This Is My Child. Lucy Gordon
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“And how dared you break that child’s heart by denying him one of the few comforts he has!” she flung back. “How could you be so cruel, so callous?”
“I have good reasons for what I do—”
“There are no good reasons for hurting an eight-yearold child,” she said firmly.
He paused to take a long breath, but before he could hurl his anger and bitterness at her he was swamped by weariness. He sat down abruptly and closed his eyes, and the words that came out of his mouth, much against his will, were, “I haven’t slept for forty-eight hours.” He pulled himself forcibly together. “I don’t know what David’s told you—”
“The truth. He’s a very honest boy. He says you stopped his lessons because he got behind at school. Naturally he blames himself.”
“Why naturally?”
“Because he blames himself for everything that happens. Didn’t you know that?”
He shook his head, dumbly. He had a great longing to close his eyes.
“He told me how you’d pulled him out of the concert, too,” Melanie said. “I was astonished. I’d have thought you would seize the chance to boost David’s confidence, and give him an hour of happiness that will help him cope with the past dreadful year.”
“I see. So what did you do, Miss Haynes? For I feel very sure that you did something.”
“I put him back in the concert. He’s so happy about it that for the last two nights he hasn’t even wet his bed. And that’s made him even happier. But of course you can always go up and tell him that it’s all off.”
He eyed her shrewdly. “You’re a very clever woman.”
“Are you going to do that—and break his heart?”
“Of all the disgracefully loaded questions—!” he exploded. “Look, if I agree to this concert, there must be no more encouraging him to defy me. We have to lay down some ground rules, and you must abide by them. I’m glad you and David seem to get along well, but he’s my son, not yours. Is that understood?”
“Perfectly,” she said in a colorless voice.
“Very well. Now we’ve got that clear, he can do the concert.”
“And you’ll be there?”
“What?”
“It’s a pity that we can’t tell him you rushed home on purpose to see him, but it’s a bit late for that now. Never mind, we’ll have to make the best of it.”
“Good of you,” he said shortly. But irony was lost on her, he realized. “It’s out of the question. I’m behind on my appointments because I’ve been away. I can’t take an evening off. Is David’s life really going to be blighted if I don’t come to listen to him playing the piano in a drafty school hall?”
“His life will be blighted if you don’t show him that he’s vitally important to you.”
“I do that every day—”
“Not in ways that mean anything to him. He’s eight. He doesn’t care that you’re out there building an industrial empire, but he does care that you treat his big moment as though it mattered. Weren’t you ever in a school performance?”
“For pity’s sake! I don’t recall my parents turning out to my school functions. It hasn’t damaged me.”
She looked at him levelly. “Well, you know best about that, of course.”
He took a deep breath. “What’s the exact date? I’m too jet-lagged to work it out.”
She told him, crossing her fingers for the miracle. But it didn’t come. “I’m sorry,” he said. “There’s a banquet on that night—it’s what I came back for—I’m making a speech—there are going to be government ministers there—for heaven’s sake, surely you can understand?” His voice rose in irritation.
“Of course,” she said crisply. “I understand perfectly. So will David. Good night, Mr. Haverill.”
When she’d gone, he sat staring into space, a prey to turbulent emotions. Pictures danced before him—David sitting at the piano, his head close to that woman, exchanging smiles with her. His flinching at the sight of his father. It had been a mistake to let her into the house. He’d known that on the day they met. She’d stood there in the bay of the window, with the light falling on her lovely face and deep, mysterious eyes, and he’d been filled with alarm. He didn’t know why he should be afraid of this young woman, who seemed to have an immediate empathy with David. After all, that was what he’d hoped for when he hired her. But he had the feeling of having released a genie that had got far beyond his control. And tonight, when he’d seen David turn to her, seeking refuge from his own father, he’d known that by some mysterious process she was stealing his son.
He passed a hand over his eyes, wishing his head didn’t ache so.
On the afternoon of David’s concert, Giles said to Melanie, “I thought a lot about what you said—about David needing his parents there to cheer him on.”
“Yes?” she urged eagerly.
“So I called Zena this morning, to see if she would go. But all I got was the answering machine saying they were away for a few days.”
She sighed. “Well, it looks as though David will have to make do with me.”
“I just wanted you to know that I tried,” he said, and even to his own ears his voice sounded hollow.
To the last minute, she clung to the hope that Giles would change his mind, but when she saw him descend the stairs in white tie and tails she knew he hadn’t dressed up for a school concert.
David, too, was ready to leave. Giles placed a hand on his son’s shoulder. “Good luck,” he said. “Make me proud of you.”
“Yes, Daddy.” David’s voice was expressionless and his face had become a mask again. Melanie threw an angry look at Giles, but he was already walking away and didn’t see it. She wanted to shout after him, “How can you be proud of him if you’re not there?”
Then she wondered at her own thoughts. She would have David’s big moment all to herself, free from Giles Haverill’s intrusion. As his mother, what more could she ask?
But it wasn’t enough. She wasn’t the one David wanted. Giles might be neglectful, overbearing and insensitive, but his little son adored him and lived for his praise. And she, who loved David more than anything in life, wanted only his happiness.
In the school hall she made sure of getting a seat where David could see her, and led the applause when he appeared. She held her breath as he played the opening notes. Then gradually she relaxed as she realized everything was going to be fine. He played confidently, without stumbling once, and when he reached the end the applause was more than just polite.
“Well done,” she said when they met afterward. “That was the best ever.”
“Would Daddy be proud of me?” he asked wistfully.
“Of course he will. I’m going to tell him how splendid you were.”
At home she gave him some milk and sandwiches, and put him to bed. He snuggled down, promising to go to sleep, but when she came up later she heard noises from inside his room. She listened for a moment before pushing the door open a crack. David’s little television was on. “You shouldn’t be watching that now,” she said.
“But I’m watching Daddy,” he pleaded. “Look.”
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