Greater Love Hath No Man

Chapter 3-2

“Mr James.” Wilson, the butler, greeted me with a reserved smile when I arrived at the house in Kensington.

“Hallo, Wilson. I trust you and Mrs Wilson are well?”

“Indeed, sir. Thank you for asking.”

“You’re welcome. Are my parents at home?” I should have telephoned, but I hadn’t. I wasn’t generally so impetuous, but here I was now and there wasn’t much else I could do.

“They’re taking tea in her ladyship’s drawing room.”

“Excellent. And Miss Pamela?”

“She’s out with Miss Brown just now but should be returning shortly. I’ll inform her of your arrival.”

“Thank you. I’ll see her after I’ve spoken to my parents.”

“Very good, sir.”

I climbed the curving stair to the first floor and made my way to the drawing room at the front of the house.

Mother sat on the rose sofa, raising a cup of tea to her lips, while Father stood by the window, about to take a bite of his cucumber sandwich.

“Good afternoon, Mother. Father.”

They both paused in their actions.

“James.” Father’s mouth hung open, and I was grateful he hadn’t taken that bite. “Had you sent word you’d be coming round?”

“No, sir. It was spur of the moment.”

“Ah. I hadn’t thought so.” The joviality in his voice sounded a touch forced to me, but then perhaps that was simply due to the resentment I couldn’t help feeling. I’d accepted that perhaps he was correct in that Barbara and I were too young for marriage, but his action had resulted in there being more than six thousand miles between my son and myself. Barbara would be upset when I brought Jamie to London, and I’d be unhappy when I had to return him home. It was an unfortunate situation that might not have occurred had our parents left well enough alone.

“Good afternoon, James.” Mother put her cup down and waited for me to approach and kiss her cheek. “I must say I’m surprised to see you here today. That isn’t to say I’m not delighted.”

Things were still chilly between us. I hadn’t seen them or spoken to them since Christmas, when things had been positively frigid.

“I hope you’re both well?” I kissed her cheek, crossed to Father, and shook his hand. Good manners had been ingrained into me, and I could react in no other fashion.

“Quite well. Would you care for a cup of tea?”

“No, thank you, Mother.”

“Nonsense.” She rang for Wilson. “A cup for Mr James, Wilson.”

“Yes, m’lady.”

I sighed and gave it up, accepting the cup when he handed it to me. “Thank you, Wilson.”

“You’re welcome, sir. Will there be anything else, m’lady?”

“No, Wilson.”

He bowed and left the room.

“Now, then, to what do we owe the honour of your presence?” Mother gestured for me to give her my cup. “You’ve been making yourself rather scarce of late.”

“Beg pardon, I’m sure. University has kept me busy.” I let her pour the tea. She added milk and sugar, stirred it, and returned it to me. I knew without tasting it that it would be too weak and too sweet. I set it on the tea tray and opened the envelope.

Mother picked up her cup, quite contained. She sipped her tea, frowned, then reached for the pot to refill her cup. “Miss Fontaine was quite disappointed when you did not put in an appearance at Lady Tarrant’s dinner party. As you promised.”

“No, as you promised, Mother. I had a previous engagement and sent ‘round my apologies.”

“It was important that you attend that dinner party.” She sniffed and took a dainty sip before setting her cup down with a distinct snap.

“I wish you’d stop matchmaking.” I turned to my father for support.

“It was important.” He beetled his brows at me. “You need to start thinking about providing an heir.” He helped himself to another cucumber sandwich.

I didn’t bother to remind him I had turned nineteen only a couple of months before.

“As to that…” I spilled out the contents of the envelope onto the sofa beside Mother. “I thought you might like to see these.”

I selected the photograph most appropriate and handed it to my father.

“Congratulate me. I have a son. This is James Stuart Trevalyan II.”

Father stared at the photograph, at first incomprehensibly, and then with growing disbelief.

“He’s not yours! He can’t be yours!”

“Why? Because his mother is American?” I tapped the photo. Quite evident was the birthmark on the baby’s chubby, dimpled bum.

“That blithering i***t Kendall never said a word!”

I shrugged. “Perhaps he felt this was between him and his grandson’s father.”

“From whence did these photographs come?” Mother demanded as she looked through the other photos.

“Mr Kendall took them. He might not care much for me as a husband for his daughter, but he appears to be a doting grandfather.”

Father gave the photograph to Mother. “There can be no denying it.” He took a turn about the room, a hand on his hip, the other running through his greying hair in agitation.

“This child is not a newborn.” Mother’s words were flat and cold.

“No.” I turned the photograph over to display the writing on the back. Jamie, not quite four months—9/2/49. “Barbara wired me as soon as she could to inform me of his birth.” I thought it best not to inform my parents of the original hostilities between Mr Kendall and myself.

“If this child was born in February, he cannot be yours!”

“Mother, you’re neglecting to take into account how the Americans write the date. And please take note of the mark on his hip.”

Her mouth tightened, but she had to concede my point. My son had been conceived in lawful wedlock. Dismissing it, she tapped the photo against her palm. “Yet you didn’t see fit to inform us that we were grandparents.”

“Exams.” I smiled blandly.

“In any event, young James—I assume this ‘Jamie’ is a diminutive of James? How very American! Very well. Young James must be brought here and taught what it means to be a Trevalyan.”

“No.”

“No? Young man—”

“Forgive me for interrupting, Mother. That’s one reason why I didn’t inform you and Father immediately. If you and Mr Kendall had seen fit not to interfere, things obviously would have been different.” I would not have had Jeremy because I would not have broken my marriage vows. “But as it is, Barbara and I are no longer man and wife, and…” I couldn’t help recalling the scant few weeks we’d lived together in that wretched flat. “And she would be miserable here.”

“Immaterial.” Father waved aside her state of mind. “Young James will be in line to the Pennington title. We have no need of Barbara Kendall. All we want is the boy.”

“Without his mother? But of course—she’s nothing. After all, her family bought their silver.”

“Young man—”

“Did you think I would forget how you disparaged the woman I loved?” I looked at a photograph of Barbara cradling our son in her arms. She was smiling down at him, and there was such awe in her face, as if she couldn’t believe that she had produced this wondrous child. “I think Jamie would be miserable without his mother. Leave well enough alone this time, Father.”

Father frowned at the nickname. Neither my sister Pamela nor I were ever permitted the use of them. Not to say that I didn’t call Pamela something special when we were alone.

“James, he will become Baron Pennington.”

“After me, Father, unless you’re planning on disinheriting me?” That could be a very real possibility if he discovered that the man with whom I was sharing digs was in actuality sharing my bed.

“Nonsense!” he rumbled. “You’re the first born!”

“Then let my son stay with his mother. There will be time enough for him to learn his responsibilities to the title. Meanwhile, I’ll want your word that you will not meddle in my affairs again. Jamie stays with his mother.”

Father’s lips were a tight line. “I give you my word. However, let me inform you that it is my intention to put him on the House List.”

I shrugged. I had no objection to my son going to Eton as I had done, but he’d be thirteen, and thirteen years was a long time. “And you, Mother?”

“Really!”

“Yes, really.” I wasn’t likely to forget that it was not only thanks to the inability of Barbara’s friend Bootsy to keep a secret that Barbara’s father had learned of our marriage. “You both sent word to Mr Kendall that we were wed.”

“You were such a biddable boy, James. What happened?”

I blinked. Apparently she had forgotten all the times she had chided me for going my own road. However, I was not about to argue it with her. “I grew up, Mother. Your word?”

She sniffed again, an indication of her annoyance with me. “Very well. You have it.”

“Thank you.”

“You’ll leave some of the pictures with us?” Father’s eagerness startled me, and I felt some of my resentment dissolve.

“Of course. Choose the ones you’d like to keep, and I’ll pick up the others when I come round for Pamela’s birthday at the weekend.” I took a photograph to give to my sister. “I must get back now. It will be at least an hour’s train ride to Oxford, and Jeremy and I need to swot for an exam tomorrow.”

“Yes, yes, of course.”

Despite their lingering displeasure with me, Father extended his hand to be shaken, and Mother proffered her cheek to be kissed. I dutifully shook and kissed, and left them examining the pictures of my son and discussing which of the Pennington heirlooms to send to my son to commemorate his birth.

“James?” Pamela hovered in the hallway.

“Hullo, Petal.” That had been my special name for her since she was a tot. “Did you have an enjoyable outing with Miss Brown?” Miss Brown had been her governess for the past seven years.

Pamela made a moue. “She insists these excursions be edifying.”

“It is her job to see you become a well-rounded young lady.”

“I’m already well-rounded.” The imp had the audacity to place her hands on her hips and give them a bit of a wiggle.

“Minx.”

She grinned, but quickly sobered. “I overheard part of the conversation.”

“With the way Father was carrying on, I must say I’m not surprised.”

“You’re a father?”

“Yes. And that means you’re an aunt.” I pinched her chin, then slid an arm around her shoulders and walked her with me toward the stairs that would take us to the ground floor.

“Will we ever get to see him?”

I handed her a small photograph. “I’m afraid for now this is the best that can be done.”

She studied the snapshot, and then started to give it back to me. “I hope he’ll grow up to look more like you than Barbara.” When she’d learned the marriage had been dissolved and Barbara had done nothing to put a halt to the proceedings, Pamela had lost any fondness she’d had for the girl who had been my wife for such a short period of time.

“Keep it. He’s still too young to be certain, although according to Barbara, he has the Kendall eyes. It’s difficult to be sure in these black and white photographs.”

“Well, when I get married, I shall have a half dozen children, and they’ll all have green eyes, James, just like yours and mine, and our chestnut hair as well.”

“Of course you will, Petal, and of course they will.” Although her hair was more a deep, rich, mahogany. We arrived at the front door. “I have to go now, but I’ll see you on Saturday for your birthday dinner.”

“Will you bring Jeremy with you?” She hadn’t met my lover, although she had spoken with him once when she’d phoned one Sunday morning after church.

Jeremy had been lounging in his dressing gown while I bathed, and he’d answered the phone. I emerged from the bathroom to find him chatting along. “Who’s on the phone then, ochi chyornye?” I’d asked as I reached down to fondle him.

One of the reasons I’d chosen these rooms was the convenience of having a telephone in our flat. I’d been doing odd jobs here and there—of which Jeremy had no idea—and having to take a call in the phonebox on the street wouldn’t have been…wise.

He’d covered the receiver and hissed, “It’s your sister!’” and then he’d smothered a snigger as I’d snatched my hand away.

But he and Pamela had seemed to get along quite well, which pleased me.

“I asked him,” I informed her now, “but he was reluctant to intrude.”

“Please persuade him.”

“I’ll try, Petal,” I couldn’t resist teasing her, “but it is a family occasion, and you know how the parents can be about things like that.”

“It’s my birthday, and I want him to join us!” Her expression became stubborn, and she scowled at me. “I like him very much—much better than Barbara, that witch.”

“Pamela!” I tried to keep my expression stern.

“Well, she is a witch! How could she leave you?”

“Not everyone thinks I’m perfect, you know.”

“Jeremy does.”

I was no longer amused. “I. Beg. Your. Pardon?” To the outside world, including my family, he was simply my flatmate. It was safer that way.

“Don’t get stuffy like Father. Jeremy thinks you’re wonderful. D’you know you’re his best friend in the entire world?”

Jeremy didn’t have any he considered a friend, which I found sad. How could anyone fail to like him? “And when did the two of you have the opportunity to discuss me?”

“Well, you were taking forever in the bath, and the conversation had rather fallen off, so I asked him how the two of you came to share digs. You were always particular about roommates as I recall.”

I’d always preferred not to have a roommate. However, that was unimportant. At the moment I was ridiculously pleased that Jeremy cared enough about me as to say something to my sibling.

“I still fail to see how the subject of my perfection came about.”

“Oh, well…er…you see…” She giggled and blushed.

“Actually, I don’t see.” I shouldn’t have asked, but I was unable to resist. “And he told you he thinks I’m wonderful?” I concealed my pleasure.

“Not exactly in those words,” she hedged.

“Ah.” Just as quickly, my emotions flattened. “I rather thought not.”

I should have realised Pamela had a bombshell she was waiting to drop.

“Jeremy said he’d die for you.” She stated it as if that were the simplest, most logical thing imaginable. “He explained it quite cleverly, James. He quoted that verse from the Bible, ‘Greater love hath no man than this, that a man lay down his life for his friend’.”

I was so taken aback I lost track of the conversation. Jeremy loved me? We’d been together for a few months shy of a year, and I knew he was fond enough of me, but I never dreamed…hoped…We never spoke of…Love?

“I’d wager Barbara wouldn’t die for you,” my sister was grumbling. Hopefully, she hadn’t realised the import of Jeremy’s words.

In order to make sure she didn’t, I said, “Pamela, I assure you there is no need for anyone to die for anyone.” I patted her head, a supercilious gesture that was guaranteed to irritate her no end.

It was a successful ruse. “I’m almost an adult, James!” She forgot about Jeremy’s words and swatted at my hand. “Don’t treat me as if I were still a child!”

“My error, Petal.” I kissed her cheek and let myself out, calling, “Goodbye,” cheerily over my shoulder.