prepared to offer the man a chance, then why should anyone else?’
‘He sounds like a man with integrity.’
‘Yes, he was.’ Her eyes shone with passion. ‘Oh, he had his flaws of course, as we all do, but you can be proud of him.’
‘I’m sorry?’ For several seconds Mariner lost his emotional equilibrium.
She smiled. ‘You may be a police officer, but that’s not your interest in my son is it? I know who you are. I’ve only got to look at you. You’re my grandson, aren’t you? Now, would you join me in a glass of sherry?’
‘When did you find out about me?’ Mariner asked. He brought across two glasses, poured from a cut-glass decanter, taking the first mouthful, and trying not to grimace at the cloying taste. He’d been tempted to ask about alternatives, but doubted that Eleanor Ryland would recognise real ale if it came out of a hole in the ground. The dog, after his period of excitement, had flopped onto the Chinese rug at their feet.
‘Oh, I’ve known about you right from the beginning, before you were born. Doing the right thing by your mother was something Geoffrey agonised about for weeks, years even, and yes, he confided in me.’
‘So he did consider making a go of it with my mother.’
‘He wanted to marry her and do what he felt was his duty. It was your mother, along with Charles, my husband, who between them managed to talk him out of it.’
‘Charles disapproved?’
‘It wasn’t so much that. It was more that he had plans for Geoffrey. Charles was a frustrated politician, though he’d never pursued his ambition further than the local council, and when Geoffrey expressed an interest early on Charles seized on it. He wanted Geoffrey to have the best possible chance of success, and having to support a wife and child so young would not have helped.’
‘He married six years later.’
‘Those years made a world of difference. I know that’s probably hard for you to believe, and I’ll understand if you choose not to, after all, there’s absolutely no reason why you should trust the somewhat biased opinion of a stranger. But that was really the way it was. Your mother was a remarkable young woman and wholly unselfish. She knew that Geoffrey had a promising career ahead of him. Geoffrey was only nineteen and still at university when you were conceived, and while he and your mother had a certain fondness for one another, neither pretended to be in love. I hope that in time you can come to accept it as the truth.’
What she said rang true with what Mariner had read. ‘There were some letters, from my mother to Sir Geoffrey,’ he said. ‘They convey more or less the same thing. And it makes sense of what I know. I never remember Rose being bitter about our situation. I suppose I’d always thought that she’d had time to get used to it, but if she had harboured resentment I’m sure it would have emerged somehow.’
‘Your mother was a pragmatist, ahead of her time.’
‘You said “was”, so you know that she died last year.’
‘Geoffrey told me. He saw an announcement in The Times .’
So he had seen it. ‘I put it there in the hope that he might show up.’
‘He almost did. He was devastated by the news. But he and Diana were having problems. Diana was unwell again; the past coming back to haunt them in other ways, so he didn’t feel that he could. Did your mother marry?’
‘No. She stayed single.’
‘These days of course no one would bat an eyelid at your situation, but it must have been hard for both of you.’
Sympathy wasn’t what Mariner had been expecting and he was touched. ‘It’s had its moments,’ he said. ‘It got more difficult as I got older. Our relationship became very intense and I left home when I was seventeen because I couldn’t stand it any more. There were a lot of years when my mother and I weren’t close.’ Mariner rarely spoke about any of this to anyone and it surprised him that it surfaced so easily.
‘I’m
‘He sounds like a man with integrity.’
‘Yes, he was.’ Her eyes shone with passion. ‘Oh, he had his flaws of course, as we all do, but you can be proud of him.’
‘I’m sorry?’ For several seconds Mariner lost his emotional equilibrium.
She smiled. ‘You may be a police officer, but that’s not your interest in my son is it? I know who you are. I’ve only got to look at you. You’re my grandson, aren’t you? Now, would you join me in a glass of sherry?’
‘When did you find out about me?’ Mariner asked. He brought across two glasses, poured from a cut-glass decanter, taking the first mouthful, and trying not to grimace at the cloying taste. He’d been tempted to ask about alternatives, but doubted that Eleanor Ryland would recognise real ale if it came out of a hole in the ground. The dog, after his period of excitement, had flopped onto the Chinese rug at their feet.
‘Oh, I’ve known about you right from the beginning, before you were born. Doing the right thing by your mother was something Geoffrey agonised about for weeks, years even, and yes, he confided in me.’
‘So he did consider making a go of it with my mother.’
‘He wanted to marry her and do what he felt was his duty. It was your mother, along with Charles, my husband, who between them managed to talk him out of it.’
‘Charles disapproved?’
‘It wasn’t so much that. It was more that he had plans for Geoffrey. Charles was a frustrated politician, though he’d never pursued his ambition further than the local council, and when Geoffrey expressed an interest early on Charles seized on it. He wanted Geoffrey to have the best possible chance of success, and having to support a wife and child so young would not have helped.’
‘He married six years later.’
‘Those years made a world of difference. I know that’s probably hard for you to believe, and I’ll understand if you choose not to, after all, there’s absolutely no reason why you should trust the somewhat biased opinion of a stranger. But that was really the way it was. Your mother was a remarkable young woman and wholly unselfish. She knew that Geoffrey had a promising career ahead of him. Geoffrey was only nineteen and still at university when you were conceived, and while he and your mother had a certain fondness for one another, neither pretended to be in love. I hope that in time you can come to accept it as the truth.’
What she said rang true with what Mariner had read. ‘There were some letters, from my mother to Sir Geoffrey,’ he said. ‘They convey more or less the same thing. And it makes sense of what I know. I never remember Rose being bitter about our situation. I suppose I’d always thought that she’d had time to get used to it, but if she had harboured resentment I’m sure it would have emerged somehow.’
‘Your mother was a pragmatist, ahead of her time.’
‘You said “was”, so you know that she died last year.’
‘Geoffrey told me. He saw an announcement in The Times .’
So he had seen it. ‘I put it there in the hope that he might show up.’
‘He almost did. He was devastated by the news. But he and Diana were having problems. Diana was unwell again; the past coming back to haunt them in other ways, so he didn’t feel that he could. Did your mother marry?’
‘No. She stayed single.’
‘These days of course no one would bat an eyelid at your situation, but it must have been hard for both of you.’
Sympathy wasn’t what Mariner had been expecting and he was touched. ‘It’s had its moments,’ he said. ‘It got more difficult as I got older. Our relationship became very intense and I left home when I was seventeen because I couldn’t stand it any more. There were a lot of years when my mother and I weren’t close.’ Mariner rarely spoke about any of this to anyone and it surprised him that it surfaced so easily.
‘I’m
Similar Books
