The Tintern Treasure by Kate Sedley Page B

set out to visit Cloister Yard for the second time, hoping that I was early enough to catch Juliette Gerrish at home before she decided to avoid me by going out for the day. But as it happened, this was not her intention. She opened the door herself, neatly dressed, and invited me in.
    â€˜Hallo, Roger,’ she said quietly. ‘I suppose I always knew there would be a day of reckoning.’
    I didn’t answer for a moment. I couldn’t. She was obviously extremely ill.
    She was still a short woman, of course, and she still, judging by her eyebrows, hid copper-coloured curls beneath her coif. But the plump face, once so full of animation, was thin to the point of emaciation, the bones clearly delineated under the grey-toned skin. The roguish brown eyes, which had once invited with a twinkling glance, were now devoid of any expression except pain. They stared wearily up at me, but seemed to look through, rather than at me.
    â€˜Juliette?’ I said cautiously.
    She smiled faintly, but did not trouble herself to answer, merely holding the door a little wider.
    â€˜Come in.’
    I stepped past her into the stone-flagged passageway, then stood aside for her to precede me into the dining parlour, where wine and a plate of little sweet cakes had been laid out ready on the table.
    Again, that travesty of a smile. ‘I remembered that you were always hungry. Put your pack and cudgel in the corner, then please’ – she indicated a chair with carved arms – ‘sit down.’
    I did as she bade me.
    From somewhere in the house a child wailed. Juliette, in the act of pouring wine into one of the mazers, glanced up sharply, then paused, listening. But there were no further cries and she nodded to herself as though satisfied.
    â€˜That was my son, Luke,’ she said. ‘Jane must have settled him.’
    â€˜You once told me that you couldn’t have children,’ I accused her.
    She handed me the mazer and offered me the plate of doucettes, which I refused, then sat down opposite me in another carved armchair, taking a great gulp of her own wine as if it were a restorative, as perhaps it was.
    â€˜It wasn’t a lie,’ she pleaded. ‘Not a deliberate one. I truly believed I couldn’t. My husband and I tried often enough, but I never conceived. And’ – a faint tinge of colour crept into her emaciated cheeks – ‘there were other men before you. Never was there any sign of a child. Nor did you, with all your virility, father one on me.’
    It was my turn to feel uncomfortable. I could feel the hot blood creeping up my neck. I took refuge in anger. ‘But that didn’t prevent you trying to foist your bastard on me, though, did it?’ When she didn’t answer immediately, I went on loudly, ‘My wife left me because of your lies.’ I slammed the by now half-full mazer down on the table, making her jump. ‘Oh, yes, she left me and took two of our children with her.’ No need to explain that Nicholas wasn’t mine. ‘I had to go after her, to London. Fortunately, for the greater part of last year, I was out of England, first in Scotland, then in France. And it was the spring of the year before that that you and I . . .’ I broke off, floundering, resuming lamely, ‘. . . that I was in Gloucester. Fortunately, although no thanks to you, Adela believed me.’
    â€˜I’m glad,’ Juliette said simply.
    I stared at her. ‘Is that all you’ve got to say? You’re glad! No explanation as to why you tried to wreck my marriage? Nothing?’
    I could barely speak, I was so choked with rage. I pushed the mazer away from me, slopping the wine. I felt I couldn’t take another drop to drink beneath her roof and, without realizing it, I was on my feet, towering over her. It was only when I saw the flicker of fear in her eyes that I took a grip on myself and my emotions. I sat down again