Three’s a Crowd (54 page)

She could barely believe what she was about to do, and there was still a chance she may not, it depended on how the conversation went. Alice had come to her again that same evening; she'd decided they should test the waters. No point putting off the inevitable, she'd said, trying to sound offhand. ‘Might as well suss him out,' she'd added. ‘But don't give anything away until you're sure about him . . .' She reminded Catherine of a child hiding behind a curtain, peering through a chink, intrigued and fascinated by what she might find out, while at the same time terrified that she would be discovered. So she trusted her mother
to judge the situation and do what felt right. That was pretty amazing in itself, that Alice trusted her judgement, at least a little, at least insofar as this was concerned. The only proviso Alice had made was that her mother refrain from drinking. That had pulled Catherine up, especially the way Alice put it. She wasn't being smart or derogatory, she just said it straight. ‘Maybe it will go better if you don't have anything to drink.' It was sobering, quite literally.

So the plan was to get his side first. Weigh it up, analyse it, analyse him. Catherine was good at that, it was what she did every time she sat a client down for the first interview, to help her decide how to proceed with a case. With James, she had to decide if he was going to be open to hearing the truth. But before that, if she even wanted him to know the truth.

James arrived promptly at one, as a punctual lawyer would. He glanced around and spotted her immediately. He didn't wait to be shown to the table, and Catherine watched him as he made his way over. Something in his gait, the way he held himself, took her right back. He might look a lot different on the outside these days, but somewhere inside was the seventeen-year-old boy she remembered. She hoped so anyway.

He came to the table as Catherine went to stand. ‘Please, don't get up,' he said, pulling his chair out and sitting down. He gave her a cautious smile. ‘I was so pleased to get your call, Catherine. Though a little surprised, I have to say.'

‘Well, I suppose your visit brought up some unfinished business for me as well.'

‘Good then,' he nodded. ‘This will give us a chance to clear the air. Shall we order a drink?'

‘Not for me,' she said. ‘But please, you go ahead.'

‘No, I'm fine.'

Catherine felt inordinately nervous. ‘Then why don't we order our meals first?' she suggested. ‘Get that out of the way.'

He agreed, and they picked up the menus and read quietly until the waiter came along. Catherine ordered a salad, while James went for steak with a rich sauce. No wonder he had that paunch.

The waiter poured water into their glasses, picked up the menus and left them alone.

James leaned forwards. ‘So, what exactly is on your mind, Catherine?'

She took a breath. She'd rehearsed this, but that didn't make it any easier. At least she could get him to do the talking for now. ‘I suppose I was intrigued by something you said the day you came to my office.'

‘Oh? What was that?'

‘You said that you were upset after your father's visit to my house all those years ago. That was the word you used, “upset”, and I wondered why.'

‘Well . . .' He looked slightly surprised by the question. ‘I suppose I would have thought that was obvious.'

Catherine realised she was going to have to be a little more direct. ‘James, at this point it would be helpful if you could explain your side of what happened, without making any assumptions about how it might have been for me.'

‘All right.' He seemed to be thinking about what he was going to say. ‘This is a little awkward. Please,' he looked at her, ‘don't think for a moment that I don't believe in a woman's right to choose. I do, absolutely. And we were so very young. It was not an easy situation.'

Easier for him.

He hesitated. ‘I suppose it was the circumstances that upset me. My father, what he did, I didn't know . . .'

Catherine frowned. ‘You didn't know he came to my house?'

‘No, I was aware of that, of course,' he said quickly. ‘I'm sorry, it probably seemed very weak or cowardly to you, Catherine, but I was terrified, absolutely terrified. I had all that bravado back then, thought I knew everything about everything, and in the end I was just a frightened boy. That's why I went to my parents first. I should have known my father would take over, that was his way. But he made sense, he said the adults needed to discuss it, that we couldn't make the decision on our own because it was going to have ramifications for everybody. And besides, how could we be expected to make such a big decision at our age? He wasn't being condescending, he was actually kind, in a way. He said he would take care of it.'

Hmm. There wasn't any discussion, but he certainly did take care of it.

‘I have to admit I was relieved,' James went on. ‘But then, I didn't realise what he was going to do.'

‘What do you mean?'

‘Look, I don't want to judge you –'

‘Just tell me what you're talking about,' Catherine insisted.

‘Okay.' He paused to take a drink of water. ‘He said he intended to discuss the options – having the baby, adopting it out, or . . . well, terminating the pregnancy.'

Catherine felt like screaming. He didn't present any other options, he'd said there were no other options as far as they were concerned. But she had to stay calm, let James explain what he knew before she gave anything away.

‘Go on,' she urged.

‘What he didn't tell me, was that he would also offer you . . . the payment.' James paused, breathing out heavily. ‘I'm an adult now, I see things differently. I understand, really. But at the time, I was just . . . hurt, to be honest.'

‘Hurt?'

He nodded. ‘That you would take the money.'

Catherine was completely confused. ‘So you were hurt and
upset
because he offered to pay for the abortion?'

James looked confused now. ‘No, that he offered to pay you to stay away from me.'

‘What?'

Right then the waiter returned with their meals. James was staring at her, clearly thrown by her reaction. Catherine was stunned, incensed, outraged . . . But she needed to hold it together, find out exactly what he meant, not fly off with accusations that might only put him on the defensive. She took a couple of deep breaths, and when the waiter left she looked steadily across the table at him.

‘Please, go on, James,' she said. ‘Explain to me exactly what your father told you he did.'

‘All right.' He reached for his glass and took another sip of water. ‘He said that he told you, and your parents, that we would do the right thing, meet our obligations, whatever you decided. But this was the part I didn't know about. He said he wanted to assess . . .' he hesitated. ‘These are his words, not mine, Catherine.
He wanted to assess exactly what kind of girl you were, so that I would know the truth about you. So he offered you a substantial sum of money if you had the abortion, as long as you never made contact with me again and didn't respond to any contact I attempted. He said you jumped at it – his words again.'

Catherine felt as though the room was spinning. She looked down at her salad, she thought she might be sick.

‘Excuse me,' she said, standing up suddenly.

‘Catherine, please don't leave,' James said, getting to his feet.

‘I'm not, I just have to go to the bathroom.' She rushed off; her legs were shaking so badly she wasn't sure they would carry her, but somehow she made it to the bathroom, and straight into a cubicle, where she closed the lid and sat down. She was still shaking, her hands were clammy and she could feel a film of perspiration on her face. She tried to breathe slowly and deeply, to stop herself from hyperventilating, as she struggled to make sense of what she had just heard. It felt like her whole life had been predicated on a lie. A callous, calculating, destructive lie. Every decision Catherine had made, every relationship she'd had, everything . . . had all been in reaction to that one event in her life, when she had felt so small and so powerless that she had vowed no one would ever have that kind of power over her again.

And the man sitting out there now was as much a victim as she was, and he had a daughter he didn't even know existed.

Catherine sat there for a long time, though she didn't feel all that much calmer by the time she stood up again. At least her legs were not shaking, however, as she walked to the over and washed her hands. She dabbed her face with a damp napkin, staring at herself in the mirror. Tears pricked at the corners of her eyes. No, no, keep control, you can't fall apart here. She wished she could transport herself to Rachel's flat and talk it all over with her before she had to go out and face James again. She still had no idea how he would take the news. He had a family of his own, a wife and children. She wasn't even sure that she'd tell him everything today, she supposed she would have to play it by ear. But she knew now that, eventually, she would tell him. And that her life was going to change forever.

She walked sedately back to the table, and James got to his feet.

‘Catherine, are you all right?' he asked, concerned.

‘Yes, of course,' she said, her voice sounding surprisingly calm. ‘Please, sit down.'

‘Can I get you something?' he asked. ‘A drink?'

She realised she wasn't going to be able to do this without a drink. She knew she'd promised Alice, but she'd be careful. Just one.

‘Yes, all right,' she said. ‘White wine, please.'

He motioned for a waiter and ordered them each a glass, and then he sat down, watching her with an anxious frown. ‘Catherine, I'm beginning to feel like I don't have the whole story.'

‘You certainly don't,' she said, meeting his eyes. She could see the seventeen year old, and she could see Alice. ‘I don't quite know how to say any of this.' She was about to tell him his father was a cold, heartless, despicable liar; maybe he wouldn't believe her, she hadn't thought of that.

‘What is it, Catherine?' he urged. ‘Really, you can say anything.'

‘That's not the way it happened,' she began.

The waiter arrived with their drinks, and Catherine picked up her glass and took a long sip. She put it down on the table again.

‘Please, Catherine, go on,' James urged.

‘Your father, he had papers.'

‘What do you mean, papers?'

‘Just hear me out,' she said. ‘He said that your “liability” did not go beyond paying for an abortion, because that was the only alternative he, and by extension you, were prepared to accept. He added a small sum for what he called “damages”; it was by no means substantial, James, let me assure you. He wrote the cheque to my parents, and he made them sign papers to the effect that we relinquished all claim on you and your family. As far as he was concerned, that was the end of it.'

Now James picked up his glass and took a gulp.

‘I suppose my parents might still have those papers somewhere, if you want proof,' Catherine added.

He was shaking his head. ‘I believe you.'

‘For what it's worth,' said Catherine, ‘I believe you too, what you understood of it.'

‘I appreciate that.' He sighed deeply. ‘My father was used to getting what he wanted, by whatever means. When he told me
what he'd done, or what he said he'd done, I was furious. We didn't speak for weeks. But he didn't care, he'd proved his point, he said. It was for the best.' James shook his head. ‘I have to say, it was never the same between us after that.'

Catherine was watching him. ‘Where is he now?'

He looked at her. ‘He passed away almost two years ago.'

‘I'm sorry,' she said automatically.

‘You have no reason to be.'

He seemed to become lost in thought. Catherine looked down at the table. Neither of them had touched their food. She couldn't eat now anyway. She took another sip of her wine and put the glass back down on the table. She felt calmer now. But she still had questions of her own.

‘James,' she said.

He came out of his reverie and looked across at her.

‘It's strange that we've never bumped into each other all this time. Where did you go to uni?'

‘Well, in London, of course.'

‘What?'

‘I told you, we only got back a couple of months ago.'

‘But I thought . . .' she paused. ‘When exactly did you go to London?'

‘Just after I finished high school,' he explained. ‘My father took a job, the whole family packed up and went there to live. My wife is English, our boys were born there. But after my father died, my mother wanted to come back home. She'd always missed Australia.' He paused. ‘Elizabeth, that's my wife, decided we should come with her. Her parents had both died years before, and she had one brother living in the US. She said family was more important, and we should be close to my mother.'

He was a good man. A decent man. Catherine wasn't thinking ‘what if', in terms of the two of them. But she couldn't help thinking what if Alice had had him in her life.

‘Catherine,' he said, getting her attention. ‘I want to say how sorry I am for what my father did, and that I'm sorry for the way that it happened. But what I'm most sorry about is that you had to go through that on your own. It must have been truly awful.'

She looked across the table at him. She had to tell him now,
she couldn't bear any more lies, any more deception. If she didn't say it now, she would have to find another time, broach it all over again. That was not an option. It had to be now.

‘James, I didn't go through with it.'

‘Pardon?'

She took a deep breath. ‘I didn't have the abortion.'