Книга - The Beachcomber

The Beachcomber
Josephine Cox


Another page-turning story of tragedy and triumph from the No.1 bestselling author of The Loner and The Journey.In the summer of 1952, two lonely people arrive in the pretty seaside hamlet of West Bay. Strangers coming from very different backgrounds, they are there for the same reasons: to find peace of mind and the chance to start a new life.Tom Arnold has abandoned all his possessions and walked away from a highly paid job. A year ago, he had a wife and two beautiful children, when suddenly his world was turned upside-down. The car he was driving with his family was deliberately run off the road high above the cliffs. He was the only survivor. The driver – who Tom is sure intended to kill them all – has never been found.Kathy Wilson has tried to cling on to her zest for life through times of pain and loneliness. Recovering from her divorce, she seeks comfort in the arms of other men. But a shocking, revealing row with her mother is the final straw, and when she inherits a rundown house in West Bay, she flees to Dorset.For both Tom and Kathy, it seems there is a light at the end of the tunnel. Yet even now, someone means to undermine their search for happiness. People are jealous. And a brutal killer is still on the loose… Suddenly West Bay is no longer the peaceful place it seemed…










JOSEPHINE COX










The Beachcomber










COPYRIGHT (#ulink_93fb761c-bf36-5dc6-a595-2f3ad6c8f0ec)


This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

Published by HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 1 London Bridge Street London SE1 9GF

www.harpercollins.co.uk (http://www.harpercollins.co.uk)

First published in Great Britain by HarperCollins Publishers 2003

Copyright © Josephine Cox 2003

Josephine Cox asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work

A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this ebook on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins ebooks

This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, re-sold, hired out or otherwise circulated without the publisher’s prior consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser

HarperCollinsPublishers has made every reasonable effort to ensure that any picture content and written content in this ebook has been included or removed in accordance with the contractual and technological constraints in operation at the time of publication

Source ISBN: 9780007302000

Ebook Edition © APRIL 2012 ISBN 9780007373123

Version: 2017-08-16




DEDICATION (#ulink_664d251b-aa83-5e83-bd69-782c11d46a7a)


This book, and every book I will ever write, is for Ken, a man amongst men, my soulmate and inspiration forever.




CONTENTS


COVER (#u05f435f2-3616-5d6a-a413-d39a0a5eac7d)

TITLE PAGE (#ue20788a3-734f-5d83-ba8d-c1a7bf092ec0)

COPYRIGHT (#uec7453c1-674c-595c-8901-c07d11af6853)

DEDICATION (#u2ceef216-209a-5872-9442-e78b27d7d4e6)

PART ONE (#u6dff8a75-bb41-5857-9637-3294bd23c0cd)

CHAPTER ONE (#ub2ed2f23-667d-5f8e-be2f-ec5cf2fadb56)

CHAPTER TWO (#u56aa6d33-aa3c-563d-a41d-45d5123f0013)

PART TWO (#udfc9fda1-1110-5631-86c8-a6c7ba761e99)

CHAPTER THREE (#udaca7251-fbdb-5029-8a02-7854b37723d1)

CHAPTER FOUR (#ub2761812-fce8-58a6-b8d3-9c68d641eca8)

CHAPTER FIVE (#u12df8e07-3883-5dcb-87f4-385c4b328e5a)

CHAPTER SIX (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER NINE (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER TEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER ELEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER TWELVE (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER THIRTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER FOURTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER FIFTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER SIXTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER NINETEEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER TWENTY (#litres_trial_promo)

PART THREE (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE (#litres_trial_promo)

ABOUT THE AUTHOR (#litres_trial_promo)

OTHER WORKS (#litres_trial_promo)

CHATTERBOX (#litres_trial_promo)

ABOUT THE PUBLISHER (#litres_trial_promo)



Part 1 (#ulink_c58d49e0-19bf-5ff4-af12-42b2aa670314) Midsummer 1952 Quiet Stranger




Chapter 1 (#ulink_1cc70294-a790-5491-9997-f3a96b8d077e)


‘WHAT THE HELL does he think he’s doing!’ As the car lurched forward, Tom fought to keep control. He had been taken by surprise when the car following seemed to deliberately crash into his bumper.

‘He’s coming at us again, Daddy!’ The two children in the back were thrown hard against the seat-backs by the first bump. They screamed a warning as the other car surged towards them a second time. There was a moment of chaos before the impact sent them hurtling towards the clifftops. ‘JESUS!’ He couldn’t hold it! They were going over … dear God, they were going over, and there was nothing he could do!

In that split second as he tried desperately to swing the car round, Tom glanced again through his rear-view mirror, needing to know who his attacker was, why he would want to hurt them. The car was a blue Hillman Minx, he thought, and the driver was crouched over its steering wheel, with a Homburg hat pulled low over his forehead and dark glasses hiding his eyes. It was impossible to get any idea of what he looked like. ‘Crazy bastard … back off. BACK OFF!’ In response Tom felt the violent impact as they were hit again, and again. Wrenched out of his hands, the steering wheel seemed to spin out of control.

‘God help us!’ His wife’s frightened voice penetrated the chaos of his mind. ‘Children! Get down behind the seats!’ she ordered fearfully. He heard the pitiful whimperings of his two children as they clung to each other. He saw his wife, strangely silent now, her face shocked with disbelief as she glanced back at their attacker. ‘My God!’ Suddenly she was on the seat, frantically attempting to reach the children, but it was too late.

When the car rammed them yet again, they lurched forward, the windscreen shattering all over them, the other driver showing no mercy. Determined, he stayed with them, revving up, sending them forward towards the edge, fast and furious.

Everything was happening so quickly … a matter of seconds, no more. There was no time to escape. By now the car was badly dented; the doors were jammed tight. Tom had tried everything in his power and it wasn’t enough. All manner of powerful emotions swept through him: disbelief; helplessness; and now sheer horror as the car became airborne.

There was a moment of eeriness, when the car appeared to pause in mid-air before the nose dipped and they fell into a downward plunge towards the rocks below. ‘Oh, dear God!’ Throwing himself across his wife, he yelled for the kids to ‘STAY DOWN! HOLD ONTO EACH OTHER!’ He could hear them sobbing, and now the soft, shivering sound of his wife’s voice in prayer. Death was only a heartbeat away.

He would not remember the thud as they bounced onto the rocks and rolled over and over, crashing and breaking towards the beach; nor would he recall the screams of people who scattered in all directions as the car skidded at breakneck speed towards the sea-edge. The clanging bells of the ambulances and police cars as they rushed to help fell on deaf ears. Like his wife and children, he was beyond all that.

The next thing he knew he had awoken in hospital. Bruised and battered, both his legs were broken and his neck was in a brace. When he woke it was with a scream for the children to ‘GET DOWN, KIDS … HOLD ON!’ In that unbelievable moment, his mind was alive with the memory of what had happened.

‘It’s all right … ssh!’ Gently the nurse settled him down again, her heart aching for what he must soon learn.

Later they told him that there was nothing they could have done to save Sheila or the children. ‘We tried and failed,’ the surgeon told him, hands outstretched and an expression of hopelessness on his kindly face. ‘I’m so sorry.’

The car had turned over on top of them. Tom himself had been thrown clear … lucky to be alive, they said. But he wasn’t ‘lucky’! He was angry, seething with a need to kill. Then he was sobbing, crippled with utter loneliness.

All through that terrible night the questions had burned bright in his mind. Who was the madman who had run them off the road? Why did he do it? WHY?

There were no answers, because in the months that followed, in spite of the police relentlessly pursuing even the minutest clue, the driver of that car was never found, nor was the car itself. Tom had described both as accurately as he could, but it was as though they had vanished off the face of the earth. They had spoken to owners in the area whose cars had been stolen around the time of the accident, but until and unless they found the vehicle itself, that wasn’t of much help.

When eventually Tom was released from hospital, he too made every effort to trace the man who had taken his family and ruined his life. Time and again in the following months, he returned to the scene, speaking with anyone who would listen. All to no avail. The evil that had visited him and his family seemed to have gone as swiftly as it came.

But the consequences of that fateful day would never leave him. Neither would the hatred he felt.

Now, almost a year later, all that was left for Tom was the awful nightmares when, in his deepest sleep, he would re-enact the terrifying scene, hearing his children screaming, and Sheila, at first strangely silent, then frantically reaching out to protect her children … and all of them, helpless.

The dreams were so real and vivid, he would often wake up, arms flailing, yelling for the children to, ‘Get down on the floor, kids! FOR GOD’S SAKE, HOLD ONTO EACH OTHER!’

‘Are you all right?’ a gentle voice enquired. Tom opened his eyes, shocked and ashamed when he realised where he was.

‘You were having a bad dream.’ The elderly woman seated beside him could see the sweat shimmering on his face and the look of pain in his eyes. ‘Can I get you something?’

He shook his head. ‘I’m all right, thank you. I didn’t mean to fall asleep,’ he apologised. ‘It’s just that trains always make me nod off.’ He smiled to ease the tension.

The woman nodded. ‘I was worried, that’s all.’ She lowered her voice. ‘You were moaning … upset.’

He grimaced. ‘It was just a bad dream.’ When she smiled and looked away, he found refuge in his newspaper.

But there was no refuge in his heart.

The woman frowned to herself. A lot of young men had come back from the war in a terrible state. Poor chap; it must be that.

As the train chugged onwards, the billowing steam outside his window blocked his vision. His mind came alive with thoughts of how it used to be. He saw them all in his mind’s eye: the woman he had loved, small and slim with big bright eyes and a smile that could light up a cloudy day. And the children: Ellie, quiet and reflective with a gentle nature, and Peter, the younger one, wild and wilful, with a free, adventurous spirit. So different, yet so alike, in their kindness and generosity.

Reaching into his pocket he took out his wallet, pulling out a small photograph of them all … Bournemouth Sands, June 1951. His heart fell like a stone inside him. It seemed incredible to think that that wonderful holiday was just a year ago, and now, God help him, there would be no more.

‘Is that your family?’ The kindly old soul pointed at the photograph as he returned it to his pocket. ‘I always wanted a daughter, but was never blessed with another child.’

Gesturing to his pocket, she added, ‘Lovely-looking children.’ Giving the cheekiest of winks, she whispered, ‘Mind you, I can see how they might be handsome, with a father as attractive as you.’

Smiling and embarrassed, he wasn’t quite sure how to answer that, so he glanced out the window and pretended to be interested in the shifting landscape.

The woman saw his embarrassment. She thought him too good-looking for words. Discreetly observing the dark blue eyes, and the thick shock of golden-brown hair, she was sent back to her youth, when she could have had the pick of any young man. Sadly those days were gone and now, grey and old, she had too many regrets to contemplate.

‘I don’t mean to embarrass you,’ she apologised, ‘but when I’m anxious, I tend to talk a lot.’ Her face crumpled into a frown. ‘I must admit I hate these trains – noisy, dirty things. And I mean … you’re not in control, are you?’

‘We’re never “in control”,’ he answered thoughtfully. He knew all about that. He knew from experience how one minute everything was perfect, filled with love and joy, and, before you knew it, your whole world was turned upside down.

The steam whistle blasted noisily as they entered a tunnel. ‘Ooh!’ The old woman shivered. ‘I’ll be glad to reach London. I know I shan’t relax till then.’

He nodded. ‘You’re doing fine,’ he answered; then turned away to concentrate his thoughts.

Thinking she was becoming a nuisance, she tutted. ‘I’m sorry … keep chatting away … I hope you don’t mind?’

‘No. You talk away, if it helps,’ he suggested with a smile. ‘I really don’t mind.’

‘Only, you’ve been so quiet since I sat beside you, I thought you might be one of those people who like to be left alone?’ She giggled like a schoolgirl. ‘My son warned me not to be a nuisance. He knows how some folks don’t want to be bothered. You will tell me if I’m being a nuisance, won’t you?’

‘I promise, you’re not being a nuisance.’ He shook his head. ‘It’s just that I never find it easy to strike up a conversation.’

Encouraged, she chatted on about the new Queen, and when a short time later she started to nod off, he began to relax. When he relaxed, however, it was inevitable that he should be overwhelmed by the faces of the woman and children in that photograph. He had loved them with a passion that frightened him. Now, they were gone and all he had left was memories … of when they were walking in the park, he and Sheila laughing at the children’s antics, and afterwards eating in that pretty little café by the riverside, where they would throw leftovers to the ducks.

The memories rolled through his mind like the reel of a film. For one precious minute they made him smile; then they were breaking his heart.

‘Do you think it will be long before we get there?’ The elderly woman woke as suddenly as she had nodded off. ‘I’ve never been to London before. I wouldn’t be going now, if my only son hadn’t taken his family and moved down there.’ She continued wistfully, ‘I’ve got four beautiful grandchildren. I’ve missed them.’

Attempting to reassure her, he replied confidently. ‘Won’t be long now,’ he said. ‘And London’s fine. After a while you get used to it. I work for a big development corporation there,’ he confided.

She gave a wry grin. ‘I would have gone with them,’ she admitted. ‘My son wanted us to, but my husband is a cantankerous old sod. The furthest he’ll go is to the bottom of the garden and back.’

He smiled pensively. ‘I envy him.’

‘Why’s that?’ She was genuinely surprised by his statement.

‘Why, because he sounds contented.’ He would have given anything at that moment to be ‘contented’.

She gave a sorry little smile. ‘Unlike me! I’ve always been discontented! All the years we’ve been wed, I was the one who loved the dancing and going out – especially during the war, you know – but he was never that way inclined. He was an ARP warden. I expect that was enough excitement for him. If he could he’d be happy to sit by the fireside of a winter’s night, and potter about in the garden in the summer. I always put it down to laziness or lack of enthusiasm, but now I think about it, you could be right.’

His remark made her wonder. ‘Happen he’s just been “contented” all along.’ She gave a long, weary sigh. ‘It’s sad really. We’ve always been so very different in what we want. But he so depends on me, you see.’

When the tears rose in her eyes and she abruptly returned her attention to her book, he felt desperately sorry for her. He could imagine how this dear old woman and her husband might be mismatched; he assumed there were many couples like that: having stayed too long together, it was now too late for any chance of a new life for either of them.

Looking away, he peered out to where the countryside resembled a giant eiderdown, with misshapen patches of browns, yellows and melting shades of green. In the far distance, beyond the cotton-wool puffs from the train’s funnel, he could see a lake, shimmering and twinkling. At other times that beautiful sight would have gladdened his heart, but not now.

His own thoughts invaded the quietness. He had tried to go on, but it was impossible. This latest trip had been sheer hell! He found he could no longer conduct his business in that sharp, decisive way he used to. Too many things played on his mind. Dear God! Would there ever be any peace?

Right now, he didn’t even want to think about it. He wanted to wake up and find it was all a nightmare, that all was well and his family would be waiting at home, just like always. He laughed softly, a hard, cynical emotion cutting through his heart like a knife. It was not a nightmare, and he would not wake up from it; not for a long time; maybe never. Anger invaded his senses. A feeling of utter hopelessness swept through him. Life was a cruel master!

The last he saw of the old woman was in the train terminal. She looked a sorry sight as she trundled after the porter who carried her tiny suitcase. ‘I hope things turn out all right for you,’ he whispered and, almost as though she had heard, she suddenly turned to smile at him. He gave a small wave, she nodded, and in a moment was gone from his sight.

Hurrying to the taxi rank, he climbed into the first cab in the line. ‘Where to, sir?’ The cabbie was a rough-and-ready fella, going grey and slow in his step. Tom couldn’t help but notice the long scar running down the side of his face. ‘Got from running wild as a kid,’ he explained, anticipating Tom’s curiosity. ‘I’ve an interesting tattoo of a snake an’ all –’ he gave a hearty laugh – ‘but you wouldn’t want to know about that.’ Opening the cab door, he gave a cheeky wink. ‘I were drunk at the time … regretted it ever since.’

His imagination running riot, Tom didn’t dare ask. ‘We’ve all done things we regret,’ he answered with a friendly smile.

‘Not you! A man like yousel’? By! I should think you’ve got the world at your feet.’ When Tom made no comment he closed the cab door and climbed into the driver’s seat. ‘It might help if I knew where I were going,’ he quipped good-naturedly.

Having given him the address of his flat in Hammersmith, Tom leaned back in his seat. He suddenly felt incredibly weary … tired of his job; tired of trying to piece together his life. Tired of being so alone.

The cabbie discreetly regarded him through his mirror. ‘If you don’t mind me saying, guv, you look like you could do with a good night’s sleep.’ Suddenly swerving to avoid a delivery boy on his bicycle, he let loose a volley of abuse at the rider. ‘Watch where you’re going, mate!’ Leaning out the window, he screamed at the frightened fellow, who had done nothing wrong. ‘If you’re fed up wi’ life, throw yousel’ off a bleedin’ railway bridge!’

Having been flung clear across the seat, Tom righted himself and sat tight.

Completely oblivious to the chaos he’d caused, the cabbie asked, ‘Away on business, was you?’

‘Yes,’ Tom acknowledged.

‘I expect you glad to be ’ome, eh?’

‘Right again.’ But what was he coming home to? No family. No real home, and nothing worthwhile to look forward to. His life was work and more work. These past weeks he had been seriously wondering if he should give it all up. Now, as the idea loomed large in his thoughts, it seemed to overwhelm everything else.

‘What is it you do?’ the cabbie asked.

‘I’m one of three architects in a big development organisation. We build office blocks, factories, large housing developments, that sort of thing. There’s never two jobs the same.’ Wasn’t it strange, he thought, how you naturally imparted your business to a cabbie. Probably it was because you never expected to see him again.

Turning a corner, the cabbie grinned at him through the mirror. ‘By! You must lead an exciting life? Plenty to build an’ all, now the country’s back on its feet.’

Lapsing into silence, Tom let him chat on.

‘I’ve allus wanted to travel, but never had the time nor money. I’ve got six kids and a wife who spends like money’s gone outta fashion. I work six days a week, from seven of a morning till late at night. What chance ’ave I got to see the bleedin’ world, eh?’

He gave a loud, raucous laugh. ‘Matter o’ fact, I can never understand where I found the time to make all them bloody kids! Come to think of it, I can’t even remember enjoying mesel at it, neither!’ Taking his eyes off the road to peer through the mirror at Tom, he added, ‘D’you know what, matey? I’ve often wondered how many o’ them kids belong to that smarmy bleedin’ milkman!’

‘Well, for what it’s worth, I think you’re a lucky man.’ In truth, Tom envied him.

‘Oh! You reckon, do you?’ Astonished, the cabbie afforded himself another glance at his passenger. ‘Here’s me … a poor ol’ chap, working all hours God sends, and like as not them two having it off behind my back. An’ you say I’m a lucky man?’ He laughed aloud. ‘Hey! Happen you’re right. Happen he should tek her an’ the kids off me ’ands, and leave me to enjoy mesel.’

Tom defended his comment. ‘What I meant was … any man who’s got a wife and children who love you … has to be a lucky man.’

‘Ah! But how do I know if they’re my kids?’ His tone grew serious. ‘No man likes being cheated on.’

Sensing the cabbie’s abrupt change of mood, Tom wisely avoided being drawn into the subject too far. ‘Look! The traffic’s building up.’ He gestured to the road ahead, and the many vehicles vying for space. Since petrol rationing had ended, traffic had increased.

Swinging his taxi round a crawling trolleybus, the cabbie cursed, ‘Bleedin’ drivers! At least we’ve seen the last of the trams!’

Having got in front of the trolleybus, he refocused his curious gaze on Tom. ‘It’s a busy time o’ day, as you must well know, guv … you living ’ere an’ all that.’

After a while the cabbie lapsed into a pensive mood, and it wasn’t long before they reached Hammersmith. ‘’Ere we are, guv!’

Drawing his cab into the kerb outside a large, handsome building, the cabbie remarked with a whistle of appreciation, ‘Nice flats these … cost a pretty penny too, I shouldn’t wonder.’ He clicked his tongue in admiration. ‘I wouldn’t mind living in a posh place like this … all on me own where the brats and the missus can’t find me.’

Climbing out, Tom had his fare at the ready, which he handed to the driver, together with a generous tip, and a word of friendly advice. ‘You wouldn’t like it,’ he said. ‘You’d be lonelier than you can ever imagine.’

His words appeared to hit home, because suddenly the cabbie was deeply thoughtful. ‘You could be right,’ he answered. ‘Besides, what about that bleedin’ milkman, eh? If I weren’t there to keep an eye on him, Gawd knows what he’d be getting up to wi’ my missus!’ His loud raucous laugh echoed down the street. ‘By! He’d want to be delivering more than the milk … if he ain’t done already!’

Shaking his head, and with a wide grin on his face, Tom watched him drive off.

He was still chuckling as he entered the lift; though by the time he had reached his flat on the sixth floor the smile had slipped and the same idea that had haunted him these past weeks began to invade his thoughts again. ‘It’s time,’ he murmured. There was no doubt in his mind now. ‘Time to leave it all behind.’

Letting himself into the luxurious, soulless place that he now called home, he felt a wave of relief that the decision was made. ‘I need to get away from London … and all the bad memories.’ If he didn’t leave soon, he suspected he might go crazy.

After a bath to wash the grime of the journey from his bones, he threw pyjamas and a robe on, poured himself a whisky and soda and stood looking out of the window. In the growing twilight, silhouetted against a moody sky, the skyline of London was a mesmerising sight.

When the weariness took a hold, he threw off his robe, climbed into bed, and fell into a long, fitful sleep.

Though even now, there was no respite from the shocking memories. Day or night, asleep or awake, they were etched on his soul.

In the early hours, finally driven from his sleep by the dreams that haunted him, Tom got out of bed and began pacing the floor, unaware that he was being observed.

From the apartment block opposite, having been too restless to sleep, Kathy Wilson was looking out of the window, her gaze roving the front of the splendid building across the street. For one lingering moment her eyes rested on the window where, inside a softly lit room, a man was striding back and forth, head bent as he paced up and down, occasionally running his hands through his hair. Now he paused a moment, only to begin again, faster, more agitated … backwards and forwards, like a soul in torment.

Sensing his distress, she gave a whimsical little smile, at the same time softly commenting, ‘It seems I’m not the only one who can’t find any peace.’

When, in that moment, in the semi-darkness, a hand fell on her shoulder, she almost leapt out of her skin. ‘For goodness’ sake, Geoff … don’t creep up on me like that!’ Swinging round, she regarded the man with surprise. ‘I thought you were still asleep.’

Giving a wry sort of smile, the man gripped her by the shoulders. ‘I missed your warm body beside me.’ He kissed her on the neck, not seeming to notice when she flinched beneath his touch. ‘You look especially lovely tonight. Come on!’ he urged. ‘Come back to bed, sweetheart?’ Sliding his hands under her dressing-gown, he stroked her firm breasts.

When his fingers crept downwards towards the softness of her inner thighs, there was no doubting his intention.

‘No!’ Frantic, she pushed him away. ‘It was a mistake … tonight was all wrong … I …’ But when he pressed her lips with his, she felt the shudder of need ripple through her.

‘Come back to bed, Kathy.’ Taking advantage of her hesitation, he collected her into his arms and carried her away from the window and across the room where, ever so tenderly, he laid her on the bed. In a moment he had slipped off her dressing-gown, leaving her naked before him; eyes wide with lust, he gazed down, his own desperate need obvious as his eyes roved over her petite, slim figure with its perfectly round breasts and tiny waist.

Her eyes, though, were her best feature: golden-brown, with long curling lashes and perfectly shaped eyebrows. ‘I do love you,’ he muttered, then, stretching his arms up to the bedhead, he neatly straddled her. Leaning his head to kiss her on the mouth, he relaxed his body to fuse nakedness with nakedness.

It took less than five minutes for him to satisfy himself and, when it was over, it was she who drew away first; though he was so elated and fulfilled, he didn’t even notice.

For a long moment she looked at him from the bottom of the bed; at his uptilted face. He gave a soft, low laugh. ‘I’m sorry it was so quick, but you shouldn’t have kept me waiting!’ Suddenly he was sitting up, staring back at her. ‘Was it all right for you, sweetheart?’ It seemed to be of paramount importance to him.

Kathy smiled, a reluctant smile that appeared to pacify him. ‘Yes, Geoff,’ she lied. Up until then she hadn’t realised how little she found attractive about him. She didn’t even like him very much.

He glanced at the clock. ‘Oh, damn! It’s still only six o’clock. You shouldn’t have woken me so early! Come on … come back to bed … we’ve another hour yet.’

She nodded. ‘I need a drink first.’

He smiled. ‘What? You mean I’ve made you thirsty with all that lovemaking?’

She looked away. ‘Something like that.’

‘Well, you can stay up if you want, but I need my sleep.’ With that he drew the covers over him and, spreading himself right across the bed, he was soon asleep.

Seeing him like that, knowing how she had shared a bed with him, Kathy felt dirty, degraded. It had been a mistake. ‘It doesn’t look like there’d be any room for me even if I did come back to bed!’ Tonight, she had begun to wonder what she had ever seen in him.

In the half-light she made her way to the window, noisily tripping over the pillow he had thrown off the bed. ‘Who’s that?’ Peering over the covers, he stared at her, his tone impatient, all tenderness gone. ‘Are you coming back to bed, or what?’

‘No! Like I said … I need a drink.’

‘Well, don’t wake me up when you get back in!’

Lingering by the window, she looked across to the other building again. The light was still on, but there was no sign of the man now. ‘Poor chap,’ she murmured, ‘I wonder why he couldn’t sleep? Divorced maybe … can’t get used to it.’ She sighed. ‘I know what that feels like!’

Feeling sad and suddenly weary, she put the kettle on; while that was brewing she visited the loo. Afterwards, looking in the mirror, she addressed herself in bruising tones, ‘You’re a mess, Kathy Wilson!’ Looking back at her image in the tiny oval mirror, she saw how the life had gone from her face; the golden-brown eyes weren’t so bright any more, and her brown hair was lank about her shoulders. ‘In the last year you’ve let yourself go. It’s no wonder men have begun to treat you like the dirt under their feet. All right! So you were married and he left you because he’d found somebody else.’ Dan and she had been happy enough for a couple of years, but the war had taken its toll on him, as it had on so many other young men. She gazed at her image a moment longer. ‘Men! Who needs ’em?’

She allowed herself a smile. ‘You did have some good times though, didn’t you, eh? And when he walked out, it was only natural that you felt worthless. So what! That was over a year ago, and you’re still not over it. You’re moody and bad-tempered. You almost lost your job because you were absent so often they thought you’d emigrated, and now, here you are … making a mistake with the first man who came along and was kind to you.’

Casting a disillusioned glance towards the bedroom, she shook her head in dismay. ‘Geoff isn’t for me! He may be handsome and well spoken, but deep down he’s a bully, and he really fancies himself. I just let myself be carried along by the dates and the flattery.’

She wagged a finger at herself in the mirror. ‘She might be the worst mother on God’s earth, and there are times when you’d be better off without her interfering, but she’s right!’ she groaned. ‘It is time you got yourself together. You’re not the first woman to lose her husband and you won’t be the last.’ They were her mother’s words, and they had never been truer.

She went to the kitchen, where she fetched a glass of water. As she sat sipping it and musing, she came to a conclusion. ‘Right! I’ve had enough of his hands all over me, ordering me around: “Do this” … “Get me that.”’ She mocked him to perfection. ‘… And if he never kisses me again, it’ll be too soon!’

It took all of two minutes for her to sneak into the bedroom, collect her clothes and sneak out again. Five minutes later she was ready to leave. One last peep at his sleeping figure on her side of the bed and she was tiptoeing out of there, to the merry tune of his snoring. ‘Sleep well, you bugger!’ As she went, she deliberately slammed shut the door.

Having got up early, shaved and dressed and ready for off, Tom saw the young woman from his window. She was hatless, her shoulder-length brown hair flying out behind her. He watched as she bounced along with a spring to her step; he saw her deliberately stride out into a busy street and hail a taxi-cab, the traffic swerving round her. When, in order to avoid hitting her full on, the driver of the black cab screeched to a halt, she calmly climbed aboard and waved him on.

Tom laughed out loud. ‘That’s what you call a gutsy woman!’

Just then the telephone rang; it was his brother Dougie. ‘Just checking you got back all right,’ he said.

‘Got back … had a bath and an early night, and now I’m raring to go.’ What he was ‘raring’ to do was to organise his life at last.

‘Good trip?’

‘Good enough.’

‘Right! See you at the office. I’ll be late, I reckon … got a frantic call from Joe Nightingale … some planning difficulty or other, it’s a damned nuisance. Still, I’m sure it’s nothing we can’t get round.’

‘Dougie, wait!’ Now that his mind was made up, he needed to tell the world. ‘What time will you be back, do you think?’

‘Not sure. You know what it’s like. When Joe can’t have his own way, he tends to get het-up. Then you have to take him out and discuss the finer points over a pint. I don’t suppose I’ll get away much before what … three … four? Why?’

‘But you will be back at the office today, won’t you?’

‘Sure thing, but what’s the panic?’

‘No panic. There’s something I need to talk over with you, that’s all.’

‘Can’t it wait till tomorrow?’

‘No.’

‘Okay. I’ll try and get away by two. How does that suit?’

‘Okay. See you then. Give my regards to Joe.’

‘Hmh!’ Dougie gave a laugh. ‘Knowing how difficult it can be to drag yourself away when he’s got a bee in his bonnet, I’ll probably have him in tow.’

‘Naw. You’ll deal with it. See you at two then!’

‘Can’t wait!’

A moment later, having seen that his cupboards were bare, Tom threw on his jacket and made his way out of the building. He quickly hailed a cab, though not in the same cavalier way as the young woman before him. ‘Can you take me to the best greasy spoon you know?’ he asked.

The cabbie acknowledged his request with a grin. ‘I know just the place,’ he said. ‘Sausages, mushrooms, and thick fried bread like you’ve never seen. Two slices o’ bread and marge, and a pot o’ tea to go with it.’ He winked in his mirror. ‘How does that sound, guv?’

Tom was impressed. ‘Sounds like the nearest thing to heaven to me,’ he said. Settling comfortably in his seat, he shut his eyes and ears to the traffic and let his stomach dictate.

Even now, early though it was, London was a bustling medley of trolleybuses, bicycles and motor cars. But the cabbie was as good as his word. ‘Baker’s Caff,’ he declared, drawing into the kerbside, ‘owned and run by my own dear mamma … name of Lola. Looks like the devil, cooks like an angel!’

At that minute a woman emerged. All smiles and white teeth, she was ample in every way; obviously of Italian origin, with her black eyes, and her dark hair tied in an elaborate knot at the top of her head. ‘Come in! Come in!’ she urged.

Opening her dimpled arms, she embraced him with surprising strength. ‘Nice to see you, handsome man. You wanna the breakfast?’ As she spoke she nodded, her smile growing so wide it almost enveloped her face.

The cabbie laughed. ‘Course he wants “the breakfast”! Why do you think I brought him, eh?’ Winking at Tom, he suggested mischievously, ‘Matter o’ fact, I’m beginning to feel a bit peckish myself.’

‘No, you can’t!’ She wagged an angry finger at him. ‘I don’t feed you no more today! You be a good boy … get away and bring me more customers.’

Laughing, he deposited Tom into her care and drove off.

Lola’s breakfast was as good as it got with rationing still in place: two huge sausages; a heaping of mushrooms; four crinkly cooked tomatoes; even a fried egg, and the whole plate swimming in juices and fats, which Tom eagerly mopped up with his chunks of fresh-baked bread. Afterwards there was a cup of scalding hot tea to wash it all down.

Lola scooped up his plate. ‘You want more?’

‘Good God, no!’ Tom struggled out of his chair. ‘That was more than enough to last me the whole day, thank you. I’ve never tasted a breakfast like it!’

‘So, you come back another time, yes?’ Lola’s round face was a picture of joy.

He nodded. ‘I’ll be back,’ he promised. ‘Just try and keep me away!’

A few moments later, as he donned his wool coat and hat and left the café, he turned to wave; quietly amused when Lola blushed crimson.

His offices were only a short distance from the café. For a moment he debated whether to take the trolleybus or walk. He had been a minute at the bus stop when he decided against it. ‘On second thoughts, I’d best walk!’ He patted his stomach. ‘It’ll do me good.’

As usual the office was a hive of activity. ‘Nice to see you back.’ As he walked through the gauntlet of typists and clerks, he was greeted with genuine affection.

Turning into his own office, he was not surprised to see the vase of flowers on his window-sill; it was a kind of ritual on his return from a trip. ‘Welcome home.’ Invaluable assistant and secretary to two of the architects here, Lilian was of pleasant appearance with pretty dark eyes. As always for work, her long auburn curls were neatly pinned back in a bun. She had been a good friend to Tom, he reflected.

Coming into the office, she placed the tray on his desk. ‘Like the flowers, do you?’ That very morning she had taken ages choosing them.

‘They’re splendid, as always.’ He took another glance at the vase full of yellow carnations. ‘Thank you, Lilian, that was really thoughtful of you.’

Resting his hands on her shoulders, he smiled down at her. ‘What would I do without you, eh?’

He observed his office with its neat filing cabinets and long, polished desk, the sun pouring in through the window, and for one aching moment he wondered if he had made the right decision after all. ‘Everything in order as usual … but then I shouldn’t expect anything less from you.’

He and the young woman had worked together these past eight years, and never a cross word. ‘You do tend to keep me at it, though.’ He glanced at the desk, its entire surface bedecked with neat piles of papers and rolls of plans. ‘You’re not about to let the grass grow under my feet, are you, eh?’

She smiled confidently. ‘You’ll find all the schedules typed up for your current projects; your “urgent” messages, and a dozen appointments for this coming week.’ Her smile broadened. ‘Enough to keep you out of trouble, I’d say … Oh, and I’ve brought you a pot of tea to keep you going.’ She crossed the room but paused at the door. ‘Give me a call when you’re ready to start dictation. Is there anything you want before I get on?’

He shook his head. ‘Not right now, Lilian.’ He meant for her to be one of the first to know of his decision. ‘Look, I think it might be a good idea for us to talk –’ he glanced at the desk and groaned – ‘after I’ve waded through this little lot.’

She seemed pleasantly surprised. ‘Talk? What about?’

‘Not just now, Lilian … Like I said, when I’ve dealt with a certain matter.’ Which wouldn’t be easy, but it had to be done.

‘Okay.’ She turned to leave but then remembered. ‘Oh, and the boss asked to see you the minute you got in.’

‘Tell him I’m on my way.’

With the door closed behind her he poured himself a tea. Taking a gulp, he scanned briefly through the papers on his desk, then another gulp or two, and he was out of the office and running up the stairs to John Martin’s more private offices.

A tap on the door and straight in; though with caution when he saw that the ‘boss’ was talking on the telephone. A big man with a big heart, John Martin had started these offices some ten years ago and never looked back.

On seeing Tom he quickly concluded the conversation. ‘Well, of course we want the contract, but there’s more talking to be done before I sign on the dotted line. You know me, Arthur, I won’t accept anything until I’m absolutely satisfied everything’s in order, and you’ve a way to go before I’m satisfied on this one. Yes. Right. Talk to me then. Thanks, I will, yes, don’t worry. You too!’

Replacing the telephone in its cradle he got out of his chair and shook Tom by the hand. ‘You did a good job, son. I knew it wouldn’t be easy. That’s why I sent my best man …’ He winked. ‘But that’s between you and me, if you know what I mean?’ Feeling he needed to qualify his remark, he quickly added, ‘Oh, they’re all good men and they know their trade … your Dougie especially. But you’ve got that certain knack of getting people to see reason, without banging their heads together.’ He sighed. ‘From what I understand, you had some real tough problems up there?’

Tom nodded. ‘It’s running smoothly now, though,’ he reassured him. ‘When it came right down to it, there was nothing that couldn’t be put right.’

‘That’s exactly what I mean. Look, sit down. You’ve got a minute I’m sure.’ Rounding his desk, he took up a sheaf of papers and waved them in the air. ‘There’s another difficult one coming up … a major project with several interested parties. Prime stuff … running into millions. It’s in Glasgow – I’ll need you there in the next week or so … a month at the outside. That should give you time to catch your breath.’

Tom shook his head. ‘I can’t do it, John. There’s something I—’

The other man intervened. ‘I know! It’s been one trip after another, and I had hoped to give you some time off. But you really are the best I’ve got. After this, I’ll make sure you can keep your feet on the ground for at least a year, I promise.’

Tom didn’t know how to tell him, but it had to be said, and without the trimmings. ‘I’m handing in my resignation, John.’

‘WHAT!’ Leaping out of the chair, his boss came round the desk, eyes bulging as he looked down on Tom. ‘What the devil’s brought this on? I’ve already said … this job, then a year on home ground. I mean it … I know how hard I’ve pushed you, but after what happened I thought it might help …’ Cursing himself, he paused. He had made it a rule never to raise the matter of the tragic incident that took Tom’s entire family. ‘Look, I’m sorry, Tom, but I can’t let you go. You’re too important to me … to this whole outfit, for God’s sake!’

Tom was equally adamant. ‘And I’m sorry, John,’ he replied calmly, ‘but the resignation stands … it’ll be on your desk within the hour. I’ve had plenty of time to think about it, and my mind’s made up. The truth is … if I don’t leave now, I’ll crack!’

‘I see.’ Realising how determined Tom was and knowing his reputation for sticking to his guns, John understood the argument to be already lost, but he made one last try. ‘Don’t be too hasty, son. Let’s not talk “resignation”.’ He couldn’t afford to lose Tom. ‘Take a long leave of absence … I don’t have a problem with that. I can cope if I have to.’ He gave a half smile. ‘Though of course I’d prefer you to change your mind altogether …’

Getting out of the chair, Tom looked him in the eye. ‘Thanks all the same, but like I said, my mind’s made up. I’ll work out the month if you want me to, but to tell you the truth, I’d rather go now … right this minute.’

For a long moment the older man regarded him, then, after a moment, he asked kindly, ‘What will you do?’

‘I’ve decided to sell the flat and move away.’

‘Where will you go?’

Tom had not thought that far ahead. ‘I’m not sure,’ he answered truthfully. ‘Somewhere I’m not known … somewhere I can put my life into perspective. A quiet place, where I can find peace, and the time to sort out my life.’

The older man began to sympathise. He could see the pain in Tom’s eyes. He nodded. ‘I understand,’ he murmured. ‘You’ve been so driven this past year … maybe it’s what you need.’

Tom nodded. ‘It is.’

‘All right, Tom, I won’t hold you to a month, but I will need you to pass on your schedules to a colleague … talk him through every aspect. Lend him the expertise to deal with it all in the way you yourself would.’ He threw out his hands in a gesture of helplessness. ‘It has to be a smooth transition … all loose ends tied up. I don’t need headaches. You do understand what I’m saying?’

Tom understood exactly. This was big business. There was no room for errors. ‘Don’t worry. I’ll deal with it,’ he promised. ‘I won’t let you down.’

John nodded appreciatively. ‘I wouldn’t do this for anybody else,’ he said, ‘but you’ve given me everything you’ve got to give and it’s only fair I give some back.’

‘Who do you want to take over my schedules?’

‘Your brother Dougie. Oh, I know he’s still got a lot to learn, but he’s doing well now. He’s out of the same mould and he’ll have the added incentive to do you proud. Yes! Dougie’s your man.’

Shaking hands, they said their piece. ‘And don’t forget to keep in touch!’ John warned. ‘When you’re ready to get back in the saddle, your job will be here waiting for you.’

A few minutes later Tom was back in his own office, slightly dazed and a little shaken by the enormity of what he was doing. Yet, amongst all the niggling doubts, he felt instinctively that he was doing the right and only thing.

After three days of being ensconced in the office with Dougie who, though a little nervous, seemed confident about the workload he was taking on, Tom said his goodbyes. There was a small leaving party; the good wishes of his colleagues, and, inevitably, tears from Lilian, who had taken his news very hard. ‘We’ll miss you,’ she murmured, dabbing her eyes with her hankie. And he thanked her for all the years she had looked after him.

When it was over, he left the building with Dougie by his side.

They walked to the pub on the corner where they sat down with a pint each. Tom stretched his legs out and closed his eyes, a sense of relief washing over him. His brother’s voice interrupted his thoughts. ‘I’m still not sure you’re doing the right thing.’ Like Tom, Dougie was lean of build, with the same colour hair; but his eyes were a clear shade of green, and when he laughed he laughed heartily. He wasn’t quiet and thoughtful like Tom, nor did he have that same lazy smile. Instead, when he smiled, his face crinkled like a puppy dog’s.

But he wasn’t smiling now. Instead he seemed worried. ‘I wish you’d tell me where you’re going.’

‘I’m not sure myself yet,’ Tom confided. ‘You’ll know when I do, don’t worry. Besides, you’ve got enough on your plate without fretting about me. Look, I’ll be fine.’ He tried to smile reassuringly.

Dougie wasn’t convinced. ‘I wish I could believe that.’

‘You’ll just have to trust me. It’s what I need to do. Until I get it all out of my system, I can’t move on with my life.’

Dougie nodded. ‘I can understand that. But you will let me know how you’re doing, won’t you?’

‘I promise,’ Tom said. ‘When I’m settled.’

The following morning, after placing the flat and all its furniture in the hands of an agent, Tom packed his bags and left. His first stop was the florist, where he collected a pre-ordered bouquet, a pretty thing with bright-coloured summer flowers in a cradle of green leaves. It was a luxury in a country governed by austerity, but that didn’t matter to him. It was the sort of thing he knew Sheila would have chosen herself.

Sited nearby, the churchyard was speckled with shrubs and trees of all blossom and variety and, far enough from the hustle and bustle, it was a place of solitude and beauty.

Tom laid the flowers beneath the headstone; he read the inscription and softly cried. It told of how a mother and her two children were laid there, taken by a tragic accident. It showed their names and ages, and at the bottom were written the words that Tom had requested:

My dearest loved ones. May God keep you safe until we meet again.

The tears filled his eyes. There was a moment of contemplation, and all too soon the time had come for him to leave – for now.

As he walked away, he saw a young woman laying a wreath not far from where he had been. Almost at once he recognised her as being the same woman who had run out into the street in search of a cab. She didn’t look up. Instead, she blew a kiss towards the grave and walked slowly away, out of the far exit.

As before, Tom was intrigued. ‘Strange,’ he mused aloud, ‘to see her twice in such a short time.’

As he drove off, he wondered about her. Then, as always, his mind returned to the other, more pressing thoughts plaguing him.

Behind him, the stranger watched Tom depart before, with stealthy footsteps, emerging from the undergrowth. At the place where Tom’s family were laid to rest, the stranger paused a while, then reached down to snatch up the bouquet left by Tom. In an angry, callous gesture, the flowers were slung aside, and a new, grander bouquet left in its place.

A few words of regret, a blown kiss. And the stranger was gone.




Chapter 2 (#ulink_0759c33d-3c08-538c-8e5f-a48d3c1d9a60)


WHILE ON THE trolleybus travelling back to her modest flat in Acton, Kathy had time to reflect. Every weekend for the past year, she had gone to the churchyard and laid a posy to remember her father. He had been a good man, a loving father, and she missed him more with every passing day.

The pain of losing that dear man was made worse by her mother’s admission that she had never really loved him. In a terrible outburst, Kathy’s mother Irene had claimed that her husband was not the innocent, caring man Kathy believed him to be. Moreover, she had told Kathy that he was selfish and domineering, in that he had always held Irene back in whatever she wanted to do. She said that, throughout their marriage, he had been the bane of her life … always at work; never adventurous enough for her. When he had suddenly fallen ill, she had made it quite clear that she was not prepared to dedicate her life to looking after him.

As it turned out, though, his illness was short and fierce. He was gone in a matter of weeks.

Distraught, Kathy had never forgiven her mother for the things she’d said. Her sister Samantha, however, was quick to defend Irene. It had always been that way: Samantha and her mother on one side; Kathy and her dad on the other. To make matters worse, Irene had almost seemed to enjoy setting her daughters against each other, always suggesting that Samantha was the prettier, more talented one of the two. There was no denying that, with her long, slim legs and a figure too perfect for words, Samantha was devastatingly attractive; the absolute apple of her mother’s eye.

One particular evening stuck in Kathy’s memory. In front of visitors, Irene had openly chided young Kathy for not caring enough about her appearance. ‘You’ve always been a slovenly creature,’ she complained. ‘You take after your father, more’s the pity, whereas Samantha takes after me. She’s smart and intelligent. She’ll make something of herself. As for you … I don’t know where you’ll end up. Or who will want to marry you. Still, what does it matter? I dare say you’ll be quite content.’

Later, when her mother was busying herself elsewhere, Kathy tearfully confided in her father. ‘Why does she hate me so much?’

Brushing aside his wife’s remarks, he quietly pacified the sobbing child, saying how Kathy mustn’t be upset, that her mother didn’t ‘hate’ her. He suggested that maybe Samantha got more attention simply because she was the first-born by nearly two years. He constantly reassured her that she was loved and wanted, every bit as much as her sister.

It was all of little consolation to Kathy. Time and again in the years that followed, she was made to feel rejected and isolated. In fact, if it hadn’t been for her father and his quiet love for her, her life would have been unbearable. ‘You must never feel second-best,’ he would say. But, with a sister who could do no wrong, it was hard not to feel inferior.

Inevitably Kathy and her father grew closer over the years, and when his expanding business ventures took him away for days on end, she would pine at the window, watching for him hour after hour, ‘like a puppy dog!’ her sister teased, but by now Kathy had learned to shrug off such cutting remarks. Though it hurt when her mother described her in barely concealed undertones as ‘the plain one’. In her heart and soul, and in spite of her father’s reassurances, Kathy knew she could never be the natural beauty Samantha was. Small-built, pleasantly pretty with chubby legs and a hearty laugh, Kathy spent ages looking at herself in the mirror and comparing her modest attributes with those of her more glamorous sister. It made her smile; made her sad. In the end, she shrugged it all off and, safe in her father’s love, simply got on with her life.

She had proved her mother wrong: someone had wanted to marry her. Her wedding to Dan had been a quiet, wartime one, snatched during his leave, with no time for a pretty dress or a party. The two of them had fun at first, in the short, intense bursts of leave, but the long absences had taken their toll. They had never really got to know each other properly. Since the end of the war, Kathy had tried to be a wife to him, but with no children to care for, and a husband who was hardly at home, it had proved difficult. Dan had grown more and more distant, and had finally left her for another woman just before her father became ill.

And now he too was gone and she was alone, except for a sister and mother who treated her with contempt. Oh, but there was still darling Maggie, a very special friend who over these past few years had become more like a sister to her than Samantha could ever be.

‘Your stop, miss!’ The conductor’s voice cut through her thoughts. ‘I thought for a minute you’d gawn off to sleep.’

Kathy laughed. ‘Chance would be a fine thing,’ she replied with a grin. ‘To tell you the truth, I could sleep on a clothes-line!’

He waited for her to disembark. ‘What? Boyfriend been keeping you out late, has he?’

Kathy thought of her last encounter and laughed out loud. ‘I’m done with all that,’ she told him, and meant it.

Tucked away behind a row of shops, Kathy’s flat boasted one tiny bedroom, a kitchenette, a sparkling white bathroom, and a surprisingly spacious living room, whose wide window looked down over the hustle and bustle of the locality.

Furnished with a brown, second-hand sofa, a little oak dresser carved with roses, a couple of seascapes hanging on the wall, and other market bric-à-brac placed here and there to make it more like home, the flat didn’t have much in the way of luxuries. But it was clean and functional and suited her for now.

She had decided to rent it after she and Dan had split up. It had been a struggle on her salary, but with Dan’s small monthly cheque, she could just afford it. She couldn’t have stayed in their old home. This place had given Kathy that sense of freedom and independence she had sorely needed. It was her sea of calm after the storm, and she loved it.

Relieved to be home, she pottered around the flat, her voice softly humming to the tune of Doris Day’s ‘A Guy Is a Guy’. She had spent a small fortune playing that song on the jukebox at the Palais, but it never failed to make her smile, as it did now. She danced across the room; she was looking forward to the usual Saturday evening at the Palais with Maggie. Saturday night was the one time they could really let their hair down; they could lie in for as long as they liked on Sunday morning.

Kathy picked up her bag, and ran down to the payphone in the hall. Her toes were still tapping as she waited for the connection. While she waited she launched into another rendition of ‘A Guy Is a Guy’, her arms and legs jerking in time with the rhythm.

It seemed an age before Maggie answered. Kathy was about to replace the receiver when Maggie’s blunt Cockney voice finally answered, ‘Yes, who is it?’

Kathy gave a sigh of relief. ‘It’s me, who d’you think it is?’ She suddenly felt tired to the bone. ‘I was just about to put the phone down,’ Kathy told her. ‘Where were you?’ She grinned. ‘Hey! You haven’t got a fella there, have you?’

At the other end of the line, Maggie continued drying her hair. ‘No, worse luck. I were in the bathroom.’

‘So, you haven’t forgotten we’re off to the Palais tonight, then?’

‘No chance! I’m looking forward to it.’

‘Bad day, was it?’

Maggie groaned. ‘You could say that. I’ve never known the salon so busy. Eight bloody hours, an’ I never even got a proper chance to sit down. Honest to God, Kathy, I don’t know why I’m looking forward to the Palais, ’cause I’ll not be able to dance even if I’m asked. Me back aches like it’s been through a wringer, and me feet feel like two over-baked puddings.’

Kathy was used to Maggie’s moaning. It was all part and parcel of her colourful personality. She’d met Maggie at work, when she’d come in as a replacement receptionist. Maggie’s outspoken style and vibrant outfits meant she hadn’t lasted long – but long enough for the two of them to become good, if unlikely, friends. ‘We needn’t go to the Palais if you don’t want?’ she suggested slyly. ‘We could go to the chippie instead, then come back here afterwards. You can help me paint that bathroom wall … I’ve been meaning to do it for ages.’

‘What!’ Incredulous, Maggie yelped down the phone. ‘You asking me to help you paint the bathroom wall … on a Sat’day night of all things?’

‘Well, if you really don’t feel like going down the Palais, I thought it would be a good idea. Besides, I finally bought a tin of paint last week … that lovely lavender colour I told you about. And I know I’ve got two brushes …’ She smiled mischievously. ‘It’ll be fun. What do you say?’

Maggie was shocked. ‘Bloody hell, Kathy, have you gone bleedin’ mad or what! You can paint if you like, but, pudding feet or not, I’m off to the Palais!’

Kathy laughed out loud. ‘That’s more like it! Now stop your moaning and get ready. Eight o’clock as usual, outside Woolies.’

Maggie sounded relieved. ‘You and your painting. You were just having me on!’

‘It worked though, didn’t it?’ Kathy laughed. ‘See you later.’ Eager now to be ready, she replaced the telephone receiver and nipped back up to the flat.

Kathy glanced at the clock. It was just coming up for five. ‘Time enough yet,’ she muttered. ‘Tea and crumpet sounds good.’ Leaping off the sofa, she busied herself in the tiny kitchen area, filling the kettle and switching it on. She put two crumpets under the grill.

In a matter of minutes she was seated at the table, a steaming hot cup of tea in front of her, and alongside that two golden toasted crumpets. After a moment’s hesitation, she added a scraping of precious butter from her weekly ration. ‘It’s an end-of-week treat,’ she told herself.

Hungrier than she’d realised, she soon devoured the crumpets. Washing them down with the tea, she cleared away and went into the bathroom, where she ran a hot bath, stripped off, and gently lowered herself into the soapy suds. It felt wonderful. ‘Just what the doctor ordered!’ She sighed and lolled, and closed her eyes to dream about her perfect man; only to groan with disappointment when she realised there was no such thing on God’s earth.

‘One of these days, I might get swept off my feet by the man of my dreams,’ she muttered, ‘though I’ll probably be old and grey, and he’ll have no teeth!’ The image in her mind made her laugh out loud.

Ready to submit to a full hour of soaking in the tub, she stretched out her legs and, draping her arms over the side of the bath, began to sing; not the rock-and-roll stuff Maggie was so fond of, but a quiet, romantic Nat King Cole song, ‘When I Fall in Love.’ It was one of her favourites. She always loved to swell her voice up to that high note. She could imagine she was Alma Cogan, in sexy high heels and one of those frilly, swingy creations.

Her romantic rendition was brought to an abrupt halt when suddenly the doorbell rang. ‘Oh, now what?’

Slipping and sliding, she struggled out of the bath, grabbing a towel to wrap round her nakedness. It was her neighbour. ‘There’s a telephone call for you. Says it’s urgent,’ he told her. Dripping wet and disappointed, Kathy pulled on a dressing gown, went back downstairs and took up the phone. ‘Hi, Maggie.’ She couldn’t resist a tease. ‘Don’t tell me you’ve changed your mind about painting the bathroom walls?’

‘It’s not Maggie. It’s me … Samantha. We need to talk.’

The familiar voice of her older sister instantly darkened Kathy’s mood. ‘What do you want?’ She must want something, Kathy thought. It was the only time her sister ever called her.

‘It’s Mother.’

‘What’s she up to now?’ Kathy’s mother was a law unto herself, though she hardly ever did anything that might hurt her darling Samantha.

Now, though, Samantha sounded anxious. ‘It’s best if you come over,’ she suggested hopefully. ‘She’s about to do something very silly.’

‘Such as what?’ Kathy no longer had much patience with her mother’s selfish antics.

‘Please, Kathy. Come over. I can’t talk about it on the phone.’

‘What … right now?’

‘Please! I’ve tried talking to her, but she won’t listen.’

‘Good God, Sam! If she won’t listen to you, she’s hardly likely to listen to me, is she?’

‘If you don’t help me, I won’t be responsible for my actions. I mean it!’

Kathy had never heard her sister so frantic. ‘Where are you now?’

‘At Mother’s house.’

‘Does she know you’ve asked me to come over?’

‘She wants you to. Be quick as you can. I just can’t deal with it.’

Kathy was intrigued. ‘All right. I’ll be there soon as I can. Now if you don’t mind … I’m soaked through and catching my death of cold.’

When a moment later she replaced the receiver, Kathy leant for a minute on the wall by the telephone. ‘What the devil are they up to now?’ There was no telling with those two … one was every bit as devious as the other.

Back in the flat, she quickly dried herself off. After pulling on clean underwear, she then slipped on a pretty blue blouse, together with a calf-length dark skirt, which she thought made the best of her not-so-slim legs. Lastly, she pushed her tiny feet into a pair of smart brown shoes with a slender heel. A quick brush of her shoulder-length brown hair, a dab of lipstick, and she was ready; though a casual, passing glance in the mirror made her pause. ‘Just look at yourself, Kathy Wilson! It’s time you did something worthwhile with your miserable life … you’re losing your figure – as if you ever had one in the first place …’ She gave a long, sorry sigh. ‘You’ve got to take a hold of yourself before it’s too late.’

Disillusioned, she turned away. ‘It’s time you stopped pretending. You’re in your mid-thirties and you’ve lost your way.’ It was a sobering thought.

Before leaving she gave Maggie a call. ‘I’ll try not to be late,’ she promised, ‘but Samantha just rang. Apparently Mother’s up to her antics again.’

There was a pause before Maggie asked what the problem was.

‘I don’t know,’ Kathy confessed. ‘Samantha wouldn’t say over the phone, but it sounds like trouble! I should let her stew in her own juice, but she was frantic. I’d best go and see what’s happened. Like I say, I’ll try and get to you on time, but if I’m not there by ten past eight, go on without me and I’ll catch up.’

Maggie was none too pleased, but agreed, with one reservation. ‘I don’t like going on without you, so I’ll give it a good half-hour.’

‘Okay.’ Kathy had a bad feeling about getting involved in whatever was happening between her mother and sister. ‘I’ll be as quick as I can,’ she vowed. ‘Maybe Samantha’s got it all wrong.’ Somehow though, she didn’t think so.

When Kathy reached her mother’s house, the dark mood was still on her. Even as she clambered off the bus, she was unsure about being here at all. It didn’t feel right. It never did. But her instincts told her there was something going on that she should know about. So, putting all her doubts aside, she strode determinedly down the street.

A pretty four-bedroomed place, her parents’ house was in a nice part of Kensington, situated in a tree-lined road where the houses sat well back amongst beautifully tended gardens; though if Kathy’s memory served her right, her mother had never lifted one finger to the soil. Her father, Robert, was the one who had loved the garden, but since he’d been gone her mother had paid a man to come along once a week to tend and maintain the grounds.

Approaching the house, Kathy took a minute to consider if she was doing the right thing. She came to a halt, her troubled gaze looking towards the house. She felt small and insignificant. She had lived in this house with her parents for many years – some of them good, some of them not so good. Her mother was a formidable woman; not the easiest creature in the world to get on with.

For one heart-stopping minute as she glanced towards the house, she could see her father standing on the doorstep, waving a welcome, his smile enveloping her like sunshine after rain.

In that moment of deep emotion, she turned away. Suddenly, to face her mother now seemed too much of an ordeal.

‘Kathy!’ Samantha had been watching for her.

Kathy looked up. Having seen her turn away, Samantha had opened the window and shouted. It was enough. Reluctantly, Kathy started towards the house.

As she approached the front door it was flung open by a woman in her late thirties, tall, slim and with her dark hair swept up in a handsome swirl. ‘I’m glad you didn’t go away,’ she said accusingly. ‘I’ve done the best I can but she’s impossible. I hope you can talk some sense into her!’

Propelling Kathy into the living room, she deposited her before the hostile stare of the older woman. ‘Speak to her, Kathy. Tell her she’s being selfish.’ Digging Kathy in the back, Samantha urged, ‘Go on, Kathy! She won’t listen to a word I say.’

‘I probably won’t listen to you either, Kathy my dear, but I suppose you might as well have your say.’ Her mother’s sharp brown eyes rested curiously on Kathy’s upturned face. ‘Whatever you have to say won’t make the slightest difference.’

Out of the same mould as Samantha, Irene was taller and slimmer than Kathy. With her smooth auburn locks, bobbed by the most expensive hairdresser in town, and those exquisitely painted brown eyes, she was unnervingly attractive. Her fingers dripped with expensive jewellery, bought by Kathy’s father over many years. She was magnificent yet intimidating: a woman you either admired or avoided. Bathed in a cloud of perfume, she had style and confidence, and today was no different. Dressed in a smart light-brown two-piece with straight skirt and fitted jacket, she was obviously ready to go out.

Kathy’s thoughts were of Maggie and how she had promised to be as quick as she could. ‘I don’t know what’s going on here,’ she said, ‘and to tell you the truth I don’t really care. I only came because Samantha was frantic … she said that I should get over here right away.’ Seeing her mother in all her glory, made Kathy feel foolish. ‘The way she was going on, I thought you might be about to kill yourself!’

Irene laughed out loud. ‘Really? And you came to rescue me, is that it?’

When she trained her brown eyes on you as she did now on Kathy, there was something chilling about her manner; some fearful coldness that froze your heart. ‘All the same, it’s as well you’re here.’

Kathy didn’t trust her. ‘What game are you playing?’

‘I don’t need to play games.’ Her expression was calm. ‘I’ve made my decision and I’m happy with it. But there are things you both should know, and as I told Samantha, it’s best that you’re both here. Afterwards, for all our sakes, I hope there’ll be an end to it.’

Moving through the haze of sweet-smelling perfume, she walked across the room to the dresser. ‘She’s getting married!’ Samantha whispered fiercely. ‘I didn’t even know she was seeing anybody.’ Samantha was concerned only about one thing. ‘When you marry, isn’t it true that everything you’ve got becomes half-owned by the other person? Where does that leave us, that’s what I want to know.’

‘Married!’ Shutting her ears to Samantha’s rantings, Kathy felt as though she’d been knocked to the ground. ‘But she can’t! It’s not long enough … since Dad …’ It was a shock, and for a minute she couldn’t get to grips with it.

Returning with a small leather document case, Kathy’s mother laid it face down on the table close to her. Turning to Samantha, she told her, ‘You’re right, of course. When I marry, things are bound to change. You thought you would be getting all my jewellery after I was gone, and as for you, Kathy –’ Bestowing a generous smile on Kathy, she went on, ‘I know it was your father’s dearest wish for you to have this house, but the truth is, I have other plans for it. Everything I shared with your father will be got rid of: house, furniture, even the jewellery he gave me. It’s only fair on my new husband that I make a clean sweep.’

Kathy had never cared about what might come to her after her parents were gone, but she had adored her father, and now that he was being swiftly discarded along with the house and everything in it, she felt physically sick. ‘Who is he … this man you’re about to marry?’

‘You know him well,’ her mother said with a cool smile. ‘You both do. His name is Richard.’

Samantha gave an audible gasp. ‘Not Richard Lennox?’

‘Clever girl, yes, you’re absolutely right.’

Kathy was shocked. ‘But he’s a terrible man. You know Daddy hated him! He tried time and again to ruin his business. He undercut his trade so much, there was a time when Dad almost went under. Then, when he was succeeding again, that man wanted to buy him out.’

‘Nonsense. Your father was capable of seeing anyone off. He was in merchandising long before Richard moved into the business. Besides, Richard has quite enough of his own work, without taking on anybody else’s.’

Samantha too was shocked by her mother’s choice of man-friend. ‘All right! You’ve told us often enough how well he’s done. He was a coalman and now he owns fleets of lorries and mines in the North. But it still doesn’t make him decent. I can’t believe you’re marrying him. Good God! He must be seventy if he’s a day!’

‘Not quite.’

‘But why? You could have any man you wanted.’ Samantha had expected something better for her mother. ‘I can’t believe it. How could you bring yourself to marry a man like that?’

Kathy knew straight off. ‘It’s money, isn’t it? You’re marrying him for his money!’

‘Well, why not?’ Seeing the look of incredulity on Kathy’s face, Irene demanded, ‘What’s wrong with looking after my future? In another few years I’ll be sixty. Oh, I know your father left me well off, and I’ve got that all tucked away. But it won’t last for ever. Anyway, I don’t enjoy being alone. I need a man in my life, someone to take me out and about. I want to travel the world … I need the very best of everything. Unlike you poor things, I’ve never had to work, and I never want to. I’ve always been used to the finer things in life, thanks to a generous legacy left me by your great-grandfather. Then, of course, when I married your father, he wouldn’t even hear of me working, and of course, I didn’t mind that at all.’

Savouring the moment, she went on with a calm smugness that irritated Kathy and filled Samantha with admiration. ‘I intend to look after number one from now on.’ She pointed an accusing finger at her youngest daughter. ‘And I’ll thank you not to look at me as if I’m some kind of monster.’

Samantha remained in a sulk. ‘I thought you cared about me, but you don’t. You’re nothing but a grabbing, selfish bitch. All you care about is yourself! You couldn’t care less what happens to me.’

Infuriated, Irene rounded on her. ‘Is it my fault if you’ve both made a mess of your lives? At least I stayed married long enough to see my husband off. Look at the pair of you. It’s pathetic! Neither of you married. You don’t even own the roofs over your heads.’ Waving her arms to embrace the room, she declared triumphantly, ‘Look at what I’ve got to show for my efforts. Doesn’t it make you feel ashamed?’

‘You cow!’ Samantha’s temper was a match for her mother’s. ‘You always promised you’d look after me, and now here you are … walking out with everything … feathering your nest again, and to hell with everybody else.’

‘How dare you!’ In two strides Irene had Samantha by the shoulders. ‘You’re the biggest disappointment of my life. It didn’t matter about Kathy making a mess of her life … it was only what I expected. But you!’ Shaking her hard, she let out a torrent of abuse. ‘I told everyone my daughter Samantha would make something of herself, but you let me down! You humiliated me in front of all my friends. You and her –’ she thumbed a gesture in Kathy’s direction ‘– you make me sick! Failures, the both of you!’

Suppressing her anger, Kathy’s calm voice cut through her mother’s cruel words. ‘You’re right,’ she said. ‘It’s true our marriages didn’t work out. But you’re as much to blame as anyone else. Always interfering … nothing was ever right. Constantly picking fights with Samantha’s husband and mine … causing no end of trouble, excluding them from family; deliberately hounding them, until in the end they had no choice but to leave us. No man on God’s earth would put up with what they had to put up with.’

‘That’s not true!’ Samantha now defended her mother from Kathy’s anger. ‘Mother’s right. They were weak and cowardly, or they would have stayed with us, no matter what.’ Samantha had married an American GI at the end of the war in a whirlwind romance. When Samantha had refused to go to Germany with him after the war, the marriage had stood little chance.

‘I’m glad they didn’t stay.’ Irene’s feathers had been ruffled but now she composed herself. ‘They were wrong from the beginning, those two.’

‘It’s all in the past, Mother.’ Kathy could never forgive her, but there was nothing to be gained by being at each other’s throats. ‘You said you had something to tell us?’

Looking from one to the other, Irene took a deep breath. ‘There are things you should know –’ she glanced at Kathy ‘– about your father.’ Clearing her throat, she collected the document-case papers from the table. ‘In here are keys and the deeds to Barden House. It’s a place in West Bay, Dorset.’

Her face stiffened. ‘I didn’t even know it existed until I was looking through your father’s papers. I also found letters – intimate love-letters; hordes of them – from some woman who signed herself as Liz.’

Bristling with indignation, she directed her hurtful words to Kathy in particular. ‘The truth is, your father was not the innocent you thought he was. He and this woman apparently had an affair and, judging by those letters, it went on for some considerable time. When he was away from home – when I believed he was working – he was with her, in that house! The two of them … in their little love-nest!’

Shocked and confused, Kathy was stunned into silence, while Samantha began to laugh. ‘The old so-and-so … carrying on behind your back. Well, I never!’

In a gesture of disgust, Irene thrust the folder at Kathy. ‘What do you think of your precious father now? He wasn’t the caring man you always thought he was. Instead, he was a cheat and a liar, and I want nothing that was his! Go on, take them: the house, the letters, too. They’re yours. Sell the house, burn it down, I don’t care.’

In an almost inaudible voice, she made a confession. ‘I went there … to West Bay. I was curious. I thought maybe it was her he’d bought the house for … that she was still living there. But it seems the house stood empty for months on end before I turned up. I learned a lot when I asked about. You’d be amazed how much people know in a small place like that.’

Her voice trembled with emotion. ‘At first I thought I might be able to sell the place. I suspected it would be a grand house, filled with expensive furniture that she’d cajoled him into buying. I was wrong. It’s just a horrid, poky little place, filled with cheap, rubbishy things I wouldn’t even put in my shed. The gardens are all overgrown, and the windows are already beginning to rot. I have no use for it, just like I had no use for your father.’

A look of regret crossed her features. ‘Besides, when I took a closer look at the deeds I realised I couldn’t sell it anyway … You see, he bought the house in your name! I was furious. I locked the deeds and letters away and tried to forget about it. Now, though, I want rid of everything that reminds me of him.’

‘It’s not fair!’ Samantha was beside herself. ‘What about me?’ she demanded. ‘She gets a house by the coast. But what do I get?’

Ignoring her, Irene was intent on Kathy. ‘I want you to go now,’ she told her in a cold, quiet voice, ‘and don’t bother coming back.’

Shaken by events, Kathy looked up; at this woman who was her mother … her tormentor, and she felt a wave of relief that somehow it was over … all the pain and heartache she had endured because of this heartless creature. It was over and, for the moment, it was all she could think of.

Kathy turned to Samantha, that haughty creature who was her mother in the making. Suddenly she pitied her. ‘Take care of yourself, Sam,’ she said.

Samantha didn’t answer. Instead she deliberately looked away. But it didn’t matter. Not any more.

As she stood in the hall pulling on her coat, Kathy heard her mother reassuring Samantha. ‘You know I would never let you down. Once I have Richard’s ring on my finger, this house will be yours. It’s all agreed … ready to be signed and sealed. I don’t need it – nor my jewellery – everything your father ever bought me. I’ve got plenty of money tucked away, and Richard will take good care of me. The jewellery’s worth a small fortune, my dear. Sell it all,’ she urged, ‘and you’ll be a rich woman.’

Anxious now to get away, Kathy quickened her steps, the sound of Samantha’s laughter echoing in her troubled mind.

Maggie was already walking away from the spot where they were supposed to meet. Kathy picked out her distinctive black hair and yellow coat. ‘MAGGIE … WAIT!’ Chasing after her, Kathy was relieved she’d caught her. The last thing she wanted right now was to be with a crowd.

Maggie was delighted to see her. ‘I wasn’t sure whether you’d have gone straight to the Palais by now.’

Kathy shook her head. ‘I’m not in the mood for going,’ she confessed. ‘I thought I’d come here on the off-chance you might still be waiting … otherwise I would have gone to the Palais and begged off.’

‘Well, it’s a good job I waited another ten minutes, ain’t it, gal?’

‘I’m sorry it took so long, Maggie.’ As Maggie continued with her to the bus stop, Kathy drew her to a halt. ‘Look, Mags, if it’s okay with you, I need to talk.’ When it came right down to it, she had no one else but Maggie to confide in.

Maggie didn’t hesitate. ‘Okay by me.’ She had already noticed how anxious Kathy seemed. ‘What’s wrong?’

Hooking her arm in Maggie’s, Kathy walked her along the street. ‘There’s that quiet little pub on Albert Street,’ she suggested. ‘We can talk there.’

Being Saturday night, there were more people in the pub than Kathy would have liked. ‘We’d best sit over there.’ Maggie pointed to a table by the window; on its own and some way from the bar, it seemed an ideal place to talk. ‘You go and sit down. I’ll get us a drink … half a pint o’ shandy, is it, gal?’ she asked. ‘Same as usual?’

Kathy nodded. ‘Thanks, Maggie.’

While Kathy settled herself at the table, Maggie brought the drinks. ‘There y’are, gal … get that down you.’

Maggie settled in her seat, took a swig of her Babycham, and asked, ‘Your mother been giving you trouble again, has she?’

‘You could say that. She’s full of herself as usual. Planning to marry an old business rival of Dad’s. She says she’s lonely, but I think she’s hoping he’ll “pop his clogs” soon after so she can inherit his vast fortune. The upshot is, Samantha is being given the house and everything that’s worth anything.’

‘Well, the old cow! No wonder you’re down in the dumps.’

‘No, Mags. You’ve got it all wrong.’ None of that mattered to Kathy. ‘It’s not important. It isn’t that I need to talk about.’

Maggie pointed to the document case lying on the table. ‘It’s to do with that, ain’t it, gal?’ She had seen how carefully Kathy handled the case, laying it in front of her and never taking her eyes off it.

Kathy nodded. ‘She gave it to me.’

Opening the case, she drew out the house deeds, but left the letters inside. ‘Look at that.’ Handing the deeds to Maggie, she waited for her reaction.

After perusing the document, Maggie was delighted for Kathy, but confused by the meaning of it all. ‘It’s a house!’ she exclaimed. ‘In your name. But that’s wonderful.’ Seeing that Kathy seemed a little sad, she asked lamely, ‘Ain’t it?’

Kathy told her the whole story … of how her mother had taken great delight in tearing her father’s memory to shreds. She told her about the house in West Bay, and the woman called Liz, and the love-letters that her mother had read and that she herself could never read. She explained how she still found it hard to believe that her father had kept a secret lover for such a long time, and that she never even suspected. ‘Oh, Maggie, why didn’t he tell me?’

‘Because he loved you, that’s why.’ Maggie hated what Kathy’s mother had done to her: whenever she came into Kathy’s life she always seemed to take delight in turning it upside down. ‘He knew how much you loved him, and he didn’t want to spoil that. Happen he thought you would think badly of him, or he felt ashamed in some way that he had the need to go outside his marriage for love and affection.’

Reaching out, she laid her hand over Kathy’s. ‘Look, gal. I know this must all have come as a terrible shock to you, but don’t let it spoil all them special memories of your dad. He was a lovely man. All right! So he set up a love-nest with this “Liz” … and he never told anybody, not even you. But it doesn’t mean he couldn’t trust you.’

Kathy had already told herself all that. ‘I know,’ she said, ‘and I don’t blame him for what he did … any man would if he had my mother to put up with!’ The hatred of her mother trembled in her voice. ‘Whatever he did, she drove him to it, and if that was the only happiness he could find, then I’m glad for him.’

When the tears began to smart in her eyes, she took a minute for the emotion to subside. ‘She won’t spoil my memories. I won’t let her.’

Maggie understood. ‘I’m sorry, gal.’ Maggie’s heart went out to her. ‘But he never stopped loving you, did he, eh? ’Cause he even bought the house in your name. That tells you summat, don’t it, eh?’

Kathy had wondered about that, and she voiced her questions to Maggie. ‘Why would he do that? If he found happiness and comfort with this … Liz, why didn’t he buy the house in her name?’

Maggie shrugged. ‘Who knows? Maybe she’s rich and doesn’t need it. But for what it’s worth, I think he was trying to tell you something.’ She dropped her voice to a whisper. ‘I think he was trying to tell you how happy he was with her. I think he wanted you to have the house … because he hoped you might go there and maybe find the same happiness he had.’

Kathy smiled. ‘I thought that too,’ she admitted. ‘On the trolleybus coming over, I tried to make sense of it all, and I thought the same as you: that he wanted me to have the house, because he loved it so, and because he hoped I might love it too.’ Close to tears, her heart swelled with love for him. ‘I’m not upset or angry with him,’ she said, ‘I’m just so glad he found happiness, because I know he didn’t have that with Mother.’

She gave a wry little smile. ‘It was just such a shock. I never knew he had it in him to do something like that. In a way I admire him … more than ever. It shows he had the guts to take the chance of happiness when he saw it.’

She recalled how her mother had gone to West Bay, looking for the woman. ‘She said the house was a “poky” place … filled with rubbishy furniture she “wouldn’t even put in her shed”.’

‘Ah, well, that’s your mother, ain’t it, gal? If summat didn’t cost a bleedin’ fortune, it ain’t worth having.’

‘Apparently there was no sign of the other woman.’

Maggie laughed. ‘Just as well an’ all, if you ask me! I reckon there’d have been a right cat-fight if them two had got together.’

Kathy didn’t agree. ‘No, Maggie. She would have kept her distance and torn her to shreds with her vicious tongue. That’s Mother’s way. And I should know, because she’s done it to me often enough.’

‘Will you try and find this Liz woman?’

‘I don’t think so.’ Kathy shook her head. ‘To be honest, I would like to,’ she answered, ‘if only to thank her for the happiness she so obviously gave my father. But, to tell you the truth, I don’t think she wants to be found.’ She had given this woman a great deal of thought and had come to that conclusion. ‘Maybe it’s best to let sleeping dogs lie.’

‘What will you do … with the house, I mean?’

‘I’m not sure yet. It’s all too soon.’ She assured Maggie of one thing. ‘I won’t sell it. I couldn’t do that.’ She thought of her father and smiled. ‘It would be like selling his dream.’

Maggie raised her glass. ‘Here’s to your dad,’ she toasted.

Kathy clinked glasses. ‘And his dream,’ she added softly.

That night, when she was all alone with her thoughts and memories, she browsed through the deeds, feeling closer to her father as she turned the worn pages. She touched the letters one by one, but didn’t open them. ‘What was she like, Dad?’ she murmured to his smiling photograph. ‘I would have loved to have met her.’

She cradled the letters and thought of when her father was alive, and sobbed until her heart ached.

It was a long time before she fell asleep, but before she did, her mind was made up. ‘It’s time to make some changes. I’ll give up my job and go to West Bay,’ she murmured to herself.

And, having decided that, she felt more at peace than she had done for a very long time.



Part 2 (#ulink_32bb1bb6-5331-50b2-90ce-e9eb7f1ca6cc) July 1952 All Things New




Chapter 3 (#ulink_e037008b-3cb2-5b9f-8f40-4cc46859ded0)


IT WAS EIGHT O’CLOCK in the evening on Friday 12 July, 1952; the sun was beginning to drop in the skies and, along the coast, a rising breeze cooled the air.

After a long drive taking some six and a half hours, Tom headed his little two-door Morris Minor into the sleepy seaside hamlet of West Bay.

Drawing into a curve alongside the road, he slipped the car out of gear and left the engine ticking over while he looked at the directions that he’d scribbled down. John Martin had stayed down here just after the war, and had recommended both the place and a guest-house. ‘Turn left when you come off the main road … follow the signs to West Bay. You’ll find “River View” on your right … there’s a big sign at the gateway. If you come into the harbour, you’ve gone too far.’

Looking about him, Tom took stock of his surroundings; from where he was parked he couldn’t quite see the harbour, but there were seagulls everywhere, and somewhere in front of him the tops of sailing masts bobbed up and down against the skyline. There was a fishmonger’s to his left and a pub to his right, but not a soul in sight. ‘Where the devil am I?’ he wondered aloud.

Taking another look at John’s instructions, he groaned. ‘I’ve missed the guest-house,’ he realised. ‘I’ll have to go back.’

He almost leapt out of his skin when an old man tapped on the window. ‘Got lost, ’ave yer, son?’ With a shaggy beard, a drooping moustache and a flat cap that covered almost all the top half of his features, the man resembled an old sheepdog. His face was weathered and jolly, and his expression endearing.

‘I’ ope yer don’t mind, only I saw yer lookin’ at yer map.’ His merry blue eyes crinkled into a smile. ‘Where is it yer looking for?’ His homely Lancastrian accent was a pleasant surprise. He obviously wasn’t from round here originally.

Weary and peckish, Tom was grateful for any help he could get. ‘Thank you, and yes, it seems I have got lost.’ Pointing to the paper in his hand, he told the old fella, ‘I’m looking for “River View”, only I seem to have missed it.’ Holding up the paper so the old man could see the writing, he went on, ‘It says here, if I can see the harbour, I’ve gone too far.’

‘I see!’ Showing a row of crooked white teeth, the old fella laughed. ‘Well if yer looking for “River View”, you’ll be a long time afore yer find it, ’cause it ain’t there no more.’

Tom was horrified. ‘Why? What do you mean?’

‘Ah, well now … I can see you ain’t got that in them-there directions, so yer can think yersel’ lucky to ’ave come across me. You see, whoever told you to head for that place couldn’t know it were burned down three year back. Afterwards, the ground was sold off, they cleared the old building and built a pub. But they do board and lodgings, if that’s what yer looking for.’

Tom was relieved. ‘Thank God for that! I’m starving hungry.’ He explained, ‘I’ve just driven all the way from London … stopped at Brownhill for drinks and a bite to eat, but I could really do with a bath and a proper hot meal.’ Moreover, he ached through every bone in his body.

The old fellow dashed his hopes straight off. Pursing his lips, he tutted and sighed and warned in a low, ominous voice, ‘They do say as folks only ever stay one night there … summat about –’ he rolled his eyes – ‘ghosts.’

Tom laughed. ‘The way I feel right now, I don’t think ghosts would worry me one bit.’

Disappointed, the old chap straightened up. ‘Please yerself, son. Are you planning to stay a while?’

Tom nodded. ‘I hope to,’ he said. ‘Only, I need a few days’ grace, so I can look round to find a place to rent – long-term – until I sort myself out.’

‘Well, I never!’ The old chap gave a kind of whoop. ‘That’s it, then! Your troubles are over.’

Intrigued, Tom questioned him. ‘How d’you mean?’

‘Why! Cliff Cottage, o’ course. It’s a pretty little place right atop the hill there, warm and cosy, and you’ll wake up to the sound of seagulls calling and a view straight from heaven …’ Pointing towards the far side of the harbour, he explained, ‘It’s owned by a lady who spends most of her time in Ireland … or is it Scotland?’ He scratched his head and pondered, but his memory wasn’t what it once was. ‘Anyroad, now she’s gone away … put the place up for rent, she has. I swear, you’ll not get a prettier place to live, if you tramped the world twice over.’

Excited, Tom got out of the car to shake his hand. ‘It sounds perfect!’ he said. ‘Who do I see about renting it?’

The old man puffed out his chest. ‘You see me, son, that’s who yer see. I’m the fella yer want!’ Holding out his hand in greeting, he told Tom proudly, ‘The name’s Jasper … Jasper Hardcastle. I’m working hand-in-glove with the agent. I’m entrusted with a key to the property, so I can take you there now if you’ve a mind?’

The old chap was so naturally friendly, Tom had taken to him straight off; in fact, he began to feel as if he’d known him for years. ‘Right then! It sounds good to me. You’d best climb in the car.’

As they drove through the harbour and along the promenade towards the upper ground, Tom commented on the beauty of West Bay: the harbour filled with boats of every size and colour, the curving promenade, and that wonderful view out to sea. ‘It’s just what I need,’ he confessed. ‘A year or so away from the hustle and bustle of London … some time to myself, a place where I can get things into perspective.’

‘That’s the very reason I came here forty-five year ago.’ The old fellow gave a colourful account of himself. ‘I lived me younger days in Darwen … in the North,’ he revealed. ‘I were twenty-eight year old, been wed just a year when I lost me darling wife – pneumonia, it were.’ His voice dropped as though he was talking to himself. ‘Wicked business! She were seven month gone with our first babby.’

Tom could feel his pain; it was much like his own. ‘I’m so sorry,’ he murmured.

‘Aw, no!’ Jasper bucked up. ‘It were a long time ago. But, like I were saying, I’d been to West Bay as a lad with me mam and dad … had the time o’ me life, I did, an’ I never forgot. Well, I just kinda wandered back, if yer know what I mean … got casual work wherever I could: helping the fishermen; serving at the pub; a bit o’ gardening ’ere and there. I were a handyman then, an’ I’ve been a handyman ever since. Helped out where I could during the war, being as I were too old to fight in it.’ He chuckled. ‘An’ I’ve never regretted one minute of it. The more I stayed, the harder it got to leave. There’s a kinda magic about the place that wraps itself round yer. Teks a hold on yer heart an’ won’t let go.’ He laughed. ‘Mind it don’t get you the same way.’

‘Right now, I wouldn’t care if it did,’ Tom confessed. He glanced at the old chap, thinking he looked extraordinarily well for his age, and he told him so.

‘Ah, well, that’s ’cause I’m allus on the go. Seventy-three year old, an’ I’ve never once had to see the doctor … except to register, o’ course, an’ I broke a toe once but it soon mended.’

‘You’re a lucky man, Jasper, to be so content.’ Tom had forgotten how that felt.

Jasper’s response was a question. ‘You never did tell me yer name, sir?’

Tom laughed. ‘Well, I can tell you one thing,’ he chided, ‘it’s not “sir”!’ Taking one hand off the steering-wheel, he grabbed Jasper’s outstretched hand. ‘The name’s Tom Arnold, and I’m ready for some of that “magic” you were just talking about.’

The old man pointed ahead. ‘There she is: Cliff Cottage; pretty as a picture.’

Tom looked, and what he saw took his breath away. With thatched roof and white-painted walls festooned with masses of climbing roses of every hue and colour, it looked enchanting. ‘My God! It’s perfect!’ The cottage was bigger than he had thought, and as they drew up in front of it, he could see the well-tended gardens stretching back as far as the eye could see.

Getting out of the car, Jasper led Tom through the small white gate, and along the flower-lined path. ‘I know this place inside out,’ he imparted proudly. ‘I tend the gardens … clean the windows, and last summer I painted the whole house from top to bottom.’

The more Jasper told him, the more Tom thought how, like the cottage, the old fellow was amazing.

‘Right then, Tom Arnold, let’s see what yer think o’ the inside.’ Taking a key from his waistcoat pocket, Jasper slotted it in the lock and, turning with a flourish, he swung open the door. ‘In yer go!’

Stepping back to allow Tom by, the old fellow followed, giving detailed commentary as they went from room to room. ‘This ’ere’s the living room,’ he said. ‘Not so big, mebbe, but like I said, it’s cosy and warm, and of a winter evening the glow from the fire throws out a cheer … an’ there’s a whole supply o’ logs in the woodshed … small-chopped and neatly stacked.’

Tom’s gaze roved over the room; with two windows, one facing west, the other south, the light poured in and filled the room with evening sunshine. Surrounded by clean blue tiles, the fireplace contained a vase of fresh-smelling flowers. ‘That’s my doing, is that.’ The old man caught the look in Tom’s eye. ‘Picked ’em this very morning … must’a known yer were coming.’

He gave a wink, and Tom smiled. ‘I bet there isn’t much you don’t know,’ he declared.

The furniture was good: there was a brown leather sofa on one side of the fireplace, and a matching armchair on the other. The big green rug in front of the fire set the whole room off a treat. Against the back wall stood a small oak dresser, with nothing on top but a large, round china bowl.

The curtains were of plain beige colour but ‘expensive material’, according to Jasper. ‘The lady had good taste,’ he told Tom. ‘A quiet soul she was,’ he imparted fondly, ‘… kind-hearted too.’ He added quietly as an after-thought, ‘She had her troubles too, poor soul.’ When he realised Tom was waiting for him to expand on that remark, he swiftly moved on. ‘Right then, son, here’s the kitchen.’

Tom followed dutifully, sensing that whatever the old chap had been about to say with regard to that ‘kind, quiet lady’ he had thought better of, and that was all right by Tom. He knew from experience that, occasionally, and for whatever reason, there were some things best left unsaid.

The kitchen was small but functional: there were pretty floral curtains at the window, and a smart white kitchenette with drop-down front and glass doors at the top. On the shelf near the window there was a stack of recipes and cookbooks by favourites such as Marguerite Patten. ‘Used to pride herself on being an excellent cook,’ Jasper revealed.

Both upstairs bedrooms were finished in the same subtle colours. The largest one had a theme of green: smart pink-and-green patchwork eiderdowns, apple-green curtains to match; a dressing table and wardrobe of adequate size.

The second room was done out exactly the same, though finished in blue.

Between the two rooms was a tiny bathroom, which was small but adequate. This too was a light, airy room. Emanating from a small dish of broken blossom in the window-sill, the sweetest of fragrances filled the air.

There was soap and towels already laid out, as if Jasper really had been expecting a visitor. ‘The thing is,’ he said after Tom made the comment, ‘I wanted it to look nice in case I had to show anybody over.’ His face creased into that wonderful, homely grin. ‘Though, if yer happy with it, I’ll not be showing nobody else, will I, eh?’

Outside, in the twilight, the garden reflected the same love and care. There was a lawn surrounded by flower-beds and corner shrubberies, a delightful summer-house and orchard further down, and from the terrace there was the most magnificent view imaginable.

Tom stood at the end of the terrace, lost in the scenery. The endless sea shimmered and danced in the flickering light and, as the sun was beginning to dip in the heavens, the whole sky was marbled with rivers of red and yellow. ‘It’s the most beautiful sunset I’ve ever seen.’ He could hardly tear himself away.

Raising a thumb upwards, Jasper suggested mischievously, ‘I had a word with ’im upstairs and asked him to show yer what he could do.’

Quietly smiling at Jasper’s outlandish remark, Tom still had the look of wonder on his face. ‘I know what you mean now,’ he said, ‘about the “magic” taking hold.’ Already his soul was beginning to quieten. Here, in this seemingly timeless place, he was experiencing the first real joy since the day of the tragedy.

‘So, does that mean you’ll stay?’ Having taken a liking to Tom, Jasper wouldn’t let go.

Tom didn’t even hesitate. ‘I’ll need the cottage straight away,’ he answered, ‘if that’s all right? I mean … do you need to contact anybody … will the agent want to see me before I take on the tenancy? I can stay at the pub if that’s the case.’ He hoped he wouldn’t have to. Somehow he felt as though he belonged in this delightful, cosy cottage.

Jasper had no doubts. ‘Look, it’s the weekend, and as far as I’m concerned, you’re already the new tenant. There’ll be time enough to tell him on Monday. I expect he’ll be round to have a chat with you … checking you out, like … papers to sign, that kinda thing. But I’m sure he’ll agree with me that you’ll do fine. So don’t you worry, son, it’ll be all right.’

Grinning from ear to ear, Jasper handed him the key. ‘I’m away now, but I’ll be back in about half an hour.’ He began talking to himself. ‘Let me see, you’ll need bread … milk too, an’ tea if you take it. Oh, an’ you’ll want to start a fire … it’s an old cottage … gets a bit chilly when the sun’s gone down, even in summer. I’ll need your ration book, if that’s all right. Give me a list of what you’d like.’

He carried on talking as he went out the door, addressing Tom in fatherly tones. ‘You’ll find everything works … electric, water … there’s a bulb gone in the back bedroom, but I dare say you’ll be sleeping in the front one so it won’t matter. All the same, I’ll have one fitted afore you know it.’ He clapped his hands and softly chuckled. ‘Glad to have you aboard,’ he said, and left whistling.

Following him to the door, Tom watched the old man walk down the hill and away out of sight. ‘It seems I’ve found a friend,’ he mused, ‘and a home.’ It was a good feeling.

After collecting his portmanteau from the car, he first hung up his clothes in the wardrobe: four shirts – two short-sleeved, two-long-sleeved; two pairs of trousers; a casual tweed jacket and a formal suit for the odd occasion he might need it. All the smaller items, such as underwear and everyday bits and bobs, went into the drawer beneath. Shoes and plimsolls went under the bed.

When all that was done, he emptied out the toiletries, and a few personal items, which he laid on the bed. The photograph of his wife and children he placed on the dressing-table. That finished, he put the case on top of the wardrobe.

After taking the toiletries into the bathroom, he made his way downstairs to the kitchen.

By the time he’d boiled the kettle and found teapot and cups, the old chap was back. ‘If yer mekking tea, I’m gasping after that long trek up the hill.’ He gave a cheeky wink. ‘I’m a glutton for me tea with a spoon o’ sugar if yer please. You’ll find spoons in that there drawer.’ Pointing to a small drawer alongside the cooker, he placed his box of goodies on the table.

Taking the items out one by one, he counted them off. ‘Sugar, tea, toilet roll … can’t do without that. Now then, let’s see what’s next. Oh yes … loaf o’ bread, marge, a pinta milk, and a tin of spam.’ Dropping the empty box to the floor, he sat in the chair and waited for Tom to bring his tea. ‘I reckon you’ve enough groceries to be going on with,’ he told Tom.

He gratefully accepted his mug of tea. Tom seated himself at the other end of the table. The old man slurped at his cup and wiped his moustache. Tom laughed and shook his head; Jasper was a real gem. ‘Where did you get all this stuff anyway? I didn’t see any grocery shops down there.’

The old fellow explained. ‘There’s four shops altogether: the fishmonger’s, and next door to him the fishing-tackle shop. Then there’s the baker’s – she bakes her own bread every day; it’s allus fresh and crusty. An’ round the corner there’s the little shop as stays open a bit longer. It’s run by a right nice lady, name of Amy Tatler. She sells everything from matches to newspapers. By! She’s been running that shop for as long as I remember. I reckon she must be even older than what I am. Fit though … and smart with it.’

He scratched his chin, gazing up to the ceiling as if working out the years. ‘She never wed as far as I can mek out, but she’s a kind, quiet little woman, never lets on what she’s thinking. All on ’er own, she is. By! It’s a crying shame …’

For a minute, the old chap’s thoughts seemed elsewhere, before he visibly shook himself. ‘She pretends to close at five o’clock like the rest of ’em, but you’ve only to knock on the door and she’s there at yer beck an’ call.’

Tom sensed the old man’s fondness for this woman. ‘Sounds to me like she might be lonely?’

Jasper shook his head. ‘Naw! Not Amy. She knits and sews, and keeps herself busy.’ Again, for a fleeting minute, he lapsed into that odd silence. ‘I can never understand why she never got wed, though … She were allus a pretty woman as I recall, and even now she’s pleasant to the eye, an’ pleasant in nature.’ He shook his head. ‘Seems a waste, but there y’are.’

Tom nodded. ‘You really like her, don’t you?’ That much was painfully obvious.

Shocked that another man had found out his secret, Jasper blushed bright pink. ‘Gerraway! What would I do with a woman at my age, eh?’

Tom said no more. He knew when to keep quiet, so for a time he sipped his tea and the old man did the same, and all that could be heard was the ticking of the mantelpiece clock, until suddenly Jasper was on his feet and slapping Tom on the back. ‘I’m glad the cottage found its rightful tenant.’ He took a piece of paper from his waistcoat pocket and handed it to Tom. ‘I’ll be here in the mornin’ to mek sure yer all right. Meanwhile, here’s me address if yer should want anythin’.’

‘I won’t, thank you all the same.’

‘Well, just in case, yer can find me easy enough. Yer go down the hill and over the little bridge; turn left at the pub. Yer can’t go wrong. My humble little home is right at the end of George Street, next to where they park the boat-trailers.’

‘I’m sure I won’t need to trouble you,’ Tom assured him. ‘But thanks for all your help. You’re a lifesaver.’

‘Fine, but don’t forget now … I’m there if yer need me. I’m a light sleeper, so just tap on the window.’ He laughed. ‘Don’t tap too hard, though, or that yappy dog next door will wake the whole bloody street!’

He bade Tom goodnight and was gone.

Afterwards, Tom sat at the table for a while, sipping his now-cold tea and reflecting on his actions. ‘I’m beginning to think I’ve done the right thing after all,’ he mused aloud. ‘Coming here … leaving it all behind.’

During the lengthy journey here, he’d had nagging doubts, but they were gone now. After meeting Jasper and finding this cottage, he felt in his heart that everything would come right.

A moment later, when the sleep weighed heavy on him, he cleared away the cups, made sure the house was locked up, and went upstairs.

First, he took a long, lazy bath. Afterwards he climbed into bed and was asleep almost before his head hit the pillow.

It had been a busy day.

Over the coming week, Jasper was a godsend.

Tom had settled into the cottage as though he was born to it, and the two men became firm friends. Though he would have liked to cut himself off from the world, Tom knew there were practical things he must do, such as letting his bank and other agencies know his change of address, and sorting out the rental agreement for the cottage. He had thought about applying for a telephone to be installed. Having a telephone line to the outside world went against all Tom’s plans – and it would be expensive. But he worried about whether he should have a line for emergencies, and for keeping in touch with his good friend Lilian and his brother Dougie. In the end he decided to wait and see. There was a payphone just down the road.

‘I expect you’ll want to arrange deliveries of milk and newspaper too,’ the old man suggested, but Tom refused that idea. ‘I think it would be better if I walked down to Amy’s and collected them,’ he decided and, for once, Jasper agreed.

By the evening after his arrival in West Bay, Tom had managed to get most of the practicalities dealt with and out of the way. To celebrate, he and Jasper paid a visit to the pub, where they drank a pint of best bitter and chatted to the locals.

Afterwards, Jasper introduced him to Amy. ‘Any friend of Jasper’s is a friend of mine,’ she said. Tom was astonished at how tiny and vibrant she was. Looking into her deep brown eyes and noting the sunshine of her smile, Tom could understand what Jasper had said. Yes, he thought, she has a goodness that shines out. And, like Jasper, he was filled with admiration.

The next morning, Tom was up early. For whatever reason he had found it difficult to sleep. ‘Must have been the beer,’ he groaned, rubbing his stomach with the flat of his hand.

As he couldn’t sleep, he got washed and dressed and made his way downstairs, where he searched the cupboards, greatly relieved to find that Jasper had allowed for all occasions. The bicarbonate of soda in a glass of water was just what the doctor ordered.

While the kettle was boiling he threw open the back door and stood watching the sun come up. ‘Looks like it’ll be a glorious day,’ he murmured. Already the air was warm and the skies blue, with no hint of a cloud anywhere. ‘Makes a man feel good!’ He had not even spent forty-eight hours in West Bay, and already he was beginning to relax.

He drank his tea, and a few minutes later he had put on his jacket and was making his way to the clifftops. High above the world, striding through the fields and on towards the sea, he felt like a man out of his time. It was a weird and wonderful feeling.

Down below in the hamlet, Amy was sorting the newspapers, with the help of Jasper, who every morning insisted on lifting the heavy bundles as they came in. ‘Look!’ Amy had caught sight of the man at the top of the cliff. ‘It’s odd for someone to be walking the cliffs at this early hour, don’t you think?’

Curious, Jasper looked up. ‘It’s that Tom chap.’ He recognised him straight away: the long, lean figure and that mop of hair, made unruly by the wild air-currents that swirled up from the beach below. ‘Poor devil. Looks like he couldn’t sleep.’

Amy suspected that Tom was a man with troubles but, like Jasper, she asked no questions. Now, though, she was curious. ‘Whatever’s he doing up there, at ten to six of a morning?’ A terrible thought crossed her mind. ‘He’s not going to throw himself over, is he?’

‘Good God no!’ Jasper chided. ‘What little I know of him, I wouldn’t say he were the sort to throw himself over a cliff!’ Though it would not be the first time a man had leaped from the clifftops to end it all.

Jasper studied Tom for a moment longer, quietly satisfied that he would come to no harm up there. All the same, he could tell that Tom was deeply troubled; from the way he sat hunched on the boulder, so still, his head bent low to the ocean, as though deep in thought.

‘What’s he doing?’ Like Jasper, Amy was concerned.

‘He’s searching, lass.’

‘Searching … for what?’

Jasper shrugged. ‘Who knows?’ He shook his head. He wondered what might be going on in Tom’s mind at that minute. He remembered the way it had been with him, and his heart went out to that young man. ‘He’s looking for what we all want,’ he murmured. ‘Contentment … peace of mind, call it what yer will.’

Something in his voice made Amy reach out to touch him. ‘Let’s hope he finds it then,’ she said softly. ‘You too, Jasper.’

The old man squeezed her hand. ‘Yer a lovely lady,’ he said.

She laughed at that. ‘Flatterer!’

Drawing away, she wagged a finger at him. ‘We’d best get on with these papers, or they’ll not be delivered by this time next week!’

As they worked, Jasper occasionally glanced up to where Tom was, high above the world, away from all things painful. ‘After a time it won’t hurt so much,’ he murmured. ‘It’ll get easier, son, you’ll see.’ He gave a long, shivering sigh. ‘Whatever it is that haunts yer, it’ll get easier, I promise.’

He hoped there would come a day when Tom might confide in him. After all, everybody needs a friend, he thought. As for himself, he had been fortunate in finding one in little Amy.

Up on the clifftop, Tom was oblivious to the interest he had caused. He thought about his wife and children, and he smiled. ‘I wish I’d brought you here to this lovely place, when I had the chance,’ he whispered, ‘but you’re here in my thoughts and in my heart.’ Before, when he thought of them, he had found it hard to breathe for the pain, but now, when he thought of them, it was with a strange sense of joy. ‘I’ve been a lucky man.’

He looked straight ahead, as though speaking to a physical presence. ‘I’ve had the love of three wonderful people, and I’ve shared their lives. That’s something that can never be taken away.’

There was something else, too, and the hatred was like a bad taste in his mouth. ‘You might be hard to trace, you murderous bastard!’ Instinctively clutching his fist until the knuckles bled white, he spoke in a whisper. ‘But I’ll find you and, when I do, you’ll rue the day you took my family from me.’

Time and again he had searched his mind for a reason, and each time he was forced to surmise that the person who ran him over that cliff-edge must have been out of his mind. But it made no difference. ‘Madman or fool, you took three lives that day … and ruined another.’

A terrible sense of rage overwhelmed him. ‘You’ll pay for it. When the time is right, I’ll take up your trail and make you pay for what you did!’

He stood up and strode away, his face set hard as stone as he walked towards the cottage and a measure of sanctuary. For now he must give himself the time he so badly needed. But the day would come when he would heal. His mind would clear and he would be able to think straight.

On that day, he would set out to find the killer.

And he would not rest until he found him!




Chapter 4 (#ulink_5c2a36dc-3a0e-51f4-8e94-0bf0cef4f31a)


‘FOR GOD’S SAKE, Kathy!’ Trying unsuccessfully for the umpteenth time to fasten the portmanteau, Maggie sat back on her knees and groaned. ‘What the hell have you got in here … the kitchen sink?’ Suddenly free of her weight, the portmanteau heaved a sigh and up popped the lid. ‘Oh no … not again!’ Throwing herself flat on the floor, arms outstretched and eyes closed, she told Kathy, ‘That’s it, gal. I give up!’

Up to her neck in scattered clothes and half-filled boxes, Kathy threw down the saucepan she was carrying and walked across the room. Leaning over the prostrate figure of her friend, she suggested invitingly, ‘What say we stop for a cup of tea?’

Looking up through one weary, open eye, Maggie wanted to know, ‘Is there any o’ that fruit cake left?’

Kathy rolled her eyes. ‘Oh, I dare say I can find us a piece … but only if you can stop swearing and moaning long enough to eat it!’

Maggie scrambled up. ‘Go on then, gal. Go to it.’

While Kathy busied herself at that, Maggie made another attempt to close the portmanteau lid, whooping and hollering when it finally clicked into place. ‘But you can carry it down the stairs!’ she warned Kathy as they sat at the table with their tea and cake. ‘I’ve got a date on Thursday.’ She chuckled naughtily. ‘I’d rather not turn up ruptured … if you know what I mean?’

Kathy gave her a warning in return. ‘As long as you don’t end up pregnant instead!’

Maggie was indignant. ‘No chance. I’m not that stupid!’

‘All the same, be careful. You know as well as I do … blokes are only ever out for one thing.’

‘Not this one.’

Replacing her empty cup on the table, Kathy was curious, ‘Who is he, then?’

‘Just a bloke.’ Shrugging her shoulders, Maggie bent her head to the tea in front of her.

Realising, Kathy groaned. ‘Oh, Maggie! It’s not that cunning devil who kept bothering you the last time we were at the Palais, is it? The one who kept combing his hair and winking every time you turned round?’

Maggie went on the defensive. ‘It might be.’

Sitting back in her chair, Kathy sighed. ‘Maggie! Maggie! Will you never learn?’

Wide-eyed and accusing, Maggie stared back at her. ‘What’s wrong with him, that’s what I’d like to know?’

‘Well, for starters, he’s vain and arrogant, and for another, didn’t you see his snidey “mates”, sniggering and carrying on behind him?’

‘So?’ Now she was really on the defensive.

Undeterred, Kathy spelt it out. ‘So … they were egging him on. You said that yourself.’ She was convinced. ‘I reckon he’s trying to get off with you for a bet.’

‘I asked him that and he denied it,’ Maggie answered sulkily.

‘Oh, did you now?’ This was something Kathy had not been aware of. ‘So, you thought the same, did you? You never told me.’

Maggie didn’t like being cornered. ‘All right, it did cross my mind that he just might be trying it on for a bet, but he wasn’t.’ Leaning forward, she gave Kathy one of her ‘leave me alone’ stares.

Kathy got the message. ‘Okay, I won’t say another word.’

‘Good!’ Sighing loudly, she told Kathy, ‘I really like him. Anyway, I know how to look after myself.’

‘Fair enough.’ Not wanting to upset her, Kathy backed off. ‘Just be wary, that’s all I’m saying.’ Her own mistake with Geoff was in her mind.

Secretly, Maggie still had her own doubts about her date, but she was feeling lonely already, and Kathy hadn’t even gone yet. ‘What about you?’

‘What d’you mean?’

‘Are you sure you’re doing the right thing?’

Kathy gave a half-smile. ‘No.’

‘Then don’t do it.’

‘It’s too late now. I’ve broken it off with Geoff, I’ve left my job, my flat’s been rented out to someone else and, thanks to you, I’m already packed.’ Glancing at the portmanteau, she laughed. ‘If it bursts open on the train, I’ll pretend it’s not mine.’

At that, Maggie laughed with her, before making a serious suggestion. ‘If you change your mind, you know they’ll give you back your job, because they said so. And you can always bunk in with me until you find another flat.’

Kathy thanked her, but, ‘This is something I have to do, Mags,’ she replied thoughtfully. ‘I believe that house at West Bay was left to me for a purpose. Dad wanted me to have it, and I need to go there.’

‘Well, yes, I understand that, but why can’t the pair of us go together … just for a week, to get the lie of the land. There’s no need to throw away everything, not when you’re not sure what you might be walking into.’

Kathy didn’t see it that way. ‘We’ve been through all this, Mags, and I’m still determined to go … though I wish you were coming with me, at least for a holiday.’ Lowering her voice, she tried to explain how she felt. ‘I’ve no family to speak of … except you. I work hard and pay my bills and sometimes I can’t see the point of it all. I’m not happy, Mags … I haven’t been since Dad … well, not for a long time, and what with Mother always on my back, and Samantha whining and moaning at every little thing, I think I’d have gone crazy if it wasn’t for you.’

‘But look, Kathy … packing up and moving to a strange place … to a broken-down old house you’ve never even seen?’ Pausing, she let the words sink in. ‘It’s such a drastic step.’

Kathy was unmoved. ‘But I’ve got nothing to lose.’ She gave a smile that was meant to put all Maggie’s doubts aside. ‘I’ll be all right, you’ll see.’

Maggie was still not convinced. ‘It’s just plain daft if you ask me! Look at what you’re doing. You’ve got two weeks’ wages and a week’s holiday pay, and a few savings – that ain’t gonna last long, is it? And from what your mother told you about the place being “derelict”, you could be walking into a right dump.’

Kathy laughed. ‘Don’t exaggerate.’

Maggie persisted. ‘But how do you know, eh? You haven’t even seen it. What if it’s so bad you can’t even live in it, then what? All right, you could check into a hotel, but then your money will be gone faster than you can catch the next train back … that’s if you’ve got the fare.’

She was desperately worried. ‘Think again, Kathy. Give me a few days and I’ll get time off to go with you. It’s at the coast so there must be caravans there. We’ll rent one for a week and get the house sorted out at the same time. It’ll be fun. Oh, Kathy! Say you will?’

Kathy was half tempted, but on reflection her resolve hardened. ‘My mind’s made up. I’m catching the half past ten train and I’ll call you when I get there.’ She loved Maggie and didn’t want her worrying. ‘Look, if you like you can still ask for time off and follow me down. I’d like that.’

‘I’m not staying in no “derelict” house, though!’ Maggie was adamant. ‘I’m not as daft as you.’

Kathy laughed. ‘No, you’re dafter, or you wouldn’t be going out with that bloke.’

Maggie gave her a playful thump. ‘We’ll see.’

Kathy asked hopefully, ‘Do you think you will be able to get time off?’

‘I’ll have a damned good try.’

Returning to stand the case on its end, she groaned when trying to lift it. ‘Like I said … I’m not carrying this thing down the stairs.’

‘Stop moaning, you don’t have to,’ Kathy explained. ‘I’ve ordered a taxi. The driver can take it down the stairs, and the porter will carry it for me at the station.’

Maggie gave a sigh of relief. ‘Thank God for that. Let them get the ruptures!’

There was still a lot more to do before the taxi arrived. ‘These are the boxes to be collected for the charity shop.’ Kathy closed the last box. ‘And the rest is to be left for the landlord.’ Pointing to a piled-up sofa, she told Maggie, ‘He paid me a few bob to leave all the curtains, bedding, rugs and towels … oh, and a few ornaments I don’t have use for. He wants to keep it all for his next tenant.’

Maggie tutted. ‘Tight git! You’d think he’d at least get some new stuff.’

Kathy agreed, but said, ‘He’s tight-fisted with his money. That’s why he’s rich and we’re not.’

‘No, it’s not,’ Maggie retorted. ‘He’s rich because he bought two houses along the street for next to nothing, and made them into eight flats.’ She pulled a face that made Kathy laugh out loud. ‘… And because he’s a tight git!’

‘You’re right.’ Kathy had to agree. ‘We’d best get a move on or I’ll miss the train.’ She began checking each room. ‘Best make sure everything’s all right before we leave,’ she told Maggie. ‘I don’t want him to think I keep an untidy, dirty place.’

Maggie followed her. ‘If he wants to see untidy –’ she was not surprised to note that every room was neat and clean as a new pin – ‘he’d best come and see my place.’

They were startled when a man’s voice boomed out behind them, ‘Taxi for the station. Would that be you two?’ A large man with a beer-belly and a thick, gruff voice filled the doorway. ‘Well? Did you order a taxi or didn’t you? I ain’t got all day.’

‘It’s me.’ After the initial shock of this big man with the booming voice, Kathy leapt into action. ‘If you could please take the portmanteau down, I need to collect a few things. I’ll be right behind.’ She straightened her jacket and picked up her hat and gloves from the side.

As he walked towards the portmanteau, Maggie dodged into the bedroom. Without delay, Kathy followed, the pair of them peeping round the corner as he lifted the article. ‘Jesus, Mary and Joseph! What the bloody hell’s she got in ’ere?’

‘See, I told you it was heavy!’ Digging Kathy in the ribs, Maggie was bursting to laugh. ‘I bet you’ve ruptured the poor devil!’

Red-faced and grunting, he carried it across the room and out the door, moaning and groaning as he bounced it down one step after another. ‘I wish he’d be careful,’ Kathy declared as they emerged from their hiding-place. ‘He might break it.’

‘Yes, and he might “break” your bleedin’ neck if you say anything.’

A knock on the door announced the arrival of the charity people to collect the boxes. ‘Every little helps,’ the bottle-blonde said with a grateful smile. ‘We have all kinds of people who come into the shop and buy this kind of bric-à-brac.’

Maggie had a naturally suspicious nature. ‘If you ask me, they were a dodgy pair!’ she said as they left. ‘I bet you they’ll be straight round the market and flog the bleedin’ lot.’

‘Don’t be so cynical,’ Kathy chided. ‘These people do a good job.’

Maggie didn’t answer: she knew what she knew and that was that.

As the two of them left the house, the irate driver rounded on Kathy. ‘I hope you realise this meter’s ticking?’ he asked pointedly. Before she could answer, he grabbed Kathy’s bag and threw it in the back. ‘I recall somebody saying they had a train to catch, and it won’t be my fault if she misses it!’

Behind him, Maggie was laughing.

When it was time to leave, Kathy hugged her friend tight. ‘I’ll call you when I get there,’ she promised. ‘Remember what I said … take care of yourself.’

Maggie’s bottom lip began to tremble. ‘You too,’ she muttered. ‘I’ll ask for time off, so’s I can come and help you settle in.’

As Kathy climbed into the taxi, Maggie apologised. ‘I really should be coming to the station with you.’

Kathy dismissed her worries. ‘There’s no use you coming with me,’ she said. ‘I’ll be on the train as soon as ever I get there. Besides, you’ve had three warnings about being late already.’

‘Hmh! She’s just a frustrated old cow.’

As the driver pulled away, Kathy saw how down Maggie was. ‘Stop worrying,’ she called out the window. ‘I’ll be all right.’

Maggie waved her out of sight. ‘I’ll miss yer, gal.’ Thrusting her hands into her jacket pocket, she turned to look up at the flat, bowed her head, and walked away. ‘That old cow had best let me have time off,’ she muttered. ‘I need to know that Kathy’s all right.’

She quickened her step, the merest whisper of a smile beginning to wipe away the misery. ‘First, though, I’ve a date coming up, and a new frock to buy.’ With that in mind, she headed straight for the nearest shop. It was the surest thing to take her mind off her troubles.

The minute the taxi stopped, Kathy was given her first instruction. ‘If yer think I’m lifting that portmanteau again, you’ve another thought coming,’ the taxi-driver growled. ‘So, if you want to catch that train, you’d best find a porter … and make sure he’s built like a navvy, or he’ll never lift the damned thing.’

Giving him a hard look, Kathy ran off to see if there was a porter about. She eventually found one, but he was built more like a nanny than a navvy. ‘Huh! Is that the best you could do?’ the taxi driver asked Kathy in a loud, insulting voice. Addressing the porter, he gave a snide little grin. ‘If you can lift that out of the boot, I’ll not charge her a penny fare.’

The porter winked knowingly at Kathy, then he glanced into the open boot at the huge portmanteau. ‘It’s a deal,’ he said. Walking from side to side, he took a moment or two to mentally assess the size and weight of the article.

‘Go on then!’ the big man urged with a nasty chuckle. ‘It won’t leap out the more you look at it.’ He thought the porter was a bad joke.

As for Kathy, her bet was on the porter. At least he seemed confident.

With Kathy on one side and the big man on the other, the little porter took hold of each corner and, easing the portmanteau forward, got it to the edge of the boot. ‘The bet’s only on if you lift it out!’ the big man grumbled. ‘Dropping it off the edge onto the barrow don’t count.’

The porter never said a word; instead he looked up at the taxi-driver with a disdainful stare. Then he spat into the palms of his hands, rubbed them together, and with one mighty heave lifted the portmanteau in the air. With immense courage he held it aloft for the slightest moment, before dropping it thankfully to the barrow.

By this time, Kathy was leaping and dancing about. ‘HE DID IT!’ she cried. ‘He lifted it out, and I don’t owe you a fare.’ In a mad moment of triumph she vigorously shook the porter by the hand, until she remembered how he’d spat into it. Discreetly wiping it on her skirt, she thanked him. ‘Even I didn’t think you could do it,’ she apologised lamely.

‘You’d be surprised at what we’re asked to lift,’ the porter revealed proudly. Glancing at the big man, he made a suggestion. ‘A tenner says I can lift you straight off your feet!’

The other man’s answer was a rude gesture, and the quickest exit from the station the porter had ever witnessed.

A moment later, after Kathy got her ticket, she and the porter headed towards the train, which had just pulled into the station. ‘I’d best get this on board for you,’ he suggested. ‘We don’t want you doing an injury to yourself, do we?’ He was also thoughtful enough to get a promise from the attendant that he would take it off at the other end.

Slipping him a generous tip, Kathy thanked him, and he wished her good day.

Once on the train, she settled into her seat. ‘I’m on my way,’ she murmured, ‘West Bay, here I come!’ Even though she was somewhat nervous, there was still a sense of great excitement. After all, as she constantly reminded herself, she was about to start a whole new life.

The train went straight through from London to Weymouth.

Throughout the long journey, she read snatches of the newspapers left by previous passengers, and occasionally struck up desultory conversations with passengers nearby. She bought two drinks from the trolley that was pushed lazily up and down by some weary woman – and had to run to the loo a couple of times for her troubles.

On the final leg of the journey, she gazed out the windows at the scenery, wondering about the house in West Bay and the woman who had shared it with her father. Several times she murmured the name ‘Liz’, and each time she had a different image in her mind.

Finally she fell asleep, waking only when the conductor alerted her that they had arrived at Weymouth Station.

After disembarking, she secured another porter. He told her the best way to get to West Bay was by bus to Bridport and taxi, although, ‘I reckon you’ve already missed the last one.’ Luckily she hadn’t: at the information desk she was relieved to hear, ‘The last bus is about to leave in ten minutes.’ The clerk pointed her in the right direction, and the bus conductor took charge of her trolley and portmanteau – though he had a word or two to say when lifting the portmanteau into the hold – and soon Kathy was off on the last leg of her adventure.

Dropped off in the town of Bridport, Kathy had to travel the final mile or so in a taxi. ‘Barden House, you say?’ The driver knew the house. ‘Used to take a gentleman there … he was from London, too.’ Much to Kathy’s astonishment he went on to describe her father. ‘Though I haven’t seen him this past year or so,’ he said. ‘There was a woman – his wife, I expect – lovely lady, or so they say. I never met her myself. It seems the house is empty now … in need of some tender loving care.’ He smiled at her through his mirror. ‘Sorry to be going on a bit, you must be tired after your journey. I’m afraid idle gossip goes with the job.’

Kathy assured him she was interested. ‘I’ll be staying at the house,’ she told him.

They chatted all the way to West Bay. Kathy didn’t learn any more; except that her father would turn up every now and then, and after a while he would leave. When the taxi came to collect him, the woman would wave from the window apparently, but she never came out. ‘They do say as how she was a shy little thing.’

Kathy did not enlighten him as to her identity. It was better that way, she thought.

By the time they got to West Bay, the sun had gone down. The first sighting she got of the house was when they turned the corner and he declared, ‘There she is, Barden House. Looking a bit more tired than the last time I saw her.’

He drew up and got her portmanteau out of the boot. ‘Looks like you’ve got your work cut out, Miss,’ he said, casting his eye over the run-down garden. ‘Shame. It’s such a lovely house an’ all.’

Kathy wasn’t listening. Having got out of the taxi, she stood gazing at the house, through her own eyes and, inevitably, through the eyes of her father. Bathed in the soft light of a nearby street-lamp, the house gave off a warm, welcoming feel: even though, as the driver said, the paint was peeling off the window-sills and the garden resembled a jungle, the house was pretty as a picture.

In the half-light it was impossible to see the extent of disrepair, but the house seemed strong, square in structure, with wide windows and a deep porch. Myriads of climbing flowers had grown over the porch, their many tentacles drooping down either side, like two arms embracing. Kathy thought there was a peculiar enchantment about the place.

Now that she was really here, actually here, at the house where her father and his love had hidden away from the world, Kathy began to realise the happiness he must have found here.

Her thoughts were shattered when the taxi-driver exclaimed, ‘How in God’s name did you manage with this!’ Puffing and panting, the driver half-carried, half-dragged the portmanteau to the front door. ‘It weighs a ton.’

Apologising, Kathy got the house-key from her bag and opened the front door. ‘Just drop it inside, if you don’t mind,’ she asked. ‘I’ll be fine now.’

When the front door swung open, the musty smell wafted out to greet them. ‘You’d best get the place checked out for damp,’ the driver suggested. ‘Being close to the water an’ all, you never know.’

Fumbling for the light-switch, Kathy groaned when there was no response. ‘Maybe the bulb’s gone,’ she said hopefully.

‘I wouldn’t like to say.’ The driver also tried the switch, to no avail. ‘The house has been empty a long time. They’ve probably cut off the electric. Water, too, I should imagine.’

Going back to the car for a torch, he tried every switch downstairs and still there was nothing. ‘There’s a guest-house back down the road a bit,’ he suggested. ‘If you ask me, you’d be better off booking in there, at least until you can get the electric back on.’ He shivered as the damp took a hold of him. ‘You can’t stay here,’ he said, ‘you’ll catch your death o’ cold.’

Kathy was torn: she wanted so much to stay in the house, yet she knew the driver was right. It was chilly, even in July, and the electric was definitely off. Even if she stayed the night, she wouldn’t be able to sleep for the cold, and in the morning there would be no hot bath. Besides, she didn’t know if there were clothes on the bed, or clean sheets anywhere; if there were, would they be damp and mouldy? ‘I should have travelled overnight,’ she muttered. ‘At least I could have got things sorted out in daylight.’

Checking in at a guest-house was the only solution as far as she could see, but it was not what she wanted; anyway, she didn’t have money to throw away on such luxuries. It was a dilemma and, the more she thought about it, the more she was tempted to stay in the house, however cold and uncomfortable.

Suddenly, Maggie’s remark came into her mind. ‘It’s the seaside, ain’t it? There’s bound to be caravans.’

Excited, she asked the driver, ‘Is there a caravan site round here?’

He nodded. ‘As a matter of fact, yes, there is …’ He realised her line of thinking and approved. ‘I’ll take you there. It’s just the other side of the harbour.’

He was about to trundle the portmanteau back to the car when Kathy had an idea. ‘If you’ll lend me your torch for a minute, I’ll take only what I need for tonight.’

So, while he went to turn the car round, Kathy opened the portmanteau. She took out a clean set of undies, which she thrust into her bag, and grabbed the toiletries bag. Then she shut the portmanteau and was hurrying down the path in no time.

Passing the harbour, with the boats shifting about and the water making patterns in the moonlight, Kathy thought how beautiful it all was. ‘I can see why you were happy here, Dad,’ she murmured.

‘What did you say?’ The driver strained his ears.

‘Nothing,’ Kathy answered. ‘I was just thinking out loud.’

‘First sign of madness,’ he said, making her smile.

Turning into the caravan park, he asked if she wanted him to wait. ‘If they’ve got nothing for you, I can take you on to the guest-house?’ Thinking it was a sensible idea, Kathy readily agreed.

As it happened, the clerk at the desk was most helpful. ‘We’ve a cancelled booking,’ she told Kathy, ‘but I’m not sure if the manager will let the van out for just one night … in case we have a last-minute request for a long booking.’ All the same, she went away to find him, and when she returned a few minutes later her quick smile and easy manner told Kathy she was in luck. ‘He says we’re not likely to get any other customers tonight, so he’ll take your booking.’

While the clerk got the necessary information together, Kathy went out to the driver and paid him. ‘You’ve been a great help, thank you.’

He wished her well. ‘I know a few useful blokes,’ he told her. ‘Painters, plumbers and such.’ He scribbled down his name and address. ‘Jack of all trades, that’s me,’ he said, before he drove off into the night.

The clerk gave her the keys, a long form to sign and a small cardboard box, sealed over with a length of sticky tape. ‘You’ll find everything you need in there,’ she advised. ‘One night … leaving tomorrow at ten a.m.’ She laboriously scribbled it all into her ledger. ‘You’ll have to pay in advance, I’m afraid,’ she said apologetically.

Kathy handed over the money, thanked her.

‘I’ll take you down there,’ the girl said, ‘seeing as it’s dark.’ Grabbing a torch, she led Kathy out of the office, along a lamp-lit, meandering path, through rows of caravans. There, right at the top, stood number eighteen; the number clearly highlighted by the two gas lamps either side of the door.

Once inside the caravan, the girl bustled around, lighting the gas mantels. Staring round at what she could see, Kathy was delighted. In front of her was a tiny kitchen with cooker, and to her left there was a comfortable living area, with seats all round the bay window, and a little table jutting out from the wall. The curtains were bright and cheerful; candy stripes on white in the kitchen; and splashes of flowers against a yellow background elsewhere. To the right a door led into a cosy bedroom. In here, too, the curtains were of a bright, colourful fabric, the same, exactly, as the corner of the eiderdown peeping out. ‘Oh, it’s lovely!’ Kathy exclaimed. ‘Thank you,’ she said to the clerk.

‘My pleasure,’ the girl replied. ‘I’ll leave you to it, then.’ She hurried out, back into the night.

Kathy gazed around once more, thrilled with her good fortune. Suddenly realising she’d had little to eat since early morning, she felt her stomach turning somersaults. Dropping her toiletries and undies onto the bed, she went out, clicking shut the door behind her. ‘There must be a chip shop,’ she mused. ‘It can’t be proper seaside without a fish-and-chip shop.’ After all, there were all those fishing-boats in the harbour.

The clerk put her mind at rest. ‘Go down this road –’ she pointed to the road on the right – ‘you’ll find a chip shop on your left.’ As Kathy walked out the door, she called out, ‘Or you can get a roll at the bar here.’

Kathy declined with thanks. ‘I really fancy fish and chips.’ With mushy peas and a few bits of pork crackling, she thought, licking her lips in anticipation.

As she rounded the corner, she saw a telephone box. ‘I wonder if Maggie’s back from the Palais?’ That was where she planned to spend this evening, Kathy recalled.

One by one, she dropped the coins into the box. The operator took the number, but eventually told her there was no answer. ‘She’s probably still on the town with her new fella,’ Kathy mused, disappointed, as she pressed button ‘B’ to get her coins back.

The further she got down the street, the more Kathy could smell the fish and chips. ‘That’ll do for me,’ she muttered, quickening her steps. At that minute, for many reasons, she wished with all her heart that Maggie was here.

There was a queue in the shop. ‘It’s a ten-minute wait if you want cod,’ the woman told her as she came in the door. ‘Dabs and fish-cakes are quicker.’

Kathy assured her she was willing to wait. ‘I’m in no rush.’

From some way behind in the queue, Tom studied her for a minute. With her face turned slightly away it was difficult to see her features clearly, but he suspected she was very pretty, with that handsome profile and thick, shoulder-length hair. In the short time he’d been in West Bay, Jasper had managed to introduce him to quite a number of people, despite his efforts to keep himself to himself, but he could not recall this particular young woman. His suspicion that she was a new arrival was confirmed when the woman in front of her asked, ‘You’re visiting West Bay, are you?’ Only, I saw you getting out of the taxi earlier.’

Kathy told her that, yes, she was a stranger in West Bay. ‘But I hope I’ll be staying for a while.’ In fact, once she was settled, it was Kathy’s intention to seek work. It was the only way she would be able to pay for the many repairs the house obviously needed.

The queue moved swiftly on. Kathy got her fish and chips and walked away. Dipping into the bag, she wolfed down a chip, which was so hot it nearly burned her mouth out. ‘Be careful,’ Tom warned her with a disarming smile. ‘The chips are always straight out of the fat and scalding hot.’

Kathy laughed, a wonderful free laugh that made others turn round. ‘Serves me right,’ she answered. ‘It’ll teach me not to be so greedy.’ When his dark eyes smiled down on her, she felt a rush of embarrassment. Lord, he’s handsome, she thought. Maggie would be chatting him up if she was here.

As she walked on by, Tom was shocked to his roots. ‘My God!’ Swinging round to watch her leave, he realised he had seen her twice before. This was the same woman who had risked life and limb when she ran out in the street to hail a taxi. The second time he had seen her had been in the churchyard. He could hardly believe it. ‘It can’t be!’ It was inconceivable. And yet here she was again, passing so close to him he could have touched her.

It was unnerving, to say the least.

Deciding to take a walk along the harbour, Kathy was unaware that she had caused such chaos in Tom’s mind, though she was inevitably curious about him. Once or twice she glanced back, smiling. ‘What’s wrong with you, Kathy Wilson?’ she chided herself. ‘Anyone would think you’d never seen a good-looking bloke before.’

Munching on her chips, she sauntered over the bridge and on towards the house, where she sat on the garden wall, legs dangling, her quiet eyes taking note of everything: the peeling window-sills, the beautiful solid wood door with its deep-etched panels, and the garden in the foreground with its cavalcade of weeds and giant thistles. ‘So much work!’ she groaned. ‘So much money!’

She must decide how to tackle it, what was urgent, and what could wait until she could afford to get it done.

For a long time she sat there, thinking and calculating and trying desperately to draw a picture in her mind of her father and the woman, Liz. ‘A shy little thing,’ the taxi-driver said, ‘… waved him goodbye from the door.’

Kathy was glad her father had found love and contentment, even if it was only from time to time. ‘I don’t blame you, Dad, for wanting to get away from Mother,’ she whispered. ‘I’m glad you found someone who treated you right … somebody who loved you the way you deserved to be loved.’

A sense of peace took hold of her and for a long minute she was quiet, contemplating her own future. ‘I know why you gave me this house,’ she murmured. ‘You wanted me to be happy here … and maybe, just maybe, to find love.’ She smiled. ‘Already, London seems a long way off. That day, when I took flowers to the churchyard, I had no idea what was in store. I knew nothing about what you’d done … this house, and the fact that you had left it to me in your will.’

She chuckled. ‘You should have seen Mother’s face when she handed the deeds over … I think she’d rather have been handing me a poisoned chalice. And Samantha! What a terrible fuss she made. In the end she got what she wanted – they both have. Mother’s getting wed, secretly hoping he’ll pop his clogs and leave her a rich widow, and Samantha’s been promised the house, and all Mother’s jewellery. What do you think to that, eh?’

A quietness came over her, a kind of resignation. ‘I might be divorced and nearly broke, and you’ve left me a house that needs money spent on it, but I’m richer than either of those two will ever be.’ Kathy truly believed that. ‘Thank you for this lovely house, Daddy,’ she murmured. ‘I’ll look after it, I promise. I’ll get it done up and make it my home.’ With a sense of abandonment, she threw out her arms. ‘I’ll probably stay here for the rest of my life.’

Overwhelmed, she gave vent to her emotions, the tears rolling down her face. ‘I feel close to you here, but, oh, I do miss you so. I don’t suppose you’ll ever know how much.’

From a distance, Tom heard the tail end of her words. Listening to her emotional, one-way conversation he recognised a kindred spirit. ‘She’s just a lost soul … much like yourself,’ he muttered.

Quietly, not wishing to be seen, he went away, back to his cottage and his own company.

That was the way he preferred it.

Not yet ready to return to the caravan, Kathy took a leisurely stroll round the harbour. Leaning on the railings, she finished off her fish and chips and watched the boats in the water. There was something incredibly soothing about watching the water, and here it was like she had never seen before. Where the harbour outlet tapered down to a narrow funnel, the trapped water thrashed against the high walls, moaning and fighting as if trying to escape.

Just now, one of the late fishermen started his boat’s engine and headed it towards this turbulent funnel of water. As it travelled the short distance before it came out into open sea at the other end, the little boat was swayed and pushed dangerously close to the high walls. In the end, though, the fisherman skilfully negotiated the waters, and a few minutes later he was headed for the fishing sites, his lights low and his engine running softly.

Having a fear of deep water, Kathy was filled with admiration.

When the boat was out of sight she screwed up her fish-and-chip paper and tossed it into the nearest bin. After a long, lingering glance at the house, she returned, slightly reluctantly, to the caravan.

Less than an hour later, after a quick wash, she was undressed and in her newly made bed. Moments later, she was fast asleep, wearied by the long journey, and the emotional turmoil of seeing the house, in what she believed was a private moment. If she had realised someone had overheard, albeit innocently, she would have been mortified.

Not far away, in his cottage on the hilltop, Tom was pacing the floor. He couldn’t sleep. His mind was too full of thoughts, too active. Kathy had somehow brought back memories of his wife, and now he could not rid himself of everything else that went with it: the guilt, the belief that he should have tried harder to save them, the agony of knowing he would never see them again. Yet even while he tortured himself, he knew he had done everything humanly possible on that day. Thinking about it now merely hardened the rage inside him. He wanted revenge. He could taste it.

But he wasn’t ready yet. Now, just when he thought he was almost on top of it, when he was beginning to feel the time was almost right, his thinking had been thrown into turmoil. By this troubled woman, a pretty stranger who had intruded in his life as though for a purpose.

This evening, after he had inadvertently caught the end of her heartfelt outpourings, he had known her presence here had nothing to do with him. He felt foolish for ever having thought it might be.

All the same, she had unearthed something deep inside him, something he had tried hard not to acknowledge. Feelings of loneliness and need. The normal, manly feelings that were stirred by the sight of a warm, beautiful woman. For a long time now he had felt like half a man. Kathy’s touching words, her open, infectious laughter had only made him realise how lonely he really was.

But what a strange coincidence, he thought, to have seen her three times; twice in his native London, and now here, in this quiet, tucked-away place where he had sought refuge.

Beyond sleep for the moment, he put on his jacket and went out into the night. Up here, out on the cliffs, there were no lamps to light the way, only the moonlight, which hung low in the clearest of skies, shining down like some kindly beacon to guide his footsteps.

Picking his way through the low bracken, he went softly along the well-trodden path towards the cliff-edge, and down, side-stepping, half-climbing, half-sliding, to the bottom. Once he was down on the promenade, he cut round by the wall and onto the beach, almost all of which was now swallowed by the incoming tide. The sound of surging water sang in his ears, and the familiar tang of salt air stung his nostrils.

For a time he walked the beach as he had paced his room: frantic; driven by the same demons that had brought him here. With the sea lapping at his feet, he pushed onwards, to where the ground slipped away into the sea and there was barely enough room for a man to walk.

Once there, where he could go no further, he flattened his back against the rocks, a man alone with his troubles, his eyes raised to the heavens, and his heart breaking.

After a while, as always these days, his heart was calmed, his mind quieter. He began his way back, to the widest part of the beach, where he sat listening to the rush of breaking waves and the many comforting sounds of night: nesting seagulls ruffling their feathers; creatures of the water shuffling a path through the sand.

In the dark, where no one could see, the world was breathing all around him. It was his now, this part of night when others slept and dreamed. In the semi-darkness, this place, this world, this precious time was his, and he cherished every minute.

Content now, oblivious to the minutes and hours that ticked by, he stayed; satisfied just to look and listen.

After a time, when night began to merge with daylight, he made his way back.

As he wended his way along the clifftop, he thought of his wife again, he thought of Kathy and that quiet conversation while she sat on the wall eating her fish and chips. He heard her laughter in his mind and smiled. ‘She’s like a ray of sunshine,’ he mused.

From what he had heard of her intimate murmurings to her late father, he suspected things had not been easy for her.

In those few brief moments when she laughed at her mistake with the hot chip, then again when she was sitting on the house wall, he had seen a woman who had that rare talent of being able to laugh at herself, a woman of compassion and heart. A woman who had the ability to take the world by the horns and shake it into submission.

He wished her well.

Then he shut her out of his mind, for there were other things he must consider. Things of the past; things of the future.

The present was less important.




Chapter 5 (#ulink_0ab590cd-c203-58a9-9f64-c900e284ba60)


KATHY WAS AWAKE bright and early. She washed and dressed, tidied round and, taking her small cache of belongings, made her way down to the reception desk.

The clerk was still half-asleep, yawning and rubbing her hair until it looked as if it belonged to some scarecrow in a field. ‘Was everything all right?’ she asked wearily. For one irritating minute she thought Kathy was there to complain.

Placing the caravan keys on the desk, Kathy smiled. ‘Everything was just fine,’ she said, and it was, because now that she’d had a good night’s sleep she was ready for anything. ‘Where can I get breakfast?’

The clerk groaned with disgust. ‘Oh, however can you eat so early in the morning?’

‘It must be the sea air,’ Kathy answered, ‘it seems to have given me an appetite.’ She laughed. ‘My friend Maggie swears I could eat anyone under the table.’

The young clerk observed Kathy’s slim figure. ‘Don’t you ever get fat?’ she asked enviously.

Kathy shook her head. ‘Not yet, I haven’t. But I’ll probably spread out like a balloon once I hit forty.’ She laughed at the girl’s wide-eyed disbelief. ‘To tell the truth, I seem to be able to eat whatever I like and it makes no difference. Maggie hates me. She has to watch every mouthful she eats, or she piles on the pounds in no time.’

‘I’m the same. Lucky you,’ the clerk grumbled. ‘And you’ll find the dining room is just opening.’ Pointing to a side door, she suggested helpfully, ‘To avoid you going back out and in through the main doors, you can go that way. You’ll see the dining room straight ahead of you.’

Heeding the directions, Kathy followed her nose, the aroma of hot food taking her through the entrance hall and into a small dining room. Observing the military rows of square laminated tables, she marched through to where the food was only now being set out. There was a basket of toast, and several other hot dishes each containing a good helping of porridge, tomatoes and sausages. There was also a box of cereal.

At the end of the table, there was a fat man frying a couple of eggs on the hotplate. ‘Just one, please.’ Taking up a plate, Kathy held it out. ‘Turned over and well done.’

Sour-faced, the man scooped up a juicy egg and dropped it onto her plate; dripping in fat, it almost slid straight off the other side, save for a nifty backstep by Kathy. ‘Sorry, luv.’ He looked wretched, as though he’d been out all night on the tiles.

Reassuring him that no harm was done, Kathy took her plate along the buffet to collect a sausage, a wrinkled tomato and a piece of toast. She poured herself a cup of tea from the urn to finish.

By the time she got back to a table by the window, both toast and tea were cold, but that didn’t bother her too much. It was the fat man at the end of the table that drew her attention. As she ate heartily, Kathy couldn’t keep her eyes off him. Apart from the arm that turned the eggs, he never moved. ‘Like a robot!’ Kathy chuckled. Then suddenly he reached round to collect a clutch of eggs from the basket behind. Just that one, swift, rigid movement and he was back again, still as a statue, one arm hanging by his side, the other turning the eggs. For a while, Kathy was mesmerised.

The sound of children outside made her glance through the window. There was a whole family of them: mum, dad, grandparents and six healthy, boisterous youngsters. ‘Oh, my God!’ Kathy exclaimed. ‘Looks like they’ve got their hands full.’

Suddenly all hell was let loose.

As that particular family burst in through the doors, another followed, and soon the whole place was filled with excited, screeching children running amok among the tables.

One pretty little girl sauntered up to Kathy and stood by her table, big saucer eyes following every forkful of food Kathy put into her mouth. Embarrassed at the way the child was staring at her, Kathy cut off a piece of sausage and offered it to her. ‘Hungry are you, sweetheart?’

With frightening speed, a woman resembling an all-in wrestler swept the child up, with a stern warning for Kathy. ‘Don’t you mess with me!’

Nervously swallowing her food, Kathy watched as the woman carried the kicking child to the buffet, where she set about terrifying the fat man.

Seeing the humour of the situation, Kathy chuckled to herself. ‘I can assure you, lady … I’ve no intention of messing with you!’

A few minutes later, having finished her breakfast and been deafened by the growing uproar in the dining room, she made good her escape.

Excited and a little apprehensive, she made her way to the house. Stopping at the telephone box which was halfway, she took out two coins and, dropping them into the slot, asked the operator to dial Maggie’s number. ‘Be in, Maggie!’ she urged. ‘Come on, pick up the phone.’ She knew it was an extravagance, but she had to talk to her friend.

Another few rings and the voice at the other end of the line sounded grumpy. ‘Who is it?’

Kathy gave a sigh of relief. ‘It’s me, who d’you think it is?’

‘KATHY!’ At once the voice came alive. ‘Why didn’t yer phone me yesterday, you wretch? I waited in as long as I could.’

Kathy explained, ‘It was late when I got here. I rang you as soon as I sorted myself out, but you weren’t home.’ She lowered her voice. ‘You were out with that bloke, weren’t you? The one I told you to be careful about?’

Maggie was on the defensive. ‘So! What if I were?’

Kathy knew it. ‘And …?’

‘And what?’

‘You know … was he just after one thing, like I said?’

‘No. He was not just after one thing.’

‘So, nothing happened then?’

‘I didn’t say that!’

‘So, what are you saying?’ Kathy knew the answer already.

‘All right, something happened, yes. But he wasn’t the one who made the running.’ There was a chuckle. ‘I were. He just went along.’

Kathy groaned. ‘There’s me travelling all day, worn out when I get here and not even able to stay in the house. And there’s you … dancing the night away, doing Lord knows what! And lying in bed half the next day.’ A thought struck her. She whispered, ‘He’s not still there, is he?’

‘No. He went home about two this morning … said he had to be up early for work. But I’m seeing him again tonight … and don’t you dare say anything! Or I’ll put the phone down.’

‘I’m saying nothing,’ Kathy replied, ‘but I still think he’s wrong for you. I reckon you might be heading for trouble falling for him hook, line and sinker, without even knowing him.’

‘I do know him!’ Maggie decided against putting the phone down. ‘I spent the bleedin’ night with him, didn’t I?’

‘Right then. Where does he live?’

There was an awkward pause. ‘I’m not really sure … somewhere the other side of Ilford, I think.’ Her voice rose in anger. ‘It’s not important. He’ll tell me when he’s good and ready.’

‘And did he say where he worked … when he had to rush off like that?’

‘I mean it, Kathy! I’ll put the phone down if yer keep quizzing me.’ Another pause, before she said lamely, ‘If I’d asked him where he worked, I’m sure he’d have told me.’

‘All right, Mags … I’m sorry. It’s just that I don’t want you to get hurt, and … well, there was just something about him that made me suspicious, that’s all.’

‘Hmh! That’s because you’ve got a suspicious mind.’

‘Promise me you’ll take it slow with this one?’ Her every instinct told her that this bloke was a chancer. Maggie had been through it all before and never seemed to learn. Sometimes she couldn’t see beyond all the attention and flattery. In the end she always got hurt.

Now that the well-meaning ‘inquisition’ was over, Maggie’s questions came fast and furious. ‘What’s the house like? Why couldn’t you stay there? And if you couldn’t stay there, where did you spend the night?’

Kathy explained about the caravan, which had turned out to be cosy and comfortable. ‘The site is just a short walk from the house,’ she said. ‘It so happened they’d had a cancellation and I was able to take the caravan for a night.’

Maggie was exhilarated. ‘See! I told you there’d be a caravan site.’ She went on enthusiastically, ‘Happen I’ll stay there with my bloke, seeing as you don’t like him.’ She continued, in a worried voice, ‘Will you be able to get the house right? I mean … it’s bound to cost you for getting the lights and the water on.’

Kathy sighed. ‘That’s not all. There’s paint peeling off everywhere, and it looks to me like the window-sills are rotten.’

‘I can’t believe yer dad let it get that bad.’

Kathy had wondered about that herself. ‘Maybe he was in love and didn’t notice, or maybe he was tight for cash since he was keeping two homes going. But it’s been empty for over a year … maybe longer for all we know. It’s stood right through the winter at least, and I’m sure the sea air can do a lot of damage.’

‘So, how will you afford to get it done up?’

Kathy confided her plan. ‘I intend getting a little job. I could buy paint and brushes, rub the wood down and do the work myself at weekends.’

‘Hmh! Rather you than me.’

The conversation inevitably came onto men. ‘Go on then!’ Maggie urged excitedly. ‘Have yer come across any good-looking blokes yet?’

Kathy laughed. ‘Give over, Mags, I’ve only been here five minutes!’ Kathy’s mind went back to Tom. ‘There was one man though … in the chippie … aged about thirty-five or six, I reckon.’ She recalled him clearly. ‘Nicest-looking chap I’ve seen in ages, only …’ She paused, trying to put her feelings into words.

‘Only … what?’ Maggie was not the most patient of people.

‘Well …’ Kathy couldn’t quite put her finger on it. ‘He seemed, I don’t know, kind of sad. I nearly choked on a hot chip and he told me to be careful.’ She could see him now, in her mind’s eye. ‘He had the loveliest smile.’

Maggie laughed. ‘Sounds to me like you’re the one who needs to be careful. Some bloke smiles at you in the chippie … and you’re gone.’

Kathy hotly denied it. ‘Don’t be daft! I’m not “gone”, as you call it. I don’t know him from Adam and I don’t want to. Besides, I reckon I’ve got enough on my plate without worrying about men!’

Maggie was incorrigible. ‘All right, all right!’ she chuckled mischievously. ‘If you say so.’

‘I do. So you behave yourself.’ As her money ran out, Kathy promised to write very soon. She knew the chances of Maggie putting pen to paper were slim.

On her way to the house, she paused to look at the boats in the harbour. Everything was beginning to come alive: it was still early but the boats were being fitted out and taken to sea; down on the slipway a man and a woman were launching their boat.

Some way along the harbour, two sleepy-eyed children walked along, holding their mother’s hand and looking as if they would still rather be in bed. Others were running and leaping about, excited by being at the seaside and impatient to get down on the beach with their buckets and spades. Kathy loved it all. After London, it was like another world.

Eager to get back to the house, she turned away. It was then that she saw the man from the chip shop emerging from the shop, his newspaper rolled up in his hand and his head bowed as if deep in thought.

She recalled what Maggie had said. ‘One smile and yer “gone”.’ That was not true, but there was something about this man that seemed to cling to her. It wasn’t just that he was handsome, or that, as he strode across the road, the sun shone down on his hair and streaked it with gold; nor was it just the pleasing sight of his long, lean figure in flannels and white shirt, with short sleeves revealing strong, bronzed arms. It was more than that.

There was something else. Something the eye couldn’t see. Something she had sensed last night when she saw him for the first time. There was a natural ‘goodness’ about him … a warmth that reached out, yet kept you at bay somehow. She had seen it in his eyes last night. Even when he smiled at her, she had seen how his dark eyes were full of sadness.

Intrigued, she watched him walk away, over the bridge and on, past the caravan site and up the hill, until she could no longer see him. ‘A man with troubles,’ she deduced quietly. But, she shook herself, she was not here to get involved with another man.

Continuing on to the house, she realised for the first time how wonderfully sited it was. There was a well-kept public green in front and a high wall at the back, with shrubberies and lawns either side, though, like the front garden, they were badly overgrown.

As she stood with her back to the door, she had clear, uninterrupted views of the harbour on one side – a hive of activity – and the river on the other, with boats and ducks, and a restaurant whose terrace spanned the water on wooden stilts. ‘You chose well, Dad,’ she murmured, and a great sense of quietness flooded her heart. ‘I know I’ll be happy here.’

The extent of disrepair was more than she had realised. Apart from the peeling windows and overgrown gardens, the path itself was pitted with holes and the gate was hanging on one hinge. There was a shed at the side of the house that was already halfway collapsed, and a broken window upstairs at the back. ‘Blimey, Kathy!’ She took a deep breath. ‘You’ve got your work cut out and no mistake.’

For one nerve-racking minute she wondered if she was up to it … or even whether she could ever afford to do it. But the longer she stood there, the more the doubts melted. One way or another, she was determined to restore this lovely house to its former beauty.

Delaying the moment when she would open the door and go inside, she sat on the front step, gathering strength and mentally preparing herself. ‘It was your house, Dad,’ she whispered, ‘yours and hers. And now it’s mine.’ She caught her breath in wonder and blew it out in relief. ‘I need a while to take it all in,’ she thought.

Having been to the shop for his ration of pipe-baccy and his daily paper, Jasper saw her sitting there, a small, solitary figure deep in thought. ‘Well, I never!’ He was surprised to see the house had a visitor. ‘Wonder who she is?’

As always his curiosity got the better of him.

Strolling over, he called out from the gate, ‘You look like a little lost fairy sat there.’

Jolted from her thoughts, Kathy called back, ‘I’m not lost, I’m here to stay.’ As soon as the words were out she took a great deal of comfort from them …‘I’m here to stay.’ It sounded wonderful to her ears.

Taking it on himself to come up the garden path, Jasper stretched out his hand in welcome. ‘I’m Jasper.’ He introduced himself with the most disarming grin. ‘And if yer haven’t already guessed, I’m the number one nosey parker hereabouts.’

Kathy took to him straight off. ‘I’m Kathy Wilson,’ she said, shaking his hand, ‘the new owner of Barden House.’ She said it with pride and the widest smile he had ever seen.

‘Well now, Kathy Wilson, welcome to West Bay.’ He sat down on the steps beside her. ‘Did yer know yer can get piles from sitting about on cold, damp steps?’

Kathy laughed out loud. ‘No, I didn’t,’ she confessed, ‘but I do now.’ She thought he was the loveliest, most natural, most odd-looking creature she had ever met. And she was delighted that he’d stopped to chat.

As was his nature, Jasper got straight to the point. ‘What’s brought you to West Bay?’ He had a particular reason for asking.

Kathy gestured to the house, shook her head. ‘I had to come here,’ she said. ‘The house was left me by my father.’

Jasper was visibly taken aback. ‘Oh! I’m sorry, lass. I didn’t realise your father had passed on.’ He had wondered whether that might be the case, but now that it was confirmed he felt deeply sorry. Her daddy had been a fine man, and a good friend. ‘I’m glad yer daddy had the good foresight to leave this house to you, his daughter. It’s a grand old place.’ Full of wonderful memories, he thought sadly. ‘A house like this should not be left to rot away.’

Kathy had been curious as to his earlier remark. ‘Did you know my father?’

‘What meks yer say that, lass?’ He hadn’t meant to give away too much, but there were times when his tongue had a mind of its own.

Kathy persisted. ‘Just now you seemed shocked. You said … you “didn’t realise” my father had passed on. To me, that sounds as if you knew him.’

Jasper nodded. ‘Aye,’ he admitted, ‘I knew him right enough. He was a good man … the best in my books.’

Momentarily unable to speak for the rush of emotion this produced, Kathy took a while to compose herself. ‘Tell me about him,’ she asked softly, ‘and Liz. Tell me about her.’ Each time she spoke her name, Kathy grew more curious.

‘Mmm.’ Nodding affirmatively to himself, Jasper laid down his newspaper, lit up his pipe and, taking a deep drag of it, he blew the smoke into rivers of curls that dipped and dived in the cool summer breeze. ‘Well, now, let me see,’ he murmured. ‘What would yer like to know, lass?’

‘Everything.’

‘By! That’s a huge responsibility, lass.’

‘I know.’ Jasper’s kindly voice and calming manner put Kathy at ease. ‘But, you see, I didn’t know anything about her until my mother told me. And she only found out after my father …’ Kathy gulped hard; it was still painful, even now. ‘Mother made a terrible song and dance about it, though the way she treated him, I sometimes wonder why he stayed with her.’

Jasper was philosophical as always. ‘No relationship is easy,’ he pondered. ‘Them as says different are out-and-out liars.’

Kathy knew the reason for her mother’s anger and found herself confiding in Jasper. ‘She hated him even more when she found out he’d chosen another woman over her and, to make matters worse, Dad left their love-nest to me. Mother kept it to herself all this time … no doubt meaning to sell it and pocket the money. But when she came to have a look at it, she hated the house … said it smelled of fish. She wanted nothing to do with any of it. She thought the house was worthless … “derelict” was what she said, and that it was … “filled with cheap, rubbishy furniture”. Then she found out the deeds were in my name. Even if she could have sold it, she probably wouldn’t have done. Firstly she’s about to marry a wealthy old man, so she didn’t need the money, and secondly, she had another, more devious plan up her sleeve.’

Jasper was intrigued. ‘What kind of plan?’

‘She intended giving my sister all her jewellery and the family home. I reckon she thought that, if she handed me this house at the same time, I couldn’t possibly object. That was her thinking, I’m sure of it.’

Jasper leaned forward, his voice low and intimate. ‘Your daddy never spoke about his life in London, but in a moment o’ confidence he did tell me that he ’ad only one great regret in his life. Now I think I know what he meant.’ Jasper thought this delightful young woman had been hard done by, and said so. ‘Tell me summat, lass.’

‘If I can.’

‘Yer said one o’ the reasons yer mother told yer about this place was so she could give summat more valuable to yer sister, is that right?’

‘That’s what I think, yes.’

‘And if yer hadn’t been given this house … would you have “objected” … about yer sister being given all these expensive things?’

Kathy managed a smile. ‘No. All my life my mother has given me nothing – not material things, and certainly not her love. And I never asked for anything. I had my dad’s love and, in the end, I made my own way, in spite of her.’

‘I understand.’ Jasper saw the determined set of her jaw and thought how like her father she was. ‘It’s a pity your mother saw this house as “derelict”.’ He gave a hearty chuckle. ‘I reckon Liz would be deeply hurt to hear her carefully chosen furniture described as being “rubbish”.’

Kathy explained. ‘Mother was bound to say that, because she thought my father and Liz had probably chosen it together. In fact, I’m sure she only came to see the house out of curiosity. My mother would never have dirtied her hands on Father’s love-nest … unless, of course, it was filled with priceless things.’





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