Journey's End (17 page)

‘Yes – but you mustn’t be too disappointed if it doesn’t happen.’

Brushing aside Vicky’s protests, Leonard helped her clear away the dinner things, then helped to wash them up
and put them away. Afterwards, while Vicky made him hot milk and honey to help him sleep, he sat up in the drawing room, listening to her moving around in the kitchen and pondering about the letter in his breast pocket. ‘Should I open it?’ he muttered. ‘Or should I burn it?’

Sliding his fingers into his pocket he took out the letter and stared at it for a moment, his anxious eyes scanning the
handwriting:

Mr Leonard Maitland,
Office of Farming and Land Management
Number 16, Roiter Place,
Corner of Derwent and Launceston,
BOSTON,
U.S.A.

Try as he might, he could not recognise the handwriting; it was not the hand of his solicitor, and certainly not the almost indecipherable scrawl of the doctor. In fact, he began to wonder whether he had got it altogether wrong in thinking it might
be from Lucy.

With newfound confidence, he decided to take a peep inside. First though, he listened, making certain that Vicky was still busy at her tasks. Satisfied, he took the letter between his fingers and began to open it, almost leaping out of his skin when Vicky suddenly rushed in through the door.

‘I’ve made a whole jug full,’ she told him as he hurriedly thrust the open letter into
his pocket. ‘It’s been such a hectic day, I thought a mug of honey and hot milk might help me sleep, too.’ She placed the tray on the small table before him.

For a while they sat and talked, of Ronnie, and Thomas and Susie. ‘I’m proud of them all,’ Vicky said. ‘Thomas has taken to helping you manage the estate like a duck to water.’ She cast her mind back, as she often did, more so as she grew
older and the memories sharpened. ‘Mind you, he had good training with his dad,’ she said fondly. ‘Though managing a small farm is different from managing a vast estate like this.’

Leonard nodded. ‘It is,’ he agreed. ‘But when you get right down to it, the principle is the same: you plough the land, set the seeds, and reap the harvest.’

He gave a contented smile. ‘I’m fortunate to have a man
like Thomas working with me,’ he admitted. ‘I have good people in the office, but outside in the fields I can leave it all to Thomas and know everything will be taken care of. He works hand-in-hand with the office, orders the right machinery for the job, brings in the right mix of seed, and oversees the working of the land. He’s good with the men, and has an instinct for the seasons. Moreover, he
knows every machine inside out; there’s nothing he can’t fix and he’s always ready to pass his knowledge on to the men. Matter of fact, I don’t know what I’d do without him.’

After a while, Vicky shifted the conversation to Ronnie. ‘I only wish that lad would settle down. He doesn’t seem to have the heart for anything.’

Leonard was philosophical where his other stepson was concerned. ‘He’s still
coming to terms with life’s disappointments,’ he said kindly. ‘Give him time, he’ll come round.’

‘Do you really think so?’

‘Yes, I do. Like Thomas, he’s a good man.’

‘Lonely though?’

‘Well, yes, there is that. But some people like their own company.’

For different reasons, all of her children worried Vicky. There was Thomas working all hours God sent, with a wife who thought only of dressing
herself up and trawling the most expensive shops. She wanted for nothing, she had a husband who doted on her, and still she wasn’t satisfied and, if Vicky’s instinct served her right, Sheila was in the throes of yet another affair. ‘Sometimes, I wonder if Thomas ever suspects that his wife sees other men?’ The words were not meant to be said out loud, but they just popped out.

Leonard was not
surprised. ‘So, you think the same as me, do you – that she’s being unfaithful to him?’

‘I’m convinced of it.’ Vicky told him of her fears. ‘I think she’s had several affairs. If Thomas knows, he must love her so much, he can’t bring himself to confront her in case he loses her – though if you ask me, that might be the best thing all round.’

‘Well, I don’t think she would leave him, whatever
he said to her.’

‘No, you’re right!’ she conceded angrily. ‘Why
would
she leave him, when she has everything all her own way … a husband who adores her, money to fritter on clothes and fancy furniture, a house she helped to design. Anything she asks for she gets – holidays, jewellery – and on top of all that, whenever she fancies a fling, she just goes out and finds herself a man.’

Clenching
her fists, she almost spat out the words. ‘Sometimes, Leonard, I feel like pinning her against the wall and making her confess what she’s been up to. I hate what she does to Thomas. I despise the way she takes advantage of him and gives so little in return!’

Seeing how upset she was becoming, Leonard reached out and closed his hand over hers. ‘It’s up to them,’ he reminded her. ‘They’ll sort
it out between them. One day, Thomas will wake up and realise what she is. When that happens, he’ll deal with it in his own way.’

‘Oh, I do hope so!’

‘Trust me. For now, he’s taking a beating, because he loves her. He probably knows what she’s up to, but Thomas is nobody’s fool. He won’t put up with it forever.’

Regaining her composure, Vicky sighed. ‘Susie’s doing well, isn’t she?’

He nodded.
‘She’s a born businesswoman.’

‘Do you think she’s lonely?’

‘Maybe.’

Vicky was sad about that. ‘The trouble is, she works such long hard hours, she never has time for a social life. So, she never meets anyone outside of work.’

‘Well now.’ Leonard had also given it a lot of thought. ‘Maybe when she meets her man, it could be the very one she’s been working alongside all the time. It’s been known
to happen.’

Vicky smiled. ‘So, that could be any one of about ten.’

‘There you go!’ Somehow, Leonard always managed to say the right thing. ‘She’s got a healthy choice right there on her doorstep.’

The couple sat quiet and content for a time, their faces pink and warm in the heat from the cheery fire. In the background, the grandfather clock struck eleven, and Leonard began to nod off. ‘Hey!’
Vicky gave him a nudge. ‘That milk and honey seems to be working well, but don’t go to sleep yet,’ she said. ‘You lock up, and I’ll put the guard in front of the fire. Then we’ll away up the stairs and into bed.’

‘You go,’ he said. ‘I’ll be along shortly.’ He needed to stay down for a while. He needed to think.

Vicky put the guard in front of the fire, gave him a kiss, and made her way upstairs.
She thought nothing of him not going up with her. Often Leonard would work in his study long after she’d gone to sleep.

Upstairs, she made her way to the bathroom, while downstairs Leonard remained in the armchair, his hand spread over his jacket pocket where the letter was safely tucked away.

He wanted to open the letter and read it, but his every instinct once more urged him to throw it into
the fire.

After a time, common sense took over. He knew he should read the letter, if only to make sure it contained nothing that could harm himself or his adopted family. And if it was a threat, he might need to deal with it as quickly as possible.

Taking out the letter he glanced towards the door; he could still hear Vicky pottering about in the bedroom upstairs. He got out of his chair and
went across the room, where he quietly closed the door.

Returning to his chair, he sat a moment, the letter in his hand, his gaze mesmerised by the flames dancing in the coals. ‘Come on, old man,’ he chided himself. ‘Open the damned thing and see who it’s from!’

With trepidation he opened the letter, surprised to find another envelope inside, which was simply addressed to Vicky.

Unfolding the
accompanying letter, he thought he might have recognised the sweeping scrawl, but that was not the case. Instead his fears were made tenfold by what was written there:

Dearest Leonard,

I hope you will not think badly of me for writing to you after all this time, but lately my conscience has been troubling me, so much so that I feel compelled to make contact with you.

I’ve spoken with Dr Lucas, who very reluctantly gave me your address in Boston, but please don’t blame him for that. I can be very persuasive when needs must.

All I ask of you is that you give Vicky the enclosed letter. It tells of the tragic circumstances that made Barney send his family away. I know from Dr Lucas that you have faithfully kept the promise you made to Barney, and I respect you for that, as I realise what a heavy burden you have had to carry alone.

Now though, before the truth is lost forever, I believe it is time to tell Vicky and the family. If you give her my letter, in which I have written about Barney and the way it was, you will not be breaking your promise.

I could have addressed this letter to Vicky and sent it via your office; the doctor stopped short of giving me your home address. But I believe it is right for me to send the letter to you, and leave the choice to you and your conscience. If you decide not to give her the letter, I will of course accept your decision and I will never again contact either of you.

However, I am hoping that over the years you have been tempted to tell her, and were not able to because of your promise. This way, if you do give her the letter, it will be me who tells and your promise will remain intact.

I believe the time is right for Barney’s family to learn that he never stopped loving them. For the remainder of his short life, he talked of them, and longed for them, and his heart remained broken up to the day he lost his fight to live.

I can imagine you reading this letter now, and being torn in two by it, and I am deeply sorry for that. You may pass the letter to Vicky, or you may dispose of it, and she will never know. Please, Leonard, don’t be rash in your judgement.

We saw what happened, you and I, and we know what pain it caused both Barney and the family. Surely, in your heart you must accept that it is their right to be made aware of the facts.

I have enclosed my address here. Please let me know what you decide,

Yours, with fondest memories,

Lucy

Shaken by what he had just read, Leonard made no move for what seemed an age. After a while, he read the letter again, and again, until every word was burned into his mind. ‘I can’t tell her,’ he murmured. ‘How can I hurt her like that? How can I tell Barney’s children that they deserted their father when he was so desperately ill?’ A great burst of rage surged
through him; slamming his fist on the arm of the chair he cried out, ‘I CAN’T DO IT TO THEM! I WON’T! DO YOU HEAR ME, LUCY? I WON’T HURT THEM LIKE THAT!’

Taking the envelope addressed to Vicky, he crumpled it in his hand. When, emotionally broken, he bent his head and began to sob, the crumpled letter slipped from his grasp and fell to the ground, and as it did so, the door opened and there stood
Vicky, alerted by his cries and looking shocked to see him so upset.

Before he could prepare himself, she had walked towards him, on the way recovering the crumpled envelope from the floor. ‘What is it, Leonard?’ she asked worriedly. ‘I heard you cry out. What’s wrong? Has something happened? Is it Ronnie?’ Of all her children, it was always Ronnie she worried about the most.

Realising there
was no way back, Leonard looked up with haggard eyes. ‘I’m so sorry, my dear. So terribly sorry.’ Holding out the letter, he pleaded forlornly, ‘Read it. Read them both, and I hope you can find the generosity of heart to forgive me.’

Confused and anxious, she took the letter from him, and as she prepared to read it, he could see his whole life slipping away.

As Vicky read Lucy’s words, a sense
of horror came over her. When she had finished reading, she looked at Leonard in disbelief, her face set like stone. She said not a word, and her expression gave nothing away.

She walked to the table, where she set down the letter addressed to herself and with slow, measured movements straightened the envelope so it was readable.

Leonard watched her open it and read the letter. With a broken
cry, she leaned forward, hands on the table, eyes closed and her whole body seeming to tremble in shock. Lucy’s words were emblazoned on her soul …

‘he never stopped loving them … he talked of them, and longed for them, and his heart remained broken up to the day he lost his fight to live …’

Her pain was crippling. ‘I didn’t know,’ she sobbed and gasped over and over. ‘I didn’t know, I didn’t
know. Dear God, we none of us knew!’

For one aching moment Leonard was tempted to go to her and hold her. But his instincts warned him against it. Instead he watched and prayed that she might understand the reason why he had deceived her for so long.

After a time she collected both letters and, without a glance at him, walked across the room and out of the door. Then she was gone, leaving him
alone and afraid. ‘What have I done?’ he whispered. ‘Dear God, what have I done?’

Afraid for her, afraid for the family, and for his part in their lives, he went after her.

As he came out onto the verandah, he saw her, some short distance down the garden, leaning against a tree, bent double as she sobbed his name. ‘Why did you do it, Barney?’ Her broken voice echoed in the still night air. ‘Why
did you send us away … why did you make us hate you, when all the time, all we ever wanted was to be with you?’ The sobbing became uncontrollable. ‘Oh Barney! Barney! Why didn’t you tell me?’

‘Vicky?’ Unsure and anxious, Leonard approached her. ‘Barney did it because he didn’t want to hurt you. I made him a promise not to tell. I’m sorry it had to be this way. We’ll get through this, you and
me, and the children …’