Gavin Hunter on Fatherhood:
I guess I had to write to you, son. We donât seem able to communicate any other way. You wonât talk to me. When I speak, you look at me with eyes that are blank, or puzzled, or even hostileâeyes that seem to reproach me for having been a bad father, although God knows I never meant to be.
I thought being a father would be easy, that loving you would be enough. But then, I thought loving your mother would be enough, and she left me, taking you away and making another man your father.
When they both died I was sure youâd be mine again. But weâd been apart too long. You turned away and wouldnât speak to me. You still wonât.
So now I have to learn to be a father all over again, to a ten-year-old son who doesnât want me. I know you secretly wish Iâd go away and leave you with Norah, your stepsister, who has your heart. But I wonât go, because I am still your father and I love you. When I seem cold and hard it is because loving you and getting nothing back hurts so much. Perhaps Norah has the key. Perhaps she can teach me. Who knows. I only know that Iâll never give up hopeâ¦.
cut her writing teeth on magazine journalism, interviewing many of the worldâs most interesting men, including Warren Beatty, Richard Chamberlain, Roger Moore, Sir Alec Guinness and Sir John Gielgud. She also camped out with lions in Africa, and had many other unusual experiences that have often provided the background for her books. She is married to a Venetian, whom she met while on holiday in Venice. They got engaged within two days. Two of her books have won Romance Writers of America RITA>® Awards: Song of the Lorelei in 1990 and His Brotherâs Child in 1998. You can visit her Web site at www.lucy-gordon.com.
âYouâve simply got to face facts, Gavin. The figures donât look good. Hunter and Son is rapidly becoming a paper companyâsplendid on the surface, but nothing behind it but debt.â
Gavin Hunterâs dark brows almost met as he frowned angrily. âHunter and Son has always been good for any amount of credit,â he snapped.
The banker, who was also a friend insofar as Gavin Hunter had any friends, pulled a wry face. âThat was then. This is now. The great days of property are over. Interest rates rise as prices fall. Some of your hotels are only just hanging on. Since theyâre mortgaged to the hilt, it wonât even help you to sell them.â
âI donât want to sell,â Gavin snapped. âI want a small loan to keep me going. A mere quarter of a million pounds. In the past youâve loaned me four times that without blinking.â
âIn the past you had excellent collateral to back it up. Look, Iâm not sureâ¦Whatâs the matter?â The banker had realized that Gavin was no longer listening to him. His attention was fixed on the television screen in the corner of the room. âIs that disturbing you? I have it on to catch the news, but I can turn it off.â
âTurn the sound up,â Gavin said hoarsely.
The screen was filled with a photograph of an amiable looking middle-aged man. The banker turned up the sound.
ââ¦died today in a car crash that also killed his wife, Elizabeth. Tony Ackroyd was one of the worldâs best-known naturalists, a man whoâd been prominent inâ¦â
Gavin was gathering his things together, thrusting them hastily back into his briefcase. âDonât you want to talk some more?â the banker said.
âNot just now. I have urgent business to attend to.â
The banker frowned, then enlightenment dawned. âOf course. Those two in the car crashâwerenât theyâ?â
âYes,â Gavin said harshly. âThey were my enemies.â
As he headed north out of London he reflected that Liz hadnât always been his enemy. Onceâand it was hard to imagine it nowâheâd been in love with her, had swept her off her feet with his ardor and into a doomed marriage. In retrospect he understood that theyâd never had a chance, although for a time theyâd been happy, or so heâd thought. To all appearances they were a glorious couple, Liz with her long fair hair and ethereal beauty; Gavin with his dark good looks and his ability to turn whatever he touched into gold. They had a luxurious apartment in London, where Liz had given exquisite dinner parties. She was the perfect hostess and Gavin had been proud of her. Sheâd borne him a son, Peter, whom heâd loved with all the force of his proud, intense nature. Heâd built his dreams around Peter, looking forward to the day when he would be the âsonâ in Hunter and Son.
But Liz had blown the dreams apart when sheâd left him for Tony Ackroyd and stolen his four-year-old son. From that day sheâd been his enemy.
He could still hear her crying, âI canât stand you any more. Business and money. Money and business. Thatâs all you think about.â