Nancy had chattered on about Jackie and the school, about their friends in India and had repeated warm messages from Andrew. She’d left it until the last moments before the walk ended to say what he really wanted to hear. “I’m so sorry, Joe. I thought you’d have forgotten. If you’d ever realised. But it was bad of me. I should have told you in case you were concerned. He’s not your son, you know. He’s Andrew’s. My doctor told me that this does happen. A childless woman has an affair and soon after, a baby is born. But a careful study of the dates reveals the unbelievable has happened. One of Nature’s little jokes? When she goes on to produce further children, there can be no more doubt. The husband is the father.”
And into his stunned silence: “Jack thinks the world of you, Joe. We’d all be very happy if you would consider visiting him at the weekends. For manly pursuits—you know, swimming, riding, shooting. The stuff an English gent has to know.”
Joe had fled back to Lydia’s and drunk a bottle of whisky. He made a raging and drunken vow that if he ever saw Nancy Drummond again he’d push her off a cliff. Marcus had caught his glass as he dropped it and agreed to help him do just that.
And, well into April in the Easter holidays—under pressure from Jackie, Nancy admitted with a tinkling laugh—she’d accepted Lydia’s invitation to bring her son to spend part of the holiday with them.
The few days had felt more like a month with Dorcas about the place, dark eyes seeing more than they should. Still, he’d had a good time teaching Jackie to ride and play badminton. Sod the woman, he’d be a devoted uncle. Not difficult.
Dorcas gave him time with his thoughts then said quietly, “Jackie is your son, Joe, isn’t he?”
“No. He’s not. I had thought so. I mean, there was every chance that he was, but Nancy explained exactly why he couldn’t be.”
Painfully, awkwardly, he gave her Nancy’s account.
Dorcas considered it and came to a decision. “Then she’s mistaken or deliberately deceitful. I’d guess deceitful. She tricked you into paternity, why shouldn’t she be tricking you out of it? One sees why—she wouldn’t want you to have any claims on the boy. And you can’t argue with her, of course you can’t. But you need to know.”
“I have to believe what the lad’s mother tells me!”
“No, you don’t,” said Dorcas stolidly. “She’s a lying hussy, I thought we’d established that. Anyway, there’s proof she can’t suppress. A proof from Nature, and I’d trust Nature before Nancy Drummond.”
“What are you talking about, Dorcas? You know nothing of this.”
“I use my eyes and my common sense. Have you ever noticed how Jackie, when he’s worried—and that’s been quite frequently over the past weeks—has a gesture he can’t suppress? Not that it would occur to him to try. He smooths down his left eyebrow with the knuckles of his left hand. Like this. It’s a self-soothing gesture.”
“I’d noticed. When he’s agitated. Yes. Doesn’t every boy?”
“No, they don’t! The only other person I’ve seen doing that is you, Joe.”
“Me?”
“It’s so automatic you don’t even notice. I used to think it was because your brow wound was itching, but it wasn’t. You do it when you’re upset.” She turned his troubled face towards her and peered at him.
“Like now. Go on, Joe, you know you’re longing to do it.” Her lips curved into a teasing smile. She was so close he could smell peppermint toothpaste on her breath.
“I beg your pardon?”
“Scratch your eyebrow. You’re as tense as a bowstring, but you can’t release the tension because I’m sitting on your left hand.”
“You don’t think the two might be connected?”
“You can’t use the right. The family trait doesn’t allow for that. I think it has most probably a genetic origin, passed down the generations like blue eyes or pigeon toes.”
Joe swallowed, closing his mind to the shaft of hope that stabbed suddenly through him. “I don’t believe a word of it. That’s the sort of mumbo-jumbo that gets psychology a bad name. But it’s strange, he felt like my son. Didn’t look the least little bit like me, but I think I knew, and Nancy’s denial didn’t make me sad and disappointed. It made me want to wring her neck.”
The thought seemed to cheer Dorcas. She patted his arm encouragingly. “Glad to see that specter from the past howling off back into the woodwork. But look, Joe, no need to indulge in whimsicality. Do a bit of detective work! Women always think men know nothing about the cycle of generation and pregnancy and birth—”
“There’s a reason for that.”
“Well, it’s time you found out. Science is on the march, and you must keep in step. Dates, Joe! I can’t possibly help with this but I’m sure you kept a diary of some kind in 1922. Blushing? I see you did! Well, just work out the date, ask Jack the date of his birthday, and I can tell you whether you can be excluded from the equation—or not. It’s not everything but.…”
“I know about collecting evidence.” Joe smiled. “Never investigated myself before, but I’ll do what you suggest.”
“Poor Joe. You must be in turmoil—family pressures on one side, heavy court cases looming on the other, the enquiry coming up, and political storms brewing. You don’t know which way to look. I expect you’ve called me out here for a good reason.”
“A reason?”
“Yes. Time, I think, for a bit of distraction. Like the great crested grebes. When it all gets too much, just ignore it, and go off and find some seeds to peck. Stop fidgeting!”
She put up a hand and turned his face towards her. The dark eyes were shining with an emotion he’d never encountered before. Joe still hesitated to put a name on it, but whatever it was, it was undisguised, unveiled, unchallenging and totally hypnotic.
“You won’t yell for help, will you, if I put my arms round you, hug you close and give you a proper kiss?” she asked.
“Great heavens, Dorcas! Do you know how? Are you sure you want to? I have to ask.”
“Yes, I do, and yes, I do, and no you most certainly don’t. I’ve been meaning to for years. Now, don’t be such a weed! Lie back, take a deep breath, and think of England in springtime.”
Joe took a deep breath, several deep breaths, but remained sitting upright.
“No. Sorry, Dorcas. I can’t. High jinks in a contraption like this at my age? It could all end in shrieks of laughter. Look, I sent the men off to repair the barn roof. If you’ll take a stroll with me down to that patch of ancient woodland, you can whisper in my ear, and I’ll consider any indecent suggestions you care to make in perfect seclusion.”
“Ah! You know a bank whereon the wild thyme blows?”
“Wild garlic anyway. It’s growing very thickly this year. They say its scent is very invigorating.”
He stepped down and lifted her from the hammock. He held her tightly and kissed the top of her head. “Sorry, Dorcas. It’s taken me rather a long time to see it. I’m still struggling with the idea that you might love me. It’s a very strange thing, but I begin to understand when I look at it with the Bard’s eyes—as young Gosling would say:
So we grew together
Like to a double cherry, seeming parted,
But yet an union in partition:
Two lovely berries moulded on one stem.
He grinned. “Well, one lovely berry, anyway. The other’s a bit bashed about.”
“Joe, can we leave the bards out of this? I like a man who does his courting in his own words. Or no words at all.”