The Secret Father

‘Me too,’ she responded faintly. It was a bolt out of the blue. Why didn’t I think of that? she asked herself incredulously. Her knees showed an alarming tendency to buckle and she slid into a chair.

‘I thought it might be something like that,’ he mused openly.

Lindy stared at him with horror. It had just slipped out in the shock of facing a complication that she honestly hadn’t even considered. Why had she needed him to alert her to the possible consequences of last night? It should have been the first thing she’d thought about. What had been the first thing that had occurred to her this morning? She gave a tiny groan—she’d been too busy keeping her hands off Sam’s sleeping form to be able to think anything, barring how glorious he looked and how good it was to wake up cradled in his arms.

‘You couldn’t possibly know.’ She dragged a trembling hand through her soft hair.

‘As you didn’t see fit to confide in me, no. I only had vague suspicions.’

‘The way you confided in me about Ben?’

‘I would have if you’d given me the chance,’ he reminded her grimly. ‘You didn’t trust me,’ he added tautly.

‘There were reasons why I—’ She broke off and buried her face in her hands. ‘It’s too late now. I know you’ll never forgive me.’

‘Did you forgive me for accusing you of talking to the gutter press about Ben?’

‘You know I didn’t do that?’ She gave a smile of sheer relief. ‘I’m so glad.’

‘You were right, it was Magda. She’s a crazy, screwed-up female and I was a mug to give her a job,’ he said bluntly.

‘It’s a pity nobody saw fit to warn me about her.’

With an inclination of his head, Sam acknowledged this. ‘Her husband’s a nice guy; I’ve worked with him several times. A while back she had a drug problem and with his help she kicked it. Tom asked me to keep an eye on her while he was away working. Like a fool I said yes. She turned up on my doorstep one night with some story about a guy stalking her. If I’d known at the time she had a history of inventing that kind of thing I’d have saved myself a whole lot of grief, but I was sucked in.

‘I took her along to the police and they seemed pretty casual about the whole thing, which, given her history, wasn’t surprising. She seemed so terrified I let her stay a couple of nights, until Tom got back. She had some lame excuse when I caught her going through my desk, and I started to realise she wasn’t all she seemed. She’d read a whole bunch of letters I’d kept from Marilyn and found photos of Ben. She gave me her word that she’d never breathe a word and, after a few tense months, I didn’t give it any more thought. Fortunately, Tom believed me when I denied I’d been sleeping with her.’

‘She told him that!’

‘What, no lynch mob?’ he taunted wearily.

Lindy coloured. She deserved that. ‘No.’ Her trust had come tragically late. She could now see that Sam Rourke was one of the most honest, decent men she had come across—or ever would. The words ‘honest’ and ‘decent’ had an old-fashioned ring to them, but they suited him. He was no saint to be put on a pedestal, but that wasn’t what she wanted. If she hadn’t allowed the past to haunt her, she might have been more objective when Magda had made her accusations. Things might have been very different.

‘The fact she wasn’t the only house guest I had at the time helped,’ Sam continued. ‘Besides, people—present company excepted—find my sincerity irresistible.’

The self-derisive twist of his lips made her wince. ‘It was Tom who asked me to consider her for the job this time. He said she’d been in therapy and was completely rehabilitated. When he found the cheque she’d got from the paper he managed to squeeze the truth from her. He got straight on the phone to me. Poor guy…’ He shook his head pityingly. ‘He was devastated, but he’ll stand by her. At least until she lets him down the next time.’

‘Why?’ Lindy asked wonderingly.

‘He loves her.’

The intensity of his stare made her shiver. Was there a message in those blue eyes, or was it just her over-active imagination at work?

‘Incidentally, I managed to ruin that little rat reporter’s exclusive,’ he told her with grim satisfaction.

‘How did you do that?’

‘I advised Marilyn to give the story to a reputable rag and to beat the worm to the punchline. She was reluctant, but at least she had control over what they printed. These people are experts at presenting the truth in a distorted fashion. Not an ideal situation, but the best I could do under the circumstances. It limited the damage, but fate stepped in and kept us in the news,’ he observed wryly. ‘If I hadn’t been such a mug about Magda, none of this would have happened.’