It was so clear to them now, the eyes, the thick black hair, the dark complexion. Harriet turned abruptly and went up the stairs, saying to Jinks it was bath time but, like Alex, her face was as white as a sheet.
Edward was sitting by the fire, reading. It was after nine, and he wondered where Harriet had got to. The big oak door inched open and Jinks stood there in her nightdress.
‘Daddy’s a bit tired for a story tonight, ask your mother... Where is she, upstairs?’
Jinks was shaking, and her face crumpled as she sobbed out, ‘Mummy... Mummy’s strange, she looks funny...’
Edward picked his daughter up and carried her upstairs, calling for Dewint as he went. He came bustling out of the kitchen, wiping his hands. ‘Dinner will be a fraction late, sah, this newfangled Aga has me all over the place...’
‘Harry? Harry...? Is she in her studio, Jinks? Where’s Mummy?’
Jinks clung tight to her father’s neck, her eyes wide. She seemed terrified, and as they approached her bedroom she screamed and struggled to be put down. Dewint, right behind them, took the child, reassuring her that everything was all right. But it was in the air, it was almost tangible — something was wrong, terribly wrong. Edward reached the doorway and looked in, then whispered, ‘Oh, Jesus Christ... take her downstairs, and get the doctor, fast.’
Harriet was sitting on her daughter’s bed, her blouse open, the beautiful new doll cradled at her breast. She was rigid, her eyes crazy. Edward closed the door, but she appeared not to notice he was in the room, not until he was close. Then she looked at him. Her voice was quite calm — that was what made it so chilling, her calmness, her apparent normality. ‘I can’t wake him, his hands are cold, he won’t take his feed.’
Edward and Dewint both tried unsuccessfully to take the doll away. She became abusive, and screamed at them both.
The ambulance and the doctor arrived within moments of each other. It took two attendants and the doctor to get her out of the room — they cajoled her, and not until she was sedated did she relinquish the doll. She had begun repeating, over and over, ‘He’s your son, he’s your son...’
Edward walked into his bedroom. His daughter lay, swamped in the huge bed, clinging to her teddy bear. Her whole body was trembling, and she turned frightened eyes to him. He undressed slowly. It had been a long and terrible night, and one he knew he could never repeat, never risk being part of again. On the way back from the hospital he had made up his mind — this was the end. He couldn’t take any more, and with Jinks to think about he decided the risk was too great. He would divorce Harriet.
Jinks watched her father walk into the bathroom. Her teeth chattered and she was cold and fearful. He switched the light off as he came out. She was scared of the dark, she always had been, but she was even more frightened to say anything. The big bed dipped as he got in beside her.
‘You awake, little one?’
His big arm swept her to his side, and he held her tight. ‘Oh, you’re cold... Daddy’ll give you a hot potato, turn around, that’s a girl.’
Jinks lay in the curve of his big body as he breathed on her back, warming her. After a while he stopped, and she turned to face him. In the darkness she could see that he was crying.
‘Do you want a tissue, Daddy?’
‘No, no... sometimes it’s best to cry... and you and me have a lot to cry about. Mummy’s gone away, and — well, I doubt if she’ll be coming back. Not because she doesn’t want to, but because Mummy is sick. I’ll try to explain it so that you’ll understand. She doesn’t have an illness, like a cold or a pain in her tummy, it’s in her head...’
Jinks listened in the dark to his soft voice, and began to wriggle away from him, fraction by fraction. He was talking about a stranger, not her mother. His voice, always low, was little more than a whisper.
‘I don’t want to hear any more. Goodnight, Daddy.’
He looked down at her funny, crinkly hair, the red mark on her nose from the glasses, her eyes firmly shut. ‘Goodnight.’
When she opened her eyes, the room was full of strange shadows. She didn’t cry, she just moved further away from her father, wanting the coolness of the sheet against her. His body, his warmth, suffocated her.
Evelyn had fallen asleep in the car, and Alex carried him indoors and put him to bed. He turned in his sleep, and Alex could see his long eyelashes, so thick and dark, as dark as his silky black hair — just like Edward’s.
Barbara didn’t arrive home until after midnight. She was dressed in a long, floating chiffon gown, and she lounged against his study door. ‘Darling, you really should try to come to more of these do’s. Your grandchildren are growing up, they look so sweet in their little suits... Annabelle’s girls are getting to be quite pretty. Selina looked frightful, but then she always does — on the other hand, Annabelle is blossoming. You know she’s opened her own boutique in Beauchamp Place? She loves being Lady Blackwell. Mind you, that’s about all he has to give her, he really is such a weak man. Oh, I need some money for his campaign, you know he is up for the by-election, and... darling? Are you listening to me?’
Alex poured his wife a brandy and held it out, letting her chatter on about her grandchildren, her daughters, until she flopped down in a chair and kicked off her gold sandals. ‘The Duke and Duchess of Kent were there. Oh, and Princess Grace, she’s so beautiful... You know, her son is almost Lyn’s age — we had lots to talk about... I’m exhausted, I’ve danced my feet off, I don’t suppose you’ve heard anything about the Honours List, have you? I mean, I keep plugging away, hinting to everyone I know. Rumour has it, and I’m sure it’s true, that...’
‘I heard a rumour tonight.’
Barbara smiled. ‘Really? Well, tell me, are you on the New Year’s List?’
‘I was at Edward’s, went to bring Evelyn home...’
Barbara sipped her brandy and yawned... then gasped as the glass was knocked out of her hand. Alex leaned over her, his hands resting on each arm of her chair. ‘I want the truth, Barbara, no lies... just the truth... Evelyn is Edward’s, isn’t he...? Isn’t he?’
He was too calm, too cool, and Barbara was scared of him. ‘Don’t be silly, darling, you’re frightening me.’
‘Then tell me the truth... whose child is he? He’s his, you only have to see them side by side to know it... Well? Tell me! He’s Edward’s, isn’t he?’
Barbara was trapped in her chair. He loomed over her, wouldn’t let her squirm her way out of it. She began to cry, and he finally moved away. She didn’t have to say it.
‘Jesus God, it’s true... it’s true.’
Barbara couldn’t stop crying, although she still did not admit it, but the more she cried the more he knew it was true. He stood with his back to her. ‘Why? Just tell me why?’
Barbara’s mind was racing, trying desperately to think of something, anything, to say to him. She rose from her chair and went to touch him, but he moved away so fast that she froze.
‘Why, tell me why? Jesus, you could have had it aborted, anything... Why?’ At last he turned to her, and she started to cry again. This time he hit her so hard across the face that she fell against the desk. Alex picked her up by her hair and threw her back into the chair. ‘How long have you two been together? Is it still going on?’
Barbara touched her lip, tasted blood in her mouth. ‘No... it was over before he was born. I... I went to him, went to him for you, I didn’t want anything to go wrong, you tried, you tried to make him sell the club, get rid of it... well, I tried.’