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 realized 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 anymore.
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 jewelry – everything your father ever bought me. I’ve got plenty of money tucked away, and Richard will take good care of me. The jewelry’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 jus
t 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
July 1952
All Things New
CHAPTER 3
IT WAS EIGHT O’CLOCK in the evening on Friday, July 12, 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 harbor, 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 harbor, 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 realized. “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 mustache and a flat cap that covered almost all the top half of his features, the man resembled an old sheep-dog. 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 around 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 harbor, 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. Afterward, 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 around 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 cozy, and you’ll wake up to the sound of seagulls calling and a view straight from heaven …” Pointing toward the far side of the harbor, 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. “Any-road, 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 harbor and along the promenade toward the upper ground, Tom commented on the beauty of West Bay: the harbor filled with boats of every size and color, 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.” Th
e old fellow gave a colorful 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 around 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 Marcus, and I’m ready for some of that ‘magic’ you were just talking about.”
The Beachcomber Page 5
