll leave your car in our garage until you’re settled. Then, you can either come back for it or get a local garage to deliver it for you.’

Isobel shook her head. ‘Won’t Phil object?’ Michelle’s husband was a sales rep and used the estate car to carry demonstration equipment.

‘As I say, he can make do with the Peugeot. Honestly, he won’t mind.’

‘But your holiday—’

‘We’re not going away until the third week in August,’ exclaimed Michelle impatiently. ‘Stop making obstacles where there aren’t any. With a bit of luck, you’ll be installed in your new place before we go away. Hey—’ she laughed ‘—after you move, Phil and I will have a permanent holiday home in the West Country, won’t we?’

‘The West Country.’ Isobel echoed the words with a shiver of apprehension. Despite the news about her father, and the gratitude she felt towards Michelle for her help and understanding, she couldn’t forget what she was leaving behind. ‘It sounds so far away.’

‘It is far away,’ said Michelle mildly. ‘I thought that was the idea.’

Isobel heaved a sigh. ‘It is, of course, but—’

‘You’re going to miss me. I know,’ said Michelle drily, but when Isobel turned pained eyes in her direction, she shook her head in knowing resignation. ‘You’ve got to forget him, kid. You said yourself there’s no future in it.’

‘That doesn’t stop me wishing—’ Isobel cut herself off before she could finish the damning sentence and swung around towards the spare bedroom. ‘Come on. Let’s get started with the packing. It’s only two weeks to the start of the summer holidays.’

Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.

Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».

Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес.

Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.