‘So you revived things with Damian, to see if you could get pregnant that way.’ I could easily see how this had happened. She wanted to bring Greg up to the mark and the whole paternity issue was much muddier in those days. It was a scheme that might easily have worked. Obviously, it did work. It just didn’t quite fit with the original letter that had started all this, given that the whole thing had been planned by her. Damian could hardly be accused of seduction or ‘deceit.’ The charge would more properly be levelled the other way. Still, we could clarify that later.
‘Yes. I guess that’s exactly what I did.’ She was defiant now, made brave and even brazen by the liquor. She tilted her face as if to challenge me.
‘I’m not here to judge you. Only to find out the truth.’
‘And what does Damian want to do about it?’
So, I had reached my goal. We had arrived. With this in mind I thought some modest helping of honesty would not now go amiss. ‘He’s dying, as I have told you. I believe he wants to make sure that his child is well provided for.’ That seemed enough.
‘Would Susie have to know?’
This was an interesting question. I would have thought that Susie would have wanted to know, but would it be a condition? Then again, was it up to her mother? Susie was in her late thirties, after all. ‘That’s something I’ll have to check with Damian. There’ll be a DNA test, but I dare say we can come up with some other perfectly believable reason for that if we have to, or it could be done without her knowledge.’
‘I see.’ From her tone I could tell at once that my words had changed things, but I couldn’t quite understand why, since I was not aware I had made any very stringent conditions. She stood and walked towards the glass wall, taking what I could now see was the handle of one of the panels and sliding it back to let in the night air. For a moment she breathed deeply. ‘Damian isn’t Susie’s father,’ she said.
I hope I can convey how totally inexplicable this seemed. I had sat all evening and listened to a woman who was rapacious for money, other people’s money, any money that she could lay her hands on; a woman disappointed by life and everything it had brought her; a woman trapped in an existence she hated and by a husband she cared nothing for, and now, here she was, on the brink of the luckiest break anyone living has ever heard of, the chance to make her daughter one of the richest women in Europe, and she was turning it down without the smallest argument. ‘You can’t know that,’ I said. ‘You say yourself she isn’t Greg’s. She must be someone’s.’
She nodded. ‘Yes. She must be someone’s. But she isn’t Greg’s and she isn’t Damian’s.’ She paused, wondering, I now realise, whether to go on. I am glad she did. ‘And she isn’t mine.’
For a moment I was too astonished to say an obligatory ‘What?’ or ‘How can that be?’ or even ‘Oh.’ I just looked at her.
She sighed, shivering suddenly in the draught, and moved back into the room towards the dingy sofa. ‘You were quite right. About what I was trying to do. I wanted to be pregnant, because I knew Greg would marry me when I was. I’d been sleeping with Damian every now and then for a couple of years so I was sure he wouldn’t mind. And he didn’t. It was just after you all went on that crazy holiday in Portugal.’
‘I thought he said it was before.’
‘No. I called him and his flatmate said he was out there, so I left a message. He rang me the day he got back and I went round. It’s funny. When we got together for the last time…’ She had become wistful, a nicer person momentarily, in memory of her younger dreams, ‘I thought we might go on with it. He seemed different when he got home, less… I don’t know exactly, less unreachable, and for a day or two I thought that maybe it would be Damian and not Greg after all.’
‘But it didn’t happen?’
‘No. He’d run into that beautiful girl out there, and he met up with her again when she was back in London.’
‘Only once I think.’
‘Really? I thought it was more than that. What was her name?’
‘Joanna Langley.’
‘That’s it. What happened to her?’
‘She died.’
‘Oh.’ She sighed, saddened by the inexorable process of life. ‘The point is that when he got back, Damian was in a strange mood. I heard about what happened.’ I nodded. ‘I think the truth is he was sick of all of us. I lost touch with him after that.’
‘So did we all.’
‘Joanna Langley’s dead. Wow. I used to be so jealous of her.’ I could see that the news had made her stop in her tracks. For anyone, hearing of the death of a person you had thought alive and well is a little like killing them because suddenly they’re dead in your brain instead of living. But with the Sixties generation it is more than this. They preached the value of youth so loudly and so long that they cannot believe an unkind God has let them grow old. Still less can they accept they too must die. As if their determination to adopt clothes and prejudices more suited to people thirty, forty, fifty years younger than themselves would act as an elixir to keep them forever from the clutches of the Grim Reaper. You see television interviews and articles in papers expressing shocked amazement whenever an old rocker pops his clogs. What did they think would happen?
At last, with a philosophical nod, Terry resumed her story. ‘I slept with Damian two or three times before we finished. There were no hard feelings.’ She paused to check that this squared with my information.
‘I’m sure there weren’t. But nothing happened?’
She shook her head. ‘Nothing happened. Then Greg went to Poland and I followed him, and I slept with him, but still nothing happened and nothing happened, and finally I went to see a doctor while I was out there and guess what?’
‘It wasn’t him, it was you.’
She smiled, like a teacher pleased with my attention. ‘It was me. All the time it was me. Some tubes were missing or something…’ She raised her eyebrows, trying to control her delivery. ‘You know the first thing that occurred to me? Why the hell had I wasted so much time worrying about getting pregnant? My late teens should have been a ball.’
‘You didn’t do badly,’ I said.
Which made her laugh. ‘Anyway, I knew that once Greg learned I could never have a child, once his mother heard about it, the whole thing would be over and it’d be back to square one. So I bought a baby.’
It seems strange now, but this sentence took me completely by surprise. Why? I cannot tell you. There was no such thing as surrogacy in those days, or if there was we knew nothing of it. She’d admitted she’d had a baby to get Greg to marry her and she’d told me she couldn’t have children. What did I imagine she had done? Even so, I was flabbergasted. What I came up with was: ‘How?’
She smiled. ‘Are you planning it?’ But she was far too deep in to telling the story to back out now. ‘I was doing some social work then, with a group sponsored by the embassy. This was 1971, long before the end of Communism or anything else. There was no Solidarity. There was no hope. Poland was an occupied country and the people were desperate. It wasn’t hard. I found a young mother who already had four children and she’d just discovered she was pregnant. I offered to take the baby, whatever it was, whether or not there was anything wrong with it.’
‘Would you have?’
She thought for a moment. ‘I hope so,’ she said, which I liked her for.
‘But how did you manage the whole thing?’
‘It wasn’t difficult. I found a doctor who could be bribed.’ I must have looked shocked at this because she became quite incensed. ‘Jesus, most of the time he was prescribing drugs to teenagers. Was this worse?’
‘Of course not.’
‘I didn’t “show” until I was about five months “gone.” I told Greg I didn’t feel comfortable with sex, and with his puritan background he didn’t either. Then I asked if he’d mind not being at the birth, as the thought made me uncomfortable. Boy, you should have seen the relief on his face. These days, if the father isn’t there peering up your flue as the head appears, he’s a bad person, but in 1971 it wasn’t compulsory.’