Journey's End (21 page)

Vicky knew how to dress for dinner.
It was one of the social niceties that were part and parcel of her marriage to Leonard. Whereas her life with Barney had been simple and easy, her position in Boston as the wife of a land baron moved her in different circles. Her values and principles had never changed, though. Forging a strong family bond and being there when needed had always been her priorities.

Down the landing, Lucy was
beginning to panic. Her hair wouldn’t go where it was supposed to, and the shoulder-strap on her dress had just snapped as she slipped it over her head. ‘Damn and bugger it!’ she cursed.

Slinging the dress over the back of a chair, she stood a moment, contemplating what to do. She could wear the white dress, but that didn’t seem appropriate somehow, or she could simply put on her brown skirt
and blue top … no, she couldn’t turn up for dinner looking like a school-marm!

Flinging open the wardrobe door, she flicked through the many garments hanging there. ‘Why is it I can never do anything right?’ she hissed aloud. ‘It’s nerves,’ she decided. ‘It’s all too much in one day and now I’ve got an attack of the heeby-jeebies.’

Finally, she settled on the emerald-green dress, the one with
little puff sleeves and a pretty lace neckline. When she slithered into it now, she felt just right; the waist sat snugly and the skirt flounced just the teeniest bit. ‘Not too frumpy, not too sassy,’ she said, sliding her feet into a pair of black slip-on shoes. There was a gas fire in her bedroom, and a good coal one in the sitting room, but all the same she arranged a mohair stole around her
shoulders to keep out the draughts.

With the shoes on and the dress in place, she almost tumbled over while attempting to check that the seams on her stockings were straight; next she brushed her hair and rolled it into a halo round her head, while teasing out just the tiniest curl here and there. A touch of rouge and just the smallest brush of mascara and she was ready to face the world. ‘Now,
if your bones don’t ache too much, and you don’t fall asleep at nine o’clock, you’ll be all right.’ Twice she had done that and never been allowed to forget it.

But that was when she had first come out of hospital so that didn’t count, or so she told herself. It wasn’t old age creeping up fast. It was the after-effects of lying about in a hospital bed. Well, anyway that’s what she made herself
believe.

At ten minutes past eight she made her way downstairs. Five minutes later, Vicky followed.

As women do, they admired each other’s choice of dress, and compliments flew in all directions, all genuine and all accepted graciously. ‘Is Mary here?’ Vicky was on tenterhooks.

‘I’m sure she’ll be down in a minute,’ Lucy replied. ‘According to Elsie, she didn’t get back from the sale until
an hour ago, though I think she stayed at Ben’s a while before she made her way back. She’s a considerate young woman. She so wants to meet you, but I know she was thinking to give us more time together.’

Having poured two sherries, Lucy handed one to Vicky. ‘She’s a wonderful daughter.’

Vicky thanked her for the drink and after taking a sip she asked, ‘How long has she known, about me and the
family?’

‘Not long. A couple of years.’

‘So, Mary was kept in the dark too, was she?’

‘I’m afraid so.’

‘And how did she take it, knowing that she had a whole new family?’

‘She welcomed it.’

‘Was she bitter, that she had not been told earlier?’

‘No. She understood my reasoning. As a matter of fact, it wasn’t me who told her. I was ill in bed at the time. It was Adam who decided the time
was right to put her in the picture.’

‘Adam?’ Vicky was surprised. ‘Why would he do that?’

‘Because he’s always believed that she should be told, and as he’s been with us since before Mary was born, he’s almost like family. He remained Barney’s best friend right up to the very end. He came with us to this part of the world. He helped me nurse Barney, and from as far back as she can remember,
Mary has loved him like a second father.’

Vicky smiled. ‘Adam was always a good man.’

Lucy wholeheartedly agreed. ‘And in case you’re wondering, there was never anything between us, but he was always there, always helpful and caring, taking responsibility for us. He never forgot you, or the children. In fact, it was Adam who persuaded me to contact you.’

She paused. ‘I can understand why Leonard
didn’t tell you. It was such a hard thing for me to do, breaking my word to Barney, and even now, with you and Leonard split up, I’m not sure I did the right thing.’

Vicky disagreed. ‘It
was
the right thing,’ she declared. ‘I’m here now, and I shall make my peace with Barney – and I can never thank you enough for that.’

‘What about the children?’ Lucy thought it strange that Vicky had made little
mention of Tom, Ronnie and Susie.

Vicky shrugged. ‘That’s another story,’ she muttered, and for now at least, no more was said on the subject.

At half past eight, Mary came downstairs to meet the long-awaited visitor.

Vicky caught sight of her as she came round the bend in the staircase, and her heart leaped as she looked up to see Barney’s daughter; with her easy walk and smiling blue eyes,
she was the very essence of her father.

And now as she spoke, even the voice had a resonance of Barney. ‘Hello, I’m Mary,’ she said softly.

Vicky was momentarily lost for words. She looked at this homely, pretty creature, and all she could see was her late husband. With her bobbed fair hair and those lavender-coloured eyes, the resemblance to Barney had shaken Vicky to the core.

Holding out
her arms, she invited the girl into an embrace. ‘You’ve no idea how good it is to meet you,’ she said, holding Mary at arm’s length and gazing into those familiar, smiling eyes. ‘You have such a look of your father,’ she said, ‘and you’re so like my Susie, it’s uncanny.’

Mary told her that she, Vicky, was exactly as
she
had imagined, and that she, too, was glad that they had met at long last.

It was a warm, satisfying exchange and, as they made their way into the dining room, Vicky felt more at peace than she had done for a very long time.

‘Oh, so you’ve decided to show your faces at the table, have you?’ Elsie came out of the kitchen like a hurricane. ‘There’s me slaving away in that kitchen, while you lot drink the sherry and chat the chat. Well, you’re here now, thank goodness,
so I’ll away and bring in the first course.’

‘Not so fast, Elsie, my girl!’ Lucy called her back. ‘Are you hinting that it’s all too much for you? Because if you are, I’ll start the girl from the village on Monday morning. I’ve checked her credentials and she has excellent references. She appears to be a hard worker and an honest soul, and if you’ll only give her a chance, I’m sure she’ll be
a godsend to you.’

Elsie was horrified. ‘I never asked for no girl. Don’t want her, don’t need her.’

‘I happen to think you do. You’re not as young as you used to be. You need someone to fetch and carry. Even Charlie agrees with me.’

‘Well, he’s wrong, and if yer don’t mind me saying, so are you. I don’t want no slip of a girl in
my
kitchen.’

‘Look, Elsie, you’re on edge all the time, losing
your temper at the drop of a hat, and you never stop work from morning till night. You’ve a home of your own and a husband who wants your company from time to time.’

The little woman gave a hearty guffaw. ‘I’ve a husband who sits on his backside in front of the fire every night, and spends his days looking up the horses’ rear ends. He hardly notices me unless it’s to have a grumble. If I talk,
he grunts from behind the newspaper, and as for a sensible conversation, I might as well go down the park and talk to the ducks. Like as not I’d get more response out of ’em.’

‘Why don’t you just try this girl? That’s all I’m asking.’

‘You can ask till the cows come home, Miss Lucy, but I’m not listening. Now, if you feel the need to send me packing, that’s another thing altogether and there’s
nothing I can do about that. But if I’m staying, I’ll not ’ave no snotty-nosed slip of a thing under my feet all hours of the day.’

To everyone’s amusement, just as they thought she’d finished, Elsie got her second wind. ‘You’ve bullied me into trying it twice now, and I’ve been proved right each time. They’re all the same … couldn’t make a cat’s bed never mind yours! They don’t know how to wash
a pot, ask ’em to clean the windows an’ they leave smears all over the place, and as for washing the sheets, they come off the bed white and go back grey, or even bright pink as we’ve already seen from that first useless article you took on!’

‘Oh, for goodness’ sake!’ Lucy feared she was already losing the argument. ‘You’re impossible! You wear me down, so you do.’

‘Oh do I? In that case, stop
interfering and we’ll all be fine.’

With that she turned on her heel, marched off in a huff and a moment later from somewhere nearby, a door slammed and shook the picture on the wall. ‘You’ve upset her now, Mum,’ Mary laughed. ‘I’ll not get an extra share of Yorkshire pudding after all.’

Vicky thought Elsie was wonderful. ‘I want to take her back to America with me,’ she chuckled. ‘There’d never
be a dull moment.’

The meal went well; Elsie had done them proud. The cream of parsnip soup was delicious; the generous cut of best beef took up half the table; there were dishes bursting with vegetables … chubby Brussels sprouts, winter cabbage and beetroot, sliced and diced and melting in its own juice. There was a bucket-load of misshapen but mouth-watering Yorkshire puds, and several dishes
of potatoes in different forms; crispy-roasted, mashed, and the smaller ones simply left whole.

To top it all off, the meat-gravy was superb. ‘The best I’ve ever tasted,’ Vicky announced to Elsie’s delight; upon which the little woman picked up the gravy-boat and promptly poured another great helping over Vicky’s Brussels sprouts. ‘Get that down you,’ she instructed proudly. ‘It’ll put hairs
on yer chest.’

Having witnessed Elsie’s impulsive action, everyone else discreetly covered their meal before she could get to it.

Once they had reached the stage of the bread and butter pudding, the conversation recommenced on a more serious note. ‘You haven’t mentioned the children much,’ Adam remarked, while pouring Vicky another glass of best wine. ‘Put me right if I’m poking my nose in,
but is there some sort of a problem?’

‘Nothing I can’t deal with,’ she answered.

‘A trouble shared is a trouble halved,’ he reminded her. ‘And don’t forget, you’re among friends.’

While Vicky was considering his remark, Lucy thought she knew what might be wrong. ‘They’ve taken sides, is that what’s troubling you?’

Vicky smiled. ‘You always were able to put your finger on the spot,’ she said,
‘and you’re right, Lucy, because that’s exactly what they’ve done. They’ve ganged up against me, and sided with Leonard.’

She went on to tell them how, ‘Like Leonard, Thomas and Susie believe I should let the past go. They claim there is nothing to be gained from raking it all up now. Although they are content to know their father was innocent of the things they were made to believe … the drinking
and womanising, and the way he seemed hellbent on turning us all against him, and now know he was only doing that to protect us, they still think Leonard was right to keep his promise. Well, I don’t! I think he should have told me years ago.’

Lucy was saddened but not surprised. ‘I suppose if you think about it from their point of view, it’s easy to understand why they feel the way they do.’

Vicky shook her head. ‘I don’t see how they can feel anger at their father; not now they know the truth.’

She looked along the row of faces and tried to explain how she felt. ‘Barney did it for us! He made us hate him, but he did it for a reason. He gave up his entire family. He was prepared to live out his days in pain and alone, not for himself, but because he loved us. Whatever they say, it
was
us
in the wrong, not Barney. We let our eyes deceive us, instead of realising he would never become the man he wanted us to see. WE LET HIM DOWN!’ She nearly burst into tears, but by a massive effort managed to control herself.

‘That’s one way of looking at it,’ Lucy agreed gently. ‘The children obviously see it another way. Maybe he did too good a job … making them hate him, sending them
away from everything they had ever known. Perhaps they saw themselves as the ones who were rejected! And it doesn’t matter that Barney made a huge sacrifice for them, because that was his choice, it wasn’t theirs. And Barney didn’t ask them. He took it on himself to make that momentous decision, and maybe they resent that?’ Phew! She’d never really thought that out before, but it all made sense.

Vicky nodded. ‘You’re right, Lucy. That’s exactly how they feel. But I’ll never understand their thinking, or their ingratitude. Because of what Barney did for them, they now have a wonderful life; they want for nothing – and that’s all thanks to their poor, suffering dad.’

She appealed to Mary. ‘What do you think, love? Do you think I’m being unreasonable in expecting them to love him for what
he did, for the life he gave them and the chance to make something of themselves? Shouldn’t they be grateful? Shouldn’t they feel compassion for what Barney did, out of love for them?’

‘I don’t know,’ Mary answered truthfully. ‘He was my father too, and from what I recall of him, he was a wonderful man, kind and loving. He never hurt me, but if he had, I hope it would not have stopped me from
loving him. I didn’t have him as long as the others; I was not there when all this happened, so I will never have to choose between the father I knew, and the father that hurt them so. If I had been a part of what happened, I can’t say how I would feel.’

Vicky turned to the men. ‘You’ve both been very quiet. Can I ask what your thoughts are?’

In his compassion for her, and his fierce loyalty
to Barney, Adam graciously declined to give an opinion.

Ben, however, spoke his thoughts. ‘I’ve tried to see it from all viewpoints,’ he told her. ‘I can see why you had to come here and make your peace with Barney, and I can’t even imagine how you must have suffered, especially when Barney made you think he had stopped loving you.’