A Fall from Grace - Maggie Ford (have you read this book TXT) 📗

having been signed that very day, it hadn’t touched her other than to breathe a thankful prayer that Anthony would no longer be in danger of a return to the front to fight and probably to die.

James had been in his office at the time. He had telephoned through to her even as she sat at her window watching the growing crowds. She hadn’t gone out to join them, mostly thinking of those who must have been sitting behind their own curtained windows mourning their lost ones, some perhaps in the very last days of war.

Her first desire had been to run to Anthony’s side, but that had been impossible with James on his way home. Nor indeed could she have brought herself to do it with the memory of that kiss still so strong in her mind.

On the phone James had said, ‘I’m coming home, my dear. I do not want you to be on your own on this great day.’

All she had said, her mind miles away, was, ‘Thank you, James.’

He was a kind man, thought of her every comfort, did all he could to make her happy, bought her whatever she asked for, totally unaware that the one thing she was most thankful for was that he had never attempted to consummate their marriage. She didn’t think she could have taken that.

She was aware that he saw her as a companion who had helped fill a void left: by the death of his wife, whom he never referred to or mentioned by name. She knew too that he was deeply grateful to her for – as he’d once put it – ‘so generously accepting my offer of marriage as a good friend.’

Yet despite his kindness and his concern for her happiness he would not agree to her request to search for the baby taken from her. Although after all this time it could prove futile and the memory ceased to bite as much as it once did, it still lay there in the background… and she yearned for his consent to at least try.

This had been the main reason why she had married him, that his money might help find her daughter, yet it was the one thing he had never granted, almost wilfully it seemed to her at times. In every other way he was so generous and understanding and kind that she’d become almost reluctant to push him any further on the matter.

Now that lurking wish was raising its head again. Her thoughts returned with a rush to Anthony. It could happen that in the not too distant future she could find herself widowed. James wasn’t getting any younger and who knows, maybe sooner rather than later she and Anthony would be together, legally married, he young enough to accept a ready-made family and happy to help trace her baby. But not just that, she loved him. But what if James went on into his seventies? To find out about her and his own nephew would break his heart, his world would crumble; of that she was sure. How could she do that to him?

He must never know. But where did that leave her and Anthony? All these thoughts crowded her mind enough to make her head spin as they drove almost at a snail’s pace through the singing, dancing, laughing throng.

Anthony was standing at the window, leaning on his stick as he gazed out at the celebrations; they were, perhaps, somewhat less exuberant here, a little more sedate. He turned from the scene as Madeleine and James came into the room accompanied by his mother.

‘Looks like everyone’s enjoying themselves out there,’ he said without a smile or one word of welcome, almost as if they’d been there for hours.

‘Yes, it certainly does,’ James returned cheerily, seeming to be quite comfortable with such a reception. ‘And how are you?’

‘Fine.’

He’d still not smiled and Madeleine realized that he was continuing to gaze at her, his eyes fixed on her face, and immediately she felt her heart turn over. She looked away quickly, fearing her face might betray something she didn’t wish James to see. But he probably wouldn’t have noticed, utterly innocent of how she felt.

‘Well,’ cut in his mother. ‘That is a fine greeting, I must say, dear, after your uncle has taken the trouble to come and see how you are on such an occasion as this. The least you could say is “hello”.’

‘Hello,’ he repeated, parrot fashion, his tone mocking.

Mabel gave an impatient click of the tongue, saying, ‘I’ll ring for tea,’ and turning to her guests, added, ‘I expect you both would like a cup of tea, wouldn’t you, dears?’

Madeleine found her voice. ‘That would be nice, thank you.’

She could still feel Anthony’s eyes trained upon her even though she refused to meet them.

Then suddenly he said, ‘Well, sit down, Uncle James, Aunt Madeleine. Make yourselves comfortable. It’s so nice of you to come. I very much appreciate it, after you’ve been pushing through hordes of people.’

Addressed as Aunt, almost deliberately it seemed, made her squirm but she betrayed nothing. Was he being sarcastic or was it for his uncle’s sake, or maybe he was trying to convey to her some second thought over what had transpired between them the last time they’d met.

Moving away from the window, he returned to his own seat, Madeleine looking from beneath her brow noticed that he no longer needed to use his stick for support, merely holding it clear of the floor; that beyond a hardly discernible limp he seemed perfectly fine. James had noticed it too.

‘I see you’ve got rid of the plaster,’ he remarked.

‘Yesterday,’ Anthony said. ‘Almost back to normal and just in time to savour the peace, long may it last!’

He spoke brightly, yet Madeleine felt she could detect a trace of strain in his tone. She wished he would cease throwing glances at her, too many for comfort. Evading them made it seem all the more obvious that something deeper