never had a child,’ she murmured softly. ‘I suppose it was never meant to be.’
Sensing a deeper sadness, Lucy gently reminded her, ‘Leonard was a good man and a good and loyal friend to Barney.’
‘I know that. But I still can’t forgive him for lying to me.’
‘It isn’t as if he lied outright,’ Lucy suggested lamely. ‘He just never told you.’
‘But don’t you see – it’s the same thing!’
Lucy hesitated. ‘Will you ever forgive him?’
Vicky shook her head. ‘Never! I will never forgive or forget, until the day that I die.’
And Lucy bowed her head in shame for her part in Barney’s secret sacrifice.
WHEN LUCY HAD shown her up to her room, Vicky rested a while, then washed and changed, ready for dinner. Somewhere in Knudsden House, a grandfather clock was striking eight. ‘Got to make a good impression,’ Vicky said to herself, and she did a slow, dignified twirl in front of the bedroom mirror.
The cream-coloured dress she had brought with her from Boston was well-suited to her slim, upright figure. You don’t look too bad for your age, my girl, she thought approvingly. Leaning forward, she wiped the tip of her finger along her lips, evenly spreading more of the light-coloured French lipstick that brought out the colour of her slate-grey eyes. Her hair was swept back and kept in place by a sparkling diamanté clip in the shape of a curled leaf.
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