Pagan Enchantment. Carole Mortimer

her.

      ‘He’s wrong, isn’t he, Merry?’ her father questioned quietly behind her.

      She spun round, guilty colour flooding her cheeks as she saw her father sitting down partway up the stairs. ‘You heard …?’

      ‘All of it,’ he nodded. ‘I came back for some papers I’d forgotten. I overheard—I couldn’t help but listen.’

      She swallowed hard. ‘Is it true?’

      Again he nodded. ‘He was wrong, wasn’t he, Merry?’ he persisted. ‘Your mother and I did teach you forgiveness, didn’t we?’

      It was a double-edged question, and she knew he was asking for forgiveness for himself as much as for Anthea Steele. ‘Oh, Dad!’ She ran to him, the tears falling unchecked down her cheeks as she threw herself into his arms.

      For a moment he just held her, letting her cry, stroking her hair as he had done when she was a child and needed comforting. ‘It’s all right, baby,’ he finally spoke to her, his own voice thick with emotion. ‘And you are still my baby, Merry, no matter who brought you into this world.’

      She looked up at him with shadowed eyes. ‘Why …?’

      ‘I know,’ he sighed. ‘We should have told you when you were still a child, but we kept putting it off, and putting it off, keeping you as our very own little girl, I think. Then we decided that your eighteenth birthday would be time enough to tell you, when you were old enough to understand that we loved you even though we hadn’t managed to conceive you. But you know what happened just before your birthday,’ he added sadly.

      ‘Mummy died,’ Merry said shakily, the memory of the horror of that night three weeks before her eighteenth birthday still as vivid. Her mother had been knocked over by a car and killed.

      ‘Yes,’ her father acknowledged heavily. ‘After that I couldn’t tell you, didn’t have the courage to without your mother. But you are still our daughter, Merry,’ he told her firmly.

      ‘That’s what I told Gideon Steele—–’

      ‘But you do have a real mother,’ he continued as if she hadn’t spoken. ‘And right now she sounds as if she needs you. Your mother did all the things for you that you claimed she did, and that forged a bond of love between you that’s so strong it will never be broken. But she didn’t bring you into the world, that was left to some other woman—to Anthea Steele.’

      ‘But—–’

      ‘Let me finish, Merry,’ he spoke strongly. ‘Your mother and I love you, you know we always will. Gideon’s stepmother, your real mother, could only have been seventeen when she became pregnant with you. Seventeen, Merry! Do you remember what you felt like at that age—imagine the trauma of expecting a baby when you were no more than a child yourself?’

      She thought back to when she had been seventeen, to when she had been in her last year at school, taking her ‘A’ levels. She couldn’t have coped with a baby at that age.

      ‘You see?’ her father prompted gently as he watched the different emotions flickering across her face.

      Merry remained adamant. ‘Then she shouldn’t have got pregnant! She—–’

      ‘If she hadn’t your mother and I would never have had you to love,’ he pointed out softly. ‘Your mother had every test possible, and she couldn’t have children of her own. Adoption was our only way of ever having a child then. If it weren’t for Anthea Steele, we would never have had you as our daughter.’

      Hurt still warred with reason, her pain reflected in her deep green eyes.

      ‘I think Mrs Steele needs you, Merry,’ her father said softly. ‘I think she’s needed you for some time, for her sanity.’

      Fresh tears flooded her eyes, falling softly down her pale cheeks, confusion, and also a reluctant curiosity, reflected in her eyes.

      Her father was quick to note the latter emotion, and nodded slowly. ‘No matter what happens you’ll always be our daughter,’ he assured her intently. ‘But I don’t feel it would be disloyal to me to see your real mother. In fact, I’d feel rather proud if you did.’

      ‘P-proud?’ she repeated shakily.

      He smiled. ‘If I do say so myself, we’ve done rather a nice job of bringing you up. I’d like Mrs Steele to see that her sacrifice wasn’t for nothing.’

      Merry frowned once again at his choice of words. ‘Sacrifice?’

      Her father nodded. ‘You don’t think she found it easy to give you up, do you? Because it wasn’t,’ he shook his head. ‘No woman could give her child up without causing herself pain. And it’s a pain that has obviously never left Anthea Steele.’ He stood up, taking Merry with him. ‘Think about it, darling,’ he advised. ‘I’m not pressurising you to see her if you really don’t think you could cope with it, but I would be very pleased if you could. All right?’

      ‘All right,’ she nodded tearfully, once again thinking what a wonderful man her father was.

      He smiled, wiping away her tears. ‘The stairs is a ridiculous place to have had this conversation,’ his smile deepened to a grin, ‘but I’m glad we’ve had it.’

      ‘So am I,’ Merry said, and meant it, giving him a quick kiss and a hug before running up the stairs to her bedroom.

      A few minutes later she heard the front door close, and knew that her father had gone to work as usual. She could hear the local children playing outside as usual, the occasional car as usual. Only she seemed to have changed. She was no longer just the daughter of Sarah and Malcolm Charles, she was also the daughter of Anthea Steele, the stepdaughter of Samuel Steele, and stepsister to Gideon Steele. Just knowing that changed the whole fabric of her life, made her want to know exactly who she was, and what Anthea Steele was really like.

      But she didn’t run headlong into meeting her real mother. She gave herself time to think, to consider the consequences of such a meeting, for them both. For herself she didn’t feel she would be too deeply affected if such a meeting didn’t work out—after all, she still had her father, no matter what. But if Anthea Steele were in the emotional depression her stepson claimed she was then it could have a disastrous effect on her.

      Finally it was the curiosity that made her seek out Gideon Steele at the telephone number he had given her. It turned out to be a hotel, and it took several minutes to put through to his room. When there was no answer the hotel telephonist came back on the line.

      ‘Could I take a message for Mr Steele?’ she offered politely.

      Merry chewed on her bottom lip, not sure she would be able to find the courage to call Gideon Steele again. ‘Could you tell him Miss Charles called,’ she said breathlessly.

      Now if he still wanted her to meet his stepmother it would be up to him to contact her! Nevertheless, she made the concession of turning down the invitation Vanda passed on about a party at one of their friends’ flats. After all, there was no point in leaving a message that she had called him if she then went out for the evening herself.

      By ten o’clock she was beginning to wish she had gone with Vanda; the lateness of the hour seemed to indicate that Gideon Steele had gone out for the entire evening too.

      She was in the process of changing to go to the party after all when the doorbell rang. She zipped up her skin-tight red velvet trousers as she ran to answer the door, her red and gold interwoven top also figure-hugging.

      Her eyes widened as she found Gideon Steele standing outside the door. Once again his suit was superbly tailored, blue this time, contrasted with a lighter blue shirt, and there was a weary look’ about his eyes and mouth as he raised dark brows at her appearance.

      ‘Mr Steele …’ she said weakly.

      ‘You called me—–’

      ‘I expected