The Shortest Journey

by Hazel Holt

  ‘Perhaps we might go to see Jilly and Roger at New Year.’ Rosemary said tentatively.

  It was quite a tiring morning and I was glad to get home. I fed the animals and made myself a mushroom omelet. I had just slid it, all warm and buttery, on to the plate when the phone rang. For a moment I thought of ignoring it, but then, as I always do, I thought it might be Michael with some problem, so I resignedly put the omelet into the Aga warming oven and picked up the receiver.

  ‘Sheila?’ It was Thelma. ‘I’ve just got back from New York last week, actually – to find this appalling news about Mother.’

  So she knew that her mother was dead. I supposed the solicitor had written.

  ‘This wicked business about the will!’

  ‘The will?’

  It occurred to me that I had forgotten all about the new will and the solicitor in Coleford. Somehow, what I had found out that day in the cottage on the Meend made it seem irrelevant.

  ‘Yes, this new will of my mother’s. She’s dead. Heart attack – there was a doctor’s certificate. I always told you that she wasn’t well enough to live on her own. Now, perhaps, you will all see that I was right. But just before she died she made this new will. Quite preposterous. Of course she couldn’t break the Trust, thank God. I shall get Grandfather’s money, but all the rest – her own money...’

  Here she broke off, possibly to draw breath, possibly from emotion.

  ‘Yes?’ I prompted her.

  ‘Well, there are a few bequests. You get that Regency desk, by the way. It’s quite a nice piece – I had it valued – but it’s been restored and wouldn’t fetch more than about seven hundred and fifty pounds at auction. That mad Polish woman gets the rest of the things in her room at West Lodge. Alan’ – here her voice became shriller – ‘he gets a very large sum for that ridiculous expedition with that scheming American woman. By the way, did I tell you that he’s turned up again? He was in America with her all the time! The rest of her fortune – and it’s well over a million – goes to this man, Christian Vanderlinden.’

  ‘What!’

  ‘Yes. I’d never heard of him either. No address, just the Bank of Canada in London. It seems he was someone she knew in Durban when she was a girl. He went to see her at West Lodge – what Mrs Wilmot was thinking of to let in a person like that! – and persuaded her to go off with him and his sister. Did you ever hear of such a thing! Well, there could only be one reason for that! Especially since he wouldn’t let her tell anyone where she was. She always was a fool, she’d do whatever anyone asked without question.’

  ‘Yes,’ I said, ‘she was very biddable.’

  ‘Exactly, biddable,’ Thelma repeated the word with relish. ‘A biddable fool. Well. I wanted to fight the will – undue influence and so forth – but Simon says that the costs would be horrendous, even if he was acting for me. It would drag on and on and there’d be precious little left.’

  ‘Jarndyce and Jarndyce,’ I murmured.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Nothing. So what will you do?’

  ‘Simon and I are going to South Africa next week to sort out the details of the Trust relating to the property there. I think we must get the money out of there if we can. Simon says the situation isn’t as stable as he’d like.’

  ‘I see.’

  ‘Well, I thought I must just let you know what’s happened and what a dreadful mess she’s made of things. Oh, by the way, she’s buried in some peculiar place in Gloucestershire. I forget the name, I’ll get my secretary to let you have it. I know you have a thing about graves and so forth. I’ll be in touch.’

  In a sort of daze I returned to the kitchen, took my omelette out of the oven and put it on the table. I looked at the brown, shrivelled thing before me, pushed it aside and made myself a cup of tea. I didn’t really feel like eating.

  All that sentimental nonsense, the faithful-unto-death bit, the Wordsworth ... Even if he hadn’t actually killed her (and it seemed that the heart attack was genuine enough) he had still deceived her, luring her away, letting her tell no one where she was going – and all for the money. As I sometimes feel when I’ve eaten too much chocolate, so, after my wallow in sentimentality, I felt rather sick. I also felt an absolute and utter fool.

  Christmas came and went and after a while I put the whole affair out of my mind. Michael went back to London, leaving behind his motorbike, but with a small secondhand car, presenting me with a whole new category of things to worry about. One particularly gloomy morning – the sky was steel grey, the ground was frozen hard and there was a vicious east wind – I went into the hall to get the post. There were the usual post-Christmas bills and a letter with a Canadian stamp, which I presumed was one of Sophie’s chatty and entertaining accounts of her busy life. I poured myself a second cup of coffee and saw that the address was typed and there was no return address on the envelope. When I drew the closely written sheets from the envelope I could scarcely believe my eyes.

  16 Valley View, Nepean, Ontario

  My dearest Sheila,

  I can imagine what a shock this letter will be to you and I’m so sorry about that, but I did so much want you to know that I am well and oh so happy.

  Perhaps I had better tell you about things as they happened. As Chris will have told you, he wrote to me to say that he had seen the announcement of Julian’s death. I can’t tell you what an excitement it was hearing from him after all those years and when he said he wanted to come and see me I almost said no. I know it was foolish, but I half wanted him to remember me as a young girl and not an old woman. Fortunately I did say yes and he came. Oh Sheila, it was wonderful – it was just as if we had never been parted. I knew we had to be together but I was so frightened of what Thelma might do to stop us. I do wish that I could have told you – I had to tell Mrs Jankiewicz, but I knew she would never say anything. Chris told you how we managed things and how marvellous those months were in that heavenly place. It was wonderful to meet Olive at last – Father had never allowed me to see any of Chris’s family or friends – we got on so well.

  Chris and I were married by special licence at the Registrar’s Office in Gloucester and I was to go back to Ontario with them. As his wife I could travel on Chris’s passport, you see. I’m so glad that Olive was at the wedding. I didn’t have anything new to wear – well, I was frightened to go into any of the shops just in case I met someone I knew – I’d been wearing some of Olive’s clothes because I couldn’t bring anything with me! But it was a lovely wedding and we went back to the cottage and Chris opened a bottle of champagne that he’d bought and we had some nice smoked salmon sandwiches he’d got at Marks and Spencer! Olive said that when we got back to Ontario we’d have a real celebration. Poor Olive. We had to wait for the papers to come through – the passport and tickets and so forth – but before they arrived the poor soul died. She wasn’t very strong and she was some years older than Chris. It was a heart attack and very quick. We stood there looking down at her and Chris said a little prayer.

  Then I had an idea. It was rather shocking and I was a bit ashamed of it, but Olive was dead and I didn’t think she’d mind. I said to Chris that since we had hardly spoken to anyone while we’d been at the cottage nobody knew which of us was which. So why didn’t we pretend that Olive was me and that I was dead? If we buried her as Edith Rossiter then Thelma would never be able to get at me again!

  Chris was a bit doubtful – he’s such an honest man, with such high principles – but I persuaded him and it all worked beautifully. I honestly don’t think that Olive would mind lying at rest in that beautiful churchyard, and she was such a kind soul I think she would have been glad to give me that peace of mind. Chris felt very bad, Sheila, at deceiving you. When you knocked at the door and I looked through the curtains and saw you standing there I almost rushed out there and then to give you a hug like we used to. But we’d come so far and I thought we must go through with it, though it broke my heart to see you looking so sad as I stood at the bedroo
m window and saw you going down the garden path.

  I expect that by now you will have heard from Thelma about my will. It must have been a very nasty surprise for her! Chris was very worried and upset when I told him how I was going to leave the money – he has a strong sense of family and, even though Thelma and Alan haven’t been very loving children, I think he was rather shocked at what I had done. But honestly, Sheila, after all the misery that money has caused, I thought it was time it did a bit of good for a change. Chris and Olive have always done so much for the community here – raising funds for this and that – it will be really marvellous to be able to help. We won’t spend a penny of it on ourselves. Chris is quite well off – he did very well in his job and I’m so proud of what he achieved – and has plenty of money for us to live on. Father’s money has only brought me unhappiness – and poor Mother, too – so it will be wonderful to think it can make other people happier. I left Alan the amount he wanted for that expedition – I know his motives were selfish, but it might do a little good for others – and Thelma will have all her grandfather’s money from the Trust (she’s very like him in many ways so it seems right, somehow), so, really, she has no reason to complain – though I’m sure she will!

  I made the will before Olive died, of course, and I thought then that after a while I would be presumed dead (is that the phrase?) and the will would be proved in the usual way. But having a death certificate in my name has made it all much easier. So wasn’t I clever! Dear Chris was very doubtful about it all at first but I think he’s coming round to it now, especially as we have a joint account and I write all the cheques so that no one can say that he’s a fortune hunter! You see how independent I’m getting these days! But, really, I seem to have taken on a new lease of life. Chris says that if he knew how bossy I’d become he’d never have married me!

  The people in Nepean (I called it Nepeen at first, but it’s Nepean – three syllables!) are so nice and friendly and Chris’s house is lovely. They’re so hospitable. Soon after we arrived a group of his friends gave a lovely party for us at Emilio’s, which is a very nice restaurant not far from here. Chris does a lot of work for the local hospital and for a sort of help-line (rather like our Samaritans) and I am helping Emma (who is our next-door neighbour) with her basket supper to help raise funds for St Mark’s – that’s the Anglican Church we go to. Oh, Sheila, I’m having such fun. I never knew life could be so wonderful. I’m so very lucky.

  I must finish now and let Chris take this to the post. It’s very snowy here, but the house is lovely and warm, and everything looks very pretty. Yesterday I saw the young people were skating at the outdoor rink at the Civic Centre. People do seem to enjoy themselves more over here. Perhaps one day you could come over and see us. Wouldn’t that be lovely? Tell Mrs Jankiewicz all about this, please. I don’t think I’d better risk a letter to West Lodge!! Write to me soon and let me know that you forgive me and tell me all the Taviscombe gossip.

  My dearest love to you.

  Your old friend, E.V.

  Scrawled at the bottom in a different hand was a brief note: ‘Please do forgive me – I hated to deceive you that day. We very much want you to come and see us, just so that you can see how happy we are! C.V.’

  I put the letter down on the table and sat staring at it for some time – so long, in fact, that Tessa, worried by my unaccustomed stillness, nudged my leg with her nose and whined softly.

  I took the letter down to West Lodge and read it to Mrs Jankiewicz. When I had finished I saw that she had tears in her eyes.

  ‘Is good,’ she said, smiling. ‘Is very good. When I see them together I know it will be right for her. I am never wrong!’

  She rummaged in the large black leather handbag that she always kept beside her and found a handkerchief and blew her nose vigorously. Then she drew a letter from the recesses of the bag and said, ‘And now I have the news for you. My Adam is coming to see me soon. He writes that he is thinking of giving up Cambridge.’

  ‘Oh, surely not!’ I exclaimed. ‘What will he do?’

  ‘He has seen many programmes about Poland on TV and he wishes to go to Warsaw to work there in our country. He wishes to come to see me so we can talk about Poland and he says he asks my advice.’

  ‘And what will you tell him?’ I asked.

  She shook her head. She was sitting bolt upright; her head was erect and her eyes were sparkling. She was the Mrs Jankiewicz I had always known.

  ‘I do not know. We talk. I tell him about the old days. I tell him about his ancestors in Poland, many generations ago. He will decide himself. But’ – her face softened into a smile – ‘he comes to ask me. I am not old and useless – there are still things I can do.’

  ‘Yes,’ I replied, ‘both you and Mrs Rossiter. We still need you.’

  ‘Thanks God,’ said Mrs Jankiewicz.

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  The Shortest Journey