City Girl by Patricia Scanlan Page B

now advocating
that her daughter – sorry, ‘adopted daughter’ – do the same.
    Devlin smiled bitterly. How easy it was to judge other people until one of your own got into trouble. How easy to accuse other people of committing murder, as Lydia had, when she heard about
Jennifer. I wonder how she’ll justify the change of attitude, she thought. She didn’t have to wait long.
    ‘It’s a bit late for morals and scruples now,’ Lydia’s voice was crisp. ‘After all Devlin, you’re only twenty. There is no point in ruining your life with an
unwanted pregnancy. I mean I presume you are not going back to Portugal to confront the gigolo who fathered the child?’ The cultivated voice paused, and then, ‘What kind of life could
you give a baby? It would be unfair to both of you.’
    She stopped to take another pull of her cigarette while Devlin struggled to keep her temper. Had she not known the facts of her adoption, had she thought she was Lydia’s own child, she
would have argued heatedly with her mother and pointed out her hypocrisy. How she longed to scream that the bastard who had impregnated her was none other than the supremely socially acceptable
scion of Irish medical circles and Dublin’s high society, Colin Cantrell-King and not, as Lydia so disdainfully put it, ‘a Portuguese gigolo.’ With great difficulty Devlin
restrained herself. She knew Colin was a valued client of her father’s and if he knew the truth he would feel obliged to speak to Colin about the matter. As a result Colin might withdraw his
business. It’s your problem, not theirs, she told herself, the empty cold feeling inside her making her feel utterly alone and frightened. Lydia’s voice impinged on her consciousness
like a malevolent laser piercing and probing deep inside her brain. She wanted to put her hands over her ears and scream at her to go away . . . leave her alone . . . Again Devlin struggled for
control. She was just not going to get into an argument with her mother. Breathing deeply, she heard Lydia say coolly, ‘You do realize of course Devlin that with your father’s position
in the bank, an . . . um . . . episode like this could be rather embarrassing. I mean after all we do keep a rather high profile . . . so if you insist on keeping the baby, I think it might be
better if we could be a little discreet about it. We’ll give you an allowance of course and do our duty by you financially.’
    The silence that hung between them was broken only by the erratic tick of an old carriage clock on the mantelpiece.
    We’ll do our duty by you financially. How kind, thought Devlin bitterly. But on no account let the neighbours see that I’m an unmarried mother just like the poor unfortunates you
hold coffee mornings for, the ones that are put on the streets with nowhere to go. Well, I might as well be one of them.
    Lydia, seeing the expression on her daughter’s face, stubbed out her cigarette rather crossly, stood up and said in her best ‘I know what’s best for you’ tone, ‘I
think my first suggestion will be best all round, I’ll provide the money. I’m sure you could make discreet enquiries from Colin. Say you have a friend in trouble. I know it’s
supposed to be illegal but I’m sure you’ll get the information from him. I just hope he won’t put two and two together when you take the few days off.’ Giving one of her
sniffs she said agitatedly, ‘You can say we are going on a shopping trip.’
    Lydia picked up her expensive Italian clutch bag and walked towards the front door, hips swaying gracefully. ‘Ring me tomorrow, dear, and let me know what you decide but, as I say, I think
you should consider my suggestion.’
    Devlin bit her tongue. Say nothing. It’s your decision to make and no-one else’s, she thought in despair. Whatever else she had been expecting from her mother, she had never dreamt
that Lydia would condone, let alone suggest, her having an abortion. Watching her get