knew she had to come to a decision. Her mother and father were coming to London in a week or so, to see her, spend time with her, and have a vacation.
Could she look her father in the eye and not tell him the truth? Could she keep it a secret? And should she? Nobody could advise her really. Gideon had told her to do what she thought best, and everyone else had been noncommital.
The ball was back in her court.
And then there was Robin Ainsley, her new grandfather, the man who had been her grandmother’s lover during the Second World War. He had been a pilot in the Royal Air Force, a Battle of Britain pilot, and her grandmother, Glynnis Jenkins then, had been a young woman from Wales who worked as Emma Harte’s secretary, here in this very store.
She liked Robin; her feelings were even stronger than that. And she knew only too well that he longed to meet his son, Owen Hughes. But would her father want to meet this stranger – a stranger who was his real father? His mother’s lover. Oh God.
Evan turned on her computer, and after a few moments started to work on it, but within an hour the troubling thoughts about Robin, Glynnis, and her father’s imminent arrival began to intrude. Turning the computer off, she made a snap decision. She would take Linnet’s advice and go to Yorkshire after all for a week’s rest. And she would go to see Robin Ainsley, still needing to know about his relationship with her grandmother, and most of all to understand why Robin and Glynnis had never married.
‘She was beautiful and glamorous: the most sexually potent woman I’ve ever known. But I realized we would be disastrous together in the long run. We would’ve ended up killing each other,’ Robin Ainsley finished with a small sigh, and sat back in the wingchair, his eyes on Evan Hughes.
Evan was silent for a moment, digesting his words, and then she said slowly, ‘Because you were so volatile together, is that what you mean?’
‘Exactly. We never had a peaceful moment.’
‘You weren’t compatible?’
‘Not in any way, except in bed. But one cannot build a lasting, lifetime relationship on sex alone.’
Evan nodded, and eyed him carefully, then confided, ‘Gran was always pounding it into me that compatibility between a man and a woman was the most important thing of all. And I know for a fact that she was compatible with my grandfather, I mean Richard Hughes.’
‘Please don’t correct yourself, Evan,’ Robin said in a quiet voice, shaking his head. ‘Richard Hughes was your grandfather, just as he was your father’s father. Glynnis was a wonderful young woman when I knew her, but put very simply, she wasn’t suitable for me, nor I for her, not on a normal, everyday level. We were far too explosive. It was my fault as much as hers.’
‘Is that why you finally broke up with her?’
‘It is. At that time our dreadful quarrels were increasing, alarmingly so. Life with her was hell.’
‘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.
