Camellia (46 page)

'There's always been something odd about you,' he spat at her. 'I don't want to sit down and talk. I want you to retract that malicious statement, then get out of here.'

'I will go if that's what you want.' She lifted her head in defiance. 'But not until I've told you the truth.'

He listened with his back to the window, arms crossed on his chest.

'If it wasn't for you coming on to me I would never have told you, or Magnus. I came to Oaklands two years ago to find out the truth, but I decided almost immediately that it would hurt too many people if I ever told him who I really was. Yesterday I told Magnus I wanted to leave and he wormed it out of me.'

'You bitch. You caused his stroke!' Nick lunged at her, as if to strike her.

Mel dodged away. 'Can't you understand that I love Magnus?' she shouted back at him. 'If it wasn't for you I would never have told him.'

'You flirted with me. You led me on!'

'Only that first night. I didn't know who you were then. Why do you think I've avoided you ever since, refused to go for a drink or even a walk? Have you any idea what torture it's been for me?'

'Why couldn't you have told me the truth?'

'How could I?' Tears of frustration rolled down her cheeks. 'I did everything I could to keep you at arm's length. I hoped and prayed you'd lose interest in me.'

'Why didn't you just slink out the way you came then? You bitch. You crept round the old man and then when you were tired of that you dropped your bombshell and gave him a stroke!'

'That's an evil thing to say.' She wanted to slap his face and make him listen. 'I tried to do the right thing by everyone. How can you even think I told him out of spite?'

'Was he disappointed his tart was dead? It must have made him feel ancient to find he'd outlived both his wife and mistress.'

'Stop it.' She rushed at him, pummelling him with her fists. 'You're turning it into something vicious.'

He caught her wrists, twisting them round till she cried out in pain, leaning forward and sneering at her. 'It is vicious. Did you convince him his legal children don't care about him? You've been so bloody clever. My sister was right about you all along. If Dad dies and I find you've got one penny I'll fight to make sure you never get it.'

She could see nothing but hate in his eyes now, as dark and venomous as the previous night's storm. The other side of his character, hinted at by himself, Mrs Downes and his father, was exposed: a man who had abused women, a selfish arrogant bully who pushed his way through life to get what he wanted.

She shook off his hands and backed away. 'Is money all you care about? I don't want anything of yours, Nick Osbourne. Since the day I met you I've had nothing but torture. If you loved your father half as much as I do you'd be praying for his recovery, not talking about his will.'

'Get out,' he screamed, taking a menacing step towards her. 'And if I ever hear you've said a word about this to anyone I'll drag you to hell and back.'

'You're quite safe,' she said as she brushed past him to the door. 'I wouldn't admit to anyone I had a brother like you.'

She flung the door open and ran upstairs, tears streaming down her face. She had to go now, for good.

There could be no tender farewells to all those people she had grown so fond of. Attempted explanations would only inflame the situation.

She stripped off her plain working dress, pulled on jeans and a sweater, then gathered together the barest essentials into one holdall. She didn't dare look round as she closed her door behind her for the last time. She'd had two years of happiness to which she wasn't entitled. Now she'd have to pay for them as an outcast.

Chapter Seventeen

The private room on the second floor of Bath General Hospital looked and smelled like a florist's shop. Baskets and vases of flowers filled the windowsill. The locker by Magnus's bed was almost hidden by a huge basket of fruit and a string along the wall held at least thirty get-well cards.

Magnus had stayed in a coma for almost thirty-six hours following his stroke. Although the doctor and nursing staff had continually reassured his children during that time, that this was quite normal, even they were surprised he'd suffered so little permanent damage when he finally came round. There was some paralysis down his left side, and his speech was slurred, but so far, five days since he regained consciousness, he seemed to be making an almost miraculous recovery.

Yet Magnus had aged dramatically in that short time. His skin had a yellow tinge, and it hung in loose folds under sunken eyes. The nurse had shaved off his beard and his rugged, square chin looked gaunt without the protective whiskers. Veins stood out like pieces of thick string on his hands.

Nick was sitting beside the bed looking through a newspaper. Gradually he became aware that his father was studying him and guessing what his next question would be, Nick attempted to forestall it.

'I'm getting really bored with all this Watergate business,' he said, closing the paper. 'How much longer are they going to harp on about it?'

'I couldn't care less if Richard Nixon is a mass-murderer, much less worry about scandals in the White House,' Magnus retorted with some difficulty. 'Stop treating me like an imbecile, Nick, and tell me why Mel hasn't been in to see me?'

Nick swallowed hard. Since he arrived back in Bath almost a week ago he felt as if he'd been through an emotional sandblaster: the fear that his father might die, the rage he felt towards him for having betrayed his mother, and his own sense of shame at the way he'd treated Mel. Worse still was trying to contain all this within him while he went about the business of hospital visiting and keeping things on an even keel back at Oaklands.

It had been reasonably easy while Magnus was still very sick to avoid any mention of Mel. He was only allowed one visitor at a time for just a few minutes and Stephen, Sophie and Nick had priority. All three of them had agreed for different reasons to say nothing about her departure until their father was stronger.

Part of Nick wanted to wound Magnus now, to call him all those names he'd muttered to himself during the long, sleepless nights of the past week. Yet the better part of him was overjoyed that his father had recovered enough to want to know what was going on back at the hotel.

'She's left, Dad.' He tried to sound casual. 'She went off the morning after you came in here.'

'Left!' Magnus's eyes seemed to come right out of his head as he struggled to sit up. 'She wouldn't have left while I was sick.'

Nick got up, put his hands on his father's shoulders and eased him down again. 'Don't get upset, Dad. We can manage perfectly well without her.'

Sophie had arrived at Oaklands just an hour after Mel's rapid departure and Nick found some small degree of comfort in listening to his sister's malicious theories. She'd decided that Mel had run off because she feared they might investigate her closely now Magnus was in hospital: Sophie intended to go through the account books with Stephen when he arrived and was convinced they would find evidence that Mel had been systematically conning their father into giving her vast sums of money.

In Nick's aggrieved state he found it easier to go along with his sister's ideas than to reveal the truth to her or Stephen. In the days that followed, he even found himself believing them at times.

But it hadn't taken long before everyone, even Sophie, realised what a valuable employee Mel had really been. Oaklands simply didn't run so smoothly without her, however hard Joan Downes tried to cope with the extra workload. That quiet, unruffled way Mel had of working disguised how many different jobs she'd taken onto her shoulders. She was the one who silently filled in where necessary, darting from helping to prepare guests' rooms, to providing an extra pair of hands in the kitchen, making a few sandwiches and a pot of tea for a new arrival, or doing stock checks in the bar. No one had ever noticed that she saw to the flower arrangements, until they saw them wilting once she had gone. Nor had they observed before that the cutlery gleamed because she polished it. And now smears remained on mirrors and windows, with everyone insisting it wasn't their job.

Nick's anger hadn't eased the nagging sorrow inside him, or his fear about what his father would say when he found out. He could see that Sophie's waspish remarks about Mel had divided the staff into two groups: Antoine and Mrs Downes stoutly refused to believe she was guilty of any wrong doing; but Sally and the other part-time staff were delighting in scandalous tittle-tattle.

Magnus looked up at his son and saw anger burning in his eyes. 'She told you didn't she? And you threw her out?'

'Yes,' Nick admitted. He was very glad his father's mind was still so sharp, but his expression made Nick feel like a louse. 'And if you weren't so damned ill I might hit you. How could you have let something like this happen? Never mind about your children's feelings. It's an insult to Mum.'

Magnus turned his head away. It was the first time he could recall being afraid to meet another man's eyes. Only a few years earlier he had lectured Nick about treating women with sensitivity and respect; now he would have to admit his own failings in that department.

'I'm so sorry you're hurt,' Magnus whispered. 'It was all such a long time ago. If I hadn't had the stroke I would've sat down and explained it all to you.'

'So it's true then?' Nick's voice rose an octave. He'd hung onto the slim hope that Mel had been lying.

'I wish for your sake I could deny it,' Magnus said. It was an effort to talk but he knew he must. 'But I can't, Nick. I did have a child by another woman, and although I'm not proud of myself for being unfaithful to your mother, I can't say I'm ashamed to find Mel is that daughter. But you must believe one thing. She didn't come to Oaklands to make mischief. She just wanted to get to know me. If I hadn't forced her hand she would've left without saying a word. I know now why she wanted to leave: she'd fallen in love with you and it was tearing her apart.'

Nick's mouth fell open in shock. All this week he'd seen himself and his father as the victims, and Mel as a parasite who had preyed on them both. Now for the first time it dawned on him that she was as much hurt as himself.

Magnus closed his eyes again with weariness. He had to find the strength to tell his son how it was, even if by doing so he alienated Nick even further.

That afternoon after his talk with Mel, he had sat down at his desk intending to write down all his thoughts to try and clarify his feelings. He wasn't sure then if it was wiser to let Mel go and start a new life elsewhere, or to admit the truth to all three of his other children.

But that strange fuzzy sensation had come suddenly. He remembered going into the bathroom thinking he would take a mild sedative and lie down.

He was confused for some time after he came round. The events before he went to hospital were cloudy then, much like a half-remembered dream. But slowly as the days passed memories began to come back to him and with them the sense that things weren't quite right back at Oaklands. The card on the huge bouquet of flowers from the staff hadn't been signed by Mel, and it was odd that she hadn't come to see him, if only for a minute or two. Sophie and Stephen seemed unusually pleased with themselves and their insistence that everything was fine back at the hotel seemed too pat, when they were normally full of complaints. But Nick was the oddest of all: he was too damn hearty, as he'd always been when something was troubling him, and he hadn't referred to Mel once.

'Tell me exactly what happened?' he asked. He felt nauseous, knowing Mel would never have blurted out something so damaging until she was cornered. 'Were all of you involved?'

'No. Just me. It happened before Sophie and Stephen arrived and I haven't said anything to them.' Nick's lips quivered. 'Mel was gone before they came, they just think she ran out on us. But I don't want to tell you how it happened. Let's just say we had a row and in the heat of the moment it came out.'

Magnus winced. He could imagine the scenario. His fingers stole across the sheet to Nick's hand still clenched into a fist as he leant down over the bed. He wasn't a man given to tears, but even so he felt them welling up in his eyes. How cruel fate could be! One little seed carelessly sown years ago now threatened his son's happiness, and his own. 'Will you believe me when I say I'd have done anything to save you this pain?'

Nick looked at the big hand fondling his fist and felt his anger fading. His father was almost a legend in his own time. He'd bought a ruin of a house in acres of overgrown wilderness, and worked eighteen hours a day alongside his labourers restoring it. So many people had expected him to fail, but failure wasn't a word in Magnus Osbourne's vocabulary. Many of the young nurses here in this hospital had smilingly told him how their mothers had spoken of the big, handsome man who took Bath by storm all those years ago with his daring. Back at the hotel old friends spoke of his courage and his honour. But none of them had Magnus's full measure.

Magnus was the yardstick Nick measured all other men by, and found most of them wanting. His sensitivity, humour, passion, commitment and imagination were all still there, masked by white hair and wrinkled skin. Once he could have leapt over any obstacle, turned foes to friends by the sheer force of his personality. Now death was the only challenge awaiting him. How could Nick let him go to that without at least trying to understand?

'Tell me about Mel's mother?' Nick pulled up a chair and sat down, taking his father's hand in his. Nothing could take away the dejection he felt inside, but the truth might just make some sense of it. 'From the beginning.'

Magnus shut his eyes for a moment. He could see Bonny's face dancing in front of him, her golden hair, peachy skin and those vivid turquoise eyes. It was strange how even after so many years he could recall every last detail about her.

'It was in Oxford in 1947,' he said haltingly, hating the sound of his slurred speech. 'I was with my old RAF mate, Basil.'

He told Nick the story in much the same way he'd told Mel, but from a masculine viewpoint. Two old chums out on the town, hanging onto their evening together out of sentimentality because they both sensed it would be years before they saw each other again. The two dancers who'd captivated them, a few laughs and dances, a few more drinks. Taking the girls home to their digs.