When two lives collide, p.13
When Two Lives Collide, page 13
Eventually, in fact two weeks after Candice disappeared, PC Saunders forced open the front door to May Cottage. Only to find her tiny cottage spotless, with not a morsel out of place. On the kitchen table, a foolscap envelope had been placed addressed to Simkins Brotherton Jepson, Solicitors, Jewry Street, Winchester. The un-posted letter was duly delivered to Tim Donovan, the senior partner. His instructions to sell May Cottage remitting the proceeds to an obscure charity based in Wimbledon. The charity apparently set up to support ex-prisoners of war living a moribund existence on their return to England after the war. There was no mention of Matilda. In fact, the document left for Candice solicitors by one of Ruddy’s operatives showed all the expertise expected of highly trained NKVD agent. Candice handwriting having been perfectly replicated.
After much difference of opinion, Ruddy had eventually convinced his NKVD superiors, there being no justification to terminate Matilda, just a month old and innocent of any crimes. The Carrington’s, like many old aristocratic families, carried many bastard skeletons most kept well hidden from prying eyes. Amongst those secrets, a number of illegitimate children from unexplained liaisons littering their family history. Ruddy considered that another child brought up by nannies with limited influence from the Carringtons would never spring unwanted surprises in polite society. Matilda would carry her mother’s name until whoever headed the family was convinced she could be adopted into the Carrington clan.
Unfortunately for Ruddy’s plan, other Carrington members sensed that all connections with their past must be unravelled. Hiding away an illegitimate child could open a Pandora’s Box which could enlarge the potential issues already on the horizon from their growing connections to the communist party. Family fears also increased regarding Ruddy’s activities, which they sensed as dangerously close to the family.
Ruddy’s decided his backstop was to force his Russian friends to squeeze Old Bob a little harder. Already operating as a double agent, Old Bob was expected as a condition of the threats he lived with to remove the responsibility of Matilda from the Carringtons. Old Bob’s maternal family, another affluent established aristocratic family, would be forced to help. Whatever documents were required to hide the true identity of Matilda would be arranged. Even within the hardnosed power base of Ruddy’s controllers, he was positive the matter could be sorted.
It took just a few hours for Old Bob to convince his mother and granny GT that Matilda was the illegitimate child of a close personal friend from his army activities, who had disappeared lost in action. The disappearance was true enough. By the time Matilda passed her second month, she already had a birth certificate stating she was indeed Matilda Simeon Grayson-Traynor. But now, Old Bob was becoming more convinced that Ruddy was fast running out of time. Internal security within MI was closing the net tighter around Ruddy and his gang of communist blackmailers. Therefore, now was the time to force Ruddy’s hand regarding May Cottage. MI had discovered the instructions provided to Candice lawyers had been hacked by someone within the NGVD. Through extensive forensic examination with the aid of a clandestine source, a connection back to Ruddy was identified.
It took but a few weeks for Old Bob to acquire for a much undervalued price May Cottage, which he would pass on to Matilda, now his niece, when she reached twenty one. Ruddy had been even less careful. For examination of the Wimbledon Charity easily traced the origin back to a trust Ruddy had carelessly underwritten showing him as the final beneficiary.
The Hon Rudolph Erskine Percival Carrington never made it to head up the Carrington clan, never inheriting his father’s title. Such honours never passed to convicted spies or serious criminals. Ruddy was exchanged in 1951 at a tiny café overlooked by the Brandenburg Gate in Berlin. His exchange in return for two high ranking British diplomats accused of spying in East Berlin.
His memoirs ‘Once a Spy’ were published in 1972, shortly before he apparently died, alone in a small one bedroom apartment on the outskirts of Moscow. His recollections of the time working for the NKVD and subsequently the KGB made limited mention of Candice Jewell. Referring to her only as a classically trained pianist who had made the mistake of falling in love with an American secret service agent. According to Ruddy’s interpretation of events, Simon had posed for many years as a conductor of several prestigious London orchestras. Her punishment, his memoirs proudly proclaimed, administered by the author as retribution for failing to complete her duties and passing information to an American agent.
Chapter 17
Mike
I first met Matilda Simeon Grayson-Traynor in 1954 shortly after my first meeting with Old Bob. Matilda, together with her nanny was visiting her Uncle Bob who, blind from his lightning strike in Kenya, found travelling difficult. Also deep down, Old Bob needed Matilda to taste the simplicity of May Cottage. In distinct contrast to the palatial grandeur, back in Shropshire. I’d never met a ‘posh girl’ before. Matilda, although five years my junior, had a swagger unlike any of the girls at Wonston Church School. Furthermore, she spoke ‘posh’, using words and expressions unknown amongst my family and friends. Although I was considered an extremely bright pupil, I still spoke with a noticeable Hampshire accent. But there was something endearing about Old Bob’s niece, something that never left me.
At eleven, Matilda was sent away to board at Roedean School, on the outskirts of Brighton, perched on the Sussex cliffs overlooking the English Channel. Matilda’s academic abilities fell way short from the standards expected of even ‘C’ level students. Hockey, music and a propensity to find ways to escape school, seeking available young men at the local pubs, much her preference. On many occasions, Matilda made the lonely trek to the Head’s study, where increasing levels of punishments were administered. Coming from the Grayson-Traynor family, she was certain expulsion, albeit short term or permanent would never be levelled against her. Even to Old Bob’s liberal-minded family, her increasing rebellious behaviour was becoming a challenge.
With his ‘niece’ safely ensconced at one of the country’s top girl’s schools, Old Bob decided that his sight impediment must not stop his need to finish the work he’d started in Kenya, helping orphaned children. But try as he could, his previous senior military controllers made it impossible for him to travel. Their reasoning obvious. Firstly, Old Bob was blind, with no hope that his condition following the accident could be reversed. But their greater concern, the horrors being inflicted by the Mau Mau uprising against fellow Kenyans and the British military, challenging British colonial rule. Already, thousands had been horrifically slaughtered. Old Bob tried again for several months. But the answer remained cast in stone. No permit to travel would be forthcoming.
Although no longer an active British agent, Old Bob still remained as far as the NKVD were concerned, a double agent. To them, the ‘Sword of Damocles’ was still hanging over the permanently damaged British spy. Although Vladimir continued his belief, Old Bob could provide sensitive information. He was unaware that checkmate was about to be played against him. Even with the subterfuge actioned by the old General, Old Bob had still travelled a risky path as a phoney double agent. Many of his actions played out in a duplicitous manner, some with the authority of his superiors. Most provided by the internal structure of ‘double bluff’ developed within British Military Intelligence.
For several years, Old Bob had been certain Ruddy was the mole within Military Intelligence. For all his cover and false trails, Old Bob had surreptitiously relayed clues that pointed clearly at Ruddy’s guilt. When Ruddy’s cover was finally blown, Old Bob had played the surprised junior officer offering condolences to his aristocratic family. For whatever had trapped Ruddy, Old Bob continued to retain his dual identity for the sake of his family and with the understanding of MI.
In 1968, Old Bob, no longer able to travel regularly to May Cottage, made contact with me offering the property for a heavily discounted price, in fact a gift. His deal on the strict understanding that Matilda would be offered use of her mother’s old house when I deemed it convenient. During the school summer holidays, Old Bob arranged for us all to meet at May Cottage, just a few days after the property had been transferred to me.
I mooched around my dark yet cosy cottage, surprised at the remaining contents. Nothing appeared to have changed since Old Bob had regaled me his life’s secrets as an inquisitive ten year old. For certain, Old Bob had his own reasons for leaving his artefacts mostly intact. Even many of the threadbare cushions were strewn around just as I remembered them. Several positioned next to the stone fireplace, where Hank considered home, nestling against his master’s legs. Fifteen years ago, there was a long walk from the edge of the playing fields along to May Cottage. Now, a single lane gravel driveway made its way almost to the front door.
Distant crunching of gravel heralded an approaching car, which edged its way alongside my Mini Cooper S. From the elegance of his chauffeur driven Humber Super Snipe Mk1 stepped Old Bob, exactly as I remembered him. This time carefully aided by his casually dressed driver. Behind Old Bob clambered Matilda, now approaching seventeen, easing down her skin tight white mini-skirt, as she climbed from Old Bob’s limo. Her hair a mixture of blond, layered with pink and black stripes. But beneath her teenage dress sense, stood a stunning your lady, waiting to metamorphose from her sixties confusion of differing styles.
Matilda was most certainly not shy. Although I was just five years older and must have appeared ancient, her upper-class upbringing had imbued her with gushing confidence. For more than an hour, Old Bob ambled around May Cottage as though on radar, explaining to us the memorabilia that filled every corner of the dimly lit cottage. I’d already connected Old Bob’s life to most of the pieces, pictures and even furniture from the stories he had confidentially imparted when I was just ten.
Matilda had obviously been made aware that she had returned to May Cottage with her mother, immediately following her birth. There was a bitterness emanating from her when her mother was mentioned. Keen to improve Candice’s battered image, Old Bob explained to Matilda that her mother had disappeared without trace, leaving no one with knowledge of her destination or indeed reason for leaving. Old Bob went on to deliver his practised story, excluding Ruddy and the Carrington involvement.
His version of the truth that Matilda’s safety had been carefully calculated by her mother when she was found soundly sleeping by a local, who came weekly to clean May Cottage. He explained that instructions had been left to hand her baby to Old Bob’s family who would ensure Matilda had the life her mother could never supply. Never did Old Bob blame her mother. Explaining there are many factors that can cause even a devoted mother to crumble. I, in turn, attempted to ease the uncomfortable feelings flowing from Matilda. Sharing my secret that like her, I’d been adopted with still no idea of my blood parents’ true identities.
Matilda exuded all the confidence expected from an upper-class family. But I had an uncomfortable feeling that for the near future I should keep in close contact with this extremely mixed up teenager. There was also something extremely sensual, with an underlying wickedness simmering from her bright green eyes that caused alarm bells to ring. I was shortly to marry, so any thought towards Matilda, now having completed her schooling at Roedean, letting herself loose into the world, must evaporate. From this meeting, it was obvious how the male population of Brighton, or wherever she settled, would be targeting this mischievous beauty.
My worst concerns regarding Matilda soon manifested themselves. Just a year later, Matilda pitched up at May Cottage early one Sunday morning, riding pillion on a friend’s BSA B31 motor bike. Her message to me and Lizzie, my new wife, delivered without passion or apparent concern. She was nearly five months pregnant. The father not important, in fact, it could be one of three boys. She felt like shit, adamant she didn’t want whoever’s child she was carrying. Once she had delivered her unsurprising news, the frightened teenager manifested itself, bursting into uncontrollable sobbing from a lost and lonely young woman.
Matilda’s out pouring changed the direction of my pent up concerns. At once I realised the prayers I’d shared with Lizzie had been answered—a child. After many months attempting to conceive, Lizzie had been advised that only investigative, and possibly intrusive surgery could resolve any probability of conception. There were further issues our doctor had confided to me; being his concerns over the condition of Lizzie’s heart. It appeared that my wife had lived with a heart rate frequently hitting dangerous levels for much of her life. Her condition carrying with it the possibility of any pregnancy proving fatal.
Over the following months, together with Lizzie and Matilda, we planned for the arrival of her baby. All adoption papers were in place. Lizzie stayed away from May Cottage, thus stopping nosey parkers to question why she had not shown the normal signs of pregnancy. Matilda’s life was already planned; immediately, the child was born she was heading to Kenya. Now peace had been achieved. She would dedicate her time to the school set up by Old Bob and a charity he’d worked with. Maybe Uncle Bob could join her now; all was again safe for him to travel.
William Angus Gilbride was born without difficultly, just before Christmas 1968. As agreed with Matilda and the doctors at Winchester County Hospital, baby William was taken from his mother immediately after his birth. Matilda dealt with the birth as though she had stopped by the hospital to deposit a bundle of discarded clothing. There were no tears, no emotional farewells, no promises that we should meet again to check how William was progressing. Nothing. For Matilda, with help from unspoken connections disappeared, just as her mother had when she was but a few months old.
Matilda never arrived at the children’s orphanage situated near Hola, in Kenya. Once the notorious camp which during the uprising housed thousands of hard core terrorist inmates. Old Bob pulled all the strings still available to him and those from the remaining Grayson-Traynor power base. But to no avail; there was no sign of Matilda. Whatever her plan, it was successful. For even with assistance from within hidden military intelligence sources, there was no trace. Nothing to identify her route from the country, or even the slightest indication from friends at Roedean; or those she’d befriended in Brighton, as to her whereabouts.
Teddy, your father’s educational route was as expected from the family of a successful entrepreneur. Harrow, followed by Cambridge University attempting Russian as his chosen degree. I’ve still no idea why the change to English Literature leaving with an underachieved two one. I suppose an attractive side issue could have been the reason.
My wife Lizzie lived long enough to see her son William, marry Celia Crighton-Jones, a dedicated social climber. Her heart problem eventually taking her from me, a few days before your birth Teddy, in 1993. Lizzie had been my perfect partner. Understanding of my short comings in our early years whilst I sought to provide the finances a newly married couple were seeking. Our relationship not only loving but filled with humour and ladled with secrets and my many misdemeanours she tolerated without criticism. Our relationship stood the test, even though we spent a number of years apart. There was always an unspoken state that existed, knowing that even living apart, we were still a family.
Wherever and whatever Matilda did with her life, she’d be well into her sixties now, there’s been no trace. She’s your grandmother, and Candice your great grandmother. Also your great grandfather Simon Emmanuel was talented musician. Moreover, although we’ve only got Ruddy’s word for it, probably spied for the Yanks after the war.
I told you the emotional issues faced when I eventually found my blood mother and eventually the truth of my father. My mother, I was certain had never exposed the truth about her illegitimate child to her husband or indeed her children. From my painful experiences, I’ve never exposed the fact of Matilda being your father’s mother. Can’t see what could be gained. Your father has only been aware that he was adopted. Do you think spies in the family tree would impress your mother? No, I don’t think so. But I’ve got one more surprise if you’re ready. Tomorrow, I’m taking you to meet a friend, who maybe can help stitching the final pieces together for you, also validating many of the facts you’ve heard.
Chapter 18
Mike
Hoxley Nursing Home on the outskirts of Staines offered comfortable final year’s life style to a number of lucky patients. That is, those with the benefit of extended insurance or deep family pockets. The macadam drive from the wrought iron main gates was accompanied by rows of colourful summer flowers. Several aging cedar trees offered shelter across the palatial manicured lawns expressing sophistication towards the Tudor structure that now housed around fifty fortunate guests.
As with any property supporting aging residents, most in need of medication, Hoxley held a pervading odour of prescription drugs together with a feeling of over stated cleanliness. Further smells emanating from the kitchens betrayed the menu currently under preparation. Like all promises made to those hospitalised or even incarcerated, visits from family and friends never reached the level expected.
External events in our busy lives take precedence over those unable to have the same freedom of movement. This was the case with my friend. It had been over a year since I had had the opportunity to visit him. With my recent diagnosis, it was a matter of who would meet the grim reaper first.
The horrors that Old Bob shared with Parisian Jews, slaughtered like feral dogs in France during the war, never left him. On many occasions, over the years, when we’d discussed our mutual experiences, Old Bob would fall silent. Still laden with guilt over his escape in Paris when more than fifty innocent Jews were summarily massacred. Having been medically discharged from the army, Old Bob spent more time with granny GT; until her death, following a typically riotous party for her ninety-eighth birthday. Old Bob considered the manner of her exit from this world would have delighted GT, who also lived life as though it could end during the next breath.
After much difference of opinion, Ruddy had eventually convinced his NKVD superiors, there being no justification to terminate Matilda, just a month old and innocent of any crimes. The Carrington’s, like many old aristocratic families, carried many bastard skeletons most kept well hidden from prying eyes. Amongst those secrets, a number of illegitimate children from unexplained liaisons littering their family history. Ruddy considered that another child brought up by nannies with limited influence from the Carringtons would never spring unwanted surprises in polite society. Matilda would carry her mother’s name until whoever headed the family was convinced she could be adopted into the Carrington clan.
Unfortunately for Ruddy’s plan, other Carrington members sensed that all connections with their past must be unravelled. Hiding away an illegitimate child could open a Pandora’s Box which could enlarge the potential issues already on the horizon from their growing connections to the communist party. Family fears also increased regarding Ruddy’s activities, which they sensed as dangerously close to the family.
Ruddy’s decided his backstop was to force his Russian friends to squeeze Old Bob a little harder. Already operating as a double agent, Old Bob was expected as a condition of the threats he lived with to remove the responsibility of Matilda from the Carringtons. Old Bob’s maternal family, another affluent established aristocratic family, would be forced to help. Whatever documents were required to hide the true identity of Matilda would be arranged. Even within the hardnosed power base of Ruddy’s controllers, he was positive the matter could be sorted.
It took just a few hours for Old Bob to convince his mother and granny GT that Matilda was the illegitimate child of a close personal friend from his army activities, who had disappeared lost in action. The disappearance was true enough. By the time Matilda passed her second month, she already had a birth certificate stating she was indeed Matilda Simeon Grayson-Traynor. But now, Old Bob was becoming more convinced that Ruddy was fast running out of time. Internal security within MI was closing the net tighter around Ruddy and his gang of communist blackmailers. Therefore, now was the time to force Ruddy’s hand regarding May Cottage. MI had discovered the instructions provided to Candice lawyers had been hacked by someone within the NGVD. Through extensive forensic examination with the aid of a clandestine source, a connection back to Ruddy was identified.
It took but a few weeks for Old Bob to acquire for a much undervalued price May Cottage, which he would pass on to Matilda, now his niece, when she reached twenty one. Ruddy had been even less careful. For examination of the Wimbledon Charity easily traced the origin back to a trust Ruddy had carelessly underwritten showing him as the final beneficiary.
The Hon Rudolph Erskine Percival Carrington never made it to head up the Carrington clan, never inheriting his father’s title. Such honours never passed to convicted spies or serious criminals. Ruddy was exchanged in 1951 at a tiny café overlooked by the Brandenburg Gate in Berlin. His exchange in return for two high ranking British diplomats accused of spying in East Berlin.
His memoirs ‘Once a Spy’ were published in 1972, shortly before he apparently died, alone in a small one bedroom apartment on the outskirts of Moscow. His recollections of the time working for the NKVD and subsequently the KGB made limited mention of Candice Jewell. Referring to her only as a classically trained pianist who had made the mistake of falling in love with an American secret service agent. According to Ruddy’s interpretation of events, Simon had posed for many years as a conductor of several prestigious London orchestras. Her punishment, his memoirs proudly proclaimed, administered by the author as retribution for failing to complete her duties and passing information to an American agent.
Chapter 17
Mike
I first met Matilda Simeon Grayson-Traynor in 1954 shortly after my first meeting with Old Bob. Matilda, together with her nanny was visiting her Uncle Bob who, blind from his lightning strike in Kenya, found travelling difficult. Also deep down, Old Bob needed Matilda to taste the simplicity of May Cottage. In distinct contrast to the palatial grandeur, back in Shropshire. I’d never met a ‘posh girl’ before. Matilda, although five years my junior, had a swagger unlike any of the girls at Wonston Church School. Furthermore, she spoke ‘posh’, using words and expressions unknown amongst my family and friends. Although I was considered an extremely bright pupil, I still spoke with a noticeable Hampshire accent. But there was something endearing about Old Bob’s niece, something that never left me.
At eleven, Matilda was sent away to board at Roedean School, on the outskirts of Brighton, perched on the Sussex cliffs overlooking the English Channel. Matilda’s academic abilities fell way short from the standards expected of even ‘C’ level students. Hockey, music and a propensity to find ways to escape school, seeking available young men at the local pubs, much her preference. On many occasions, Matilda made the lonely trek to the Head’s study, where increasing levels of punishments were administered. Coming from the Grayson-Traynor family, she was certain expulsion, albeit short term or permanent would never be levelled against her. Even to Old Bob’s liberal-minded family, her increasing rebellious behaviour was becoming a challenge.
With his ‘niece’ safely ensconced at one of the country’s top girl’s schools, Old Bob decided that his sight impediment must not stop his need to finish the work he’d started in Kenya, helping orphaned children. But try as he could, his previous senior military controllers made it impossible for him to travel. Their reasoning obvious. Firstly, Old Bob was blind, with no hope that his condition following the accident could be reversed. But their greater concern, the horrors being inflicted by the Mau Mau uprising against fellow Kenyans and the British military, challenging British colonial rule. Already, thousands had been horrifically slaughtered. Old Bob tried again for several months. But the answer remained cast in stone. No permit to travel would be forthcoming.
Although no longer an active British agent, Old Bob still remained as far as the NKVD were concerned, a double agent. To them, the ‘Sword of Damocles’ was still hanging over the permanently damaged British spy. Although Vladimir continued his belief, Old Bob could provide sensitive information. He was unaware that checkmate was about to be played against him. Even with the subterfuge actioned by the old General, Old Bob had still travelled a risky path as a phoney double agent. Many of his actions played out in a duplicitous manner, some with the authority of his superiors. Most provided by the internal structure of ‘double bluff’ developed within British Military Intelligence.
For several years, Old Bob had been certain Ruddy was the mole within Military Intelligence. For all his cover and false trails, Old Bob had surreptitiously relayed clues that pointed clearly at Ruddy’s guilt. When Ruddy’s cover was finally blown, Old Bob had played the surprised junior officer offering condolences to his aristocratic family. For whatever had trapped Ruddy, Old Bob continued to retain his dual identity for the sake of his family and with the understanding of MI.
In 1968, Old Bob, no longer able to travel regularly to May Cottage, made contact with me offering the property for a heavily discounted price, in fact a gift. His deal on the strict understanding that Matilda would be offered use of her mother’s old house when I deemed it convenient. During the school summer holidays, Old Bob arranged for us all to meet at May Cottage, just a few days after the property had been transferred to me.
I mooched around my dark yet cosy cottage, surprised at the remaining contents. Nothing appeared to have changed since Old Bob had regaled me his life’s secrets as an inquisitive ten year old. For certain, Old Bob had his own reasons for leaving his artefacts mostly intact. Even many of the threadbare cushions were strewn around just as I remembered them. Several positioned next to the stone fireplace, where Hank considered home, nestling against his master’s legs. Fifteen years ago, there was a long walk from the edge of the playing fields along to May Cottage. Now, a single lane gravel driveway made its way almost to the front door.
Distant crunching of gravel heralded an approaching car, which edged its way alongside my Mini Cooper S. From the elegance of his chauffeur driven Humber Super Snipe Mk1 stepped Old Bob, exactly as I remembered him. This time carefully aided by his casually dressed driver. Behind Old Bob clambered Matilda, now approaching seventeen, easing down her skin tight white mini-skirt, as she climbed from Old Bob’s limo. Her hair a mixture of blond, layered with pink and black stripes. But beneath her teenage dress sense, stood a stunning your lady, waiting to metamorphose from her sixties confusion of differing styles.
Matilda was most certainly not shy. Although I was just five years older and must have appeared ancient, her upper-class upbringing had imbued her with gushing confidence. For more than an hour, Old Bob ambled around May Cottage as though on radar, explaining to us the memorabilia that filled every corner of the dimly lit cottage. I’d already connected Old Bob’s life to most of the pieces, pictures and even furniture from the stories he had confidentially imparted when I was just ten.
Matilda had obviously been made aware that she had returned to May Cottage with her mother, immediately following her birth. There was a bitterness emanating from her when her mother was mentioned. Keen to improve Candice’s battered image, Old Bob explained to Matilda that her mother had disappeared without trace, leaving no one with knowledge of her destination or indeed reason for leaving. Old Bob went on to deliver his practised story, excluding Ruddy and the Carrington involvement.
His version of the truth that Matilda’s safety had been carefully calculated by her mother when she was found soundly sleeping by a local, who came weekly to clean May Cottage. He explained that instructions had been left to hand her baby to Old Bob’s family who would ensure Matilda had the life her mother could never supply. Never did Old Bob blame her mother. Explaining there are many factors that can cause even a devoted mother to crumble. I, in turn, attempted to ease the uncomfortable feelings flowing from Matilda. Sharing my secret that like her, I’d been adopted with still no idea of my blood parents’ true identities.
Matilda exuded all the confidence expected from an upper-class family. But I had an uncomfortable feeling that for the near future I should keep in close contact with this extremely mixed up teenager. There was also something extremely sensual, with an underlying wickedness simmering from her bright green eyes that caused alarm bells to ring. I was shortly to marry, so any thought towards Matilda, now having completed her schooling at Roedean, letting herself loose into the world, must evaporate. From this meeting, it was obvious how the male population of Brighton, or wherever she settled, would be targeting this mischievous beauty.
My worst concerns regarding Matilda soon manifested themselves. Just a year later, Matilda pitched up at May Cottage early one Sunday morning, riding pillion on a friend’s BSA B31 motor bike. Her message to me and Lizzie, my new wife, delivered without passion or apparent concern. She was nearly five months pregnant. The father not important, in fact, it could be one of three boys. She felt like shit, adamant she didn’t want whoever’s child she was carrying. Once she had delivered her unsurprising news, the frightened teenager manifested itself, bursting into uncontrollable sobbing from a lost and lonely young woman.
Matilda’s out pouring changed the direction of my pent up concerns. At once I realised the prayers I’d shared with Lizzie had been answered—a child. After many months attempting to conceive, Lizzie had been advised that only investigative, and possibly intrusive surgery could resolve any probability of conception. There were further issues our doctor had confided to me; being his concerns over the condition of Lizzie’s heart. It appeared that my wife had lived with a heart rate frequently hitting dangerous levels for much of her life. Her condition carrying with it the possibility of any pregnancy proving fatal.
Over the following months, together with Lizzie and Matilda, we planned for the arrival of her baby. All adoption papers were in place. Lizzie stayed away from May Cottage, thus stopping nosey parkers to question why she had not shown the normal signs of pregnancy. Matilda’s life was already planned; immediately, the child was born she was heading to Kenya. Now peace had been achieved. She would dedicate her time to the school set up by Old Bob and a charity he’d worked with. Maybe Uncle Bob could join her now; all was again safe for him to travel.
William Angus Gilbride was born without difficultly, just before Christmas 1968. As agreed with Matilda and the doctors at Winchester County Hospital, baby William was taken from his mother immediately after his birth. Matilda dealt with the birth as though she had stopped by the hospital to deposit a bundle of discarded clothing. There were no tears, no emotional farewells, no promises that we should meet again to check how William was progressing. Nothing. For Matilda, with help from unspoken connections disappeared, just as her mother had when she was but a few months old.
Matilda never arrived at the children’s orphanage situated near Hola, in Kenya. Once the notorious camp which during the uprising housed thousands of hard core terrorist inmates. Old Bob pulled all the strings still available to him and those from the remaining Grayson-Traynor power base. But to no avail; there was no sign of Matilda. Whatever her plan, it was successful. For even with assistance from within hidden military intelligence sources, there was no trace. Nothing to identify her route from the country, or even the slightest indication from friends at Roedean; or those she’d befriended in Brighton, as to her whereabouts.
Teddy, your father’s educational route was as expected from the family of a successful entrepreneur. Harrow, followed by Cambridge University attempting Russian as his chosen degree. I’ve still no idea why the change to English Literature leaving with an underachieved two one. I suppose an attractive side issue could have been the reason.
My wife Lizzie lived long enough to see her son William, marry Celia Crighton-Jones, a dedicated social climber. Her heart problem eventually taking her from me, a few days before your birth Teddy, in 1993. Lizzie had been my perfect partner. Understanding of my short comings in our early years whilst I sought to provide the finances a newly married couple were seeking. Our relationship not only loving but filled with humour and ladled with secrets and my many misdemeanours she tolerated without criticism. Our relationship stood the test, even though we spent a number of years apart. There was always an unspoken state that existed, knowing that even living apart, we were still a family.
Wherever and whatever Matilda did with her life, she’d be well into her sixties now, there’s been no trace. She’s your grandmother, and Candice your great grandmother. Also your great grandfather Simon Emmanuel was talented musician. Moreover, although we’ve only got Ruddy’s word for it, probably spied for the Yanks after the war.
I told you the emotional issues faced when I eventually found my blood mother and eventually the truth of my father. My mother, I was certain had never exposed the truth about her illegitimate child to her husband or indeed her children. From my painful experiences, I’ve never exposed the fact of Matilda being your father’s mother. Can’t see what could be gained. Your father has only been aware that he was adopted. Do you think spies in the family tree would impress your mother? No, I don’t think so. But I’ve got one more surprise if you’re ready. Tomorrow, I’m taking you to meet a friend, who maybe can help stitching the final pieces together for you, also validating many of the facts you’ve heard.
Chapter 18
Mike
Hoxley Nursing Home on the outskirts of Staines offered comfortable final year’s life style to a number of lucky patients. That is, those with the benefit of extended insurance or deep family pockets. The macadam drive from the wrought iron main gates was accompanied by rows of colourful summer flowers. Several aging cedar trees offered shelter across the palatial manicured lawns expressing sophistication towards the Tudor structure that now housed around fifty fortunate guests.
As with any property supporting aging residents, most in need of medication, Hoxley held a pervading odour of prescription drugs together with a feeling of over stated cleanliness. Further smells emanating from the kitchens betrayed the menu currently under preparation. Like all promises made to those hospitalised or even incarcerated, visits from family and friends never reached the level expected.
External events in our busy lives take precedence over those unable to have the same freedom of movement. This was the case with my friend. It had been over a year since I had had the opportunity to visit him. With my recent diagnosis, it was a matter of who would meet the grim reaper first.
The horrors that Old Bob shared with Parisian Jews, slaughtered like feral dogs in France during the war, never left him. On many occasions, over the years, when we’d discussed our mutual experiences, Old Bob would fall silent. Still laden with guilt over his escape in Paris when more than fifty innocent Jews were summarily massacred. Having been medically discharged from the army, Old Bob spent more time with granny GT; until her death, following a typically riotous party for her ninety-eighth birthday. Old Bob considered the manner of her exit from this world would have delighted GT, who also lived life as though it could end during the next breath.
