Читать книгу This Is My Child - Lucy Gordon, Lucy Gordon - Страница 9

On the afternoon of David’s concert, Giles said to Melanie, “I thought a lot about what you said—about David needing his parents there to cheer him on.”

“Yes?” she urged eagerly.

“So I called Zena this morning, to see if she would go. But all I got was the answering machine saying they were away for a few days.”

She sighed. “Well, it looks as though David will have to make do with me.”

“I just wanted you to know that I tried,” he said, and even to his own ears his voice sounded hollow.

To the last minute, she clung to the hope that Giles would change his mind, but when she saw him descend the stairs in white tie and tails she knew he hadn’t dressed up for a school concert.

David, too, was ready to leave. Giles placed a hand on his son’s shoulder. “Good luck,” he said. “Make me proud of you.”

“Yes, Daddy.” David’s voice was expressionless and his face had become a mask again. Melanie threw an angry look at Giles, but he was already walking away and didn’t see it. She wanted to shout after him, “How can you be proud of him if you’re not there?”

Then she wondered at her own thoughts. She would have David’s big moment all to herself, free from Giles Haverill’s intrusion. As his mother, what more could she ask?

But it wasn’t enough. She wasn’t the one David wanted. Giles might be neglectful, overbearing and insensitive, but his little son adored him and lived for his praise. And she, who loved David more than anything in life, wanted only his happiness.

In the school hall she made sure of getting a seat where David could see her, and led the applause when he appeared. She held her breath as he played the opening notes. Then gradually she relaxed as she realized everything was going to be fine. He played confidently, without stumbling once, and when he reached the end the applause was more than just polite.

“Well done,” she said when they met afterward. “That was the best ever.”

“Would Daddy be proud of me?” he asked wistfully.

“Of course he will. I’m going to tell him how splendid you were.”

At home she gave him some milk and sandwiches, and put him to bed. He snuggled down, promising to go to sleep, but when she came up later she heard noises from inside his room. She listened for a moment before pushing the door open a crack. David’s little television was on. “You shouldn’t be watching that now,” she said.

“But I’m watching Daddy,” he pleaded. “Look.”

As Melanie glanced at the screen the announcer was saying, “…made a speech to captains of industry tonight, in which he declared…” There was Giles talking from the top table to a room full of men, all identically dressed in white tie and tails. David’s eyes never left the screen. “That’s Daddy!” he said excitedly.

Sure enough, there was Giles, at ease, speaking without notes. Seeing him like this, Melanie realized how handsome he was. When he made a neat joke, his white teeth gleamed against the brown of his skin. He was in the prime of life, assured, at ease, a master in his own sphere. But none of that was of any use to the little boy who had to watch him through a television screen.

When the program was over she persuaded him to lie down. “Tomorrow we’ll talk about what we’re going to do during your school holidays. Will your father be taking you away on vacation?”

He shrugged. “Don’t know.”

“What about your mother?” Melanie asked cautiously.

He looked back at her from unblinking eyes. “My mother’s dead,” he said simply.

Melanie expelled her breath slowly, realizing that she’d wandered into a mine field. Who had told the child that Zena was dead, and why hadn’t Giles warned her? “Well…” she began to say.

“My mother’s dead,” David repeated. “If she wasn’t dead I’d be living with her.”

“I see. Yes, of course. Do you—have a photograph of her anywhere?”

“No,” David said. “She’s dead. She’s dead.”

Again there was that unnerving stare. Melanie had an impression that inside himself the little boy was clinging onto a sheer cliff face with his fingertips. “Good night,” she said softly, and left him.

She went to her own room and did some thinking. And when her thinking was completed she settled down to wait for Giles Haverill’s return, because no matter how late he was, she needed to talk to him urgently.

To pass the time, she switched on the television and found herself watching a late news program. It ran a brief clip of Giles’s speech, followed by some general information about his earlier career.

“Haverill & Son has always been a family firm,” declared the presenter, “but under Giles Haverill it became one of the major operators in the sphere of—”

Melanie hardly heard. She was studying Giles as he’d been a few years ago, his face already set in stern lines, his eyes fixed ahead as though nothing mattered but his goal. Sometimes he was accompanied by a woman Melanie recognized as Zena, but mostly he was shown heading meetings and traveling by airplane, concentrating on the screen of a portable computer.

“…a ruthless operator, as more than one of his rivals could testify—pride in the firm he inherited, and his determination to double it in size and influence—”

“And to raise his son to do the same,” Melanie murmured. “Poor little mite.”

She looked angrily at the face on the screen, the face of a conqueror, an acquisitor, a man so proud of his heritage that he’d trained a child from birth to fit into it.

“And I handed you over to him,” she whispered angrily. “God forgive me!”

As the hours ticked away she began to doze off. To keep herself awake, she went out into the hall and settled on the stairs. She was awakened about two in the morning by the sound of the front door opening and closing. “Miss Haynes?” Giles called, peering into the gloom of the hall. “What are you doing on the stairs?”

Melanie yawned and got stiffly to her feet. “I wanted to be sure not to miss you, Mr. Haverill. There are things we have to discuss.”

“Can’t it wait until tomorrow?”

“No, it can’t. I need to get some things straightened out before I see David again.”

“Look,” he said tiredly, “I’ll pay for it, whatever he’s done.”

“He hasn’t done anything. Can we talk somewhere more private than the hall?”

“All right, in here.” He pushed open the door to the living room. “Now what is it?”

“You told me David’s mother had gone away. Is that true?”

“Of course it’s—” He stared at her narrowly. “Has David told you she’s dead?”

“Yes.”

He groaned. “I thought he’d got over that. It was a stage he went through soon after she left.”

“Does he know she’s alive?”

“Of course he knows. He’s been to stay with her.”

“So she does still have some interest in him?”

“Very little. She invited him only at my insistence, and it wasn’t a success. But that’s no excuse for him lying about her.”

“He’s not lying,” she said, outraged. “He’s fantasizing.”

“Is there a difference?”

She looked at him for a long, thoughtful moment. “Have you ever had an operation, Mr. Haverill?” she asked at last.

“What on earth—? Yes, I had my appendix out years ago.”

“Did they give you an anesthetic?”

“Of course.”

“And why? Because the pain would have been too much to bear without help. Well, that’s David’s situation, too. Can’t you imagine the pain of simply being abandoned by the one person in the world who’s supposed to put him above everything?”

“He has a father-”

“Fathers aren’t the same. It’s his mother who’s supposed to be there for him, listen to him, cuddle him, defend him—” She stopped abruptly as a sudden rush of emotion threatened to choke her.

“What’s the matter?” Giles asked.

“Nothing.” She turned away from him, hurriedly brushing her eyes.