The Deserving Mistress

‘Typecast, hmm.’ The more outspoken March was the one to finally speak, grey-green hazel eyes gleaming with rueful laughter.

‘What—?’

‘You—’

Both May and April began to speak at once, both stopping abruptly to turn and look at each other before turning sharply back to look at January as she spoke.

‘We know April is our mother, May,’ she said reassuringly. ‘We’ve always known,’ she added with a shy glance in April’s direction.

‘Well, since we were old enough to watch one of your films on the television or go to the cinema,’ March put in dryly.

Jude wasn’t sure whether it was May or April who looked the more stunned by this last statement.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

‘I SIMPLY can’t believe that the two of you have always known the truth.’ May looked at March and January exasperatedly.

The eight of them had adjourned to the impartiality of Jude’s hotel suite after the bluntness of January and March’s admission, the four men having gravitated to the other end of this vast sitting-room, chatting away quite amiably as they sat and enjoyed the champagne, at the same time leaving the four women to the privacy they so desperately needed—even from the menfolk in their lives.

Although May wasn’t too sure about the so-called ‘man in her life’, had no idea what she and Jude were going to do about their ‘engagement’ when all of this was over…

March gave a shrug. ‘You and Dad always seemed so sensitive about the subject, so we just never mentioned it.’ She turned to April. ‘But we both knew the first time we saw one of your films. You don’t forget your own mother,’ she added huskily.

‘Certainly not,’ January confirmed forcefully. ‘We’ve been so quietly proud of you,’ she told April shyly.

May had to blink back the tears—again—at this further admission of her sisters’ pact of silence concerning their mother, and she could see that April was visibly moved, too. Don’t hurt them again, she silently willed the other woman. Please!

April swallowed hard, her face pale. ‘I—’

‘A little angry, too, of course,’ March put in sharply. ‘After all, we may have been proud of you, but we would much rather have had you at home. With us,’ she added gruffly, her usually abrupt manner shaken for a moment.

April closed her eyes briefly, the tears escaping down the paleness of her cheeks, clinging to her lashes as she looked at them all once again. ‘Believe it or not, I would much rather have been at home with you all, too—’

‘But—’

‘With you all,’ April repeated firmly over the top of May’s protest, holding her gaze steadily as she continued to speak. ‘I loved the three of you, but I loved your father very much, too.’

Now May was completely thrown, had never thought— But Jude had pointed out to her only last night that April had never remarried; maybe she had never done so because she still loved their father…?

April gave a heavy sigh. ‘I can see I shall have to try and explain it all to you—except I don’t really understand it all myself.’ Her hands twisted together in her lap. ‘I was eighteen when I married your father, nineteen when May was born, and March and January obviously came along shortly after that, too,’ she added affectionately. ‘We were such a happy family.’ She frowned. ‘Everything was perfect. And then—I belonged to the local amateur dramatic society, was spotted by an agent, and offered a role in a play then touring the country, but ultimately arriving in London for a six-week run.’

So like her with the film role David had offered, May realised, also acknowledging the lure she had felt to accept the offer despite the upheaval it would have created on the farm. Had her mother felt that same pull, despite having a husband and children?

April grimaced. ‘James wasn’t happy about the situation, naturally. And for weeks I accepted that, knew that it wasn’t really practical, that I had responsibilities.’

As May had realised she had responsibilities to March and January…

But she had acted on those responsibilities—their mother so obviously hadn’t.

She gave Jude a less than confident smile as he looked across at her with frowning concern; it was still too early in this conversation to know where it was going exactly…

‘I so wanted to do it, you see,’ April acknowledged huskily. ‘I was only twenty-four, and the chance to act, to go to London—it was like a fairy tale come true.’ She gave a sigh. ‘So I spoke to James about it again, explained that I could travel home on Sundays, that we could get someone in to look after you all with the money I would earn, that it would only be for a matter of weeks,

that once I had done this thing it would be out of my system.’

May knew the aching need April was talking about, had felt it herself these last few weeks, a mixture of excitement at the prospect of succeeding, with disappointment that, because of the circumstances, she would never know the answer to that.

April shrugged. ‘I pleaded with James to just let me have this one chance. He—he gave me an ultimatum, said that if I went out the door with the idea of acting in the play, that I would never come back in it.’ She gave a shake of her head, her face white now. ‘I didn’t think he meant it.’