‘But she was pregnant, Robin, and you did nothing …’ Evan’s voice trailed off as she realized she might have sounded accusatory. She had not meant to place blame.
‘We’ve already discussed this,’ Robin responded patiently. ‘But I shall explain one more time … we broke up, I started seeing Valerie Ludden. She and I were compatible, and became seriously involved. When Glynnis told me she was expecting my child, I had already made a commitment to Valerie. However, let me say this, so you truly understand. I would not have married your grandmother even if there had been no other woman in my life. We could not have led a worthwhile life and she knew that too.’
‘I’m sorry, Robin, I am being a bit of a pest, aren’t I?’
‘That’s all right,’ he responded, a faint shadow touching his mouth. ‘I understand your need to know everything.’
‘I wonder why Glynnis wouldn’t allow you to help her financially?’
‘Pride, for the most part, so I believe.’
‘She let Emma Harte come to her rescue, though.’
‘She did. My mother loved Glynnis like a daughter and she knew this, and she knew how much my mother sympathized with her. When my mother was a young girl she had been in a similar predicament, pregnant by a man who wouldn’t marry her, and obviously there was a great deal of empathy there.’
‘Thanks for talking about this, Robin. I really needed to know exactly what went on between you and my grandmother all those years ago.’
‘Sexual passion. I was also in love with her; it just wasn’t enough for a steady, stable life.’ He smiled at her then, his face softening with sudden tenderness, his faded blue eyes benign, loving.
Evan smiled back at him, reached out and took hold of his long, slender hand, squeezed it in hers. The two of them were seated on the large sofa in the library at Lackland Priory, Robin’s house in Yorkshire, meeting for the first time in several weeks. They were glad to be together again, to have this chance to get to know each other better.
The old man and the young woman. Related by blood, but unknown to each other, total strangers, until recently. The grandfather. The granddaughter. Two people who had only just discovered the other’s existence, who wanted to be friends, to understand each other, to find a certain kind of closeness, even the intimacy of family, if that was possible. The younger striving to comprehend the past and a disastrous long-ago relationship; the elder hoping that the past and his actions then would not damage him too badly in her eyes today, in the present.
The silence in this harmonious and peaceful room was broken by the sudden shrilling of the telephone, startling them both. Almost instantly the ringing stopped; the phone had been answered elsewhere in the house by a staff member.
A moment later the butler appeared in the doorway. ‘Excuse me, sir, Dr Harvey’s on the phone. He would like a word with you.’
‘Thank you, Bolton,’ Robin answered, and, excusing himself to Evan, he rose, striding over to the desk. Sitting down, he picked up the receiver. ‘Good morning, James.’
Evan also rose and walked across to the French windows which opened onto the terrace of the ancient manor house. She stepped outside, closing the doors behind her, and took several deep breaths. The air was always clean and fresh up here in the Dales. It was a glorious morning in early August, the sky azure blue and without cloud: a sunny, golden day filled with pristine light, just as it had been yesterday and the day before. She had grown to love this crystalline light which she had discovered was so prevalent and unique to the north of England.
Now she sat down on the stone bench and stared out across the wide green lawns that splayed out from the house and were bordered by flower beds filled with colourful perennials. Her eyes finally came to rest on the copse of trees which stood slightly away from the house, to the right of the lawns. Beyond their opulent, leafy bowers she could see the rim of the moors, a dark smudge against the pale, blue-tinted horizon. It was such a beautiful spot, this long valley in the middle of the Dales where Lackland Priory had stood for centuries. Pennistone Royal was not far away and in the past few months she had spent a lot of time in this particular area of Yorkshire which was softer and much more lush than the surrounding higher land. Up there, on the high-flung moors, it was grim and bleak for most of the year, neither pretty nor welcoming. She knew Linnet would not agree; she thought the soaring fells were glorious in their stark and solitary splendour.
‘I love those moors the same way Emma Harte loved them,’ Linnet had once explained to her. ‘My great-grandmother was a child of the moors, and she could never stay away from them for very long. I’m just like her. I yearn for them, as she did.’
Emma Harte.
Evan turned the name over in her mind. Dead though she had been for thirty years, Emma still lived on, her spirit and her presence almost as potent as it had been when she was alive. Emma Harte was her great-grandmother, too, although she had not known this when she had come to England in January. Just eight months ago now; how her life had changed since then. She was a Harte. And had been accepted by this unique family, made to feel one of them. She was still trying to come to grips with recent developments.
Almost immediately her thoughts swung to Robin Ainsley, favourite son of the legendary Emma: her father’s biological father, her biological grandfather; a man she had met only a few weeks ago, but whom she had quickly grown to like and knew she could easily come to love. There was something endearing about Robin, even vulnerable, and she wanted to nurture and protect him. At eighty he seemed so alone and lonely in old age.
Robin Ainsley had abandoned her grandmother during the Second World War, but he had had his reasons, and it was over half a century ago now. And if she were honest with herself, she had to admit that her grandmother had probably had a much better and certainly a more tranquil life without Robin. After all, they had been forever at each other’s throats, according to him. And Gran had a loving husband in Richard Hughes, who had married her some months before her baby, Owen, was born. Richard had brought up Owen as his son. He had been a good father; no man had ever had a better one, her father said that all the time.
Her father’s face insinuated itself into her mind’s eye, and she felt herself tensing. Yet again she wondered how to tell him what she had so recently found out? Owen had idolized Richard Hughes …
‘I’m so sorry to have left you alone,’ Robin murmured from the doorway, interrupting her thoughts. ‘I’m afraid Dr Harvey can go on a bit at times.’
Evan jumped up and swung to face him. ‘You’re all right, aren’t you? You’re not ill?’ she asked. Her voice echoed with sudden concern, and her eyes were anxious.
‘I’m perfectly fine, my dear. In very good health, I do assure you. Dr Harvey was merely ringing up to confirm our dinner engagement tomorrow evening.’ As he finished speaking Robin stepped onto the terrace. ‘Let’s stay out here for a while, enjoy Mother Nature. It’s such a grand morning.’
‘Yes, it is,’ Evan agreed.
They sat down on the bench, and Robin went on, after a moment, ‘You said earlier that you needed to talk to me about several things, but so far we’ve only discussed my relationship with your grandmother. What else do you have on your mind?’
‘My father.’
‘Ah yes, Owen. Have you told him about me? Does he know anything about … Emma’s well-kept secret?’
‘No.’
‘Did you lose your nerve, Evan? Surely not. Not you.’
‘No, not really. But I did decide it might be better to wait until he arrives in London later this month.’
‘Don’t you think you ought to give him an inkling about what’s happened before he comes? About me, I mean? It would prepare him for what will no doubt be a