Chapter 1)

I was going through the attic of my father's house, passing things down to my younger sister, Annie, and hence to her husband, Ron. Essentially, we were clearing the house after his death from cancer a few weeks before and were dividing up the contents into what we wanted (with only a few good-natured squabbles), what we could sell and what we were throwing out to be sold, as per the instructions in his will. Mum had pre-deceased Dad by a couple of years, and the only other relative we knew about was his sister, Abigail, who now lived in a nursing home in Australia and had Alzheimer's. We tried contacting Aunt Abi's family, but so far, we haven't had much luck. The nursing home said they'd passed the messages on, but her family rarely visited as they were scattered all over the country.

I had finally reached the end of the attic, the last space to be cleared, and had pulled out the last box. I was looking with interest at the contents: a few photos, letters, and a large quantity of what appeared to be diaries. They were a bit of a mystery. As far as I knew, my Dad didn't keep a diary or didn't when I was around. Besides, the dates suggested a time in the 1950s when my Dad was between ten and twenty.

I carried them down to the landing and let Annie have a look; Ron had disappeared outside, skiving again, letting us get on with things. Then again, we didn't really care; it had been a while since we had spent any time with each other. Bringing up families and, in my case, divorcing an errant wife can take up a lot of your time, and so I'd hit fifty and wondered where it all went...

Still, Annie looked as lovely as ever, if a little older, and was still able to get to the nub of any matter quickly.

“Diaries, huh?” she questioned.

“Yes, from the 50s, want them?” I responded.

“You know I'm not an avid reader, so if you want them, they're yours,” she replied.

“I'll have a look through. If there's anything of interest, I'll let you know,” I said.

“OK, Ben, they're yours. Just let me know if there are any juicy scandals in the family's past,” she chuckled.

“No problem, sis,” I chuckled in return as we took everything down to the kitchen.

I popped the box into my car, which mostly contained Dad's tools and a few ornaments that held sentimental value to me and promptly forgot all about it.

A week later, I finally got around to the box and pulled the first few diaries out, only to find there were two types. My Dad clearly wrote one set, but another was written by his Grandfather, a man I knew very little about. Only that he died before I was ten and had been somewhat of a recluse, although Grandma Jenny, my Dad's Mum, always had a smile when she talked about him. There was also a series of letters written in part by my Gran and Aunt Abigail to each other and some to my Dad and his Grandfather.

It took a little while to sort out the order of events, and generally, I read them side by side and used the letters to fill in the odd details, too. However, there was a 'juicy' scandal, though I did wonder if it were one my sis would care to know about. Still, having a bit of a literary bent, I pieced together the intertwined tales of the 'scandal' into one coherent whole and wrote it as I believed it happened...

(1954)

I watched as the car drove up, a four-door Rover 10 saloon, I believed, probably acquired from an Army disposal sale. Although I had chosen to live alone since the death of my wife, I still read articles in the press and received a monthly delivery of various magazines on whatever subjects piqued my interest.

Still, I'm getting ahead of myself here; an introduction is in order...

My name, for what it's worth, is Alan. I'm in my fifties and retired from being a very successful businessman (or war profiteer, if you believe the idiot press). I live in what used to be the Lord of the Manor's house, having bought it for a song when the ageing aristocrat found the difference between what he spent and what he earned had finally caught up with him. I spent a small part of my fortune modernising the place, fitting internal toilets and bathrooms and upgrading the wiring. I even bought a television for the coronation. I invited the estate staff and their families to watch it, though I rarely watched it myself after, preferring the radio or gramophone. I had planned the house on being mine and Georgette's retirement home. Georgette was my wife and the mother of our children. They had all flown the nest, but we could still afford it, even with the staffing and estate costs. Yet, in the end, it was for nought; she developed a hacking cough, and tests showed it to be cancer. Within a month, she was dead, and I was left in a house far too big for me, yet I was loathe to give up what I had worked so hard to obtain.

Three years had passed, and it seemed I was about to have family around me again, though the circumstances weren't too good. My son and his family had arrived for him to convalesce after he had been wounded in the Korean War. He was brought home by hospital ship, only to realise that their home in smoggy London wasn't a good place for an invalid.

I had spoken to his wife, Jennifer. She was a woman I'd once seriously misjudged and now didn't particularly care for me. She had asked me to allow them to come and stay with me as the country air would do Tom far more suitable than the choking smogs that beset the capital at that time. Indeed, only a couple of years before, 4,000 people had died prematurely, and 100,000 more were made ill during what had become known as the Great Smog. That she had asked told me just how serious my son's wounds were. Only a threat to her family could make Jennifer even bear my presence.

The sadness I felt over Tom's wounds had been stoked over the years by the deaths of three of my four children. Beatrice died in labour and her firstborn with her; her husband had remarried, and I'd lost touch; Simon had vanished in the Blitz, no body had ever been found; Robert was killed on Sword beach during the D Day landings, which was why I had been further angered by Tom's insistence on remaining in the military.

***

I wandered down, summoning the two ladies in charge of my household who cooked and cleaned for me, as the car pulled up, driven by Jennifer. This was unusual in that day and age; then again, you had to be doing rather well even to afford a car back then, never mind seeing a woman drive one. Beside her, sitting all hunched up and pale-faced, was my son, someone with whom I rarely interacted at all these days, having made the mistake of openly stating my doubts as to the suitability of Jennifer as his wife, as she had been an actress. This had brought us into a blazing row, and neither of us was prepared to put aside our stupid pride over the matter. So I'd missed out on seeing my grandchildren growing up. Fortunately, Georgette did visit and pass on the news of Tom's military career, which is another bone of contention between us.

The car's rear doors opened, and two young adolescents spilled out. The terrible twins my wife had called them, Abigail and Tony, both only just fourteen and seeing me for the first time as they'd not been permitted to attend Georgette's funeral, having both been at boarding school.

I nodded to them and stepped forward to open the door for Jennifer, watching a slight moue of distaste pass over her features at seeing me before she alighted.

“Hello, Jennifer, good journey?” I asked when she stood.

“Tolerable, Alan, thank you,” she replied coldly.

Always Alan, never Dad. I hadn't earned that honour in her life at all, I sighed mentally.

“How are we to get Tom out?” I asked, knowing the landmine that had ended his military career had left him with only one leg and extensive damage to his other as well as his lower abdomen. Still, he was lucky to be alive, I guessed, and, for all our differences, I was at least prepared to admit I might have been wrong and, indeed, had missed him.

“I'm afraid we'll have to carry him. I have a van due with his medical equipment, but they may be hours yet,” she replied.

I opened the front passenger door and gazed at my son. He was pale and unhealthy, with a minor sheen of perspiration coating his exposed flesh. His hair was lank and seemingly unwashed. Overall, he was not the man I remembered.

“Tom,” I acknowledged.

“Dad,” he returned.

“I'm going to pick you out and carry you to the house. Is there any advice as to where not to place my hands to avoid your wounds?” I asked.

“You'll have to try a fireman's carry, Dad. I'm sorry, but my legs are just too painful,” he replied.

Fortunately, I'm still a fit, vigorous man, and I believed I'd at least manage to pick him up; my fitness and his weight loss should help.

Kneeling down, I assisted Tom in leaning forward and over my shoulder. I also felt an extra pair of hands on my back and to my side, supporting me in this awkward task. Glancing to the side, I saw it was Tony who had stepped in to assist, and I nodded my thanks. It was awkward, but with Tony's help, I managed to get upright with Tom over my shoulder, and I walked to the house, leaving the two ladies to retrieve the family's luggage as Jennifer and the children followed slowly and in silence.

Once inside, I carried Tom to a downstairs room I'd had the ladies prepare for him. It had a bed and a set of doors that led to a south-facing patio with balustrades. With Tony's help, I managed to lay Tom down gently on the bed and decided that introductions were in order.

“Thank you, Tony,” I said before facing Abigail as well. “I'm your Grandfather. I know you don't know me, not really, so please call me Alan, and definitely not sir. I'm very pleased to finally meet you.”

I held out my hand to Tony, and he shook it before I turned to Abigail and gave her a formal kiss on the back of her hand.

“Delightful,” I murmured, watching her blush slightly at being treated as an adult.

<Ben's Note: this was before the days of 'teenagers'. A time when you had children or adults, and you were a child more or less till you reached 18-21, married or got a job.>

“Now, if you'd please go with Mrs Harris,” I said, pointing her out. “She'll show you to your rooms and then help with any luggage.”

I watched them troop off, neither having said a word, but that was only to be expected, I surmised. They both gave the impression of a fish out of water.

I turned to Tom and Jennifer, somewhat unsure of what to say but determined to swallow my pride.

“I realise things I have said in the past give you no reason to feel as welcome as you should. However, for now, let this house be your home, and I hope you, Tom, will recover and you, Jennifer, will accept my apologies for my disgraceful conduct in the past and allow bygones to be bygones, as well as let me make amends and for us to get to know each other,” I said.

“Thanks for having us, Dad,” wheezed Tom.

“Thank you, Alan,” said Jennifer in tones so cold I swear I could feel icicles on them.

I've arranged for Henry... that is Doctor Davis and his good lady, Pamela, the district nurse, to call tomorrow afternoon to introduce themselves and get to know you, Tom, in case you need anything that can be sorted locally. Although Jennifer told me that an army doctor will visit once a week to advise on recuperation,” I said.

“I'm not sure that I want some local doctor, who may know nothing of war wounds, even coming near Tom,” stated Jennifer.

“Normally, I'd agree,” I said in placating tones. However, Henry is an ex-army doctor, and Pamela was in Queen Alexandra's Royal Army Nursing Corps. Both served during the war, so they have experience with war wounds.”

“Oh, I see,” said Jennifer coldly. “Well, I withdraw my objection.”

“Thanks, Dad. I may need dressings and suchlike to be changed and wounds to be inspected,” gasped Tom, who was clearly uncomfortable and not relishing his role as peacemaker.

“Your wounds aren't healing?” I asked.

“No, not as well as they ought, despite the liberal use of antibiotics. That plus the physical damage and pain is rather... extreme,” Tom said as Jennifer took his hand.

“I know the basics, but now I suspect you need to rest. There is a handbell at the side of the bed, which will summon Mrs Harris if you have any needs,” I replied, then turned to Jennifer. “May I escort you to your room?”

“I had expected to stay with Tom,” she replied.

“There's only room for a chair and footstool, and whilst both together are quite comfortable, I felt that if you needed a break or privacy, you could have your own room. At least it's where yours and Tom's clothing can be kept,” I replied.

“Thank you, Alan,” she replied after a long pause. “That's most considerate of you.”

I led the way out of the room and into the central hallway before ascending the stairs. Jennifer followed me and glanced around at the various objects on display. Other than the ticking of the many clocks situated about the house, we walked in uncomfortable silence, and I admit my courage failed me as I did not attempt to put right the mistakes of the past but thought perhaps tomorrow.

“I've put you into Georgette's old room, as it's south-facing and quite cosy. There's also a fireplace if it gets chilly and a basin with hot water taps,” I said eventually, trying to break the ice.

“Thank you, Alan,” she replied, adding a tone of disdain. “Why did Mum have her own room?”

“It was supposed to be our room, and I had Georgette furnish it to her tastes before her... before she died, and I never had the heart to use it afterwards, too many reminders,” I replied, feeling an old ache I could never entirely shift.

“I see,” said Jennifer in softer tones.

I opened the door and allowed Jennifer to enter, watching her pause and look around.

“Mum had beautiful taste,” she said quietly.

“That she did. Dinner will be at five, but let Mrs Ellis know if Tom has any particular needs regarding food. You can summon her by the bell pull in the corner,” I replied.

“Thank you, Alan,” she said by way of dismissal.

***

Hearing the door close behind her, Jenny finally allowed the long-checked bitterness and seething anger to surface. How dare he! How dare that awful man simply ask for bygones to be bygones after he had all but called her a whore? Simply because, when she had accepted Tom's proposal, she had been an actress. She still remembered the scene well when Alan had sent a peremptory summons demanding her presence at his office. Tom had told her it was simply his (Alan's) way, so she had sat outside the office, waiting, whilst his snobbish secretary had held her nose up as if an awful stench had drifted into the room. Finally, a buzzer had gone off, and she had been permitted to enter his presence. What had happened next had been worse. Alan had demanded that she terminate their engagement and leave his son alone. He'd even had the temerity to offer her money to do so. Implying that, as an actress, her morals were of the gutter and that she simply wasn't good enough for Tom. Admittedly, she was no blushing virgin, but through common sense and careful selection via the 'casting couch', she had gotten herself established. However, unlike others, she hadn't embarked on open affairs or become a rich man's mistress.

In the end, it had been the dashing Lieutenant who had showered her with flowers and had, initially, been an irritation, then a distraction until he charmed his way into her heart. At the time, she had no idea who his father was. The terrible wait as the Dunkirk drama unfolded, knowing he was trapped in France, sealed their love, and she'd accepted his proposal once he sought her out on his return. Their first meeting with Alan and Georgette as an engaged couple had, she thought, gone well, even if Alan had been stiff and formal. The second in his office had left her simply slamming the door behind her, tears flowing at his rudeness and assumptions, only to run into Tom, who had heard everything through the door and had confronted his father in a blazing row as he'd defended her honour.

Alan had threatened to cut Tom out of his will if he didn't give Jennifer up. Tom responded that he'd instead give his family up and had, with Jennifer, walked away, both seething and both determined not to have anything to do with that awful man ever again.

They had married in a registry office, not the grand church affair Tom had wanted for her, with only a few friends as witnesses, before Tom had to report back to his unit. As it happened, they had been surprised by Georgette turning up along with Simon and Robert to give them her blessings and to apologise for Alan's behaviour. However, her attempt to seek reconciliation fell on deaf ears, both theirs and presumably Alan's. Still, Georgette and Jennifer became fast friends, though the touchy subject of Alan was rarely if ever, mentioned.

By the end of the war, Jennifer had two beautiful children, twins, although the difficult birth had left her barren. Still, she expected Tom to demob like most of the armed forces, only to see him take a drop in rank and remain enlisted. He was, however, based in the Lifeguard's Barracks in the Royal Mews, so they bought a small house in London and lived a life of wedded bliss until at least the Korean War...

Jenny had begged him to resign his commission, though she knew he wouldn't. His love affair with the army seemed more substantial than their love. So he'd gone to fight, and, almost when the Armistice had been signed, stepped on a land mine, to be changed forever from the man she remembered and loved and whom she had last seen whole at Georgette's funeral just before his embarkation. The wounds themselves were worse than she imagined when she learned that he'd lost a leg. She'd anticipated some changes, perhaps a slowing down of life, but what awaited her in the military hospital was horrifying. Tom had lost a leg, but his other had sustained significant tissue loss and damage. Even worse, he'd lost a testicle, and the other had been severely damaged and was showing no signs of recovery, along with several deep abdominal wounds.

Jenny was also honest enough with herself to acknowledge that she was sexually frustrated, too. It had been too long, and now the source of her satisfaction had returned and might never perform again. Frankly, she was a little tired of her fingers now...

Having been told Tom needed to be in a convalescent home but that few places were available, Jenny swallowed her pride and asked the one man she wanted nothing to do with if they could come and stay with him.

She was surprised when Alan immediately said yes...

***

Further down the upstairs hallway, Tony and Abi were lying on Tony's bed in his room after unpacking and preparing to explore the house.

“I like him,” said Abi.

“Who?” asked Tony.

“Alan, of course, you ninny,” she giggled.

“Why? Mother says he's a bully and a prig,” responded Tony.

“He kissed my hand and called me delightful,” Abi replied with a blush.

“Well, he can't have thought you a grown-up,” said Tony. “Not unless he's blind.”

This was true. Abi had just started a growth spurt like Tony, though unlike him, she hadn't grown into an adult shape yet nor sprouted any hairs. Still, she was beginning to round out, if looking a tad gangly.

<Ben's Note: I have to admit this struck me as odd, though I can't fault the narrative. A quick Google check still sorted the matter. Apparently, since the 1950s, the average age at which puberty onset has lowered by six months per decade, so, in the year of my writing, it has lowered by three whole years. The average age of puberty in the UK in the 50s was between thirteen and fifteen.>

“He was just being nice; you could try it sometime,” Abi teased.

“I dare you to call him Alan in front of Mother,” Tony said slyly.

“I shall; just you watch!” Abi said primly, never being able to resist a chance to show off or having the wisdom to turn down a dare.

“Anyway, let's explore. There's bound to be a secret passage somewhere; it's that kind of place,” said Tony, thinking back to his Enid Blyton's Famous Five books.

“It is big; I wonder if Alan knows all about it, or perhaps Mrs Harris?” Abi replied as they scrambled off the bed, hurrying to begin their adventure.

The two adolescents began by simply walking along the corridor and looking into various rooms, most of which were empty, with a few items of furniture covered in dust sheets. Tony did discover what appeared to be a set of stairs leading up to the attics, but Abi refused to go due to the darkness and the cobwebs.

Other than discovering their Mother's room, there seemed little of interest upstairs, at least in this wing of the house. So the twins headed downstairs under Jennifer's admonishment to not disturb their father, who was probably napping. They found pictures and ornaments everywhere they looked, though very little sense of where they were from, nor who they were of. Finally, following the sound of music, they found Alan sitting in what appeared to be a small library, reviewing some notes while the radio played 'Stranger in Paradise' by The Four Aces.

“Hello, you two,” Alan said with a smile.

“Hello, Alan... sir,” replied Abi.

“You can call me Alan; it won't kill me,” Alan chuckled.

“No... but Mother might kill us,” Tony replied.

“Ah, yes, I see the problem,” Alan said. “Tell you what, you can call me Uncle Alan if you'd like; it sounds a lot less old than Grandfather anyway to my ears.”

“Thank you ... Uncle Alan,” replied a blushing Abi.

“Now, why the blush, little Lady?” Alan asked.

“You don't seem to be the man our Mother told us about; you seem... nice,” she said awkwardly.

“Oh, once I was a terrible man, always wanting my way, even telling your Mother and Father that they couldn't get married to each other,” Alan sighed. “It was wrong, and I made them terribly angry with me and deservedly so. I was too proud and stubborn to put things right when it was up to me to do that, not them, and so I missed watching you grow up and be part of your lives, unlike Nanna Georgette.”

“So you don't hate us?” asked Tony.

“Good heavens, no! I've never hated you. I was just too stubborn to right a wrong that I should never have done in the first place,” Alan replied.

“I'm glad you're nice, Uncle Alan,” said Abi with a beaming smile.

“I'm glad you're both here, along with your Mother and Father,” Alan responded. Now tell me, what are you up to?”

“We're exploring,” Tony replied.

“Oh, that's good. This is a big old house, and I don't think I've been everywhere in it yet. Tell me now: Have you read The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe?” Alan asked.

“Yes, we have,” both twins chorused as one.

“Ah, then I don't need to remind you to stay out of the wardrobes,” said Alan with a big smile. However, be careful to stay out of the kitchens, too. That's Mrs Ellis' domain. If you want something to eat, go downstairs to the door and knock before opening it, but stay outside. She doesn't even allow me in there,” Alan laughed.

“We will,” they both replied.

“Now, if you want, you can continue exploring or sit here and read,” Alan said.

“Is there a secret passage?” asked Tony excitedly.

“Yes, there is,” Alan replied with a smile.

“Where?” gasped Abi.

“Well, if I told you, it wouldn't be a secret now, would it?” Alan chuckled.

“Oh, Uncle Alan!” she squeaked.

“Have a look around. I'll give you a week; if you haven't found it, I'll give you a clue. By the way, there's more than one, and there's a priest hole, too,” Alan chuckled as they headed out to search.

***

Alan watched them leave, feeling happy and amused yet regretful at his stupid obstinacy at not putting things right. Also disturbing was the effect Abi had on him. She was so like a young Georgette that he had felt himself becoming aroused just by talking to her, something he knew he needed to get under control... or at least conceal. Part of the problem was that it had been over four years since Alan had known intimacy with a woman; Georgette's illness had taken its toll on their sexual relations. Not that Alan had been a saint during their marriage, his drive to excel in business had given him opportunity to take advantage of some of the benefits of 'being the boss'. However, he'd always kept that side of his nature separate from Georgette, who, if she knew, never mentioned it as she played the part of the perfect wife. Still, he thought with amusement, he'd cut quite a swath through the typing pool, or rather the married part of it, and it was a known fact, though never spoken aloud, that if you wished promotion to personal secretary, then you had to pass an 'interview' with Alan. Although many had made it known that it was simply for fun, as it was also 'known' that Alan had had a vasectomy after the birth of his fourth child.

Still, his sex life had more or less stopped after Georgette's death. The desire to copulate had died with her, he thought. So it was a surprise to find himself aroused, though shameful that a fourteen-year-old girl, his granddaughter, had managed it.

<Ben's Note: like many others, I assumed that the first 60 years of the previous century was one of prudishness and hypocrisy. The letters and diaries I have, however, are quite open, if circumspect, about the subject, and it appears it was only the media and the self-censorship of the literary and film world that gave this impression. I believe it only to be fear of pregnancy outside marriage, along with the social stigma associated with the 'sin' that kept people from openly discussing something that was going on... as it were. Indeed, a Mass Observation survey in 1949 declared that one husband in four and one wife in five admitted to sexual relations outside marriage. Alan seems to be typical of his type in getting what he wanted, and it appears the ladies had no real objection to his advances, although it may just be that some didn't dare refuse.>

“Excuse me, sir, but there's a van full of medical equipment here to be unloaded,” Mrs Harris said quietly.

“I'll be right out. See if you can find Jennifer and young Tony to give me a hand, if you could, please,” I replied.

“Of course, sir,” she said before drifting silently out of the room.

Outside, I found two men waiting alongside an Austin 'three-way' van. Tony, Abigail, and Jennifer joined me shortly after.

“Bert Lancaster, at your service, guv. Where do you want it put?” I was asked.

“This good Lady here will tell you, but I expect most of it will go to the rear of the house and can be carried in through the patio doors,” I replied, glancing at Jennifer and getting a nod of acceptance. Do you need a hand?”

“Many hands make light work, guv. So if you and the young lad here help unload, Alf and I will cart the stuff to where the Lady wants it,” he replied.

There wasn't much heavy stuff, a wheelchair, a commode, a lot of bedding and dressings, as well as a job lot of rubbing alcohol. It didn't take long to get it out of the van, and I watched as Bert and his mate, under Jennifer's supervision, carried it in stages to the rear of the manor. I also noted with amusement their careful observations of Jennifer, presumably because she was a lovely-looking woman with a good figure and dressed in a grey pencil skirt, nylons and a white blouse, which showed it off magnificently.

I thought Tom was lucky until I remembered how his luck ran out.

Abi had been watching and presumably trying to emulate her mother, although her pleated skirt with cotton blouse identified her as a child. Still, unlike Jennifer, she smiled for everyone and brightened the day.

Finally, I signed off Bert's delivery sheet and wandered around to see Tom and, if necessary, help with the placement of the items.

“Lot of bedding,” I said to no one in particular.

“I'm afraid my wounds still weep, Dad,” said Tom.

“Can you arrange for someone to do the laundry, Mrs Harris? I doubt you'll have the time yourself,” I requested my ever-present housekeeper.

“Yes, sir, my daughter-in-law, Matilda, would be honoured if asked,” she replied.

“I'll pay the going rate of a housemaid, Mrs Harris. I trust your judgement,” I replied.

“Of course, sir. That's good of you,” she returned before drifting off again.

“Thanks, Dad,” wheezed Tom before coughing up some phlegm with what looked suspiciously like blood in it.

“Can we go back to exploring, Uncle Alan?” asked Abigail.

“Of course, but stay out of the wardrobes... and the kitchen,” I chuckled.

I imagined the two children raced off before their mother could object.

“Uncle?” Tom said.

“Seemed better than sir or Alan,” I replied.

“It should be Grandfather,” he responded.

“There are many things that should have been,” I replied. “And many that should not, one being my objection to your marriage and how I spoke to Jennifer about it.”

“Indeed,” said Jennifer archly.

“I can't change the past, and I don't expect forgiveness, but rest assured, I will do my best for you, by you, and for the children,” I said. Do not hesitate to ask if there's anything I can do, no matter the cost.”

“Thanks, Dad,” Tom replied as I nodded to him and Jennifer before withdrawing to my estate accounts in the library.

***

“I still don't like him; in fact, I'll probably hate him to my dying day,” Jenny said a minute after the door closed.

“I think he knows that,” chuckled Tom before coughing up phlegm into a handkerchief again. “Still, my good Lady, at least be civil.”

“I have been so far, though it isn't easy. Just seeing him gets my goat,” she replied.

“He has apologised and doesn't expect your forgiveness; what more do you want?” Tom asked.

“Him dropping dead and this house becoming ours might just do it,” Jenny replied.

“I think you go too far, even in jest, Jenny,” said Tom coldly. “He's still my Dad, and although I took your side when he forbade our marriage and would again and stood by you when Georgette tried to make amends, I won't have you wish him dead... ever.”

“I'm sorry, Tom, I can't help but feel bad about him. I'll be civil but little else. That's all I can promise other than to keep my thoughts to myself,” Jenny stated quietly.

Going to the various packs, Jenny took out the rubbing alcohol and a sterile cloth and undressed her husband. She then cleaned the various red raw wounds carefully, even though she knew the agony Tom was under, before covering him over again.

“Thank you,” Tom murmured.

“You're welcome, my love. Now, would you like me to read to you?” Jenny asked, trying to hide the tears that the sight of his wounds always brought her.

“No, I still need to nap, I think; that car journey was ... difficult,” he replied.

“Of course, my love,” Jenny said as she retreated from the room, closing the door gently behind her.

***

Once outside and feeling a little at a loss as it was still an hour before dinner, Jenny decided to explore independently. The Manor was quite large, though not a stately home and many rooms were not in use. Still, as the children had done, she soon gravitated to the sound of music from the library, where Alan was still reviewing the estate's accounts and reports.

“I beg your pardon, Jennifer. I'll retire elsewhere if you need privacy and quiet,” he said when he noticed her entry.

“No, Alan. It's your house, and I can find somewhere else if you can't bear to be near me,” she said, her anger rising again at his tone.

“It wasn't that at all. I know my presence causes you distress and anger, and I do not wish to add to your burdens,” he replied softly.

“We're going to have to tolerate each other,” Jenny said. “So please stay, and I'll ignore you if you ignore me.”

“Deal,” said Alan with what sounded suspiciously like a chuckle. “Before we ignore each other, would you like some tea?”

“Yes, please,” Jenny replied before looking at the books adorning the walls.

Alan pulled a bell cord, and Mrs Harris appeared at the door within a minute.

“Could we have two teas, please, Mrs Harris?” he asked.

“Of course, sir,” she replied before leaving.

Jenny continued browsing the books before pulling out a tome and inspecting it closely.

“Good Lord!” she murmured.

Alan glanced up but said nothing.

“Sorry,” Jenny apologised. “But this is a first edition of D H Lawrence's 'Lady Chatterley's Lover.”

“Ah, yes, it was a favourite of Georgette's,” Alan admitted. “It's the original Florentine print and contains everything you can't print in this country.”

“The rude bits?” Jenny asked, a small smile forming on her lips despite her antagonism towards Alan.

“Most definitely the rude bits. Georgette always said she only allowed me to buy this Manor so she could seek out her own Mellors,” Alan chuckled.

Remembering the times she spent with Georgette, Jenny could imagine her saying exactly that. Georgette had a wicked sense of humour and an outlook on life that Jenny admired greatly, save for her marriage to Alan. Yet even so, despite her feelings over Alan's behaviour towards herself, she could see just what it was that drew the two together.

“You really miss her, don't you?” Jenny asked.

“Yes,” he replied, a single word that had a whole gamut of meaning in it.

“As do I, she was my friend and never judged me or my past,” Jenny replied.

“I should have followed her example,” Alan said quietly.

“Yes, you should have,” Jenny replied suddenly realising who she was talking to and starting to withdraw from the closeness. “May I borrow this?”

“This house and everything in it are at your disposal, Jennifer. Please feel free to read anything here,” he replied.

At this point, Mrs Harris returned with a teapot and cups on a tray and placed them on a small table before pouring two cups.

“Will that be all, sir?” she asked.

“Yes, thank you, Mrs Harris,” Alan replied.

“Milk, sugar?” he asked Jenny.

“Just milk, please,” Jenny replied and took the proffered cup before retreating to the opposite end of the library, as far away from Alan as possible.

***

Tony and Abi were wandering the Manor, tapping on walls and carefully twisting or pulling various brackets to find the secret tunnels, though they had had little luck so far.

“I don't suppose Uncle Alan was lying, do you?” asked Abi.

“I don't see why he would,” answered Tony. “But you can always ask him.”

“I'm not going to do that!” said Abi, quite shocked.

“Then you'll just have to fem fatal him,” said Tony slyly.

“What's fem fatal?” asked Abi, a little confused.

“I read about it in one of Dad's magazines. It's where you use your female wiles to tempt him into telling you secrets,” answered Tony.

“What are my female wiles?” Abi asked, wondering if Tony was being rude… again, as boys were.

“Er... you give him kisses and cuddles, I think... well, at first,” said Tony, wishing he'd never said anything.

“Where did you get this magazine?” asked Abi suspiciously.

“I found some when we were packing. It's called Sir, and it's American... I think,” Tony said.

“Can I see it?” Abi asked.

“Um, I suppose so. Let's go to my room,” Tony replied.

Back in Tony's room, he dug out of the bottom drawer of a dresser several dog-eared magazines featuring scantily clad women and what appeared to be lurid story titles.

“This is the one... I think,” said Tony, handing over a magazine of 'men's' stories that advertised a tale of the 'femme fatale' and how a man fell for her and did as she wished until the police caught him.

Abi turned to the page and began reading, her cheeks slowly reddening as a saucy tale of a woman using her wiles to get her way, seducing a man. Although, to be honest, she didn't know a good few of the words, she still knew it was rude... if somewhat exciting to read.

“So you want me to sit on Uncle Alan's lap and give him kisses until he tells me where the secret tunnel is?” Abi frowned.

“I was only joking, Abi, sorry,” said Tony, wondering if this would be one of the few moments when Abi told Mother about one of his deeds.

“Sounds like fun,” said Abi.

“You mean you would? Let him put his hands up your skirt like the woman in the story?” Tony asked, quite shocked.

“Well, perhaps not that far,” said Abi, blushing, although the idea made her feel slightly... tingly.

“You wouldn't dare!” said Tony.

“I so would if it gets him to tell me where the tunnel is,” squeaked Abi.

“Mother would kill you,” said Tony, amazed at the way the conversation was going. “Anyway, you don't have any clothes like those in the magazine.”

“True,” said Abi sadly. “Still, it's worth a go, just to see if I can.”

“Just don't let Mother catch you. You know what she did when you sat on Father's lap, without your... um, underthings on,” Tony chuckled.

“Yes, but this time you'll help by keeping her busy whilst I femme fatale him,” giggled Abi.

 

 

Chapter 2)

(2013)

I had emailed Annie the first chapter of the letters and diaries, as it was, and didn't expect to hear anything back, as I suspected she wouldn't like where the story might be heading. This shows how little I really knew about how she thought these days. Later that evening, my mobile rang; it was Annie.

“Hi Ben, just read the first extracts. Is this story heading where I think it is?” she asked.

“I'm afraid so, Annie. I can stop sending them if that's what you want,” I replied.

“No, please keep them coming. I want to see how this turns out, as it seems I didn't know Aunt Abi, Dad, and Grandma Jenny as well as I thought,” she giggled.

“Yes, it's surprising,” I admitted.

“I mean, I know sex went on, but I never thought that the fifties were so... racy and naughty,” she said.

“There's more to come. As soon as I've compiled it, I'll email you,”

“Thanks, Ben; perhaps I'll pop over and read over your shoulder,” she chuckled.

“That might put me off,” I chuckled in return, not quite knowing why I said it.

“Ooh, do I distract you that much, bro?” she laughed, although I suspected a serious undertone to the question.

“You're the most pleasant distraction I know, Annie,” I replied light-heartedly.

“You say the nicest things, Ben, but I gotta go. Please send me the next chapter as soon as it's ready,” she implored.

“No problem, sis,” I replied as I returned to unravelling the scandal, with some odd thoughts about Annie running through my mind.

***

(1954)

The clocks struck five at this point, and the children knew it was dinner time. After hiding the magazines, they hurried downstairs to the dining room, where Jennifer, Tom in his wheelchair, and Alan were waiting.

The food was plain but in large quantities: mashed potatoes, beef, cabbage, carrots, and peas. The meat rationing had ended only a month before. Afterwards, Mrs Ellis produced some jelly and custard for Tom and a jam roly-poly for the others.

<Ben's Note: food rationing ended in the UK on July 4th 1954, when meat and all other food rationing ended.>

There was little or no conversation at dinner, as was typical. You were there to eat, not speak. Afterwards, though, Alan agreed to put the television on for the children while he and Tom chatted and did some catching up. Jennifer ostentatiously ignored them all and read her book.

Finally, though, Tom retired, and Jennifer went with him to sort out his various hygiene needs and, Alan presumed, to spend a little 'alone' time with him.

Leaving the children but asking them to let him know if they wanted the television switched off, Alan wandered into the library, put the radio on, and picked up a book to relax.

Five minutes later he was joined by Abi.

“Not watching television?” Alan asked.

“No, Tony is, though,” she said as she approached and sat next to Alan on the arm of the chair.

“Help yourself to the books here, but leave the radio alone. I like this music,” Alan replied.

“I was hoping to ask you about the secret passages,” Abi giggled.

“I told you I'd give you a clue in a week,” Alan chuckled.

Abi slid over and kissed him on the lips, a child's kiss, which made Alan uncomfortable.

“Now I've kissed you, you owe me a favour,” Abi giggled.

“Oh, you think?” chuckled Alan.

“Well, what else can I offer?” she giggled, using the words of the femme fatale in the magazine, sliding off the arm and onto his lap.

“I don't think you should be doing this,” Alan gasped, her weight pressed down onto his groin, and her pleated skirt rode slightly up her thighs.

“Doing what, Uncle Alan?” she asked coquettishly.

“Sitting on my lap,” Alan said, already feeling the start of an erection as Abi squirmed slightly.

“I'm using my female wiles to get you to tell me where the secret passages are,” giggled Abi. “So if you want me to stop, then tell me.”

“You don't know what you're doing at all, Abi,” sighed Alan. “Doing things like this isn't a game, not to men.”

“But it's fun, Uncle Alan,” she giggled, giving him another kiss on his lips.

“Abi, please don't!” Alan said as he tried to regain control of the situation.

Abi took one of Alan's hands and placed it on her upper leg just below the hem of her skirt and deliberately squirmed down on the hard lump she could feel pressing into her bottom, not quite knowing why but knowing it felt good.

Alan had just begun to slide his hand under Abi's skirt when he heard Jennifer calling for the children. He felt extreme relief when Abi slid off his lap to seek out her mother.

'My God, ' he thought, 'she nearly had me then. I have got to get this under control.'

***

Jennifer gathered Tony and Abi and told them it was time to go to bed. She said she would arrange to have some hot milk waiting for them once they came down before taking herself off to the library to talk to Alan and get him to switch the television off.

“Are you all right, Alan,” she asked, as he looked flushed and almost out of breath.

“Oh yes, just a little heartburn, I believe,” Alan replied.

“Could you switch off the television, please,” Jennifer asked.

“Of course, Jennifer.”

Alan wandered to the lounge and unplugged the television, hoping Jennifer hadn't noticed his erection.

Jennifer waited until Alan had gone before a wry smile appeared on her lips. 'My God,' she thought, 'he's human after all, judging from the bulge in his pants, though surely he hadn't been self-indulging... no, of course not, but perhaps he'd been thinking about Mrs Harris or Mrs Ellis... oh no,' she thought, the smile falling away, 'surely he hadn't been thinking about me!'

Flushing slightly but putting the thought aside, Jennifer summoned Mrs Harris, arranged for some hot milk for Tony and Abi, and sat herself down in the corner.

Alan returned to the library and noticed Jennifer had moved away to the corner where she'd sat before. The copy of Lady Chatterley's Lover was open in front of her, and, as always, she was ostentatiously ignoring him.

Picking up his own book, Alan tried to read. Although it was difficult, his thoughts continually ran amok over the feelings and sensations Abi had wrought upon him. He determined that he would take steps to ensure that they never were alone together, as he believed that Abi at least didn't know she was playing with fire.

Jennifer studiously read the book, at least until she reached the first sex scene where Mellors enjoyed Constance in the hatchery and then she simply couldn't help glance up at Alan. There was so much of Tom in his looks, tall, distinguished looking and still vigorous ... very vigorous as her memory told her. Still unwilling to give up her hate though, she forced her eyes down to read more of the book, despite the arousal her body was clearly telling her that it felt. My God! The man had questioned her morals and now she couldn't help thinking and desiring him, what a hypocrite it made her!

Alan became aware of Jennifer's glances, although chose not to acknowledge them, surely she didn't know what had happened ... then again she'd said nothing, so probably not. Still, he thought, she's a remarkably beautiful woman. Despite her animosity it was a pleasure to have her and the family milling around the Manor, making the place come alive for the first time in Alan's experience.

At this point, Tony and Abi appeared Tony in striped cotton pyjamas with a warm dressing gown over the top and Abi in a floor-length nightgown along with her own dressing gown. They were followed in by Mrs Harris, bearing a tray with two glasses of milk and some biscuits, which she placed on an occasional table.

“Will that be all, sir, madam?” she asked.

“I believe so,” I replied, glancing at Jennifer and seeing her nod.

“Then I shall go home and be here in the morning,” she said.

“Thank you, Mrs Harris, good night,” I replied, along with acknowledgements from Jennifer and the children.

“She works long hours,” said Jennifer.

“Not normally,” I replied. Mrs Ellis normally works mornings and afternoons, Mrs Harris works afternoons and evenings one week, and then they swap. A couple of women from the estate cover their days off and assist through the week, too. A housemaid spends the night here to prepare the kitchen and light any fires if necessary.”

“I'm surprised you have so few; it's a big house,” Jennifer said.

“It is, though Georgette and I had plans to convert some of it to a hotel. All fell by the wayside, though,” Alan admitted.

“Well, perhaps one day,” said Jennifer.

“Perhaps,” Alan replied.

“Now, you two, it's off to your rooms to settle down for the night,” said Jennifer to Tony and Abi.

“Yes, Mother,” they chorused before stepping forward to kiss Jennifer on the cheek.

Abi then surprised everyone by giving Alan a hug and a chaste kiss.

“Good night, Uncle Alan,” she said quietly with a smile.

“Goodnight, Abi, goodnight Tony; perhaps tomorrow you'd like to come with me as I do my rounds of the estate and see what there is to see,” Alan replied.

“May we, Mother?” asked Tony.

Jennifer was caught a little off guard, but not seeing any way or need to object, she nodded her assent.

“But only if you behave. I want no noises or other silly activities,” she finally admonished.

They finished their drinks and headed off whilst Jennifer pondered Alan.

“This walk isn't too far, is it?” she finally asked.

“About five miles in total, but not all at once. Plus, I'll stop at the lake and let them rest there. Mrs Ellis will have prepared some sandwiches,” Alan replied.

“I... I... why are you doing this, Alan? I know you disapprove of me,” Jennifer finally asked.

“No, you're wrong. I misjudged you on the reputation of your profession, not you personally, which was a terrible mistake, made worse by my idiot pride in not seeking to apologise for the terrible wrong I did you. I really cannot apologise enough, even if it's never going to be enough. I can make amends now, help Tom recover, and get to know you and the children. It's something I should have done years ago rather than let my own prejudices get the better of me,” Alan almost blurted out in his need to apologise.

“I honestly don't know if I'd have allowed you back into our lives,” Jennifer confessed. “I was so hurt and humiliated, enraged too, that I would probably have said no anyway if only to spite you,”

“It would have been well deserved, too, and although I truly regret the circumstances that brought you here, I'm so glad to see you all, really,” Alan admitted.

Jennifer felt at a loss for words. She'd cherished the notions of hate and revenge for so many years that it was difficult to let go. Yet her innate honesty knew that the problem was now hers to resolve. Alan had cleared the way if she wanted to take it, yet seeing him as the monster still felt so comfortable.

“I don't know what to say, Alan,” she finally replied.

“Then say nothing; just relax and enjoy what moments you can whilst helping Tom get better,” Alan said.

“Thank you, Alan,” she said quietly as they both moved to their parts of the library to relax.

They both sat and tried to engross themselves in their respective books, yet both were going over what they had said to each other. Jennifer finally realised that she would have to let go of her hate, yet she also had a problem in that she knew she was attracted to Alan from what she'd observed earlier. 'I must be strong and resist his charm ... assuming he was even thinking about me, ' she added honestly.

Alan also couldn't help but notice just how good-looking Jennifer was, although he realised that any advance he made would be unwelcome, particularly as he hoped to mend some bridges. Besides, she was not part of the 'typing pool', he thought, which was indeed a pity, he admitted to himself.

Finally, Jennifer rose, “I'm going to take a bath and retire, Alan,” she said.

“Then I bid you goodnight, Jennifer,” he replied, standing.

“Please call me Jenny,” she said with a smile. “And goodnight, Alan.”

***

In her room, Abigail heard her mother pass and go down to the bathroom, breathing a sigh of relief when she passed and extracting the magazine with the femme fatale story from under her pillow. She knew she'd nearly 'femmed' Uncle Alan when his hand had started to move up her leg, though was a little unsure as to what he'd do once he had reached the top, or indeed whether she would have let him. She did know it had felt good and that the hard lump she'd felt pressing into her was probably Alan's rude bits, although why they were hard, she didn't know. Still reading through the magazine and gleaning it for clues had started a tingly feeling down in her fairy, and she knew that whatever Uncle Alan might do, she was going to let him.

***

Tony, too, had hidden a magazine when he heard his Mother go past; he was never sure when she'd pop in, so he was very careful as he knew he wasn't supposed to have them. Even so, he knew that although they appeared to be quite erotic or rude, a lot was missing on the actual ‘mechanics’ of the rudeness... so to speak. Indeed, Tony's views on sex, such as it was, all came from the boys at his boarding school, and much of that appeared to be idle boasting. Indeed, he'd boasted too, but he knew nothing besides the magazines he'd 'borrowed' from his father and a few smutty pictures one of the boys had brought in. Oh, he knew what an erection was, but the rest? Well, he was sure it had something to do with a woman's fanny and getting his knob, as the other boys called it, into it.

<Ben's Note: I've used the terms used in the letters and diaries; to the British, a fanny is the pussy or vagina, not the bottom.>

Not that he had seen one… well, other than Abi's once, accidentally, when she sat on Dad's lap when she was ten and got told off by Mother for not wearing knickers.

Suddenly, though, he had a thought. When exploring, he'd noticed the bathroom… he'd even used it to clean his teeth earlier. He'd also noticed that it had a keyhole, and his mother was running a bath.

Creeping out of his room, Tony padded along to the bathroom and listened carefully, though he could not hear much over the sound of the taps running. Holding his breath, he lowered his head down to the keyhole and couldn't see anything except steam... until his mother stepped up to the basin and yes! She was nude. Tony couldn't believe his luck. Sure, it was his Mother, but she was so beautiful, even if he could only see her side. Tall at 5'8”, blonde, with well-proportioned breasts, neither too heavy nor too small in Tony's view, with pink nipples, a well-rounded bottom and long legs and when she turned slightly, her fanny was covered in dark blonde hairs. Tony's erection ached, and he put his hand on it to try and ease the discomfort, squeezing it slightly as he watched Jennifer finish at the basin and climb into the bath, obscuring his view of her.

Deciding enough was enough, Tony crept back to his room, his curiosity satisfied for now, though his stiff knob didn't subside until sleep overcame him.

***

Jenny relaxed in the hot bath, idly wondering where the hot water came from. It certainly beat boiling water in their London house to fill a tin bath in front of the fire for the children or the weekly trip to the communal bath hall. Going back over the day's activities brought a small smile to her lips. Yes, the car journey had been a bit of a nightmare for Tom, but now they were somewhere he could convalesce in comfort and without the poor air of London. Alan was the biggest surprise; she had expected a tyrant and found a contrite and lovely man who seemed to enjoy his grandchildren's presence, but only time would tell. More disturbingly was the effect of Alan's presence on her. Jenny's libido had always been relatively high, and before Tom, she'd indulged it discreetly once she discovered the price of getting ahead for a struggling actress in London. It had stopped, of course, when the children came along. But since Tom's absence in Korea and now his invalidity, the need to be held, touched intimately, and physically loved had grown to a daily ache. Now, she shared a house with a virile older version of Tom, and it was going to be hard to cope with these feelings. Mainly as the real hurt Alan had caused her had been the truth of loose morals she, as an actress, had.

Jenny enjoyed her soak, taking time to use a safety razor to shave her legs and under her arms, something she'd taken to doing as an actress; she also shampooed her hair.

'I so could get used to a daily dose of this,' she thought with a wry smile.

Eventually, though, the ache of desire due to the relaxed circumstances caused Jenny's hand to slip under the water to probe at her kitty. Her fingers swirled over the spot that gave her pleasure, and she began to moan softly as the pleasure started to build. Usually, she focussed on Tom or, occasionally, a past conquest of the casting couch. Tonight, though, her mind would not stray from the thought of Alan, of how he would feel inside her, whether he was an accomplished lover. Her body tensed as the delight of orgasm overwhelmed her in an agonising climax, far, far more intense than any previous, leaving her feeling exhausted and somewhat ashamed.

***

Alan continued to read in the library after Jenny had left, feeling a little bemused by her request to call her Jenny. It had been as welcome as it had been unexpected. Georgette, close friends, and acquaintances had called her Jenny. As far as Alan knew, all the others called her Jennifer.

'Truly a day for changes, ' he thought as he reviewed the day's events.

Finally, though, Alan put the book away and checked on Tom, ensuring the handbell was within his reach but not disturbing his deeply sleeping son. He was pretty sure that Jenny's room was directly above this one, and Jenny would hear the bell.

Finally, switching off lights as he went, Alan went to his room on the other wing of the Manor from Jenny and the children. A quick wash and a brush of his teeth and he undressed for bed, settling in and trying to get some sleep, though conscious of the fact that his thoughts of Jenny ... and, yes, Abi now, had him both erect and desiring relief, something he hadn't known in years, so severely had Georgette's death affected him. Taking the matter 'in hand' so to speak, Alan stroked his cock whilst images and fantasies of both Jenny and Abi played roles until, with a gasp, he unloaded his 'stress' into a handkerchief.

'It's only in my mind, ' his last thoughts before sleep took him.

***

The following morning, Alan was awoken by a tapping at his door by Rosemary, the housemaid.

“Breakfast in an hour, sir,” she said after Alan acknowledged the knock. “Should I wake our guests?”

“Only those in the bedrooms, Rosemary,” Alan answered. “Leave my son to sleep as long as possible.”

“Of course, sir,” she answered, heading to the other wing.

A quick wash and shave soon had the sleep out of Alan's system, and he dressed to suit his scheduled survey of the estate and its inhabitants before heading down to the dining room.

Alan helped himself to a full English from the various heated bowls and trays before going to his usual seat at the head of the table. He was soon joined by Abi and Tony, both of whom had opted for cereal.

“I hope you both have decent walking shoes?” Alan asked after cheerily greeting them.

“All I have are sandals,” said Abi. “I hope they'll do?”

“In August, yes, but if you stay longer, we'll need to kit you out with wellies and some stouter footwear,” Alan replied. “Also, there's a lake, too, if you want to go swimming.”

“No swimming today. We're still waiting for our packing cases to be delivered, the ones with your swimming costumes in,” a cheerful voice said from the doorway. “Good morning, Alan, children.”

“Good morning, Jenny. Did you sleep well?” Alan greeted her, followed by good mornings from Abi and Tony.

“Yes, thank you. I've just checked on Tom. He's still sleeping, mostly a side effect of the medication, I'm afraid,” she replied.

“Morphiates?” asked Alan, slightly concerned.

“No, a codeine derivative, fortunately, though he has a sleeping tonic containing it, which we try to use sparingly,” she replied, putting Alan's fears at rest.

Jenny helped herself to a full English from the serving bowls and sat beside Alan.

“When Tom wakes, get Mrs Harris to assign you one of the girls to assist you in changing Tom's bedding,” Alan said.

“She'll need a strong stomach, I'm afraid,” said Jenny quietly.

“Tell her that. If she can't recommend anyone, let me know, and I'll hire a nurse helper for you,” I said.

“Are you sure, Alan?” she asked tentatively.

“I'm sure. The estate was supposed to be a retirement place for me and Georgette as it was a loss-making enterprise for the last owner. However, I'm afraid my business sense came to the fore, and it now makes a small, if welcome, profit. So yes, I can afford it, Jenny, and if it helps Tom, then it's worth it,” I replied.

We finished breakfast, and I picked up a rucksack, which had been filled with a small picnic lunch for myself and the children, including a flask of tea.

“Ready to go exploring?” I asked Abi and Tony.

“Yes!” they both cried and hurried to the hall after kissing their mother goodbye.

“We'll be back in time for Henry and Pamela's visit,” I told Jenny.

“Thank you, Alan, and have a good time,” she replied, smiling.

***

The children and I left through the front door of the Manor and walked across the vast lawn that fronted it, scattering the few sheep one of the local farmers grazed on the land to keep the grass short. “Do you own all this?” Abi asked, holding my hand.

“The estate contains three farms, a small pasteurisation plant, and several what you'd call allotments, which the locals use to grow vegetables and breed chickens for eggs. Most of the food you ate yesterday and this morning comes from them via the local butchers, bakers, and greengrocers,” I replied, feeling her gently squeeze my hand. “So... yes, I pretty much own all this.”

“Wow!” was all Tony had to say.

***

We eventually reached the ha-ha, a concealed ditch that prevented the sheep from straying. We clambered down the outthrust stones that allowed pedestrian access. From there, we could see the village where I would meet my estate agent and discuss the various goings and things I wanted to see done or put in hand. All through this, other than when clambering down the steps, Abi held my hand, though made no other moves except to give me smiles, and I hoped that the previous day's antics would be forgotten. At the village, I met Frank Fields, my agent, and while Tony and Abi looked around the village, I gave them sixpence each to spend at the village store.

As things had changed very little since I'd last spoken to Frank, our meeting took a little time, and I soon set off to my next port of call. This was the pasteurisation plant, where I had a controlling share, having agreed to buy out the previous owner and install new, modern machinery to attract new business through cheaper processing costs. The milk produced was enough to supply several nearby towns and was the source of the small profit the estate now turned over. Again, Abi took my hand as we walked along the small country lanes on the lovely, warm August summer's day.

“It's so beautiful here,” she said.

“It is, though you being here helps,” I said gallantly.

Abi giggled and squeezed my hand a little harder as we walked along, and I realised I was enjoying her company.

At the plant, I was greeted warmly by the various workers we met. When we reached the office, I gathered the weekly report and ensured that no problems might need my attention. There was nothing besides a couple of dairy farmers enquiring whether we had the spare capacity to take on the churns of milk they produced. I left the decision in the hands of the plant manager, knowing that he knew far better than I the plant's capacity. I did introduce Abi and Tony to all and sundry as my grandchildren, though, and the workforce greeted them with enthusiasm.

After that, we walked down a lane, heading slowly downhill until we turned past a wooded copse and came to the lake, which was quite large and had numerous wildfowl on it, including a bevvy of swans gliding majestically close to the shore. Nearby was a boat house, and next to it was a jetty where boats could be moored.

“Oh wow, do you have a boat, Uncle Alan?” breathed Tony.

“I do, a small outboard type and a rowing boat,” I replied.

“Oh, can I have a go?” he asked enthusiastically.

“Perhaps another day,” I said with a smile. “For the moment, let's just enjoy a picnic, assuming you haven't filled yourself up with sweets.”

“OK, Uncle Alan,” Tony replied.

We settled ourselves down on the turfed area to the side of the boathouse, and I spread a small blanket on which to put the sandwiches and a few teacakes. Tony and Abi waited patiently until I was done, then dug in. The walk had whetted their appetites quite a bit, and it didn't take long before the food had been consumed, along with a drink of orange squash each. I then sat back and watched Tony and Abi go down to the lakeshore and begin skipping stones across the surface. The two children chattered and laughed until Abi was tired of their actions and returned to where I sat. Tony skipped a few more stones before wandering to the mooring jetty to view the lake. As soon as Tony was at a distance, Abi sat herself, straddled across my legs and kissed me.

“Thank you, Uncle Alan,” she said.

“Thank you for what, Abi?” I asked, already feeling a bit of dread at her close proximity.

“For taking us out and showing us the lake,” she replied, kissing me again.

“You're very welcome, but you shouldn't be sitting like this with me,” I replied, feeling the stirrings of an erection growing.

“Why's that, Uncle Alan,” she replied with a cheeky grin.

“I think you know quite well why,” I replied as sternly as I could, attempting to move her away from me.

“Oh pooh, that's for strangers!” giggled Abi, squirming gently and making me ever more uncomfortable.

“Abi! This isn't a game!” I growled.

“You don't like me?” she cried, bursting into tears.

“I do like you; in fact, I like you too much, which is why I'm asking you to stop,” I replied, holding her gently while nervously glancing at Tony in the distance.

“I like you too, Uncle Alan,” she replied, the tears drying.

She then kissed my lips and paused slightly as I ran my tongue gently over her upper lip.

“I can't,” I moaned. “I just can't, you're my granddaughter.”

“Can't what? Uncle Alan,” she murmured, squirming down hard on my engorged cock.

“Abi, if you don't stop, I don't think I'll be able to stop myself from touching you,” I said, already knowing I was doomed.

“You wouldn't hurt me, Uncle Alan, I know,” she replied quietly.

Glancing over to where Tony was still looking out over the lake, I slid my hand up the front of Abi's skirt and gently caressed her leg. Abi pushed down even harder when I touched her, and my hand reached forward to touch her underclothes, gently tracing the outline of her nether regions, making her gasp with surprise and pleasure, I hoped.

“Ooh,” she breathed.

At this point, I noticed Tony turn and head back towards us.

“Your brother's coming; you'd better get off,” I said.

Frowning, Abi disentangled herself from me before giving me a quick kiss.

“Can we do this again sometime, Uncle Alan?” she giggled. “It's fun, but I'll be careful not to do it when people are around.”

I nodded dumbly before rolling onto my stomach to hide the results of Abi's ambush. I wondered if madness was contagious, as I had to be mad to even contemplate what we'd just done.

It took me five minutes to control myself while we listened to Tony tell us about the fish he could see moving around under the jetty.

“Well, you can bring a fishing rod next time,” I said. “I'm sure your Mother won't mind that.”

“Great!” he replied with a beaming smile.

We set off to our next objective, the tied cottages that the land and Manor workers occupied.

“Is this where Mrs Harris and Mrs Ellis live?” asked Abi.

“Yes,” I replied, feeling her squeeze my hand. “I'm just here to ensure everything is all right and there aren't any problems with the cottages.”

We were met by Alf Harris, Mrs Harris' husband and my gamekeeper, not that I did any actual hunting.

“How are things, Alf?” I asked.

“Fine, sir, that license thing you suggested worked a treat. It gave the local poachers an interest in ensuring the game and fish aren't overhunted and keeping outsiders away,” he replied.

“I'm Glad it makes your job easier, Alf. My next big project looks like dredging the top end of the lake where it's silting up, but as that's where the birds nest, I'll need the best time from you to get in a steam digger,” I said.

“I'd wait another month at least, sir, and give some thought to building a small weir above it to flood the upper hollow and allow that to be a silt trap,” he said.

“Good idea,” I murmured. “Any other problems down here?”

“Cottage number three will need a new roof next year, sir,” he replied.

“I'll arrange it,” I replied, making a note in a small book I carried for such things.

We parted company, and the children and I wandered along a country trail rather than the paved road back to the Manor.

“Next time, I can get Alf to show you where the badger set is and where there's a den of foxes in the upper valley,” I said.

“Oh, could you, Uncle Alan?” Tony said excitedly.

“It will be a pleasure,” I said. Alf loves his work and showing off the sights of the land.”

We were approaching the south end of the Manor towards the patio where Tom's room was, and we could see two people sitting at a table on the patio.

“I think that's your Mother and Father,” I told Tony and Abi.

“You're right! Uncle Alan,” Abi replied, and she and Tony scampered off at a run to greet their father, I presumed.

 

Chapter 3)

(2013)

It didn't take long after I emailed Annie the second chapter of the events before I got a call from her, though this time, I'd been expecting it.

“So, great-granddad Alan was a child molester, huh?” she asked.

“By the law of the land, yes,” I replied.

“So you think what he did with Aunt Abi was OK?” she asked.

“I think Abi put him in a difficult position...” I prevaricated.

“Me too,” Annie admitted. “And it's a seduction in a sense, although she seems incredibly naïve for a fourteen-year-old.”

“Different times and the letters I have confirm it as far as I can tell,” I said.

“True, me at fourteen would have known better, although I do recall the picture of Alan you had, and he was a handsome devil,” Annie giggled.

“So you might have, sis?” I chuckled.

“God help me, yes, I might have if I were in Abi's place too, though trust me on this, me at fourteen would not have stopped where they did,” Annie said honestly.

“From what I've read, no one was forced into anything,” I replied.

“So, if you were in Alan's shoes?” Annie asked cautiously.

“Probably...” I replied, remembering Kayleigh, my sister's daughter, at fourteen and the innocent sexuality she had.

“And what about Jenny ... if you were Alan?”

“Probably, too,” I answered.

“Thought as much, ya pervert,” Annie giggled.

“I know, not exactly proud of myself here, but trying to be honest,” I replied.

“But what about Tony and Abi?” Annie asked quietly.

“Well, Tony doesn't know that much about sex so far,” I chuckled. “But there are hints that he's getting there...”

“No, I meant if you were Tony, would you?” Annie asked pensively.

I must admit my mental processes froze for a few seconds at that question because I knew what Annie was hinting at or thought I knew.

“If I were Tony,” I replied carefully. “Then, if Abi made it plain that she was willing, I doubt I'd say no.”

“Any clues in the letters you've read so far?” Annie asked, ignoring what I thought the implied yes in my reply.

“Not yet,” I said.

“I suspect they might,” Annie replied.

“Me too ... eventually,” I acknowledged.

“I hope so. I know it's wrong in the eyes of society and the law, but I can't help not blaming them, even if they are related to us,” Annie said.

“I like them too, and if Dad and Abi did 'get it on', so to speak, good for them, I guess. It's not like we know of any 'odd' cousins,” I said.

“Yep,” answered Annie.

There was a moment or two of silence as we both thought through the possible implications of our conversation.

“By the way, Ron's away next weekend, and the kids are still at Uni, so I was wondering if you'd like to call and bring the story so far with you?” Annie asked.

“Well, I'm free too, so yes,” I replied.

“See you in the flesh, so to speak, bro,” she giggled.

“See you soon, sis,” I chuckled in reply, wondering if our paths were to follow in what looked like a family tradition...

(1954)

By the time I got there, the children were chattering away to their father, nineteen to the dozen, about what they'd seen. Tom had been brought outside in his wheelchair to enjoy the warm sunshine.

“Any problems with the help?” I asked Jenny.

“Mrs Harris came and helped me,” Jenny replied. “She wanted to see how bad it was before recommending one of her ladies for the task.”

“Does she think it will be a problem?” I asked.

“She thinks Dora should be able to cope, though I don't believe I've met her,” said Jenny.

“She's one of the cleaning ladies,” I replied. “A widow now, but her husband came back wounded from the last war and didn't survive long, so she has experience of caring for the injured to a certain extent.”

“I hope so, Alan. Even Mrs Harris had the shakes when we'd finished,” Jenny replied.

“If we need a nurse, I'll get a nurse, Jenny,” I replied.

“Thank you, Alan,” she replied with a hint of a tear in her eye.

At this point, Mrs Harris appeared and announced the arrival of Henry and Pamela.

Henry was a bluff, jovial man, capable of making most chuckle at his stories and anecdotes. His wife, Pamela, was the envy of many a local man's straying eye, being a shapely woman in her early forties and still remarkably beautiful. She spent most mornings cycling around the district visiting patients whilst Henry did his surgeries before she accompanied him on his rounds in the afternoon. The two were inseparable, and we became fast friends when, on their recommendation, I piped water and plumbing into the tied cottages from the local mains.

“So this is the young man with the serious wounds?” asked Henry after the initial greetings.

“Yes, Henry,” I replied.

“May I examine them indoors?” he asked.

“Of course, doctor,” said Tom.

“Call me Henry, please,” Henry replied as Jenny wheeled Tom into his room with Pamela following.

“Can you please keep an eye on Abi and Tony, Alan?” Jenny asked just before she got to the doors.

“Of course, Jenny,” I replied.

“I need a drink,” said Tony. “Do you want one, Uncle Alan, Abi?”

“I'm fine,” I replied.

“Could you get me one, please, Tony?” Abi requested politely.

“Yes, Abi,” he called as he wandered off to a side door which led to the central hallway of the house.

“We'll be in the library,” I called after him as I got to my feet and followed.

“Righty ho,” he called back as Abi took my hand. We followed into the hallway and, hence, to the library.

Once in the library, Abi hugged me tightly as soon as the door was closed behind us.

“We need to talk, Abi,” I said, returning the hug. “Please don't think I don't like you because I do, but I don't think you know what you may be getting into.”

“I'm just trying to use my female wiles to get you to tell me where the secret passages are, Uncle Alan,” she replied.

“Do you know what this entails?” I asked.

“Um, I give you kisses and hugs and let you touch me in my private places...” she replied, tailing off.

“Abi, when you do that to a man, it arouses his desires, and he'll want to do a lot more than just touch you,” I said with a sigh.

“A lot more what?” she asked quizzically.

“This should be a conversation you have with your mother,” I replied.

“But I want to know, Uncle Alan, and if I ask Mother, she may ask why I'm asking,” Abi replied.

“I know, so I'll do my best,” I said. “Now, Abi, when you kiss me and sit on me like you did, it arouses me,” I said.

“Is that the hardness I felt?” Abi asked.

“It's part of it,” I replied. “You doing that tempts me into touching you in your private place, but it also tempts me into wanting to do more,” I said.

“More?” she asked.

“Such as putting my hardness into your private place,” I replied, red-faced.

“Really?” she questioned.

“Yes, Abi. With most men, if they did that, it would be as a married man does to make a baby in his wife,” I said.

“But we aren't married, Uncle Alan,” Abi said.

“That's what makes it wrong, however much fun it seems,” I replied.

“So, do people not married do this?” asked Abi.

“Yes, they do,” I sighed. “Sometimes with other people's partners and sometimes with other people, just for fun.”

“Fun?” Abi asked, confused.

“Well, it is fun because it feels so nice, and if it weren't fun, then people wouldn't do it despite the risks,” I said.

“Risks?” she asked.

“Babies, Abi. It makes babies,” I said.

“Every time?” she asked.

“No. Only if the woman is fertile, and with some men like me, we aren't fertile any more, either,” I said.

“How will I know if I'm fertile?” she asked, plainly confused.

“Well, when a woman is mature, she grows hair in her private place, and once a month, she bleeds from it, which is her body's way of removing an unwanted egg. If she's fertile and a man fertilises the egg with his seed, then she has a baby and doesn't bleed again for nine months. My hard part put into your private place injects my seed into you, and that's how babies are made. But my seed isn't fertile, so I can't make any more babies,” I said, hoping she understood.

“I can't have babies either, as I've no hair and haven't bled yet,” Abi replied. “So I guess you don't want me,” she ended sadly.

I hugged her and kissed her. “Of course I want you,” I replied. “But you're young, and my granddaughter, we aren't supposed to do things like that.”

“But you'd like to?” she asked.

“Yes, but we'd have to be careful and take things slowly,” I sighed. “Your Mother and Father wouldn't understand, and I might go to prison if anyone found out.”

“But you would ... if we got the chance?” she asked, eyes wide in wonder and temptation.

“God help me, yes, but not here and not now,” I said.

“When?” she asked excitedly.

“Soon as we can be free and not interrupted,” I replied, kissing her soft lips again and hugging her.

“Could someone open the door?” came Tony's voice.

Abi opened the door whilst I retreated to my favourite chair to hide my engorged cock with an opened book. The two children gulped down a couple of beakers of lemon barley water and then decided to explore the house, leaving me in peace ... well, other than a mind full of my fears in my temptation by Abi. Yet, knowing that, I could no longer resist the idea of enjoying her young body.

At this point, I was joined by Tom, who was wheeled in by Jenny, along with Henry and Pamela.

“Well?” I asked Henry.

Henry glanced at Jenny and Pamela.

“Not good. I believe Tom has a viral infection, which is concentrated in the wounds and limits his ability to heal. I'm afraid all the antibiotics worldwide will not help as they target bacteria, not viruses,” he replied at length.

“Is there anything we can do?” I asked.

“I'm going to write, via the British Medical Association, to a professor, Jonas Salk, in New York. He is one of the world's leading virologists,” Henry replied. He may be able to point us in the right direction. I'll also write to various medical professors in the UK, but frankly, it's not a much-researched area in this country. In the meantime, keep the wounds clean and covered in sterile gauze. Fresh air and sunshine will help, too.”

<Ben's note: I'm not sure how Henry knew of Jonas Salk, who the following year (1955) developed a superior vaccine against polio, but again, I have little doubt about the narrative and truthfulness of those whose stories are woven into the tale.>

“We will, Henry,” said an unhappy-looking Jenny. Thank you for being so honest with us.”

“I know we doctors have a tendency to try and sugarcoat things, but in Tom's case, it would be pointless as you know how unwell and injured he is,” said Henry. But don't give up hope. He's made it this far, and although he isn't getting better, from what you've told me, it isn't getting worse either.”

“True,” said Tom.

“I'll have my good Lady call on Tom as regularly as her schedule allows,” Henry said, glancing at Pamela and seeing her nod. “I'll pop in myself, too, between the army doctor's visit. Perhaps even meet the chap when he calls for the first time.”

“Thank you, Henry, Pamela,” I replied. “Would you care to stay for dinner this evening?”

“Oh, thanks awfully, Alan,” Henry replied with a beaming smile. “Mrs Ellis is a superb cook, and we are too often too busy to do the things she excels at.”

“True,” said Pamela with her usual shy, if radiant, smile.

We were joined by the children at this time, and Henry launched into one of his hilarious tales of misfortune to Abi and Tony's delight, even getting some chuckles from Tom and Jenny. Ringing the bell to summon Mrs Harris, I ordered some tea and informed her of Henry and Pamela's intentions to stay for dinner.

Mrs Ellis pulled all the stops out for dinner, cooking chicken breasts in an apple and cream sauce and a good selection of vegetables. Afterwards, there was a trifle covered in thick whipped cream. The adults also enjoyed a couple of bottles of an excellent Burgundy I'd had stored away for a couple of years to wash down our delightful repast. It was amusing to see both Henry and the children's eyes almost pop out of their heads when the trifle arrived, and we all laughed when Henry emulated a jelly by wobbling on his chair, his bulky frame jiggling as he shook. It was the first time I'd seen both Tom and Jenny visibly relaxed since they'd arrived, and on Jenny, at least, it looked good, though I had to frequently glance away when she would turn to look at me and vice versa. I also noted Pamela watching the pair of us with her usual soft smile.

***

After dinner, when the children had gone to the lounge to watch television and Tom, Henry, and I were sitting drinking wine and, in Henry's case, smoking a large cigar, Jenny drew Pamela to one side.

“I was wondering if you could help or advise me...” Jenny asked falteringly.

“If I can,” Pamela replied. “Is it about Tom?”

“Yes, but it's about the injuries to his ... groin,” Jenny said quietly.

That was a preview of The Sins of the Fathers. To read the rest purchase the book.

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