The serial: For Love and Money Day 28

Violet has met William while riding on the moors. She has told him Charlie is his son as he’s inherited crooked fingers from his grandmother’s side of the family

The moment William reached home he ran up to the nursery to see Charlie. Polly, his nanny, was giving him his tea. Charlie stopped eating when he saw William. He ran to him to be scooped up in his arms and tossed in the air. “Mr William, that’s against all my rules. Master Charles must finish his tea before he plays.” “Sorry, Polly,” grinned William. William sat the sturdy three-year-old back in his chair. “Eat up Charlie, then I’ll take you out into the garden to play ball.”

William went to find his mother. She was taking afternoon tea in the garden, in the shade of the oak tree.

“William, what a surprise, I thought you were at the mill today,” she said. Is everything all right there?”

“Fine,” he replied. He’d almost forgotten that was where he was supposed to be at this hour. “I finished early.” Out of earshot William tried to study his mother’s hands. Strange to think he’d lived with her all his life and never noticed her little fingers were deformed. He couldn’t tell now, either.

She had her hands curved, relaxed in her lap. When she moved them to reach her scone he still couldn’t see her little fingers properly. “Is there something wrong, William?” she asked. “Not a thing.” He removed his gaze from her hands. He would look at Charlie’s first.

Polly brought Charlie out into the garden. He was carrying a brightly-coloured ball under his arm. He lunged at William, butting him with his head, then threw the ball across the grass, laughing his childish laughter.

Together they ran round the lawn, kicking the ball. When it landed among the geraniums Charlie picked it up, his hands splayed out to span the width of it.

This was when William saw the little finger would not straighten. It was like a tiny humped-backed bridge.

William returned to his mother, who was watching them fondly, a smile of family pride on her face.

William kicked the ball quite a distance, so Charlie would run after it and be out of earshot. “Mother, have you noticed Charlie’s hands?” “Do you mean his little fingers?” She looked guilty. “They’re like mine unfortunately. It runs in the family. My father and grandfather both had the deformity.” “Does Father know?” “About Charlie’s fingers, do you mean?” William nodded. “I have no idea. I never mentioned them. Your father can see no one but the Braithwaites in Charlie, so I’m certainly not going to draw attention to my inherited deformity, small though it is.”

William smiled. He looked forward to enlightening his father about Charlie. Of telling him that he was the child’s grandfather, not his father. Urgent kisses William did not go to see Violet for a week. He reminded himself she was poison!

He told himself he needed to tangle with Violet again about as much as he needed a hole in the head. Then he laughed and told himself not to be so melodramatic. David Simpson was not going to catch them. They were going to be ultra-careful.

David was away on business in Milan for a week, so Violet felt deliriously free and willed William to meet her on the moors. She willed it for two days.

On the third day he came. She saw him riding through the heather. “You came!” she exclaimed. “Against my better judgment.” This amused Violet. “I willed it.” “You are a bit of a witch,” William laughed. William dismounted and lifted Violet from her horse. They looked out over the stretch of moorland. There was not a person in sight. “It’s raining,” William remarked. “Hardly at all.” “Where’s this little hut you promised me?” He gave her his crooked smile.

“Quite a ride away, beyond the rocks.” She waved her arm vaguely.

William grabbed her. “Too far! I can’t wait,” and he covered her face and neck with urgent kisses. Then he released her suddenly. “Violet, you’ll be the ruination of me.” “I don’t know why you say that,” Violet protested. “It’s a feeling I have.” He patted his abdomen. “Here, in my gut.”

Violet, superstitious, worried about this for a few seconds, then dismissed it as idle talk on William’s part.

William took off his jacket and spread it on the heather for Violet to lie on. “Oh, Lord, Violet, I’ve missed you.” “Me too,” she whispered between their kisses. When they stood up and adjusted their clothes, soaked with rain, William said: “I must see you again tomorrow, Violet.”

His breathing had not settled back to normal and his voice sounded thick. He lifted a wet strand of hair out of Violet’s eyes. The gesture was verging on tender – unusual for William.

“Of course, William,” whispered Violet. “I want that too.”

The following evening they both galloped across the moors to meet by the rocks, a landmark in the miles of moorland. Jealous? They hardly spoke they were so eager to be in each other’s arms.

Afterwards Violet said: “David comes back tomorrow, but I’ll find a way to see you, William.”

William gripped her arm a degree too tightly for comfort. “You enjoy this deceit don’t you Violet?” She giggled. “You’re a bit of a harlot.” He said it teasingly, yet not teasingly at the same time. “I know.” She giggled again. “Last time I didn’t know you were also seeing my father. You led me to believe I was the only one. This time I know I’m not.”

“You’re not jealous, are you, William?” There was surprise in her voice. Hope.

“Me? No,” he scorned. “If I were jealous it would mean only one thing.”

She held his gaze with her own and said softly: “That you loved me. When I know that, like me, you love only yourself.” Yet she said it wistfully.

“Twin souls,” he replied gaily, but there was a look on his face that Violet couldn’t fathom.

“Wouldn’t it be funny, William, if we accidentally fell in love with each other?”

“No,” he replied. “Tragic.”

(More tomorrow.)

Freda McDonnell