The Call of Destiny (The Return of Arthur Book 1) (22 page)

‘You didn’t let that worry you
when you had me adopted.’ ‘I have already apologised for that.’

‘That wipes the slate clean, does it?’

‘Judge me if you must,’ said
Uther. ‘But like it or not, these things happen even in the best regulated
families. They are beyond our control, or they seem so at the time. Was it so
terrible what we did? Or was it the most natural thing in the world?’

‘The most natural thing in the world?’ echoed
Arthur scathingly. ‘I was your son. Yet your first thought was to get rid of
me. I couldn’t understand why you and mother gave me away, but I do now. I was
an embarrassment to you, wasn’t I? The timing of my birth was inconvenient.
Your adultery would be in all the papers and it would be the end of your
political career. You were determined to avoid a scandal, even if it meant
killing your own son. And when your wife wouldn’t agree to do that, you gave me
up for adoption. Was that the most natural thing in the world? Or the most unnatural?’

Uther looked sheepish. ‘Can’t
say I blame you for feeling aggrieved.’ Aggrieved. A bland word to describe the
way he felt, thought Arthur. ‘Let me be candid with you, Arthur,’ said Uther,
lying smoothly, ‘I did think about my career, I won’t deny it. But that was
secondary. It was your mother I was most concerned about. The press would have
blamed her for Godfrey’s death and destroyed her reputation. Socially she would
have been finished. Can you understand that?’

‘Yes.’

‘But you can’t forgive.’

Arthur tried to answer
honestly. ‘The man I am now has to forgive. But that child you rejected – I’m
not sure he can.’

‘Let me tell you something
about that child,’ said Uther. ‘I know who he is now, but I didn’t then. I
never thought of you as a child, much less my son. You had no form, no shape,
no name. You were a foetus, that’s all, nothing I could relate to. What can I
say? I was wrong. It seemed like the right decision at the time.’ Uther paused,
scrolling back the years in his head. ‘Ten days after you were born, you were
wrapped in a blanket and shawl and handed to me. I never looked at you. Not
once. If I had . . . who knows, I might have weakened. Seeing you now . . . ’
It was as close to a plea for forgiveness as Uther would ever get, and Arthur
knew it. ‘Will you take my hand?’

‘Of course.’

Father and son shook hands awkwardly.

‘Would you care to reconsider my business
proposal?’ enquired

Uther, seizing what he perceived to be his best
and probably last opportunity. ‘Half my property business in exchange for your
commitment to the Company?’

‘It’s a most generous offer,’
said Arthur, hesitating, ‘but as I say I’m not sure I’m ready to . . . ’

‘Accept favours from your
father? Is that what you are thinking?’ Uther could tell from Arthur’s
expression that it was. ‘Well you’ve got it wrong, my boy. This is not some
kind of hand out, I assure you. I should expect a hundred percent commitment
and performance from you.’

‘As I said, I know nothing about business.’

‘So what!’ said Uther
dismissively. ‘I shall teach you everything you need to know – and a hell of a
lot more,’ he added with a sly wink. ‘After all,’ he said, his voice softening,
‘we are father and son. That changes everything, does it not?’

It did, but it was clear to
Arthur that his father was laying a trap for him, a honeyed trap but a trap
nonetheless. If ever he was to find his true destiny, he would have to preserve
his independence. Nothing was more important than that. ‘Give me some time to
think about it,’ he said.

Which meant, Uther knew, that
his son was determined to do his own thing, whatever that might be. ‘Take all
the time you want,’ he said grandly. ‘Meanwhile you shall come and live with
us.’

‘I have a bedsit across the river.’

‘Give it up. You can have your
own apartment in Brackett Hall. Come and go as you please. You shall have a
mother and father again. Igraine will have her baby back and I shall have a son
and heir. Think, Arthur, think of the doors I can open for you – business,
politics, law, whatever damned profession you choose. Hell, go ahead and join
the army, if that’s what you want. I’ll support you whatever you do.’

Arthur shook his head. ‘Thank
you, sir, for being so understanding. But I really would prefer to stand on my
own feet.’

‘At least come and see us – stay the weekend.
Your step-sisters are dying to meet you.’

‘I look forward to meeting them too.’

‘Come any time. Come as often
as you like. Feel free to treat Brackett Hall as if it were your own home. Damn
it, man, it is your own home!’ Uther was elated. Life had given him a second
chance, it had brought back the son he once so casually rejected, and, what was
more, without any embarrassing repercussions. It was all very satisfactory, and
more, far more, than he deserved.

But then a dark thought
shadowed his joyful mood; Arthur was back in the fold, so what if he decided to
take the name Pendragon? If he did, the media would be onto it in a flash and
with their usual frenzied efficiency the tabloid press would sift through the
dirt. Searching questions would be asked about his affair with Igraine and his
reasons for giving his son away for adoption, not to mention the whole sordid
business of Godfrey’s death. Godfrey would be seen as the victim, and Uther as
the man responsible for his death. He would be made to look a complete shit. He
could imagine the headlines. “Minister re-united with son he rejected twenty
years ago . . . Uther Pendragon confronted with his past . . . Wife’s adultery
drove husband to suicide . . . Tory Grandee puts politics before parenting . .
. ”

Signing the bill, he said
casually, ‘I imagine you’ll be keeping your present surname.’

Arthur was taken aback. ‘I
only just discovered I’m a Pendragon. I shall need time to think about it. Does
it matter?’ ‘Changing your name would inevitably invite speculation by the
yobbo press. This is our business, not theirs,’ said Uther.

‘No one need know I’m your father.’

Arthur’s jaw jutted, his eyes
flashed angrily. Uther could have kicked himself. He had blundered.

‘Are you ashamed of me?’

‘My dear boy, how can you ask me such a
question? Ashamed of you? What nonsense! I couldn’t be more proud of you.’
‘Then show it.’

‘Listen to me, Arthur . . . ’

‘No, father,’ said Arthur,
‘you listen to me. I never knew who my real father was, now suddenly I do. It’s
like coming out of a dark tunnel into the light. You are my father and that
makes me a Pendragon.’

‘Of course it does,’ said
Uther uneasily. ‘All I’m saying is let’s keep it in the family.’

‘No, let’s not do that. You
are my father and you are going to tell the world that I’m your son. You
rejected me once. I won’t let you do it a second time.’

Uther could not remember the
last time anyone had told him what to do, let alone so emphatically. He had
made the mistake of underestimating his son. In future he would have to be more
careful. This was a young man to be reckoned with. He would make a staunch
friend; and a formidable enemy.

‘I am justly rebuked,’ he said humbly.

‘That was not my intention,’
Arthur assured his father. ‘Nevertheless you are absolutely right.’ He would
just have to make the best of a bad job. Rather than let the press uncover the
story, he decided to give the story to the press.

“Believing as I do that politicians have an
obligation to uphold the very highest standards of honesty and integrity, I
would like to share with my constituents, and with the public at large, my joy
at being re-united with my long lost son, Arthur Pendragon. To my shame he was
given up by me for adoption when he was a baby. The circumstances were the following.

When I was a young man I fell
deeply in love with my beloved wife, Igraine. At the time, she was unhappily
married to Lord Truro. Though she and he had long been estranged, and were
husband and wife in name only, he refused to give her a divorce. We began an
affair and she became pregnant. Her husband was experiencing financial
problems, and was also suffering from

the chronic depression that ultimately led to
his suicide. She felt it her duty to stand by him, refusing to desert him in
his time of trouble. I freely admit that she was also concerned not to expose
me to the condemnation of the public and of my peers. I, for my part, was
equally anxious to protect the reputation of the woman I loved.

I therefore persuaded her,
much against her will, to keep the baby’s birth secret, and to have it adopted
by a caring and loving couple. It was the most painful decision we have ever
had to make – one, I may say, neither of us has ever ceased to regret. Having
our son back in the family after so many years has been some consolation to us,
and has made us the happiest and proudest couple in the world.

Times have changed. The world
we live in is far more aware and far less judgmental than it was when I was a
young man. Not for one single moment would I consider doing now what I felt
obliged to do then. That is not an excuse, merely a simple statement of fact. I
take full responsibility for my actions, submitting myself to the judgment of
the electorate. If it is their decision, or the decision of my Party, that I
should resign as a Member of Parliament, then I shall not hesitate to do my
duty.”

Neither the public nor the
Party decided anything of the kind, nor did the Press. Their guns had been well
and truly spiked; every newspaper in the land was behind Uther, their stories
focusing rather on his courage in revealing the truth than on the facts of the
revelation. His assessment of the mood of the times had been flawless.
Columnists praised him for having learned the lesson most politicians never
learn; he had come clean. What’s more, he had done it without waiting for the
truth to be dragged out of him. Not that it was the real truth, it was Uther’s
truth, a counterfeit so good it was almost indistinguishable from the real
thing.

 Shortly after meeting his father, Arthur
joined the army. His short leaves he spent in Ponterlally with Elizabeth and
Hector, both of whom, to his delight, were as warm and loving towards him as
they ever had been. His change of surname at first troubled Elizabeth but she
soon got used to it. ‘You are still my Arthur,’ she said, hugging him until he
was red in the face, ‘and you always will be.’ Hector, being a realist, saw it
as the most natural thing in the world that Arthur should become a Pendragon; it
signified that his and Elizabeth’s task was done, and well done too, for it was
largely thanks to them that Arthur had regained the inheritance to which he was
entitled.

Having a weekend pass, Arthur
accepted Igraine’s invitation to stay at Brackett Hall. It was a visit he
anticipated with mixed feelings; with Hector and Elizabeth he was at ease, with
Uther and Igraine he was not, for there were too many unresolved issues.
Nevertheless he looked forward to seeing his birth parents again, and of course
to meeting his three step-sisters for the first time.

Arthur kissed his mother
affectionately. Igraine was overjoyed. ‘I can’t believe I shall have you to
myself for two whole days.’

‘And how is Elizabeth?’
Igraine had asked to meet Elizabeth but her approaches had been politely
rejected. She had not pressed the point.

‘She’s fine.’ He would have
preferred to pass on Elizabeth’s love or best wishes or even regards but she
had not sent them, and what was the point of lying?

‘I should like to have met her.’ Igraine
smiled, a forlorn smile it seemed to him. Why was she sad? Was it only because
of him? He knew so little about her. He tried to look at her objectively, to
see her not as his mother but as a woman. She was beautiful; she must have been
over fifty, though she certainly did not look it, her face still the face of a
young woman, her hair – even if with some artificial aid – still glossy and
raven black, her body slim and shapely. In those dark eyes there was that same
touch of melancholy he had noticed in her smile, a wry acceptance of the
passing years, a hint of secret yearnings and of dreams unfulfilled. As if to
give the lie to his sombre reflections, she suddenly came to vibrant life,
crying out happily, ‘And what a splendid uniform! How smart you look!’ Hands
clasped she gazed at him adoringly. ‘How the girls must chase you. You really
are the handsomest young man I ever saw.’

Arthur grinned. ‘You
exaggerate.’ ‘Not a jot,’ she insisted.

‘You, on the other hand,
without any exaggeration, are certainly the most beautiful woman in the
country.’

‘What nonsense,’ cried Igraine blushing.

The “monsters”, as Igraine
affectionately dubbed her grandchildren, were duly assembled to meet their long
lost uncle. Gawain, the eldest, was much the liveliest and most endearing, a
stocky, freckled-faced lad, with flaming red hair, and a challenging gaze.
Agravaine, the second born, was pale, plump and wining, clinging to his
grandmother’s skirts. Gaheris, the third brother, was a big, swaggering fellow
with a loud voice. Mordred, the youngest, retreated under a table, from where
he observed Arthur with darkly suspicious eyes.

And the girls? Where are they?’

‘Dying to meet you.’ At that
very moment Elaine appeared, struck a theatrical pose with arms spread as if to
say, “Da- dum! Here I am and here you are!”, and gave Arthur a hug.

‘You must have been listening
at the door,’ said Igraine, smiling affectionately at her eldest.

‘An actress,’ said Elaine, ‘always makes her
entrance on cue.’ She stood back, took a long look at Arthur and cooed
admiringly, ‘My but you really are a dish!’

Arthur did not know what to
say. Murmuring something that he hoped sounded like appreciation, he considered
how best to return the compliment. If nature had not blessed Elaine with beauty,
it had lavished on her both vivacity and charm. ‘I know very little about the
theatre, Elaine,’ he admitted, ‘but enough to know that you have star quality.’

Elaine melted. Arthur could
not have said anything to please her more. ‘Friends for life, darling,’ she
gushed.

Morgan’s entrance was more
subdued but equally impressive in its way. She strode in and gave Arthur a bear
hug that made him wince and left red marks on his face. When she released him,
he studied her with interest. His heart went out to her; Morgan was the most
engagingly ugly woman he had ever seen. Her eyes bulged, her mouth was huge,
and was that a hint of a moustache on her upper lip? Studying her outfit, he
now understood why her embrace had been so painful. Her large frame was encased
in a skin-tight black leather suit hung with several pounds of steel – buttons,
badges, brooches, tassels, studs and chains. Her hands writhed with steel
serpents, from her ears steel witches dangled, and both her nose and lips were
pierced with steel rings.

Morgan stared right back at
Arthur, her steel-encrusted lips parting in a gleaming smile. ‘I’ll bet you
never saw anything like me before.

Arthur laughed. You are
definitely an original.’ ‘Take care, Arthur,’ said Elaine. ‘Morgan’s a witch.’

Igraine hated it when anyone
made fun of Morgan. ‘Nonsense dear.’

‘Oh but I am, mother,’ said
Morgan. ‘I can give you the power of tongues,’ she informed Arthur. ‘Or I can
teach you to fly if you like. I’m teaching Elaine to fly,’ she said proudly,
‘aren’t I, darling?’

‘I’m playing Peter Pan in Exmouth next month,’
explained Elaine.

‘The stupid producer wants her
to wear a harness,’ said Morgan. ‘He makes us so angry, doesn’t he darling?’

‘Of course he does, precious,’
said Elaine, humouring her sister.

Morgan took Arthur’s hand in
hers. ‘I see an island,’ she said after a moment or two, ‘a white island in a
grey sea.’ Though Arthur had no idea what she meant, the hairs rose on the back
of his neck. Her words both excited and disturbed him.

‘Your wife will be beautiful,
and young, very young,’ continued Morgan.

‘Do stop, dear,’ said Igraine
uneasily, ‘I’m sure you must be boring Arthur.’

‘Not at all,’ said Arthur. Far
from being bored he was anxious to hear more.

‘She will make you very happy and very sad,’
said Morgan.

Igraine had lost patience with
her youngest. ‘Arthur doesn’t want to hear any more.’

Morgan bowed her head, stuck
out her tongue and dug the toes of her shoes into the carpet like a child who
has been rebuked. Elaine came to the rescue and took her younger sister for a
walk in the gardens. Igraine slipped her hand through Arthur’s arm and drew him
to the door. ‘There’s a beautiful young lady waiting for you in the library.’

‘Fantastic. Let’s go and see
her.’ Arthur was wondering if the third sister was as eccentric as the other
two.

‘She said you were to come
alone, made quite a point of it, wants you all to herself. She was quite
tearful at the thought of meeting her brother for the first time. Such a
sensitive child.’

He knocked on the library door
and went in. The afternoon sun shone obliquely into the room. At the big bay
window a young woman stood looking out at the gardens. Turning, she walked over
to Arthur and looked up at him with a half smile on her lovely face. ‘I shall put
this moment in a cupboard and lock it up,’ she murmured. ‘And when I’m old and
grey, I shall take it out and look at it.’

‘You! What are you doing here?’

Margot’s eyes mocked him. ‘Is
it so surprising? This is my home, after all. Or it was before Lennox carried
me off.’

‘Your home?’ He stared blankly
at her, not yet understanding, or perhaps not wanting to. Slowly the look of
incomprehension turned to shock as the blood drained from his face. ‘You!’

Margot waved her hand
dismissively. ‘Don’t be silly, Arthur, who else could it be?’

‘
You
– Margot!
That
Margot!’

‘In the flesh, darling.’ ‘Dear
God!’

‘Quite so,’ said Margot
ironically. ‘I thought it would be wiser if we saw each other alone first, so
we could get our stories straight. You never know, someone might remember
seeing us together at the Commem. Come to think of it, it might be a good idea
to say we bumped into each other years ago at Oxford. Just in case.’

‘Bumped into each other! We
were lovers!’ ‘No one needs to know that.’

The revulsion rose from his
stomach. As the room spun, he reached out blindly, grasping the arm of a chair
for support. ‘Did you know?’

She pretended not to understand. ‘Did I know
what?’

He had to force himself to
speak the words. ‘Did you know who I was? When we . . . ’

Margot looked aggrieved. ‘What
a question!’ ‘Did you?’ he insisted.

She pouted. ‘You must think me terribly
wicked.’

He shook his head, bewildered.
‘I don’t know what to think.’

‘Darling Arthur.’ Her eyes
were languid and sensual. In a sudden change of mood she whirled around in
front of him, hair flying, skirt riding high, revealing her thighs. ‘How can
you expect me to remember things like that after all this time? Who knows what
I knew or didn’t know?’ A flurry of skirt and bare thighs as she spun again. ‘What
does it matter anyway?’ She smiled coquettishly. ‘I do remember one thing,
though. I remember that fantastic night we spent together.’

His face was white. ‘Don’t even think about
it.’

She frowned and pushed out her
lips. ‘Don’t be such a spoilsport, Arthur. You take things far too seriously.’

‘Aren’t you ashamed of what we did?’

‘What is there to be ashamed
of?’ she asked wide-eyed. ‘It was wonderful. If you must know, I often think
about it. It’s better than any fix when I’m feeling miserable.’ She smiled
wickedly, relishing his discomfort. ‘You were so good, lover.’

‘Don’t call me that.’

‘Why not? You
were
my lover. It
happened, didn’t it? No use denying it.’

‘I am your brother, Margot.
Does that mean nothing to you?’

She came close, looking up at
him seductively. ‘Of course it does. It’s the greatest turn-on ever. Just
thinking about it gives me an orgasm.’

He stared at her, dumbfounded.
His whole world had fallen about him, and all she could do was mock him.

‘Now Arthur dear,’ she said,
her voice smooth as silk, slipping her hand through the crook of his arm and
restraining him when he tried to draw away from her, ‘don’t look so guilty.
There’s nothing to feel guilty about. What did we do that was so terrible? Did
we commit murder? Did we steal anything? Did we mug anyone? Of course not. We
did no one any harm.’

‘No one but ourselves.’

‘Oh, phooey! We enjoyed every
minute of it. I know I did.’ Her hand tightened on his arm. ‘Didn’t you?’

He would not answer her. ‘You
did, didn’t you?’

‘Of course I did,’ he agreed reluctantly. ‘But
what does that have to do with it?’

She nodded that mechanical
doll-like nod of hers – once, twice, three times. ‘Everything.’

‘How can enjoying it make it
right? For God’s sake, Margot, we are talking about incest!’

‘Darling Arthur,’ she said
reproachfully, ‘how can you commit incest when you don’t know you’re doing it?’
Her eyes wavered. ‘What’s so terrible about incest, anyway?’ Before he could
reply she added, ‘Besides, I’m only your half-sister, so it was really only
half incest.’ Seeing the look of disgust on his face, she trilled with
amusement.

‘Incest is a sin.’ ‘Who says?’

‘It’s a sin against nature.’

‘Really Arthur,’ she said,
pouting, ‘you’re beginning to sound like the most frightful prig. How can
incest be a sin against nature? Doesn’t the bible say “love thy brother”? Well,
brother, that’s exactly what I did. I loved you, I loved every bit of you.
People do it all the time. It’s been going on since Adam and Eve. The ones who
call it a sin would be doing it if they had half a chance. Who makes these
silly rules anyway? If it tastes good, it must be bad. The greatest sin is
enjoying yourself.’

She was right about one thing,
though it was precious little comfort to him. He had no reason to blame
himself, no logical reason at all; but the truth was that logic had nothing to
do with it. The shame he felt was not logical, it was instinctive. He most
profoundly believed that what he had done was a sin, one of the greatest sins
of all. Involuntarily he touched the scar on his cheek where the eagle clawed
him.

To the end she taunted him.
‘Such a looker you turned out to be, brother. You were stunning then, of
course, but just a boy really, so sweet and innocent. Look at you now. A hunk.
A real man.’ She shook her head in admiration. ‘And how about that divine
uniform!’ Moving close to him again, she ran the tips of her fingers down the
shiny buttons of his jacket.

In spite of himself he was aroused. ‘For God’s
sake, Margot.’

‘You really are delicious,’
she whispered. ‘I could eat you.’ Before he could stop her, she was standing on
tiptoe and kissing him full on the lips, all the time smiling that enticing
smile of hers.

Rushing out of the library he
ran upstairs to his room. In the bathroom he rubbed his mouth raw with soap and
water; but hard as he scrubbed, he could not wipe away the memory of that kiss.
Hours later when he came downstairs for dinner, he could still feel the touch
of her lips on his.

That night he lay sleepless,
thinking about the unborn child. Would it have been a boy or a girl? How old
would it have been now? Not much older than Mordred. She must have given birth
to Mordred only a year or so after the abortion, perhaps as some kind of
compensation. Grief and guilt in equal measure numbed his spirit. He was amazed
that Margot should be so untouched by it all. Far from feeling shame, she
seemed positively to take pleasure in what she had done. It was beyond his
understanding. She had to be the most amoral person he had ever met, and for
that he almost envied her. How much simpler life would be without the prickings
of a conscience.