that he did not become aware of that.
‘Why do you think I came to see you, Mr Newman?’ she asked, throwing the question back at him.
‘I have neither the time nor the inclination for games, Miss Hirst. I assumed that you were going to tell me precisely that. Wasn’t that your reason for barging unannounced into my office?’ She stared at him without flinching, and eventually he asked, impatiently, ‘Has my son got your daughter into any sort of trouble? Is that it?’
Jessica didn’t answer. She decided that the best course of action was to get him to plough his way through this one instead of encouraging her to do all the talking. If a solution was to be engineered, it would have to be a two-way road; he would have to be prepared to travel his fair share of the distance.
‘Is she pregnant?’ he asked bluntly, and Jessica could feel hot colour rush into her face. The question, with all its implications, was almost an insult.
No, Lucy was not pregnant! She knew that. Why would this man jump to that conclusion? The answer came to her almost as soon as she had asked herself the question—because it was the most obvious cause of concern to a mother. Because boys will be boys. He certainly didn’t seem to be shocked by the assumption.
‘And what exactly would your solution be if that were the case, Mr Newman?’
‘I’m a wealthy man, Miss Hirst. I would be prepared to accept any financial difficulties that might arise.’
‘In other words, she would be paid off.’
‘Naturally paternity would have to be proved.’
Was this how wealthy people operated? she wondered. Throw enough money at a problem and, hey presto, no more problem? His approach was so cold, so emotionless, that she could feel every muscle in her body tightening in anger.
‘That is, if she wanted to keep the baby at all. There are other options, as you well know.’
‘Abortion?’
‘You make it sound like a crime. But Mark is only seventeen years old, and your daughter… How old is she?’
‘Sixteen.’
‘Sixteen. Barely out of childhood herself. A baby could well ruin her life.’ For the first time he threw her a long, speculative look that took in everything, from the neat little blue dress, well tailored but beginning to show its age, to the blonde bob, to the flat sandals—her only pair of summer shoes, bought in a sale over two years ago. Her wardrobe wasn’t bulging at the seams, but everything in it was of good quality, made to last.
The only problem with that was that eventually those made to last items began looking a little stale. Right now she felt downright old-fashioned, and the reason, she knew, lay in those assessing grey eyes.
‘You barely look old enough to have a daughter of sixteen.’
‘What are you trying to say, Mr Newman?’
‘How old were you when you had her?’
‘That’s none of your business!’
‘You expect me to sit back in silence and allow you to lecture me on the behaviour of my son without asking you any questions?’ He poured himself a cup of coffee, sat back, and regarded her unsmilingly over the rim of the cup.
Jessica was deeply regretting her impulse to seek this man’s help. He had no intention of co-operating with her and he never would have. He was typical of that breed of person who throws money at their children and assumes that that does the trick. She had seen examples of them often enough where she worked. Parents with too much money and too little time, who sat upright on chairs in the law offices, bewildered by a child who had been brought in for driving a stolen car, or causing damage to property. How could he do this to us? was their invariable lament. After all we did for him!
‘Let’s just get one thing straight, Mr Newman.’ She refused to call him Anthony. ‘My daughter is not pregnant.’
‘Then why the hell didn’t—?’
‘I make that clear from the start?’ She looked at the unyielding face. ‘Because I was curious to hear precisely how you would have handled such a problem.’
‘And I take it from that stony expression on your face that my reply was not what you would have wanted to hear?’
‘Very good, Mr Newman.’
‘The name is Anthony! Will you stop calling me Mr Newman? I’m not conducting an interview for a job!’
Jessica reddened and looked away.
‘And what would have been your solution to that particular little problem, Miss Hirst? How would you have suggested that I deal with it?’
‘It’s irrelevant, since Lucy isn’t pregnant.’
‘Why don’t you answer my question?’ He leant forward, resting his elbows on his knees, and subjected her to intense, cool scrutiny. ‘I’m interested in your answer.’
‘I have no idea.’
‘Maybe you would have suggested that I encourage my son to adopt the mantle of fatherhood at the age of seventeen? Marriage as soon as possible?’
‘It’s always preferable for a child to have both parents.’
‘And does yours? I take it that she doesn’t, since you’re not a “Mrs”.’
‘No, there’s just me.’
‘What happened?’ he asked, after a while, and Jessica looked away, feeling cornered but not quite knowing how to extricate herself from the situation.
‘There was never a potential husband, if you must know.’
He didn’t say anything, and she could well imagine what sort of sordid possibilities were going through his head.
‘I’m afraid it just didn’t work out quite the way that I’d imagined it.’
‘I see.’
‘Do you, Mr Newman?’
‘Shall I tell you what I see, Miss Hirst?’ He paused, though not long enough for her to reply, then he leaned forward slightly, and his voice when he spoke was grim. ‘I see an anxious young mother who’s desperate that her daughter doesn’t repeat the same mistakes that she made. That’s fair enough, but I really don’t think that you’ve looked at the whole picture, have you? You’ve somehow got it into your head that my son is to blame for your daughter’s behaviour, and I’d be interested in finding out how you arrived at that conclusion.’
The tables had been turned. She had hoped to surprise this man into some sort of favourable response, or at least shared sympathy. But sympathy didn’t appear high on his list of virtues, and every word he had just spoken was tantamount to an attack.
‘I’m not blaming you in any way,’ Jessica informed him, her face burning with anger. She took a deep breath. She was here, he wasn’t going to suddenly vanish like a bad dream, and she
