A Lost Love. Кэрол Мортимер
he conceded abruptly. ‘And maybe we should do something about it. Will you have dinner with me tonight?’
Her eyes widened with suspicion. She didn't trust this man, had good reason not to do so. Her mouth tightened. ‘Why don't you go home and spend some time with your son, Mr Charlwood?’ she rasped contemptuously. ‘You don't sound as if you know him either!’ Her foot stepped down on the accelerator, not caring now that he still stood dangerously close to the car, her last sight of him as she glanced in the driving mirror and saw him looking after her with coldly vengeful eyes.
That last comment about his son had been stupid and reckless, had assuredly alienated a man she knew to be cruel and vicious. But he was also a man she couldn't afford to become close to, a man that she hated, and feared, with all her heart.
Jocelyn seemed much worse in succeeding days, her vitality draining quickly, her wanderings into the past becoming more and more frequent, although she was aware of what was happening at these times, simply regretting mistakes made in a youth that had been long gone.
Brooke listened with fascination to the tales Jocelyn told her of life at Charlwood when she was a child, of the grand parties given there, which she had only been allowed to witness from illicit looks from upstairs.
‘It was wonderful to grow up there.’ Jocelyn lay back weakly on the pillows, tiring more and more easily now. A troubled frown marred her brow. ‘I wish Robert could enjoy it the way I did.’ She sighed. ‘Rafe wanted to bring him in to see me——’
‘Here?’ Brooke gave a dismayed gasp.
She nodded. ‘I told him how ridiculous he was being. A three-year-old shouldn't have to see his Aunt Jossy lying here looking helpless—and feeling it.’
‘No,’ Brooke absently toyed with the pattern on the pink candlewick bedspread. She hadn't seen Rafe Charlwood since that last troubled incident, although it seemed he had visited his aunt recently.
‘I managed to persuade him that a hospital is no place for an impressionable child,’ Jocelyn told her with satisfaction.
‘Persuade?’ she mocked.
‘I forbade him,’ Jocelyn corrected with a trace of her old imperiousness. ‘He's too hard on the boy,’ she muttered. ‘Expects too much of him; he's still only a baby.’ Her face softened as she thought of her great-nephew.
Brooke knew how much Jocelyn loved the little boy, a tall boy for only three years of age, with his father's dark hair and clearly defined features, although his eyes were a warm blue. Brooke had met the little boy several times herself when visiting Jocelyn at her cottage on the estate, Robert being a constant visitor to his Aunty Jossy, seeming to enjoy the informality and fun to be found at her home. As yet Brooke could see no effect on the little boy from his father's strict and often harsh attitude towards him, but one day it would come, the nervousness, the fear, and when that day did come Rafe Charlwood would have lost his son's love as surely as he had once lost his wife's.
‘It isn't wise to antagonise Rafe.’ Jocelyn sensed Brooke's resentment. ‘He's more powerful than all of us.’
Brooke repressed a shudder. ‘I know that,’ she said dully. ‘But that's no reason to be a tyrant to a little boy who can't stand up for himself.’
‘He isn't a tyrant,’ the other woman shook her head. ‘He loves the boy, but he just can't show it, doesn't like to show any sign of weakness. He was hurt and disillusioned once, but he has no intention of repeating the experience.’
‘With his own son?’ Brooke scorned. ‘There's no shame attached to loving one's child, in loving him so desperately that you'll do anything, be anything, to be with him.’ She spoke with a vehemence of feeling that made her voice quiver.
Jocelyn squeezed her hand to help lessen the pain. ‘I'm so sorry things didn't work out for you, darling,’ she sympathised gently. ‘It's so difficult——’
‘Please don't worry about it,’ she hastened to reassure the other woman, knowing that fretting about her problems was the last thing Jocelyn needed. ‘I'll manage.’
‘I know you will,’ her friend nodded, giving a regretful sigh. ‘You're a very strong-minded young lady. It's a pity——’
‘Please, Jocelyn,’ she said tightly. ‘There's no point in talking about it.’
‘No. But my will,’ Jocelyn went on insistently. ‘You won't oppose it?’
Brooke sighed, not wanting to upset her friend, but not wanting anything from her will either. The subject hadn't been discussed since the day Rafe Charlwood had arrived so unexpectedly at the clinic, and she looked about her almost guiltily now, half expecting him to overhear and misunderstand the situation a second time. It was something he was good at!
‘He's away.’ Jocelyn's mouth quirked as she correctly guessed Brooke's haunted thoughts.
‘Again?’ Brooke's brows rose reproachfully.
‘America this time,’ the other woman nodded. ‘For forty-eight hours, he said.’ She gave a rueful smile. ‘And God help anyone who delays him over that time! His work schedule would kill other men,’ she shook her head, ‘but Rafe actually seems to thrive on it.’
‘And Robert?’
‘He's quite happy with his nanny, happier than he should be if the truth were known.’ Jocelyn shook her head sadly. ‘It isn't the way it should be.’
‘Rafe wanted his son,’ Brooke bit out tautly.
‘Because he felt Robert's mother was unfit to bring him up,’ Jocelyn told her evenly.
‘And was she?’ Brooke scorned.
‘I never thought so.’
‘But Rafe did!’
Jocelyn shrugged. ‘He believed he knew his wife. And we'll never know for sure now, not when Jacqui has been dead for two years. But I do know that Rafe will never give up his son, not to anyone.’
‘What if he marries again?’
Jocelyn's reply was emphatic. ‘That will never happen. My will, Brooke—you didn't answer me,’ she prompted insistently.
Brooke sighed at the reintroduction of the subject she had been trying to avoid. ‘It isn't money?’ she asked warily.
‘No,’ came the assured answer.
‘Then I suppose it will be all right,’ Brooke said slowly.
‘Thank you, dear.’ Jocelyn closed her eyes tiredly. ‘And don't be sad when I'm gone,’ she murmured sleepily. ‘Dying isn't so bad, it's living that can sometimes be so hard to do.’
Brooke knew that, knew all about the pain of living when what you really wanted to do was lie back and die …
It was a quiet funeral, the way Jocelyn would have wished it to be, just her close family and a few friends; the people who had really cared about her.
Jocelyn had died peacefully in the end, during her sleep, and after months of suffering it was the way she deserved to go. Brooke had received a terse telephone call from Rafe Charlwood himself telling her of his aunt's death during the night. Perhaps because it was he who called Brooke managed to contain her initial grief, answering him coolly.
‘When will the funeral be held?’ she asked stiltedly.
‘The arrangements haven't been made yet,’ he told her smoothly, showing little or no emotion himself, despite the fact that he had been very fond of his aunt. ‘But I'm sure you would like to attend.’
‘Of course.’ Her tone was slightly defensive. Of course she wanted to attend; Jocelyn had been the best friend she had ever had, to desert her now would be disrespectful—even if the thought of going to Charlwood without her support terrified the life out of her!
‘And I'm equally sure that Jocelyn