Claiming His Shock Heir Read online

  There had been no sign of Scott when Philippa was shown into the linenfold panelled library. Later she learned he had driven his mother into York to see a specialist, but at the time her nerves had tightened apprehensively when she realised she was alone with his grandfather. Jeffrey Garston had always unnerved her. Small and wiry he still had a full head of snow-white hair, and eyes the same deep sapphire as Scott’s, although in Jeffrey Garston they were cold burning with the touch of ice—like Scott’s had been last night, Philippa realised with a sudden start. He hadn’t offered her a seat or done anything to make her feel less uncomfortable.

  He knew about their affair, he had told her contemptuously, and she remembered how darkly she had flushed at the implications of his comment. The first time they had made love had been in Scott’s bedroom. He had taken her up there quite innocently to show her the view. She had turned back from the window, dizzied by the panorama spread out in front of her, and Scott had caught her. After that events had run smoothly into one another until she couldn’t remember who had made the first betraying movement, who had touched whom first, or how they had arrived at Scott’s bed.

  Afterwards he had been anxious and filled with self-anger for taking her virginity, but Philippa had gloried in his possession of her, giving herself willingly and glad of the sharp pang of pain which meant she was his and his alone. It was true that his response to her had rather overwhelmed her. He had always seemed so strong and sure and it was startling to discover that her touch could make him tremble, that his body could riot out of control; that his need for her could make his voice raw and hungry and that his body could over-rule his mind.

  ‘Now you’ll have to marry me,’ he had told her in deep satisfaction, ‘and your aunt will have to give her permission.…’

  She smiled sadly, coming to with a start to realise that Simon was watching her curiously. ‘Go on,’ he pressed, ‘what happened when Scott’s grandfather sent for you?’

  ‘He told me that he wanted Scott to marry the daughter of a friend of his,’ Philppa told him calmly. ‘This man was very rich and had promised that if Scott married his daughter he would give him enough money to restore and run Garston. Scott didn’t know anything about it, but his grandfather knew how much he loved the house and believed that if I wasn’t there to distract him he would soon turn to Mary.’

  ‘But how did he make you agree? Why didn’t you tell my father what he had said?’

  Philippa sighed. How could she explain to Simon how she had felt, wanting Scott and yet knowing that if she married him she would be depriving him of his birthright; she would be saddling him with the double burden of a wife and an invalid mother. And then she hadn’t known about Simon.

  ‘Try to understand, Simon,’ she begged her son. ‘Your father would have married me, he wanted to even before… we… but he was in a difficult position. His mother was totally dependent on him, his grandfather was threatening to disinherit him which he could quite easily have done. I didn’t realise then about you, and I felt that I just couldn’t allow him to throw everything away because of me.…’

  ‘If you had known about me would you have changed your mind?’ Simon asked her gravely. Philippa sighed, reaching out and taking his hand and for once he did not withdraw. ‘No. In fact.…’ She might as well tell him the whole truth. ‘Scott wouldn’t believe me when I told him it was over between us, and then I found out about you. I was desperate, Simon, I knew if Scott ever guessed I was carrying his child he would insist on marrying me. He had just left university… he had no job, and I knew he wanted to study computer technology, so I… so I told him that there was someone else and that I was having this other man’s child.’

  Simon’s face was as white as her own. In silence they stared at one another and for the first time Philippa reflected on what she had cost her son in her attempts to protect his father. Even now she could still remember that final scene—vividly. Scott had come to the cottage, furiously angry at her refusal to see or speak to him. ‘Cut it out, Philippa,’ he had stormed at her. ‘I know damned well how you feel about me… I was your lover.…’

  ‘That means nothing.’ She had said the words more on impulse than anything else, totally unprepared for the way his face drained of blood, for the way he looked at her, his pride stripped to the bone, his love for her darkening his eyes with pain.

  ‘Dear God, you can’t mean that,’ he had whispered, ‘you don’t know what you’re saying.’

  ‘Of course I do.’ She had seen then what she must do, and had played her part with a recklessness born of sheer desperation. ‘You haven’t been my only lover, Scott,’ she taunted. ‘Just my first.…’

  ‘You’re lying.…’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Prove it to me.’ His voice had been a whiplash of pain and agony, and she had had to close her eyes against her need to give in to tell him everything, knowing that if she did so he would leave Garston. ‘All right… I’ve been having an affair with someone, and I’m having his child.’

  Dear God, even now she could feel the reverberations of her announcement; she could almost feel the quality of the deep silence that followed, Scott’s bitter, ‘Who?’ throwing her off-guard so that she snatched the first name she could think of, Geoff Rivers; the local Lothario son of a wealthy businessman who streaked through the village at the wheel of his scarlet Ferrari.

  ‘Him?’ His face and voice had tortured her. ‘Dear God, how could you…?’

  ‘Quite easily, actually.’ She had tossed her head, wondering why he didn’t know she was crying inside, wondering why he didn’t come to her and say ‘I know you’re lying, you could never give yourself to anyone but me, and nothing matters but that we’re together, nothing.…’

  But he didn’t, he simply stood there and condemned her with his eyes watching her with such contempt that she had wanted to die. ‘And to think I was prepared to defy my grandfather, to give up Garston for you.’

  ‘We’ve both had a lucky escape, then, haven’t we?’ She had tossed her head again, aching inside with anguish but refusing to give in to it. ‘I thought you were fun, Scott, but you’re not.…’

  ‘Fun? Is that why you went to Rivers? Well go to him again and try telling him about his bastard, I’ll bet he won’t be much “fun” then.’

  He had left then, and she had only waited until he had gone to give way to her tears. Later that day an envelope had come to her from his grandfather. When she opened it there had been five hundred pounds in cash inside. She remembered the acute feeling of nausea which had stormed over her even now. She had torn the notes up and sent them back, and then she had packed her clothes leaving only a brief note of explanation for her aunt which simply told her that she was pregnant. That had been the last contact she had had with anyone from Garston until her aunt’s death.

  ‘Did you really love each other?’ Simon looked pale and uncertain.

  ‘Very much,’ she assured her son. He might not have the security of legitimacy, of knowing the warmth and love of a real family, but at least she would not rob him of the knowledge that he had been conceived in love. ‘That was why I left him, Simon, because I loved him so much, and that is why he was so angry with me when he came here, because he loved me and he thought I had betrayed him with another man.’

  ‘But you didn’t, and he didn’t marry that Mary,’ Simon told her, adding, ‘I know he didn’t because Rob Harrison told me that he wasn’t married and that he’d only just come back to live here. He was talking about him you see and when he said his name I recognised it, and I wanted to know more.…’

  Philippa’s heart ached. Simon had known who his father was and yet he had never talked to her about him, just as she had never mentioned Scott to him.

  ‘Do you still love him?’ She saw the hope building up in Simon’s eyes and shook her head, hating herself for what she must do. ‘I don’t think so, Simon. It was all a long time ago.’

  ‘But he might still love you,’ Simon pressed
. ‘He isn’t married. If you told him about me?’

  Poor Simon, how could she explain? ‘He wouldn’t believe me, Simon, he’s changed. He hates me now.’

  ‘But he wants us to stay here. I heard him say so.’ Simon looked at her stubbornly.

  ‘Not because he loves me. If anything he hates me. I hurt him very badly when I left, Simon,’ she told him steadily, ‘and when people hurt us we want to hurt them back, you know that.’

  ‘If he wants to hurt you he couldn’t have loved you all that much in the first place.…’

  Unwittingly Simon had put his finger on the small ache that still lived inside her and which had grown to mammoth proportions whilst she listened to Scott’s bitterly vitriolic comments. Had Scott ever really loved her as she had loved him or had he simply convinced himself that he had because she was there and they were both lonely?

  What did it matter now? It was all in the past, and the gentle caring man she remembered no longer existed.

  ‘If you hadn’t ridden that bike illegally we wouldn’t have to stay here,’ Philippa pointed out dryly, ‘What were you doing?’

  ‘I managed to fix it and Tommy offered me a ride for doing it. He said that no one ever used that road, and that it was perfectly safe. They called me chicken when I refused.’

  He shrugged thin boyish shoulders, narrow in depth despite their width, the childish ribs clearly defined beneath his thin t-shirt. He grew so quickly, already out of the jeans and t-shirts she had bought only three months ago. He looked pale, too, compared with the village children, she had noticed, and she remembered what his headmaster had said about him doing better in a small school.

  ‘I’d like to stay here.’ He looked at her guilelessly, but Philippa wasn’t deceived.

  ‘We don’t have much option,’ she told him dryly.

  ’No, I wonder why he wants you to stay?’

  So that he can humiliate me and make me suffer as he once did, Philippa could have told him, but she didn’t want to burden Simon with her own dark thoughts. She could tell that he was fascinated by the subject of Scott and could she really blame him. The discovery of his father’s existence was no doubt a heady experience, and she warned dampeningly, ‘Don’t get any silly ideas, Simon, and please promise me that you won’t tell anyone that Scott is your father.’ She saw his face and said gently, ‘It’s for your sake as much as mine.’

  ‘Because you think he won’t want me?’

  ‘Something like that.’ How could she explain again that she doubted that Scott would believe him. ‘It’s all in the past now and better forgotten.’

  ‘But I’m not in the past. I’m here and he’s my father.’

  ‘Simon.…’

  ‘Oh, it’s all right, I won’t say anything. I’m going to bed.’

  He stamped upstairs, but not before she had seen the quick sheen of tears in his eyes. Dear God, if she stayed here what was it going to do to her son? But what option did she have? If she tried to leave she knew that Scott would have no compunction at all about carrying out his threat. There was no way she could afford to pay for the damage to his car, and she shuddered a little as she remembered Simon telling her how Scott had had to swerve into the tree to avoid hitting him. Simon was lucky that he wasn’t lying in hospital right now, and she only hoped he appreciated that fact.

  She was up early, sleep being impossible, and sat down to write some letters. Her flat she could easily sub-let, but for how long? She had no idea how long Scott intended to keep her here. At the back of her mind, only half acknowledged, lay the fact that Simon now knew who his father was and had made it clear to her that if it were possible he would like to form a relationship with him. She didn’t pretend it was going to be easy—the chances were that if Scott did discover the truth and believe it he would still reject Simon, but did she have the right to deprive Simon of that one chance of getting close to his father? And who knew, in discovering the truth Scott might find a release from the burden of bitterness he obviously still carried around with him.

  There was a telephone in the cottage, mercifully still connected, and she used it to phone her boss and explain that she wasn’t coming back. As she had expected he was shocked and inclined to protest, but in the end gave way, knowing that she was right when she pointed out that there were at least half-a-dozen other girls in the firm who had the potential to take her place.

  ‘Best secretary I’ve ever had,’ he grumbled when she explained that she had decided to stay in Yorkshire. ‘But if you’ve made up your mind—–’

  ‘Simon wants to stay and—I’ve been offered this job.’

  ‘With Computex, you say? Umm, excellent firm, doing very well right now and they’ve managed to fight off two takeover bids very successfully. Who will you be working for did you say?’

  Philippa hadn’t, but she knew Sir Nigel well enough to know when he wasn’t going to be put off. ‘Scott Garston,’ she told him.

  ‘Umm. He’s the Chairman and brain behind the company, isn’t he? Think I met him once. Tall dark chap, sharp as a knife, but always looks unhappy. Shouldn’t like to get on the wrong side of him, so I suppose I’d better let you go.… Don’t want him making a takeover bid for Merrit Plastics.’

  Philippa laughed dutifully, Sir Nigel was notorious for his shrewd business sense and she doubted that anyone would be foolhardy enough to dare to even think about taking over his precious company, much less Scott, who surely had enough on his plate with Computex. She was remembering more about the company now that the first shock of seeing him had died away. There had been a long report on them in the financial press recently, although it hadn’t mentioned Scott by name.

  Simon came downstairs just as she replaced the receiver. He looked tired and pale and avoided her eyes as he found a packet of cereal and poured some into his bowl.

  ‘We’re staying then,’ he said, betraying that he had overheard her conversation, his voice telling her that she still wasn’t wholly forgiven.

  ‘It’s what you wanted isn’t it?’ Philippa asked dryly. ‘I’ll have to ring your school… it’s just as well it’s half term at the moment. I’ll have to go and see the headmaster here, see if there’s a place for you.’

  ‘Where will we live? Here?’

  Philippa glanced round the cottage, her heart lifting. Could she persuade Scott to let them keep the cottage? Her spirits plummeted swiftly as she heard the sound of a car outside, not the Rolls this time but a bright red Ferrari. Her face burned as she watched Scott climb out of it and come towards the door.

  ‘I see you do remember it,’ he said coldly when she opened the door. ‘Rivers owned one didn’t he, far more impressive than the bike that was my only transport at the time—either that or grandfather’s old Bentley. You should have stuck with me, Philippa.’ He saw Simon sitting at the table and broke off to glance at him.

  ‘Simon and I were just wondering if you’d allow us to stay in the cottage while I’m working for you?’

  His mouth twisted and her heart sank as she saw the contempt darkening his eyes. ‘What for?’ He said it quietly so that Simon couldn’t hear. ‘So that you can entertain your lovers discreetly? No. I’ve already promised this place to someone else, and besides, I want you where I can see you Philippa. I wonder what they’ll say in the village when they know you’re working for me?’

  ‘Probably simply that I was lucky to get the job,’ Philippa said lightly. ‘If Simon and I aren’t to stay here then.…’

  ‘You’ll live up at the Hall with me. That’s what I’ve come here for, to take you both up there, and of course to make sure you haven’t run out on me.’

  ‘Mum, I’ve finished my breakfast. I’ll go and finish packing.’

  ‘Not very like Rivers, is he?’ Scott asked derisively. ‘He was blond, like you if I remember. Did you ever stop to think that we might have had a child?’ he added on a savage whisper as Simon went upstairs, ‘but then you didn’t want my child did you? I couldn’t give you all the thi
ngs he could. But I would have given you marriage.…’

  ‘Your grandfather would have disinherited you.’

  ‘Do you think that would have mattered to me? I loved you, damn you,’ he snarled. ‘And anyway, it would have made no difference. I left shortly after you had gone, and he did disinherit me.’ He saw her expression and laughed bitterly. ‘I had to buy Garston back from the National Trust. They were only too glad to get rid of it, it isn’t old enough to be of much historic value and it’s costly to maintain.’

  ‘Where did you go?’ Why was she asking him this? Why was she tormenting herself in this way?

  ‘To America. I had a godfather there. He loaned me the money to start the company. I planned to take you with me, but you didn’t know that did you? I had it all planned. He’d loaned me enough money for mother’s operation and she was going to go and live with a friend, you and I were going to make a new life for ourselves in the States, I knew there was no way my grandfather was going to let me have Garston, no way at all. Once I let him see how much I wanted it, he was determined to keep it from me. I used to think there was nothing of him in me, but I learned differently when you tricked me, I learned the hard way how the iron enters a man’s soul, corroding him with bitterness. He punished me by withholding from me what he thought I most wanted; take care that I don’t ever find out what you treasure most, Philippa.’

  ‘God, you’re hard.…’

  ‘I’m what you made me,’ he corrected cruelly, ‘Do you feel proud of your handiwork? Does it give you a thrill to know that you and you alone are responsible for what I am today? When you left I had nothing.…