The Call of Destiny (The Return of Arthur Book 1) (21 page)

She had offered excuses, but
no satisfactory explanation. ‘Why did you give me away, mother?’ he asked her
yet again.

Igraine knew by the determined
look in her son’s eye that he would not leave her in peace until she had given
him his answer. ‘Uther made me do a deal,’ she whispered.

‘What sort of deal?’

Igraine looked down at her
hands. ‘He made me agree to have you adopted. I was desperate, you see. I
couldn’t live without him. At least that’s what I told myself. What can I say?
I was young and foolish.’

‘So my adoption was the price
you paid to keep your marriage intact.’

Her hands were clenched so
tightly that the knuckles were white. ‘It was the price I paid for your life.’

A long silence. Mother and son
looked at each other as if for the first time. ‘Try not to judge me,’ she
pleaded.

He paced the room, turning everything over in
his mind.

After a time he sat beside her
and took her hand. ‘Shall I see you again?’ she asked.

‘Yes, of course. But I need time to take all
this in.’

‘Will you see Uther?’ She
squeezed his hand, willing him to say yes.

‘What’s the point?’

‘You two ought to meet, for
your sake, as well as his. He needs forgiveness just as much as I do, don’t
forget that. And you, Arthur, you need to forgive.’

She was right, of course. But
was she being altogether honest? He left with the feeling that something was
being concealed from him. Until he discovered what it was, his mind would never
be at rest.

When Uther came home that evening he wanted a full
report on Arthur’s visit.

‘He thinks Godfrey is his
father.’ It was the first thing she thought of.

Uther frowned. ‘Why didn’t you
tell him the truth?’ ‘I couldn’t.’

He was genuinely puzzled. ‘Why not?’

Even after all these years it
was still hard to say. ‘If I had told Arthur you were his father, he would have
worked out that I must have been sleeping with you while Godfrey was alive. As
it is, he thinks we only became lovers later.’

‘Really, Igraine,’ said Uther
disdainfully, ‘there are times when I despair of you. You have what you dreamed
of these many years – you have your son back. You also have the chance to wipe
the slate clean and start again. And what do you do? You lie to him!’

Igraine was close to tears.
‘If I hadn’t, he would think I was responsible for Godfrey’s death. I couldn’t
bear that.’

Uther’s lip curled. ‘How like
you not to see the wood for the trees.’

‘What do you mean by that?’

‘What does it matter if he
knows we committed adultery? What does any of it matter? What matters is that
we tell him the truth.’

Igraine flushed with anger.
‘That’s rich coming from you! You were the one who wanted to see your son dead
rather than tell the world the truth. Or had you forgotten?’

No, he had not forgotten, but
that was then and this was now. ‘It’s wrong to lie to him, Igraine.’

It was the last straw. ‘How
dare you lecture me, you sanctimonious bastard! I suppose you never lie?’

‘Not if I can help it.’

‘You can’t help lying to me,
is that it?’ ‘Meaning?’

‘Our marriage is one big lie.’

‘I really have no idea what
you are getting so excited about,’ said Uther coldly. ‘Our marriage is no more
of a lie than anyone else’s. You have everything you want.’

‘Except a faithful husband.’

‘I am an excellent husband. I
look after you, I am generous, not to say indulgent. I think I do my duty.’

‘Oh really? Was it your duty
you were doing when Arthur came to see us this morning?’

‘I wanted to be here, but
unfortunately I was detained at the House.’

‘Whose house? One of your many
girlfriends? May Middleton’s perhaps?’

It was clear to Uther that he
was getting the worst of this exchange, a change of tack was needed. He had
been shrewdly cautious in promoting his political career, advancing with care
up the treacherously icy slopes that led to the highest office in the land. All
around were precipitous drops and deep crevasses, one false step could mean the
end of everything, and he was well aware that in politics there were no second
chances. Igraine was crucial to his advancement, her beauty and her social
connections conferred on him a certain celebrity status in the House of
Commons. No one ever refused an invitation to Brackett Hall. Pendragon was
known to have an excellent chef and the best wine cellar in England. ‘Duchess,’
he cooed, ‘you know that isn’t true.’ He shook his head despairingly. ‘Why, oh
why, must we always fight? It’s so terribly depressing, and so unnecessary. If
this argument was my fault I am truly sorry. If I have done anything to hurt
you, please forgive me.’ He struck his breast. ‘
Mea culpa
. I am such a
clumsy oaf. Let’s face it, that’s all we men are, clumsy oafs.’

‘Don’t try that unctuous shit
with me, you hypocrite! You devious, lying shit!’ When she had screamed and
ranted and sobbed the bitterness out of her system, she pleaded with him. He
was Arthur’s father. He must be the one to tell him. ‘We shall have a son
again,’ she said, wiping away her tears. ‘He’ll come and live with us, and you
will give him a job. Oh, it will all be so wonderful. Please, darling, tell him
you’re his father. Do this one thing for me.’

Uther shrugged. Who said women
were the stronger sex? ‘If that’s what you want, duchess.’

 Shooting his cuffs self-importantly,
Uther surveyed the dining room of Greys. All around were the distinctive sights
and sounds of an exclusive London club: walls hung with portraits of
distinguished past members, tables gleaming with crystal and silver flatware,
the room humming with discreetly controlled conversation punctuated by the
occasional explosive

burst of laughter.

‘I don’t mind telling you,
Arthur, there are some per-itty important people in this room. I doubt there’s
anyone here who isn’t in
Who’s Who
.’ He sipped his glass of claret.
‘Except for the waiters. Mind you,’ he added roguishly, ‘I shouldn’t be
surprised if some of them weren’t in it too.’ Uther bounced in his chair,
enjoying his little joke.

It was the first time they had
met, or at least the first time for twenty years. Uther considered Arthur –
excellent bone structure, athletic build, a fine looking young man. Walking
into the dining room with him he had felt a rush of pride. At every table heads
turned and everyone looked at Arthur. That shock of blond hair and those
startlingly blue eyes attracted attention. But there was more to it than that,
the youngster carried himself well, almost, you might say, regally. There was
about him a calm composure that conveyed a sense of inner strength; a rare quality,
that. This was no gauche youth, this was a young man at ease with himself,
taking in his stride what was certainly an unfamiliar experience and could
easily have been an intimidating one. Uther had to admit, he was impressed.
After ordering he came straight to the point. ‘I owe you an apology, Arthur.
Peccavi
,
I have sinned. I am deeply ashamed of being a party to your adoption.’ The
apology was handsome enough, but it was not apologies Arthur wanted, it was
explanations. ‘Can you ever forgive me?’

Instead of answering the
question directly, Arthur countered it with one of his own, the same he had
asked his mother several times. ‘Why
did
you have me adopted?’

Uther looked surprised. ‘Did
your mother not explain?’ ‘She said you made her do it.’

‘Did she now?’ Uther set down
his wine glass. ‘Well if that is what she said, far be it from me to contradict
her.’

Arthur was left to work that
one out. The response was shrewd, falling short of a challenge but leaving
Igraine’s claim open to doubt. ‘I can only say I believed that what we did was
for the best.’

Arthur swallowed a few more
mouthfuls of whatever it was he was eating and laid down his knife and fork. He
had no stomach for food today.

Uther watched in silence. ‘I
hear you got a first.’ ‘Yes.’

An approving nod. ‘Well done.’
‘Thank you, sir.’

Later, when coffee was poured,
Uther lit the largest cigar Arthur had ever seen, waved the match in the air
long after the flame was out, directed a long, indulgent stream of smoke at the
cherubs on the ceiling and leaned back in his chair with the look of a man
about to deliver himself of something portentous. ‘Tell me now, my boy, what do
you intend doing with your life?’

‘Somehow or other I shall have
to earn a living,’ said Arthur.

‘One of those tiresome
imperatives,’ agreed Uther dryly. The edge of sarcasm was not lost on Arthur.
At least, he thought, Uther had not mentioned the real world.

‘You will find the real world
rather different from Oxford.’ Arthur bit his lip. ‘So I’ve been told.’

‘Anything in mind?’

‘Not as yet.’ What was all
this about, he wondered, and anyway what right did his step-father have to
discuss his future with him?

‘What about politics?’

‘I’m afraid I know nothing about politics.’

‘Splendid. There is no better
qualification for politics,’ said Uther grandly, ‘than knowing nothing about
it. There are far too many politicians who think they know it all. Look at me,
I never knew anything, and I still don’t. And I am Secretary of State for Trade
and Industry, with some hope of becoming Foreign Secretary in the near future.’

Arthur grinned. Against his
natural instincts he was beginning to warm to the man. ‘Somehow I don’t think
politics is for me,’

‘I dare say you are right,’
said Uther. ‘It’s a precarious game.’ On reflection, the last thing he wanted
was having his son compete with him in his own back-yard. With a swift change
of direction he enquired, ‘Keeping the wolf from the door are we?’

‘Just about,’ said Arthur.
‘How, if I may ask?’

This was beginning to feel
like an interrogation. ‘I’m temping here and there.’

‘Temping!’ Uther made the word
sound like a virulent disease. ‘And what does that involve?’

‘At the moment I’m working as
a hospital porter. It doesn’t pay much but it’s interesting.’

Uther’s lip curled
distastefully. ‘My dear boy, you can’t wheel dead bodies around for the rest of
your life, there’s no future in it. I suggest you find something that makes
better use of your talents. Have you ever considered going into business?’

‘No.’

‘Hmm. Well, as it happens, I
might be able to offer you something rather good.’ The tip of Uther’s cigar
glowed red, and yet another stream of smoke was directed at the winged cherubs.
‘You may know I own a property company.’

‘Yes, I do.’

‘I made a bundle of money in
the early days, I don’t mind telling you, but in recent years things haven’t
gone so well. Frankly, since I went to Trade and Industry I haven’t had much
time to devote to business. If they make me Foreign Secretary I shan’t have any
time at all. I’m looking for someone to run things. Interested?’

‘I know nothing about property
either,’ replied Arthur regretfully.

‘No problem. I can teach you.
You’re a bright young chap. If you do well, I’ll give you half the company.
It’s a one in a million opportunity to make yourself a fortune. What do you
say?’ Uther leaned back, puffing away at his cigar, and contemplating Arthur
through narrowed eyes. He was congratulating himself. An inspiration, a stroke
of genius. If it worked out, both of them would make money; if it didn’t, he
had lost nothing. Either way he would have his son where he could keep an eye
on him.

Arthur delayed his response,
not because he was seriously considering Uther’s proposition but because he did
not want to offend him. ‘Please don’t think me ungrateful,’ he said finally, ‘I
just don’t think business is for me.’

‘I see.’ Uther did his best to
hide his disappointment. ‘What did you have in mind, then?’

‘I would like to see the world
– have some adventures.’ ‘Indeed? And how do you intend financing this global

adventure tour of yours?’
enquired Uther sardonically. ‘I was thinking of joining the army.’

Uther stubbed viciously at his
cigar. ‘Dear God. Is this by any chance Merlin’s idea?’

‘I discussed it with him, yes,’ admitted
Arthur.

‘Now there’s an example of a
wasted life,’ said Uther, wagging his finger at Arthur as if he held him
personally responsible. ‘What would he know about careers? Why a brilliant man
like that threw his talent away on schoolmastering, I shall never know.’

Arthur was silent, refusing to
be drawn, which irritated Uther even more. The stupidity of it, turning down
the offer of a lifetime for a career in the army! But then, come to think of
it, was it really so stupid? For Arthur, yes. But for Uther? On second thoughts,
perhaps it was not such a bad idea. It had at least one attraction – it would
keep his son out of his hair. Not that he had ever for a single moment taken
Merlin’s so-called prophecy seriously. Still . . . ’I suppose if that’s what
you really want,’ said Uther doubtfully.

‘So you approve?’ No sooner
had he asked the question than Arthur regretted it. Who was this man to approve
or disapprove of his plans?

‘Can’t say I’m thrilled. Not
much future, I would have thought. Why do we need an army anyway? No one left
to fight bar a few crazies. This is the twenty-first century.’

‘Merlin thinks the world is a
more dangerous place than it was in the twentieth century.’

‘No doubt Merlin knows better
than I do,’ said Uther, with heavy sarcasm. ‘He’s a schoolmaster and I’m merely
a humble politician.’

‘I did think of joining “Aid
without Frontiers”,’ said Arthur. ‘They’re international and non-political as
you know, and they do a lot of good work.’

Please God, thought Uther, not
good work, anything but that. He flashed a dazzling beam at Arthur. ‘What a
splendid idea! I respect a man with a social conscience. I can see you’re an
idealist, as I was at your age. You want to put the world to rights, feed the
hungry, clothe the naked, succour the sick, that sort of thing. Shows your
heart’s in the right place. Take my advice, though, stick with the army. If you
do well, and I’m sure you will, you’ll have something on your CV that means
something.’

‘Thanks for the tip.’ He was thinking he may
have been over- hasty in judging his step-father. From now on he would try to
keep an open mind.

Until today, Uther’s
conscience had never troubled him; now, however, with the benefit of hindsight,
his reasons for having his son adopted seemed less than compelling, almost
trivial. He was beginning to think it would have been nice to have a son, to
watch him grow and see him develop into this engaging young man. He could have
influenced him, guided him, given him the benefit of his advice and experience.
Well, it was all done and dusted now. Too late for regrets.

‘More coffee?’ ‘I’m fine,
thanks.’ ‘Glass of port?’ ‘No thanks.’

No, of course not, this young
man was far too controlled to be drinking at lunchtime. Uther considered
lighting up another cigar but decided against it. Idly he brushed a few bread
crumbs off the tablecloth. It was time.

‘Your mother was very
insistent we meet.’ ‘Yes.’

‘To be honest, I was rather
hesitant about the idea . . . in all the circumstances. I only wish they had
been different. Still, I imagine there’s a time in most men’s lives when their
past comes back to haunt them.’ Uther glanced nervously out of the window at
Green Park, as if the ghosts of his own past were lying in wait out there,
ready to pounce on him the moment he stepped out on the street.

Arthur made no comment,
sensing his step-father had something important to tell him. Uther leaned
forward and placed his hands flat on the table in a decisive gesture.

‘Do you know why she was so keen on our
meeting?’

‘I imagine she wanted me to
get to know my step-father.’ ‘Not quite.’

‘You mean that wasn’t the
reason?’ ‘I mean I’m not your step-father.’

A puzzled frown. ‘Who are you, then?’

Uther looked Arthur directly in the eye. ‘I am
your father.’

Arthur stared back at Uther
blankly, unable to take in what he had said.

‘I am your father, Arthur,’ repeated Uther.

The conversation in the dining
room was hushed; at a nearby table someone delivered the punch line of a joke,
and there was a sudden burst of raucous laughter.

‘That’s not possible.’

‘I realise this may come as a
surprise to you, but the fact is you are my son.’

‘Surprise?’ Arthur snatched at
the word, as though it were a lifebelt in a stormy sea. For a few moments he
sat in a daze. ‘My father is dead,’ he said at last.

‘Who told you that?’

‘Merlin. At least I think he
did. But anyway, my mother – your wife – she confirmed it.’

A quizzical look. ‘Did she?
Perhaps you only heard what she wanted you to hear.’

‘I assumed – that is,’ stammered Arthur, ‘I
always thought . . . ’

A brisk nod. ‘That Godfrey,
Marquess of Truro, was your father.’

‘I was born six months after
he died.’ Arthur was trying to remember his mother’s precise words. ‘Didn’t
Mother tell me that you and she . . . that you . . . ?’ He broke off, too
embarrassed to continue.

‘That we only became lovers
after Godfrey’s death?’ ‘That’s what she said.’

A rueful grimace. ‘I’m afraid
she lied.’ ‘But why?’

‘Scared you might think badly
of her, I imagine. Don’t be too hard on her, Arthur. None of us is perfect. We
all tell porky pies from time to time. Meeting you after all these years was a
trauma for her. She intended to tell you the truth, she wanted to tell you the
truth. When it came to it, she funked it, that’s all.’

Arthur looked intently at the tablecloth, not
trusting himself to look at Uther who continued. ‘We were young and in love, if
that’s any excuse.’ Arthur’s thoughts whirred uselessly in his head like the
broken mechanism of a clockwork doll. ‘Suddenly she was pregnant. My fault, of
course,’ admitted Uther magnanimously, ‘I should have taken precautions.’
Arthur flinched and Uther knew instantly he had said the wrong thing. ‘Not
quite the point, eh? I should never have touched her in the first place. That’s
what you’re thinking, isn’t it? You are right, of course.’ Uther smote his
breast dramatically. ‘
Peccavi
. I have sinned. I have committed
fornication. Beat me. Knock me down. Stamp on me.’

Arthur looked up, his eyes
full of resentment. ‘You make it sound like a joke.’

‘Do I? Well, perhaps that is
my way. I do assure you, though, it wasn’t the least bit funny when your mother
told me she was pregnant.’

‘It’s all clear to me now,’
said Arthur. ‘Godfrey found out about you and mother. That’s why he killed
himself.’

‘There is not one shred of
evidence to support that theory,’ said Uther icily. ‘Let’s face it, Godfrey was
a weak man. He couldn’t cope.’

Arthur said nothing, Uther
sensing his disapproval. ‘Why are you so concerned about Godfrey anyway? He
wasn’t your father. I am. I do hate clichés, Arthur, but let’s face it, blood
is thicker than water.’