Sharon Kendrick Collection. Sharon Kendrick

and the night and the music. . .’ Mrs Hennessy looked at her daughter with a defiant spark in her eyes. ‘I’m not proud of what happened that night, Lola, but neither do I regret it. Nor shall I regret it for as long as I live—for Peter demonstrated to me what making love could be like.’

      ‘What h-happened?’ asked Lola in a low voice.

      ‘Peter left the following day, as planned. I assured him that nothing would happen—indeed I was convinced that nothing would. But three weeks later I discovered I was going to have a baby. . .’

      ‘Me,’ breathed Lola.

      ‘You.’ Her mother smiled. ‘You.’

      Mrs Hennessy shrugged. ‘What could I do? I had no idea where Peter had gone. And times were different then—there was a shame and a stigma attached to having a child out of wedlock. John—the man you thought was your father—had been in love with me since we were at school together. I think he was almost pleased that I had gone and got myself pregnant, because it meant that I was vulnerable to his proposal of marriage.’

      ‘And did you—love him?’ asked Lola slowly.

      ‘I grew to love him. There’s a difference, you know. At first I was just grateful for his support and understanding—but he was a good husband and, more importantly, a good father, too. Oh, I never loved him the way I had loved Peter—but then I never expected to. That kind of love doesn’t come more than once in a lifetime. But John accepted that.

      ‘And John treated you as his own—something for which I will always be grateful—and he was content with the love I could give him. He came to the marriage with only one stipulation. . .’

      Lola suspected that she had already guessed what that stipulation had been. ‘And that was?’

      ‘That to all intents and purposes you would be his child. You were to be registered in his name on the birth certificate.’

      ‘And did Peter never come back?’

      June Hennessy gave a smile which was tinged with regret. ‘Yes, he did. When you were about six months old, he came to find me. He knew that you were his, of course he did, but I denied it, and he played along with what I wanted. I never wanted to trap Peter into staying, you see. He offered me money to support you, but I never took it. John wouldn’t have wanted it, and neither, more importantly, did I.’ She paused. ‘He went away that night—and I never saw him again.’

      Lola stared at a magnificent seascape which dominated one of Dominic Dashwood’s immense white walls. ‘Why did you never tell me this before, Mum?’ she asked quietly.

      ‘For what? To upset John? To make you discontented? All for the sake of a tie which had been broken long ago? Peter never got in touch again—your appearance might have caused complications in his life. People change, you know, Lola. What if he had denied all knowledge of you? Wouldn’t it have been frustrating for you to learn that you had an immensely rich man for a father, yet for you to have no legal claim to his estate?’

      ‘I wonder why he left me this house?’ wondered Lola aloud.

      ‘Perhaps he knew that he was going to die. Perhaps he felt it was time to redress the balance of things—to make amends for having deserted you—even though I gave him no opportunity to do anything other than that.’

      ‘And when Dad died,’ Lola ventured, ‘did you never think about tracking Peter down then?’

      ‘To live happily ever after, I suppose?’ Her mother gave her a small smile. ‘I felt a little too old and too tired to believe in fairy tales by that stage in my life. Sometimes it’s better to have a dream and to hold onto it in your heart, Lola, rather than see it being crushed by the pressures of life.’

      ‘But when you heard about the inheritance from me why didn’t you tell me the story then? Why keep it secret all this time?’

      Mrs Hennessy sighed. ‘I was too frightened. And too afraid of what your reaction might be if I told you the whole story. Afraid that you might judge me and find me wanting—afraid that you might be ashamed of your somewhat unconventional parentage.’ Her mother reached a hand out. ‘Are you angry with me for having kept it from you, darling?’

      Lola took the outstretched hand and grasped it firmly. ‘How could I be angry with you, Mum? I love you, and you did your best. What more could anyone ask?’

      Mrs Hennessy smiled. ‘And speaking of love,’ she said softly, ‘is there anything you want to tell me, darling?’

      Lola brought her fingertips up to cover her mouth, so that her words were muffled and indistinct, but her mother understood them well enough.

      ‘Can you love someone even though you haven’t known them very long, Mum? Can you want someone with a blinding passion even though sometimes they make you so mad you want to hit them? Is it possible to want a man’s baby even when you know it would be the worst thing in the world which could happen to you at this time?’

      ‘Yes, yes, and yes,’ answered her mother, although she blanched a little at the mention of babies. ‘I gather we are now talking about Geraint?’ she added drily.

      Lola nodded, her eyes wide and confused. ‘But his motives for getting to know me were so wrong, Mum! He was out seeking revenge.’

      Mrs Hennessy shook her blonde head. ‘It doesn’t matter what his motives were when he didn’t know you, Lola—what matters is what his motives became once he did know you! How he behaved towards you. Was he honourable and true?’

      And Lola recognised that, yes, he had been honourable and true—there was no doubt about that. ‘Oh, Mum, I feel so muddled!’

      ‘Then go to him. Ask him what he feels, what he truly feels.’

      ‘I’m scared. . .’

      ‘And Geraint?’ quizzed her mother. ‘Don’t you think that he could be scared too?’

      Lola laughed aloud. ‘Geraint? Scared? I don’t think so!’

      ‘I might be scared, if I thought you might refuse to many me, Lola,’ came a deep voice from behind them, and Lola whirled round to see Geraint holding a wriggling Simon in his arms. The baby was wearing a pair of yellow trousers which clashed horribly with his purple sweatshirt. ‘He was sick after you left, so I’ve changed him. These were the only clothes I could find,’ he added, and pulled an expressive face.

      Lola blinked. Geraint—changing babies? And was her hearing growing defective, or had she just heard him asking her to marry him?

      June Hennessy got to her feet, walked quickly across the room and held her arms open to the baby, whereupon Simon gurgled and fastened onto her like a limpet.

      ‘What a friendly baby!’ Mrs Hennessy observed automatically. ‘Now, you two go away,’ she instructed her daughter and Geraint firmly. ‘Away! And don’t come back until you’ve sorted things out one way or another.’

      Lola was stricken with a peculiar sense of embarrassment, and could look at neither her mother nor Geraint. In fact, she was pleased when Geraint took her firmly by the arm and propelled her out of the house as if the place were about to be detonated by a bomb.

      He did not speak until they were next door again, and he had turned on the gas fire in the small study. Then he sat back on his heels so that the flickering flames cast enigmatic shadows on his finely boned face.

      ‘Can you ever forgive me?’ he asked quietly.

      ‘For what?’ Lola swallowed. ‘For forcing me to confront truths which have lain buried for too long? For making my mother rethink her philosophy and tell me something which perhaps I should have learnt about years ago? Those are things for which I should be thanking you, Geraint, not blaming you.’

      ‘For ever doubting you,’ came his quiet response.

      ‘Because you wanted to believe the worst of me?’ She shook her dark head.