Promise to Obey (9 page)

Daniel got up off the floor and brought over his card for Maggie. He had been working on it all day, not letting anyone see what he was doing. He had folded the chocolate box lid so that it became card shape. The front said Terry’s All Gold Milk Chocolates on a swirling gold and blue pattern.

Daniel said nothing but indicated that the card should be opened. Jessica opened the card and drew in her breath sharply.

The inside was covered with intricate drawings of shells, all in rows, every kind of shell in every position. Some were the ones he had collected from Worthing beach, others were dreamed up shells. The pencil lines were fine and delicate. They reminded Jessica of ancient Japanese art. She handed Lucas the card.

‘I don’t think you need worry about Daniel’s future,’ she said. ‘This is his future. He is a born artist. He will be able to make a living from his work.’

Lucas took the card and studied the drawings. ‘They are perfect,’ he said, nodding. He smiled at Daniel. ‘All the more reason to give my son the stability of a loving family. Don’t you agree, Jessica?’

Jessica could not look at him. Lucas could not dictate her future in that cavalier fashion. When she married, it would be for love. Not convenience.

The revelation that Daniel could draw tiny objects with
exquisite
detail amazed and raised everyone’s spirits, except Daniel’s. He was unperturbed by the fuss.

‘I can’t draw like this,’ said Lucas.

‘Very few people can. Each shell is quite perfect.’

‘My grandmother used to paint, delicate watercolours and pastels. She did mostly wild flowers. There’s a little book of hers up in the attic somewhere,’ said Lady Grace, modestly
accepting
her place on the talent tree. ‘He’s obviously inherited the gift from my side.’

Daniel made no response. Jessica longed for some kind of communication with the boy. Every evening she spent some time with him, helping with his writing practice but still his words and letters had no coherence. His b’s looked like p’s and m and n were interchangeable. S was always curved the other way round. In a funny way, it was readable, like an ancient Persian or Egyptian script. She could read it. His alphabet was re-invented, drawn backwards, upside-down, sometimes he added a completely new letter shape. ^ and > were two of them. They meant something.

‘You probably had another grandparent who lived on the Easter Isles,’ said Jessica. ‘But I suppose it won’t really matter in the future if you can’t write a letter. All letters will be via the Internet. And when you become really famous, you can employ a secretary. I think you should learn to use the Internet.’

Daniel looked marginally interested as Jessica moved over to the computer in the library, switched on, logged into Yahoo, the free server, and began signing Daniel in as a new user.

He went and stood behind her, watching what she was doing, not saying a word. There was no way of judging if he understood the process.

‘This is for sending letters. Now what do you want to be called?’ said Jessica. ‘Daniel Coleman is your real name but it is a bit too long for an email address. And it might be already in use. What do you think about DanCole?’

Daniel shook his head slowly. ‘DanCo,’ he said. ‘DanCo.’

‘I like that,’ said Jessica. ‘DanCo. Very neat. Let’s see if it has already been used. Let’s hope it’s available. It is! Good, now that’s your email address, Daniel. I’ll write it down for you. And you will need a password, something secret that only you will know, that you have to type in this space, every time you switch on.’

Jessica thought this might be a real headache but Daniel understood and typed something in without hesitation. She couldn’t see what he put. Whether he would remember it was a different matter.

‘Now you can send emails to your friends.’

‘No friends,’ he said.

‘You could send one to me, now and again,’ said Jessica. ‘I’m your friend. This is my email address. [email protected]. I’ll type it in for you and add it to your contacts. Watch me. Any time you want to say something to me, you can send me an email letter. I’ll show you how to do it. Does that sound good?’

‘Good.’

‘And here is my email address at the hospital,’ said Lucas. ‘You should have that in your contacts.’

Before she went to bed that night, she checked on her emails. She had eight emails from DanCo. She tried not to laugh but it was a success of sorts. At least he had got the hang of how to send emails. It took ages deciphering their content. They were mostly incoherent ramblings, weird spellings and incorrect
typing, but there were snatches which made a lot of sense.

‘Paper 2 poot markz on.’ ‘I have no Mummy.’ ‘Skool iz bad.’ ‘U help me.’ And so it went on … reams of Daniel’s thoughts.

It was heart-breaking. Jessica showed the emails to Lucas when he came in from the hospital. Lucas was dropping with sleep. It had been another long day. Jessica knew that he still had some reserve energy or she would not have waited.

Lucas became both elated and dejected. ‘Daniel’s got the hang of email already? That’s terrific. It’s the way to the twenty-first century. OK, they are practically unreadable but he will get better in time. My spelling is just as bad.’

‘But look what he is writing,’ she said. ‘This is what Daniel really thinks of his life. How can we help him? We must help him.’

Lucas gave her a penetrating look and took hold of her hand. It was a magical touch. His fingers were firm and warm, his thumb circling her palm. ‘You know what you can do. Say yes, right away, Jessica. That would solve one of his problems. He would have a mummy. That’s what he wants. You would be so right.’

‘It’s not that easy,’ said Jessica, marvelling at the touch. How would this touch feel all over her body? She went weak at the thought, skin shrivelling, sliding away. ‘You’re talking about me making a commitment for the rest of my life. How do I know what I want to do with the rest of my life? I can’t make that sort of commitment to someone I don’t even know.’

‘We could make it a marriage contract,’ said Lucas, slowly. ‘If you would prefer something that is less of an emotional
commitment
. I realize that a life-long marriage would be unfair to such a young and beautiful woman as you. You deserve something better. Would a ten-year marriage contract be more acceptable? I promise that I would set you free at the end of it. That would cover Daniel reaching eighteen and Lily over fifteen. It sounds feasible to me.’

Jessica was shocked to the core. She snatched her hand away. ‘I can’t believe that you could be so callous. A marriage contract
with a time limit? As if anyone could just turn off care and affection for your children at the end of so many years and walk away. You simply have no idea.’

‘I thought it would make it easier for you to decide. For you to know that it was not forever.’ Lucas was trying to control his anger.

‘Well, I have decided and the answer is no. No, no, no. There is no way that I am going to marry you. So you can forget it.’

‘I don’t believe you for one moment, Jessica,’ said Lucas, his eyes darkening. ‘Your head says one thing but your eyes say something quite different. And that kiss last night – there was something special about it and you know that. You are not totally immune to me. You have some feeling for me and my children.’

‘For both your children, yes. I care about them. For your awkward mother, I have a lot of sympathy. But having feelings for you, definitely not. I don’t have a scrap of feeling for you, Lucas Coleman. I feel nothing for you at all. I rarely see you and I hardly know you. When you come in, you are usually
half-asleep
, wet and exhausted. We exchange a few polite words and that’s that.’

‘That’s true,’ said Lucas, with a touch of mockery. ‘We don’t know each other. A few suppers and family breakfasts hardly count. I suppose I should give you the chance to know me better. I don’t remember when I last had a day off. We could go somewhere together, get to know each other.’

‘It won’t make any difference,’ said Jessica vehemently. ‘You can’t turn on feelings with a few hours of making small talk over a candlelit dinner.’

‘I wouldn’t talk at all,’ he said, hiding his laughter. ‘I’d simply let you find out what a really nice person I am.’

‘In a day?’ Jessica scoffed. ‘It would surely take months.’

‘I’ll wait months.’

‘And only on clear days, no rain, no fog, no sea mist.’

‘I can’t guarantee the weather but I can guarantee my undivided attention.’

‘Oh, such sweet words. Clever words, too. They don’t sway me.’ Jessica marched away, trying to still the hammering of her heart.

Lucas was as good as his word. He reorganized his work schedule and arranged to take a whole afternoon off. Mrs Harris was happy to give the children their tea when they came in from school, and keep a friendly eye on Lady Grace.

‘I thought you might like to go into Brighton to buy Daniel’s birthday present. I need to find something suitable. You could help me,’ Lucas said. ‘Is that a good idea, Jessica? Would you like to come?’

Jessica was not sure what tempted her most. She’d like to wander round Brighton. She’d also like a drive in his Porsche Boxster with the roof down. But she’d really like the chance to buy Daniel something nice for his birthday. She did not admit to herself that she might want to enjoy some time with Lucas.

He was ready for her on the dot of two o’clock. He had changed into black jeans and an open necked black shirt. His hair still needed a cut but he looked devilishly handsome. The car was at the front door waiting. A fresh breeze combed the gardens, sending waves of scent from Lady Grace’s roses.

Jessica had tried not to make an effort, to show that she didn’t care a jot about going out with Lucas, but she looked wonderful in slim white linen trousers and a belted flame-red shirt, her hair tied back with a red scarf. She threw a navy fleece into the back of the car.

‘You’ll need a coat for coming back,’ she said. ‘Summer is on its way out. It’ll be chilly.’

Lucas nodded, hurried back into the house and returned with the same well worn sweater that needed mending. ‘Sorry, that’s all I could find,’ he said, seeing her dismayed expression. ‘Donkey’s years old.’

‘I’ll mend it one day.’

‘No wife of mine is going to mend clothes,’ he said.

‘I’m not your wife.’

‘Not yet.’

It was an exciting drive. Jessica loved the speed of the car on the main M27 dual carriage road to Brighton that allowed some speed. They sped through the over-lit tunnel that cut under the South Downs. Lucas was an excellent driver and she felt
perfectly
safe in his hands. It was such a different day to her arrival in the rain. A September sun was flinging burnt golden rays of sun down onto the earth, a sort of last gesture before autumn set in and decay began the tombstone slide. Jessica put on her sunglasses to cut the glaring light.

They drove in through the genteel residences of Hove. There were so many beautiful elegant Regency terraces, Brunswick Terrace and Adelaide Crescent, white and curving houses with big windows and ironwork balustrades. They had the long ago stamp of past elegant living, long dresses, bonnets, carriages.

‘They are mostly flats now,’ said Lucas. ‘Very sought after and expensive, I expect. A lot of show business people live down here, television and theatre stars, because of the decent train service to London. Keep your eyes open. This is spot the celebrities time. They are everywhere. Some have a small dog.’

Parking was apparently a nightmare in Brighton but Lucas had an arrangement with the Royal Sussex Hospital. He had a visitor’s pass.

‘I never normally use it for a private visit,’ he said. ‘Mostly when I’m called to see a patient or assist in some surgery. But today is special.’

Jessica had not been to Brighton for years, since childhood, and it had changed beyond recognition. It was all shops and boutiques, crowds of visitors and tourists, overflowing with pubs and wine bars. Lucas had to take her arm or they would have been separated by the milling throng of tourists. Lucas was steering her through the narrow passages and cobbled streets of The Lanes.

‘The Lanes used to be the paths between an area of allotments or gardens,’ he said. ‘Can you imagine what it was like when Brighton was just a small fishing port? It was really tiny. It
used to pay its taxes to the crown in fish.’

The shops were a mixture of fancy boutiques, ancient antique shops, expensive jewellery shops, music collectors’ havens. The oldest shops, with faded paintwork, were held together with dust and cobwebs. Their old books and records dying in untidy piles. The past struggling to survive in the modernization.

Jessica could have lingered for ages in The Lanes but time was already flying and Lucas had promised her tea somewhere special and Jessica wanted to be touristy and go on the Palace pier.

Jessica spotted it first. It was a specialist shop that sold artists’ materials. This was exactly what she wanted. Lucas guessed what she was thinking.

‘Daniel’s present? This is it. Right first time,’ he said.

They spent some time in the shop, exploring all its wonders, remembering that Daniel was at a very early stage in his exploration of drawing and it would not help to push him too hard with expensive equipment or give him bewildering choices. Everything had to be slowly, slowly.

Jessica found some good quality sketching paper, 140 gm. She bought pads in two sizes, large A3 and a small A5 sketch pad for him to carry around. She also bought a packet of heavy coloured paper, blue, pink, green and pale yellow, which Daniel might find interesting to use.

Lucas browsed through a collection of instruction books which helped very young artists with their initial efforts. Not that Daniel seemed to need any help. He was an instinctive artist. Lucas bought a paperback on How to Draw Everything and a hardback called Sixteen Drawing Lessons which seemed overly complicated for Daniel. But the pictures were beautifully produced.

‘That’s quite enough books to begin with, isn’t it?’ he said. ‘We don’t want to swamp him with loads of different ideas or a different media.’

‘Quite enough,’ agreed Jessica. She was enjoying his casual friendliness. ‘I think he might like some decent soft pencils too.’

They found a packet of eight sketching pencils from 6B to H2. They added a soft putty eraser. Lucas was tempted to buy an artist’s satchel.

‘No, Lucas, not yet,’ said Jessica, hastening to damp the thought. ‘It makes his drawing all too organized. Let Daniel find his own bag. He’ll have his own ideas. He’ll find something strange that is all his own.’

The girl assistant was obviously smitten by Lucas and his easy manner and wanted to know everything about Daniel. Perhaps this was work experience and she would make notes. It took them ten minutes to get out of the shop. The girl stood in the doorway, watching them walk away. She gave a brief wave, cursing her bad luck not to have met Lucas first.

Tea was a calorific cream tea in a crazy, picturesque tea room called Mrs Kipling’s where everything was home-made. By this time they were both ravenous as neither had had time for lunch. They went upstairs where the tables had lace clothes and they served pretty china which was a change from thick white mugs that most places seemed to go for these days.