Man Of Stone. Penny Jordan

your father never told you!’ Alice Fitton guessed intuitively. ‘Well, perhaps he had his reasons. I must confess that there was a good deal of bitterness between him and my husband, especially when he refused to allow your mother to come home to have you… We knew how fragile she was, you see, but he insisted on taking her to Italy with him.’

      ‘He was in the middle of his first book,’ Sara whispered, her eyes dark with shock.

      She had heard the story so often. How her father had been working on his first book, how he had needed to do research in Italy, and how she had been born there. She had never once heard him say that her mother had been invited to stay with her parents. Quite the contrary. Without saying so in as many words, he had nevertheless implied that his in-laws had cruelly refused to have anything to do with their daughter, even when they knew she was carrying their grandchild.

      She looked into her grandmother’s eyes, and knew that she was telling her the truth.

      ‘But why?’ she asked painfully. ‘Why not tell me?’

      ‘Perhaps partially to punish your grandfather and I, my dear. You see, I don’t think your father ever really forgave us for not considering him the right husband for our daughter.’ There was sorrow and pain in her voice, and Sara couldn’t help thinking her father’s resentment must surely have been fuelled by the knowledge that they were probably right. No one liked to admit that their judgement was surpassed by some other’s, especially not a man like her father. But even understanding what had motivated him did not make it entirely easy for her to forgive him. It would have meant so little to him, and so much to her. She thought of all the holidays she had spent, either alone, or farmed out with friends, because her father had better things to do than to entertain a small child.

      It was those memories of pain that made her so protective of Tom, she acknowledged, glancing at her half-brother now.

      ‘Yes, he looks tired,’ her grandmother agreed.

      ‘It was for his sake that I allowed Cressy to persuade me to come here,’ Sara told her. ‘He suffers from an asthmatic condition that makes a quiet country life-style imperative.’

      ‘Don’t worry, Sara. This house is more than big enough to accommodate one extra child. I’m sure we shall hardly notice that Tom is here. My dear, did you really think for a moment that you would be turned away? Oh, Sara! How guilty you make me feel that we didn’t try harder to make contact with you.’

      Tom chose a small room with a dormer window and a sloping roof. The window looked out on to a patchwork of fields, stretching away into the purple distance of the hills.

      Already he seemed happier, more relaxed, more the way a boy his age should look, thought Sara, watching him covertly.

      She elected to have the room next to Tom’s.

      ‘This is mine,’ her grandmother told her, indicating a further door. ‘And this one is Luke’s. He insists on sleeping close at hand, in case I need anything during the night.’ She pulled a wry but indulgent face. ‘I keep telling him that I’m far from that decrepit yet.’ And then her smile faded as she turned and caught Sara’s rebellious expression.

      ‘What is it, Sara?’ she asked gently. ‘Every time I mention Luke’s name, you almost flinch.’

      ‘I didn’t realise he actually lived here.’ Sara bit her lip, aware of how breathless and nervy her voice sounded. ‘I suppose it’s just that I’m not used to such overpoweringly male men,’ she added in a brief attempt at humor, trying to cover her obvious dismay. She didn’t want to upset her grandmother by seeming to dislike a man she clearly held in high esteem.

      ‘Yes, Luke is very male, which makes it all the more surprising…’ Her grandmother broke off and grimaced faintly. ‘Well, I can tell you, Sara. After all, you are my granddaughter. I’m worried about Luke. He should marry again…’

      ‘Perhaps he prefers not to put someone else in his first wife’s place,’ Sara suggested gently, and earned herself a rather odd look from her grandmother. At first she thought the old lady was going to say something else, but obviously she had changed her mind, because she gave a small shrug and turned back to return downstairs.

      Privately, Sara suspected there would be any number of women only too willing to fill the empty place left in Luke’s life by the death of his wife, with or without a wedding ring.

      Of course, she herself was immune to his brand of raw sexuality.

      ‘Luke might be a very wealthy, very intelligent man, but he’s still human, and still vulnerable,’ her grandmother told her, shrewdly reading her mind. ‘Let’s go downstairs and have some coffee. Anna normally brings me a tray about this time.’

      Anna was her grandmother’s housekeeper and cook, a pretty, plump woman in her late forties.

      Anna and Harrison both apparently had their own flats in the converted mews building over what had once been the stables and were now garages.

      ‘When Luke comes back, he can show you the grounds properly. I don’t walk as much these days as I used to.’

      ‘Tell me about the house,’ Sara asked impulsively when they were sitting down. Instinctively, her glance went to the portrait of her mother above the mantelpiece. Seeing it, her grandmother said gently, ‘Another day, perhaps, when I can show you round, and then you’ll find it more interesting. After all,’ she teased, ‘it’s been here for close on four hundred years—it isn’t going to disappear overnight!’

      ‘I don’t know,’ Sara laughed. ‘It even looks like something out of a fairy-tale to me. I had no idea…’

      ‘There have been Fittons in this part of the country for many, many years. Shakespeare even wrote about one.’

      ‘Mary Fitton, of course,’ Sara supplied, remembering the tragic story of Shakespeare’s dark lady of the sonnets.

      ‘Why don’t I tell you about your mother, instead?’

      ‘Well, if you’re sure you won’t find it painful…’

      Her grandmother shook her head.

      ‘No, my dear. After all, I’ve had over twenty-three years in which to accustom myself to the loss of your mother. Sometimes, not often, but sometimes, in my darkest moments, I wonder if it’s true that the Fitton name is cursed—there have been so many small tragedies. But then your grandfather would remind me that in any family with a history stretching a long way into the past there are similar sorrows and worse.

      ‘Your mother was a delightful child—headstrong, pretty, very like you, physically.’ And although she didn’t say it, she acknowledged that her daughter had had an inner light, a brightness that had either been quenched in her granddaughter or never allowed to be lit.

      Now that she had the full story of the tragedy that had struck the small family, she was doubly appalled at her son-in-law’s selfishness. To have made no provision for his family, especially when it contained such a young and physically vulnerable child…

      ‘It’s time I was in bed,’ she told Sara with a smile. ‘It’s been a very exciting day for me. Don’t worry about getting up in the morning.’

      ‘You mustn’t spoil me,’ Sara protested. ‘I ought to be thinking about what I’m going to do with the rest of my life. I should try and find out about some sort of training. I’ve got my secretarial qualifications. Do you think I might be able to find a job in Chester?’

      ‘That’s something we can talk about later,’ she was told firmly. ‘For the moment, you need to rest and relax. Goodnight, my dear.’

      She had been so lucky, Sara marvelled as she prepared for bed; so much, much more lucky than she had ever dreamed she might be. That her grandmother should have welcomed both her and Tom so generously; that she should be so prepared to take them in and love them… She could hardly believe it was true.

      There