The Love of My Life(51)

‘She’s my girl,’ I manage, eventually.

Rothschild says nothing.

‘Mine,’ I repeat, and to my fury, my eyes fill with tears. ‘I don’t want you anywhere near her.’

The kitchen is perfectly silent for a while. Outside twilight is falling and the plane trees in the park move silkily, on a breeze we can’t hear. I imagine this house is fitted with very expensive windows.

When Rothschild finally speaks, his voice is careful. ‘I have tried to help her, over the years. From a distance.’

‘We don’t want or need your help.’

‘I understand. And I don’t know what you’ve been told, Leo, but I’ve done my best for her. I’m not the villain: I feel for her.’

I stare at him. ‘You feel for her? You “feel” for a child you fathered?’

He stops. ‘A child I – what?’

‘All I want you to know is that I have raised Ruby; she loves me, and you are not to come anywhere near that. I also want you to know that I despise men like you, with your entitlement. Fathering a child and then taking zero responsibility for what you’ve done – you selfish establishment fuck.’

Rothschild – who, as the son of a docker, probably didn’t deserve ‘establishment’ – is looking quite lost. ‘What in the name of God are you talking about?’ he asks. ‘What child?’

‘Don’t. Really, please don’t.’

He takes a deep breath, as though he’s making a conscious effort not to lose it. I notice their back garden, lit by pretty fairy lights, is full of alliums. I want to go out and hack every graceful purple globe off at the stem.

‘Shall we start again? Did you just suggest I’m Ruby’s father?’

‘I didn’t suggest. I know.’

He raises his hands in front of him. ‘I have no idea where this has come from, but you’ve got it wrong, Leo.’

‘I don’t think so. It came from Emma. Her friend Jill corroborated it, as did Sheila. So please stop lying.’

He runs a hand over his face. ‘You’re serious, aren’t you? You think I’ve had an affair with Emma. That Ruby’s my child.’

‘Listen to me,’ he says. He presses his hands on the kitchen island, which is still scattered with Janice’s things: lip salve, a Liberty print diary, a woman’s watch. ‘Emma couldn’t possibly have told you I am Ruby’s father, because I am not. And if Sheila corroborated that “fact”, she couldn’t have understood what she was being asked.’

‘And Jill? Her friend?’

Jeremy pauses. ‘I can’t speak for her.’

He picks up Janice’s watch. ‘Janice and I have been married twenty-five years,’ he says, curling the watch between his fingers. I realise that he, too, is close to tears. ‘Infidelity has never even crossed my mind.’ He takes an unsteady breath, then looks straight at me. ‘So. Just to be clear, if you wish to continue to accuse me of having had an affair with Emma, you can leave.’

We stand in silence for a moment, while I try to think.

The truth is, I don’t want to go. This man knows too much. And I think I believe him.

‘I invited you here because I need to stay in regular touch with Emma. At the moment, however, she’s ignoring me,’ he says. ‘And I thought if I were able to explain the current situation, you might be willing to persuade her to suspend hostilities. But I have my limits. What’s it to be?’

When I say nothing he turns and marches over to his sink. He splashes cold water over his face and dries it with kitchen towel, before turning back.

I look straight at Rothschild, searching for guilt, but I can’t see any.

‘You aren’t Ruby’s father?’

‘How many times do I need to tell you?’

‘I’m sorry,’ I say. ‘I just need to . . .’ I get out my phone and call Sheila, who answers after one ring.

‘Leo. Any news?’

‘Not yet. The police have taken the details but I don’t think they’re all that interested. Look, I’m at Jeremy Rothschild’s house.’

‘Oh. Oh right.’ She waits for me to expand.

‘Is he Ruby’s father?’ I ask, turning away from Rothschild, as if this will stop him hearing me.

There’s a pause. Then Sheila says, ‘I’m sorry?’

I repeat the question.

‘Leo, what on earth? Of course not. Unless I’ve missed . . . Christ, I mean – No, Leo, absolutely not.’

I think she’s telling the truth, but none of this makes sense.

‘So when I said to you that I knew about Emma and Jeremy, what did you think I was talking about?’

She doesn’t answer immediately.

‘I think you’ve probably only worked out half of the facts.’ Sheila’s voice is suddenly toneless. She’s in spymaster mode. ‘If you’re at Jeremy’s house I suggest you have a frank conversation. Although, let me be clear, you have got the wrong end of several sticks if you think he’s Ruby’s father.’

Ruby. Oh, thank God. I close my eyes and lean against Rothschild’s worktop.

I couldn’t have borne it. No matter what Emma has done, no matter who she really is – the loss of my daughter would have defeated me.