The Journey (5 page)

So it was settled.

Ben considered himself fortunate to be sharing an evening with Mary and her mother. He liked Lucy, she was a rare character. Though it was Mary at the forefront of his thoughts. For some inexplicable reason, the young woman had captured his imagination—and possibly his heart, though it was much too early to tell, he thought warily.

He had been in love before, and it had turned out to be a heartache.

After that crippling experience with Pauline, he was not ready to throw himself in at the deep end with anyone.

M
ary peered out into the garden from the big bay window. Its light spilled out onto the lawn, where Ben was carefully picking his way along the path, looking at her handiwork.

“You don’t need to send for Elsie,” she told her mother. “I’m a poor thing if I can’t organize a simple dinner for three.”

“I know that,” Lucy retorted. “It’s just that I want you and Ben to get to know each other, and you can’t do that if you’re in the kitchen cooking, can you?”

“Oh Mam, you’re a devil, you are!” Mary couldn’t help but smile. “I know what you’re up to, and I think you’ve embarrassed him enough, without trying to throw us together. If he likes me and I like him, then things might happen naturally, and if they don’t, they don’t.” Though she hoped they would, for she had not met a man like Ben before. He seemed so mature beside her former boyfriends.

“And do you?”

“Do I what?”

Lucy groaned. “BEN! Do you like him?”

“I’d be a fool to tell you if I did.” Mary shook her head. “Think whatever you want,” she said casually. “You will anyway.” Her mother was the rarest and most wonderful of characters. She never missed a trick. When Lucy Solomons was around, there was no use trying to keep secrets.

“Where is he now?” Curious, Lucy stretched her neck to see out of the window. “He’s not escaped, has he? You’ve not frightened him off, I hope.”

Mary laughed at that. “No! He wanted to see what I’d been doing to the garden, that’s all.”

Lucy tutted. “Silly girl! Don’t you know anything?” Sometimes she despaired of her, and at other times she was proud of Mary—and proud of herself—because it meant that she had raised an intelligent, trusting girl who saw the good in everyone.

“What are you getting at, Mother?”

“It’s fairly obvious, isn’t it? He wanted
you
to go with him. Oh, dearie me!”

Mary would not admit it to her mother, but she had been sorely tempted to join Ben in the garden. However, there wasn’t enough time. If the women had been on their own, a bowl of soup and slice of cold apple pie would have done them proud for supper, but having invited Ben to join them, they had to do better than that. Mary was planning to cook some pork chops, and serve them with mashed potatoes and home-made pickle.

“You forget, I’ve a dinner to cook,” she answered. “There’ll be time enough later for us all to get to know each other.”

A familiar tap on the living room door curtailed their conversation. Hurrying to the door, Mary drew it open. “Hello, Arthur,” she said, and hugged him. These past years, the small man had been like a father to her although, like the gent he was, Arthur had always kept his distance.

Lucy’s face lit up. “Arthur, come in.
Come in!
” Dismissing Mary with a wave of her hand, she reminded her, “I thought you were away to start supper?”

“I was … I am.” Looking from Arthur to her mother, the girl couldn’t help but wonder what was going on. Whenever her mother wanted her out of the way like this, there was usually something brewing. But then she was always involved in some scheme or another, bless her heart. It was what kept her going.

“Go on then,” Lucy reprimanded her. “Arthur and I have business to discuss, so be off with you.” She had been unable to speak to him privately earlier, when he’d driven her and Mary to the churchyard, and now she wanted a quiet word with him.

“She doesn’t change, does she, Arthur?” Mary groaned light-heartedly. “Same old bully as ever.”

Arthur’s fond gaze bathed the older woman. “She’ll never change,” he said softly. “Thank God.” The same age as Lucy, he had stayed with her through thick and thin, and every inch of the way he had loved and adored her from afar. Lucy knew it, yet she never said. She felt a lot of affection for him too, similar to the bond she’d had with Walter. But it was not the same deep, driving passion she’d had for Barney. That kind of love happened only once in a lifetime.

And yet in her deepest heart, though he had taken good care of her and showed her nothing but kindness, she knew that Barney had
not
loved her back in the same way. How could he, when his own dearest love was thousands of miles away, probably still yearning for her darling Barney and suffering bitter-sweet thoughts of this wonderful man, whom she had adored more than any other, and who for reasons she might never know, had broken her heart and her life.

It had been a tragedy; a cruel and sorry business that only the gods could have prevented—at least, that was what Barney always claimed.

“I’m sorry I had to use the key to let myself in,” Arthur explained. “I did knock a few times, but no one answered. You obviously didn’t hear me.”

“No need to apologize,” Lucy chided. “The key was given so you could use it whenever necessary. It was necessary on this occasion, so we’ll hear no more about it.”

“It’s no wonder we didn’t hear you at the door,” Mary remarked good-naturedly. “Mother was too busy having a go at me, laying down the law and trying to fit me up with a man who was kind enough to return her handbag.”

“Dear, dear!” With an aside wink, Arthur tutted loudly. “Interfering again, is she? Mind you, I can’t say I blame her.”

With her sound and wary experience of men, Lucy could tell the wheat from the chaff. Mary, on the other hand, was more trusting and less worldly-wise. The lass was not what you might call beautiful, but she was a good-looking young woman all the same, with a heart of gold and a great deal to offer. Arthur had no doubt but that she would make some man a loving and loyal wife one of these days.

With Mary gone, Lucy bade Arthur sit in the chair opposite her. “Have you done what I asked?” she said in a low voice.

He nodded. “I have. I drove straight up to Liverpool early yesterday and went to see him at his house.”

Lucy gave a long, deep sigh. “Thank you. I knew I could rely on you.” Her eyes clouded with tears, she asked next, “What did he say?”

Arthur was reluctant to disappoint her. “He was surprised to hear from me. I mean, it’s been a good few years, hasn’t it?”

She nodded. “Nigh on twenty, plus there’s been the war and all. And is he well?”

“None too bad, yes.”

“What was his answer?”

The man had no choice but to relay the truth. “Sorry, Lucy. Much as he would love to see you again, he can’t visit. At least not yet.”

Lucy was dismayed at the news. “Oh Arthur, why not?” Disappointment shook her voice. “Why can’t he come down here?”

Arthur explained: “He’s been ill for some time, see—bronchitis and some sort of complication, like pleurisy. He’s only now beginning to come through it. He’s not as young as he used to be, think on. None of us are.”

Lucy nodded her understanding. “He can’t help being ill, I suppose,” she said.

“But he sends his regards and says you’re to take care of yourself, and he promises to come and visit at the first opportunity.” Fishing in his pocket, Arthur handed her an envelope. “He asked me to give you this.”

Taking the envelope, Lucy tore it open and took out the letter, which she read aloud:

My dearest Lucy,

How wonderful to hear from you, after all these long years. I hope you are well, and that you’re being your usual self … living life to the full, the brave young woman I remember from my days as a doctor.

I don’t need to tell you how sorry I was to hear about Barney’s death in 1933. Like you, I will never forget him, or what he did. When he begged me to keep his secret, I wrestled with my conscience but God help me, I could not refuse him.

Over the years, I have often thought of Barney, and his impossible situation, but I have never regretted doing what I did; nor I imagine did he.

Take care of yourself, Lucy my dear, and when I’m well enough, promise I will come and visit. It will be just the tonic I need, I’m sure.

May I say, I was most pleased and surprised to see Arthur Chives; your dear friend who, as I understand it, is never far from your side … as ever.

Best wishes. May God bless you both,

Raymond Lucas

Lying back in the chair, Lucy closed her eyes. For a long moment she remained silent.

“Lucy!” Arthur knew she was bitterly disappointed. “He
will
visit—he said so, and as I recall, he was always a man of his word.”

“I know.” She opened her eyes, which were bright with tears. “Poor Raymond. I don’t doubt he’s had his own fair share of problems, but oh, it would have been so good to see him.” She paused, suddenly exhausted. “Jamie …” she whispered.

Concerned, Arthur touched her on the hand. “Are you all right, lass?”

“It’s brought everything back, that’s all.” Needing to reassure him, she gave her brightest smile, and for the briefest moment he saw her as she had been all those years ago—young and vibrant; hardworking and so generous of heart.

“So tell me, Lucy, what was the real reason behind your need to see him?”

“What d’you mean?” Lucy demanded.

Arthur knew she could be wily. “What I mean is this: are you ill and not telling?”

“If I was ill, you’d soon know about it,” she lied. Carefully choosing her words, she went on, “You remember how it was all those years ago, don’t you?”

“Of course I remember.” Looking away, he saw it all in his mind’s eye. He had often wondered whether, if he had been put through the same test as Barney, he could have been as strong. “I remember it all,” he whispered. “How could I forget?”

“And you recall what a valued friend Dr. Lucas was?” Her voice shook. Oh, the memories! She swallowed hard and went on: “I just thought it might be nice to renew an old friendship.”

The truth was, Lucy had other reasons for wanting him here, but she didn’t want to worry anyone. Not yet. Although the doctors hereabouts were fine, experienced men, she could not bring herself to trust them for something this serious. If there was one man who
would
tell her the truth, it was Raymond Lucas.

“I’m getting older, Arthur. As each day passes, the memories become more vivid.” She drew herself up. “I need to thank Dr. Lucas for what he did. I want to see him, that’s all … before it’s too late.”

Alarmed, the little man looked her in the eye. “Are you sure there’s something you’re not telling me?”

“Such as what?”

Dismissing her question he asked, “What exactly did Dr. Nolan say to you when he saw you at the surgery last week?”

She tutted. “I’ve already told you. He said I needed to slow down. That I was exhausted.”

“And that’s all? Nothing else?”

Tutting again, Lucy snapped, “Stop fretting! I’ve already told you, I’m fit as a fiddle—for an ’un anyway.” She chuckled, “If they want rid of me, they’ll have to shoot me first.”

There was a lengthy silence, charged with things unsaid. The bond between them was deep.

Even though the passage of their lives was already well run, there was nothing Arthur Chives wanted more than to make Lucy Solomons his wife. He longed to take care of her, spoil her, hold her tight when she was sad and laugh with her when she was happy. To be there when she went to sleep and waiting beside her when she awoke; to share every precious moment of her life. That was all he had wanted for a long, long time.

Lucy knew it had been on the tip of his tongue to propose to her. She recognized the signs, the twinkle in his eye and the ache in his voice, and she had to disappoint him yet again. “I don’t want you worrying about me, old friend. You just need to remember, I’m no longer a spring chicken—and the same goes for you.” Sometimes her bones ached until she thought they would seize up altogether, and on occasions, when she had walked with her stick too far, her fingers curled round the handle and would not let go.