“Oh, my! What a dreadful shock she must have had when you told her—although, as I recall, she and her father didn’t get along at all well. He was a frightful man, prone to the most awful rages. So…is she here on holiday? And where is she staying? Did she book in at Sandford’s Inn?”
“I believe the move’s permanent. And no, she’s not booked in at Sandford’s. She’s staying at the house.”
“You surely don’t mean Laurel House?”
“Yeah,” he said. “She’s there. With me. For the present, at any rate, till we sort things out.”
“But…what things?”
“She says she has papers that prove her father had no right to sell the property—”
“But everything was legal, wasn’t it? I mean, you’re a lawyer, for heaven’s sake! You’d have checked everything out—”
“Oh, it’s legal all right. No question about that.”
“Then…she’ll have to leave. Find another place to stay. Won’t she?”
“It’s not all that simple, Molly—”
Matt broke off as he heard the boys clattering downstairs.
He put a hand on Molly’s shoulder.
“Let’s leave it for now,” he said quietly. “We’ll talk some more, after lunch.”
Liz had always loved Laurel House.
She knew it was partly because the rambling old place had such character, but it was also because of the memories it held of her mother, and the love they had shared until her mother’s death when Liz was twelve.
Now on this Sunday afternoon, knowing Matt wouldn’t be back for a while, Liz was free to roam around the place at will—not that she wanted to poke around among his things; she just wanted to reacquaint herself with her old home.
On the night of her arrival, she’d noticed the new appliances in the kitchen; and in the morning, she’d seen that the cupboards were new, too. But apart from that, everything seemed much as she remembered. And on her tour of the main floor, she found little had changed there, either. Even the furniture was the same. Matt’s deal with her father must have included the contents of the house.
A deal which, she had already decided cynically, had probably been very sweet indeed. For Matt.
Upstairs, she found the first of the two guest rooms had obviously been taken over by the new owner, and it had been refurbished with a king-size oak bedroom suite, cobalt-blue drapes and a blue-and-cream striped duvet.
From there she moved on to the other guest room, where she found that the twin beds were draped with sheets, and the floorboards were bare, the bay window uncurtained. Three pristine cans of paint were stacked by the closet, along with paintbrushes, a roller and a paint tray.
Matt, it seemed, was planning to redecorate.
It hurt, to have an outsider brashly take possession of her home. And added to the hurt, was a spurt of anger. By rights, this house didn’t even belong to Matt.
She marched into her own bedroom and irritably gathered up a pile of clothing that needed to be washed, items she’d accumulated during her cross-country car trip.
The laundry room was in the basement, and she found it just as tidy as the rest of the house. The white-tiled floor was spotless, the washer and dryer gleamed and a pile of folded but unironed clothing sat on the ironing board.
On a shelf above the ironing board was a box of Tide. Liz moved over to get it, but when she glanced absently at the pile of folded clothing, she came to an abrupt halt.
And with lips compressed she glared at the wispy lace bra so brazenly snuggled up to a pair of navy cotton boxer shorts.
It didn’t take an Einstein to figure out what this meant. It couldn’t have been more obvious, Liz reflected scornfully, if Matt had put a sign above his bed that read:
Molly Martin Has Slept Here!
Matt leaned against the veranda railing and looked down at Molly, who was lounging back in one of her Adirondack chairs. “You never mentioned,” he said, “that you and Max Rossiter’s daughter had been school friends.”
“It just never came up.” Molly put a hand over her eyes to block out the sun as she squinted up at him. “After Dad was transferred and our family moved to Vancouver, she and I did keep in touch a while but our letters eventually dribbled off. It wasn’t till after my Dave was posted here four years ago that I really thought about her again. I did mean to get in touch once we were settled, but then I heard that after high school her dad had sent her off to some fancy college back east and she’d never come home again. Nobody seemed to know where she was…so…I let it slide.”
Beth’s father hadn’t sent Beth off to college—at least if he had, it hadn’t been straight away; but he’d come up with that story because he hadn’t wanted his family name besmirched. The truth was, he’d sent her somewhere else, and though he’d refused to tell Matt where, he’d taken a vicious delight in telling him why.
“Did you think,” Max Rossiter had shouted at him on that black, never-to-be-forgotten autumn night, “that I would allow my daughter to let her pregnancy run its course so she could give birth to a child by the likes of you? You think I’d have let you ruin her life, her future? She’s a Rossiter, boy, and you’re nothing. You’re nobody!”
Matt would never forget the hatred in the man’s eyes. It had reminded him of the bloodshot frenzy of a raging bull.
Molly had been right, though; none of the townsfolk knew where “the rich Rossiter girl” had gone. And as far as he was aware, only four local people had ever known of her pregnancy—Beth, himself, his mother…and Beth’s father.
“Matt?” Molly prodded his ankle with the toe of her sandal. “What is it? What are you thinking?”
He dragged his thoughts to the present. “I knew her, too, Molly. I knew Max Rossiter’s daughter years ago…when she was seventeen.”
“But…how? You would have been away at law school!”
“I came home to work in Judd Anstruther’s law offices in the summer break and I met her a few weeks before she graduated from high school. In early June. And we hung around together, till I went back to UBC in the Fall.”
“You and Beth Rossiter…you dated?”
“Yeah.”
“But…nobody has ever mentioned it—you’d think that in all this time somebody would have mentioned it to me.”
“Nobody knew. We had to keep it quiet, meet in secret. Because of her father. He didn’t think any of us locals were good enough for his daughter. He had bigger—and better—plans for her.”
For a minute or two, neither of them spoke. From down the street, Matt could hear Iain and Stuart shouting as they played with their friend Jamie.
Finally Molly said, “If you let her stay on at Laurel House, I’m afraid you’re going to have your hands full.”
“I’m not sure I…know what you mean…”
“I’m a nurse, Matt—or at least I was, and I know all the signs. I know that…look.”
He stared at her, and felt a growing sense of dread that chilled him. “She…Liz…she isn’t ill, is she?”
Molly closed her eyes and leaned her head back against the slats of the chair. “No, she isn’t ill, Matt…She’s pregnant.”
Pregnant!
The word was still rolling around in Matt’s head when he left Molly’s an hour later.
But