unlocked. This was an area she had to confront.
Now.
“Be serious, Mum,” Jules implored. He turned back to her, pinning her with his matchless blue eyes. Everyone commented on the resemblance between them. Except for the eyes. “You don’t know what it’s like. The kids are starting to ask me all sorts of questions. They never did it before. Who my dad is? Where is he? Why isn’t he with us?”
She put it as matter-of-factly as she could. “I told you, Jules. He lives in England. He couldn’t be with us.”
God, he doesn’t even know there’s an “us”. What would he do if he did? Acknowledge paternity? Easy enough to prove. Let it all go? Not enough room in his life for an illegitimate child? Surely the term illegitimate wasn’t used any more? What would he do? Would he act, acknowledge his child? That was the potentially threatening question. Only no one was going to take her son from her. She had reared him. She had shouldered the burden of being a single mother. If it came down to it—a fight for custody—she would fight like a lioness.
Except her case could be unwinnable. No wonder she had woken up that morning feeling jittery. It was as though she was being given a warning.
“Doesn’t he love us?” Jules’ question snapped her back to attention. “Why didn’t he want to be with us? The kids think you’re super cool.” They did indeed. Jules’ mother was right up there in the attention stakes.
Julian’s young life had been woman oriented, sublimely peaceful. He lived with his mother, and his grandmother Stella, who had always looked after him, especially when Cate was at work or delayed with endless long meetings. Jules had lots of honorary “aunts”—friends and colleagues of hers. They lived in a rather grand hillside house with a view of the harbour. It was a five-minute drive down to a blue sparkling marina and a park where kids could play. The city, surrounded by beautiful beaches, offered any number of places to go for a swim. Jules was already a strong swimmer for his age. He lived the good life, stable and secure. Jules wanted for nothing.
Except a father.
“Why couldn’t you get married, Mum?” Her son’s young voice combined protectiveness for her and unmistakable hostility for the man who had fathered him. This was a new development, emotionally and socially. Jules was clearly reviewing his position in his world.
“We were going to, Jules,” Cate told him very gently. To think she had actually believed it. “We were deeply in love, starting to make plans.” Their romance had been close to sublime until they had started making plans. Plans did them in. “And then something rather momentous happened. Your father came into an important inheritance called a peerage. That meant he would never leave England.” Didn’t want to leave England. “I was desperate to come back to Australia. My family was here. His people were there. His life was there. It was as simple and disruptive as a grand inheritance. Your father’s mother had someone in mind for her only son. She was the daughter of an earl. Born to the purple, as it were.” Even now the breath rushed out of her chest.
Your paternal grandmother, with her silk knickers in a twist. Alicia, the patrician-faced hatchet woman who expected Cate to do the right thing and go home.
“Didn’t she like you?” Jules sounded incredulous. His mother was perfect in his eyes.
Cate had to acknowledge she still bore the scars of that last confrontation with Alicia, the icy determination of the woman, the breathtaking arrogance of the English upper class. “Well, she did at first,” she managed after a moment. It was true enough. Alicia had been supremely confident this young woman was going back to Australia. It was no more than a holiday flirtation, a passing fancy for a pretty girl. But there were strict limits to the friendship. The question of succession had finally been settled. “Later I was made very aware there was no question of a marriage between us.”
“None at all, my dear. How could you think otherwise? My son will marry one of us.” Alicia had been adamant. Here was a woman with a deep understanding of noblesse oblige.
She must have muttered aloud, because Jules asked with a flash to his beautiful eyes, “Who’s us?”
“Oh, I soon discovered that!” She gave a brief laugh. “People of the same background. The English aristocracy and the like. It’s still a class system no matter what they say.”
“Class system?” Jules was getting het up.
That wouldn’t do. “It’s different from here, Jules,” she said soothingly. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll explain it to you this evening.”
“So he married someone else, the us?” Anger simmered in Jules’ clear voice. Another stage in his development.
“I expect so. I never followed through. I left him and England behind, my darling. My life is here, Jules. With you and Nan. You’re happy, aren’t you?”
Jules rallied. He wasn’t going to upset his mother any further. “Sure I’m happy, Mum,” he declared, though it was obvious to Cate he was grappling with this fresh information. He leant over to give her a kiss. “I can take care of the boys at school. What’s his name, my father’s name?”
“Ashton.” She suddenly realised she had not spoken his name aloud for years. Ashe. Julian Ashton Carlisle, Fifth Baron Wyndham.
“That’s a funny name,” Jules said. “Bit like Julian. I expect he named me. English, you see. I’m glad everyone calls me Jules. Better go, Mum. See you tonight.”
“Take care, my darling.”
“I will.” Jules gave her a quick hug. Mercifully Jules wasn’t one of those kids who were embarrassed by public displays of affection. Noah, on the other hand, had forbidden his mother to kiss him when any of the other kids were about. Jules made short work of heaving up his satchel then hopping out of the car. Noah was racing towards him both arms outstretched, one up, one down, dipping and rising mimicking a plane’s wings. He was calling out in delight, “Jules … Jules …”
Cate watched a moment longer, her heart torn. May joy fill your days. Both boys turned back to wave to her. She responded, putting a big carefree smile on her face.
This is only the start of it all, my girl. Her inner voice broke up the moment, weighing in with a warning.
At twenty-six she was well on the way to becoming a high flyer in the corporate world. She knew she appeared to others to have it all. Only one person, Stella, the person closest to her, knew the whole story. She could never have managed without Stella’s selfless support. It was Stella who had taken charge of her baby when she was at university. She needed a career. They had both agreed on that. She had a son to rear.
Stella was the guardian angel for her and her son. Stella, her adoptive mother.
It had taken well over twenty years for her to find out who her biological mother was. And that only came about because her biological mother had thought it prudent to make a deathbed confession before she met her Maker.
A sad way to clean the slate; devastating for an unacknowledged daughter to find out the truth. Sometimes she thought she would never forgive Stella for not having told her. Over the years she had met “Aunty Annabel” perhaps a half dozen times when she visited Stella, her older sister in Australia. Cate realised then, as never before, one should not keep secrets from
