None But He

by Patricia Robins

Genres: Romance

Synopsis

When Mandy's boyfriend dies in a motorbike accident, she is left alone with a young child and little money. So when her son's uncle Jon offers her a job as his receptionist - as well as a home with him and his beautiful but spoilt wife, Gillian - she gratefully accepts. But Mandy soon becomes aware of Jon's unhappiness, as well as her own growing love for him. Perhaps if she accepts the attentions of Mike Sinclair, an attractive Irish bachelor, it will help her to keep her true feelings hidden...

Release date: January 29, 2015

Publisher: Hodder & Stoughton

Print pages: 400

Sample

Mandy peered at her reflection in the dressing table mirror and gave a helpless little shrug. She was losing her looks and at the age of twenty, she told herself wryly, she was a little on the young side to be doing so.

She turned away from the mirror and slipped an embroidered smock over her pink trousers. The folds of material hid her thinness the way she had once worn a smock to hide her bulk. Now Jon would not be so likely to notice the loss of weight. She was not so confident that Gillian’s sharp eyes would miss the truth. But then Gillian wouldn’t care how thin she was, so it did not matter.

The girl turned back to the mirror and began to apply mascara to her lashes. She couldn’t afford a new pair of false ones, but her own were thick and curling and the grey-green eyes were still beautiful without any beauty aids. They looked enormous in her chalk-white angular little face.

In the bedroom next door her kindly landlady was putting Timmy to bed. She could hear the baby’s cheerful gurgles and Mrs Phillips’ loud but affectionate voice as she settled the little boy for the night. All was well, Mandy told herself with a sigh of relief. Timmy wasn’t used to being put to bed by anyone other than herself and she did not want to go out to dinner leaving behind a screaming fractious child for her landlady to baby-mind. She was immensely grateful to Mrs Phillips for offering to look after Timmy; this despite her firm ruling when Mandy had moved in that the modest rental did not and would not include a baby-minding service.

As Mandy reached for her coat her wide soft mouth curved suddenly into a mischievous grin. The apparently stern and unbending North Country woman was weakening day by day beneath the onslaught of her little boy’s charm. Though Mrs Phillips would die rather than admit it, Mandy was certain that she was really thrilled to have Timmy all to herself this evening. No doubt once Mandy was out of the house, she would relax that outward rigid indifference and perhaps even kiss the baby good night!

It had been agreed between them that Mandy should slip out of the house when she was dressed without looking in on Timmy lest her appearance and impending departure should upset him.

‘I’ll take your good night and thank you as said!’ had been Mrs Phillips’ matter-of-fact comment as she carried Timmy off for his bath. ‘Have a good time!’ she added, almost as if this wish was against her better nature rather than because of it. It was part of her policy as far as Mandy was concerned to maintain a haughty disapproval of everything about her—the way she dressed, the way she behaved, the way she thought. Most of all, she made it quite clear that she disapproved violently of Mandy’s illegitimate child. She had only relented and taken Mandy and Timmy in as lodgers because, she had explained, Timmy’s father would have made a decent woman, an honest woman, of Mandy had he lived. It wasn’t Mandy’s fault he’d had that fatal motor-bike accident, though, mind you, it was Mandy’s fault and no other’s that she’d been pregnant at the time.

Desperate for somewhere to live with her baby, Mandy shut her ears to the moralising lectures and obvious disapproval, grateful to have a roof over her head at a rent she could afford and near enough to her work and a day nursery for Timmy. She’d walked miles, knocked on door after door, only to be met with ‘No vacancy’ as soon as the landlady saw the pram and her ringless finger. She’d been close to giving up the whole unequal struggle of trying to keep her baby that afternoon she’d knocked on Mrs Phillips’ door. Now, almost a year later, she was beginning to realise that a heart of gold was encased in that angular upright figure and that behind the stern disapproving exterior there was an unwilling liking, if not admiration, for her in her efforts to do her best for the baby she had never meant to have but who now mattered more to her than anything or anyone in the world.

Mandy closed the front door behind her and, shivering in the cold darkness of the November night, walked hurriedy down to the bus stop. Jon and Gillian were staying in the better part of the town at the only really good hotel—the Manor. They were stopping over on their way to London, Jon had said on the telephone, and wanted her to dine with them. Before he left next morning he wanted to see Timmy. He hadn’t seen him since that day in the mothers’ and babies’ home when he was three weeks old. Mandy remembered that afternoon as clearly as if it were through a huge magnifying glass. Gillian had been there, tall, languid, beautiful Gillian, saying in that hard high voice of hers:

‘But you must be out of your mind, Mandy. You’ll ruin your life, you know. You’re hardly likely to get married with a child hanging round your neck. Besides, it isn’t fair to the kid. You ought to have it adopted.’

Jon had tried to stop the battering of words coming from his young wife’s lips.

‘Mandy has made up her mind, Gilly. It isn’t for us to interfere. Anyway, I think she’s right!’

How grateful she had been for those few added words! All the days of indecision, of trying to make up her mind what would be best for the tiny baby she loved so passionately and wanted to keep, had taken as much toll of her strength as the birth itself and the months of worry preceding it.

‘You’ll never manage!’ Gillian had said, shrugging.

‘I can try!’ Mandy had flashed back. ‘Other girls have managed. I want to keep him. He’s mine and I love him!’

Jon had put a hand on her shoulder—a strangely warm comforting hand giving her faith in herself, in her future.

‘We’ll help, of course!’ he said quietly. ‘I’m afraid Pete didn’t leave any money but I’ll arrange an allowance of some sort.’

Gillian’s voice, sharper than ever, had broken in.

‘Mandy said she could manage, so why not let her see if she can. You’ll only be propping up a …’

‘Stop it, Gilly! It’s my brother’s child and I intend to help when and where I can.’

Near to tears, Mandy had said proudly:

‘I don’t need money, thank you, Jon. If I do, I’ll ask for it, but I don’t need … I don’t want an allowance from you!’

Of course it wasn’t true, but knowing how Gillian resented Jon’s offer, she could not and would not take help until she was desperate. Although he said nothing at the time, she was sure Jon understood her desire for independence; recognised her need to keep her self-respect when she had so little of it left.

Unknown to Gillian, Mandy was certain, he’d sent a very generous cheque for Timmy’s christening present. There’d been another substantial cheque and a box full of quite unsuitable, extravagant toys for Christmas and again on Timmy’s birthday. With them had been a note saying:

I’d prefer you didn’t write and thank me.

I’ll take it as said. Love, Jon

Reading between the lines, Mandy guessed he did not want Gillian to know what he had done.

Now he had come to see his little nephew and Mandy was touched by his desire to do so. As a highly respectable young G.P. living a conventional life amongst conventional people, he could have been excused for not wanting to know his brother’s illegitimate child.

Mandy was so lost in thought she nearly passed the Manor Hotel. She stood for a moment outside, feeling suddenly terribly alone and uncertain. It was almost two years since she had been out anywhere at all, let alone to dinner in a smart hotel like the Manor. She’d forgotten how to behave, what aperitif to order before the meal if Jon offered her one; whether he would consult her about wine and if it were red with white meat or the other way round. Suddenly, her pink trousers and smock felt all wrong, too way-out, too casual. Gillian, as always, would be incredibly smart, right up-to-date and very beautiful. Beside her, Mandy would feel ingénue, even gauche and ridiculous.

She felt like turning on her heel and running back to the comforting severity of Mrs Phillips’ boarding house but at the same time, she knew her friend, Fiona, had been perfectly right when she said:

‘Of course you’ll go out to dinner, you stupid goof. You’re in a rut, Mandy, and if you aren’t careful, you’ll settle into it for life. Here you are, offered some super free nosh and drinks at the best hotel and on the brink of saying you can’t leave Timmy. Mrs Phillips can look after him. You haven’t had a night out since the day you came here and that’s a crime, not a virtue.’

Mandy had tried to argue.

‘You don’t know Gillian. She doesn’t approve of me and …’

‘And nothing!’ Fiona had interrupted brashly. ‘You say Jon is kind and nice and he invited you, not her. Don’t be such a ninny. Go!’

Smiling at the memory of Fiona’s furious freckled little face, the intensity with which she spoke, Mandy drew back some courage. She pushed open the door of the hotel and, head high, walked into the lobby.

Almost before she had accustomed her eyes to the bright lights, Jon’s tall rugged frame was towering over her, his voice saying warm welcoming things, his hand resting lightly on her arm as he drew her towards the lounge.

‘Gilly’s not quite ready; she’ll be down presently. We’ll have a drink in here. What do you feel like? Sherry? Gin and something?’

She felt herself relax. With Jon around she had nothing to be nervous about. She sat down in the deep comfortable armchair and looked up at him, knowing that the sight of him would hurt. He was so breathtakingly like Timmy’s father, his younger brother whom she had loved so desperately and so briefly before he’d died. They had the same dark brown eyes beneath the same broad high forehead. Only their mouths were different, Jon’s wide and straight and serious where Pete’s had been upturned and full of daredevil mischief. Though four years separated them in age, the brothers had been very close, despite their opposite temperaments and ways of life. Jon had chosen the conventional life of a doctor, worked his way steadily through medical school and qualified without difficulty. Pete had been unable to settle to anything after he left school, playing in a pop group, leaving it to hitch-hike round Europe and finally getting a job at a garage where he could indulge his passion for motor-bikes and speed. It was there he had met Mandy, a newly fledged secretary in her first job with the manager of the garage. They’d had a brief crazy courtship in which Pete had pursued her with all his charm and won her heart. She had known he was irresponsible, unlikely to be faithful, living for the mood of the moment, feckless even, but she’d loved him and had soon stopped caring about tomorrow in the first wild delight of newly found love. It was her first affair and she had been as uncaring as Pete about tomorrow. Nothing mattered but today—not even the alienation from her parents who wanted nothing more to do with her when they discovered she had been sleeping with Pete. She’d moved into Pete’s miniscule flat and for a few glorious months she stopped thinking.

Then Pete was killed. She was so desolate she finally got in touch with her mother and was on the point of returning home, the prodigal daughter, when she realised she was pregnant. At first she was terrified; then with the thought that she still had a tiny part of Pete left to live for, her despair gave way to hope and even to a confused happiness. She found another job where she wasn’t known, moved into a flat with two other girls and waited for the months to pass before she could hold Pete’s baby in her arms. Neither her mother’s written exhortations to have the baby adopted, not her flat-mates’ efforts to persuade her to have an abortion, affected her in the least. But it was different when the child was finally born. She loved him desperately and once the idea was put in her head that he might have a better life if he were adopted, she lost her confidence and her assurance. She nursed him and watched the other girls the day their babies were removed for adoption, knowing she could never let Timmy go, but feeling she ought to. It was Matron who finally gave her back her will to keep him.

‘He’s yours, my dear, and if you feel strong enough to cope with all the difficulties I’ve pointed out to you, then you hang on to him. You’re pretty, young, and a good girl despite what’s happened to you. Some young man is going to find that out and want to marry you. Then your Timmy will have a father as well as a mother. Don’t let anyone persuade you to part with him if you want to keep him.’

So she had kept him, despite that painful visit from Jon and Gillian—the first time she had met them and, she supposed, the last. She had not expected Pete’s family to approve any more than had her own.

Jon returned to the table carrying the sherry she had asked for and a glass of beer for himself. He smiled at her as he handed the glass to her and said:

‘You’re looking very pretty, Mandy. How’s the boy?’

Mandy’s face lit up.

‘He’s beautiful. At least, I think so!’ she added quickly, afraid lest she should start boasting and boring Jon, who no doubt was only asking out of politeness. But when she remained silent he said:

‘Well, tell me about him. How big is he now? Is he like Pete? Or you?’

Question and answer flowed quickly from one to the other. Jon seemed genuinely interested and was on the point of saying how much he was longing to meet his little nephew in the morning when Gillian interrupted. Her arrival had been unnoticed by either of them.

‘I suppose you are going to offer me a seat and a drink?’

Jon sprang to his feet and . . .