The Journey

by Josephine Cox

  Something in his words seemed to calm them and with all eyes on Leonard they listened to what he had to say.

  He told them how he could do no more than he had already done, and that, “If you wait for the Kemp estate to go to action, you may well end up with even less than I’m offering you now. You have copies in front of you, showing the proof that I am in a position to deliver seventy percent of what you lent out. It’s signed, sealed and can be delivered. With an auction, you can never be sure; it all depends on the day and how many people want the property, or can afford it. As you know to your cost, the value of the property has been badly affected by the slump in the world economy.”

  “He’s right.” One man who so far had remained silent spoke out. “The farmstead is still a valuable asset, and sold to the right buyer, we may get lucky. But if there aren’t enough buyers to force up the price …” He raised his palms in a gesture of surrender. “Like the man said—we could end up worse off.”

  Seeing how the tide might turn in their favor, Justin Lovatt intervened. “Mr. Maitland and I will leave the room for a while. You all have copies of the documents in front of you, which will verify what’s been put forward: seventy percent of what you are owed, without uncertainty, and without prejudice. Read the documents, and if you’re in favor of accepting, we’ll make it watertight in your favor.”

  He paused, before going on in somber voice, “If, however, you decide to take your chances at auction, then so be it. The meeting will end right there.” With that he summoned Leonard to go with him, and together they departed the room.

  In the outer hall, Leonard voiced his concern. “There are a few in there who would rather wait and see what happens at the auction,” he said. “And who knows, maybe the estate will bring in more than enough to pay them off.”

  “All we can do is wait and see. The decision is in their hands and we have no choice but to abide by it.” As a lawyer Justin was philosophical. He had seen it all before and there was no telling which way it would go.

  They had been waiting an hour and a half before the nondescript man in the gray suit came out to tell them, “We’ve come to a decision … of sorts.”

  As they followed him to the boardroom, Leonard looked at Justin and mouthed the words, “Of sorts?” Justin shook his head, meaning that he didn’t quite know what that meant either.

  When they entered the room, it was instantly apparent that the men were more at ease; the big man actually smiled at them as they walked to their places. “We’ve looked through all the documents,” he began, and it was obvious they had elected him to be spokesman, “and I’m afraid we still want our pound of flesh.”

  Leonard’s heart sank, then rose again at his next words. “We accept your offer—but with certain conditions.” He looked around the room, making sure everyone was still of the same mind. When he received the nods, he went on, “No one here is prepared to accept any less than the full figure they are owed.”

  Leonard’s heart sank again.

  The big man continued, “To that end, we will accept the offer, but with a legal proviso that the remaining thirty percent is paid within a period of two years. So there you have it. That is our unanimous decision. Accept it, or we’ll take our chances at the auction.”

  Realizing it had come as a shock to Leonard, Justin spoke on his behalf. “You all know my part in this,” he reminded them. “The decision does not rest with me. I can’t say whether Mr. Maitland can or cannot comply with what you ask. All I can say is, he and I need to talk. I request that you give us twenty-four hours to consider.”

  A hush came over the room and all eyes turned to Leonard.

  Head bent and heart heavy, he was lost. He frantically sought a way out and could see none. He had been prepared to sell his farm in England and borrow money on top of that, in order to keep his beloved grandfather’s homestead in the family, where it belonged, but now he saw it all slipping away. To consent to this would cripple him financially.

  A sense of urgency galvanized his thoughts. You only get one precious moment which can change the course of your life forever. This was his moment. If he let it go now, he knew there would never be another.

  Looking up, he saw them all anxiously waiting for his response.

  A kind of madness took hold of him. Straightening his shoulders, he thanked Justin then turned to sweep his gaze across the sea of faces all intent on him; his eyes falling on the big man last. “I accept your offer,” he said simply. “One way or another, you will all get your money.”

  There was a brief silence, then a cheer went up. The relief in the air was palpable.

  The big man came over to Leonard and asked if he could shake him by the hand. “Farley would have been proud of you,” he said quietly. “Good luck.”

  The next day, as he boarded the liner which would take him home to England, Leonard wondered if he had done the right thing. Even now he wasn’t sure how he might repay the debt he had inherited from his grandfather. Yet he had given his word. The money was pledged and somehow, he would find a way.

  Once upon a time, the Farley Kemp homestead had been a thriving, lucrative business—and it could become so again. Especially if he was to bring Barney across the Atlantic. They worked well together, he and his Farm Manager. If anyone could help him rebuild the estate and restore the place to its former glory, it was Barney Davidson. And the thought of having Joanne close at hand was wonderful. He had dreaded saying goodbye to her.

  With that in mind, Leonard locked his cabin door and made his way to the nearest bar, where he ordered a large whisky. “I’ve earned it,” he told the barman. “I’ve just taken the biggest gamble of my life!”

  Thirteen

  Having informed Patricia of the date he would return, Leonard half-expected her to be waiting for him when he disembarked at Liverpool. Unfortunately, she was nowhere to be seen, even though he lingered for almost an hour, walking up and down searching every avenue in case he should miss her.

  Finally he hailed a taxi and, bitterly disappointed, travelled back alone. He knew the house would be clean and tidy, thanks to his daily woman, Mrs. Riley, who ran the place and used Lucy Baker on a Saturday to do any extra jobs. But it would be cold and lonely, too.

  Arriving at The Manse he paid the driver and went inside; where the warm, earthy aroma of fresh bread filled his nostrils and took him straight to the kitchen. “Why, it’s young Lucy!” He was astonished to see her, sleeves rolled up, taking a crusty-baked loaf out of the oven.

  “Welcome home, Mr. Maitland,” she said with a shy smile. “Joanne offered to look after Jamie so I could nip in and make you some supper, after your long journey. There’s mushroom soup to go with the bread. I didn’t think you’d want anything too heavy, so late in the day. Oh, and I’ve lit a fire downstairs and one in your bedroom. I hope that’s all right?” She looked anxious.

  He smiled. “It’s more than all right—it’s a wonderful welcome. Thank you, my dear, for being so very thoughtful.” More thoughtful than his so-called fiancée, he thought

  Lucy took off her pinny and went to get her coat and hat. “Don’t slice the bread while it’s still warm,” she urged. “It’ll only squash up and you won’t get a clean slice.”

  “I’ll let it cool,” he promised. “Now go home and get some rest.” All he wanted was to be alone, put his feet up, eat from a tray and enjoy a strong drink. “There’s a chill in the air.” He held Lucy’s coat open for her. “It was cold in Boston, too.”

  “Good night, Mr. Maitland. It’s good to see you back.” Lucy hoped she wasn’t being too familiar. She was rather in awe of Leonard.

  He smiled. “It’s lovely to be home,” he told her.

  By ten o’clock that evening, Leonard had bathed and changed, eaten three slices of the best bead he had ever tasted, dipped into a sizeable bowl of hot, thick mushroom soup; the whole lot washed down by two cups of tea and a tot of best whisky.

  God, it was good to be back by his own fireside.
Yawning, he was thinking about going to bed when a moment later, he was taken by surprise when the door opened and in walked Patricia, done up in all her finery and looking especially beautiful.

  Purring like a kitten she wrapped herself round him. “You smell delicious,” she whispered, caressing him and deeply arousing him. “I’ve missed you, my darling.”

  Summoning all his courage, he drew away. “Did you now?” he asked cynically. “So, why did you forget to meet me at the docks?”

  She gave a long, impatient sigh. “I didn’t forget,” she answered rather petulantly. “It was just … well, I went shopping. I wanted to look my very best when you saw me. It got late, and by the time I reached the dock, you must have already left.”

  “So, you would rather go shopping than come and meet me, is that it?”

  Her expression hardened. “No—but does it really matter? I’m here now, aren’t I?”

  Having moved away when she saw he was angry, she now came at him again, her avaricious eyes appraising his body and her roving hands touching him in all the right spots. “I’m really sorry.” She put her lips to his ears and softly blew. “I’ve missed you … I want you so much.”

  He wanted her too. All the while he had been in Boston he had wondered if he should end his engagement the minute he got home. But now, when she was close like this, and his need was pressing, he had little control. He was a man, with a man’s hunger, and here she was, a beautiful woman, his fiancée, freely offering herself to him.

  So, he took her hand and walked her to the foot of the stairs, where he swept her into his arms and carried her up to his bedroom, lit and warmed by the fire Lucy had set earlier.

  He carried her inside and closed the door behind them.

  And they did not come out until morning.

  It was eight-thirty the next morning when he took Patricia home to her parents’ grand house on the other side of Liverpool. “I’ll see you later,” she told him. “We can talk more about your trip to Boston then. I’m sure Daddy will loan you all the money you need, then there will be no need to sell Overhill Farm. Or you could still sell it and start a different business—nothing to do with farming. I think that would be a good idea, don’t you?”

  “I’ve already said, I don’t want you discussing my business with your father,” Leonard said tightly.

  “Why ever not?”

  “For reasons you would not understand.” This woman was suffocating him.

  “All right, but I think you’re being selfish.”

  Dear God. “Like you said, I’ll see you later.” He couldn’t trust himself to say anything else at that moment.

  As he watched her go inside, he thought, The more you open your mouth, the more I realize we will never be suited.

  At that moment in time, Leonard was not only concerned about his relationship with Patricia. There was Barney and his entire family to think of now. How would they take the news that the farm was being sold from under them? And what would Barney’s answer be, when Leonard asked him to come with him to America? And even if Barney agreed, what of Joanne and the three children? Would they be prepared to leave behind everything they knew?

  Only now when he was home, did Leonard come to realize how huge a step he was taking, giving up his life here, moving back to the States, taking up his grandfather’s crumbling business and starting it again from scratch, already deep in debt.

  In the end, for whatever reason, he was now embarking on a lonely, daunting journey.

  Early the following morning, Leonard drove into Liverpool. As always, the city was a busy, vibrant place, despite the serious problems of poverty and unemployment.

  When he found the address he was looking for, Leonard drew into the curb and parked. A sign hanging above the offices read:

  W.H. BREWER & SON LAND AGENTS

  Leonard had dealt before with the tall, whiskery-faced man inside, who greeted him now with: “Ah, good morning, Mr. Maitland. How can I help you, sir?” He pulled out a chair in his office for Leonard to sit on.

  Mr. Brewer was always very polite, particularly with a man of Mr. Maitland’s admirable character. Moreover, Leonard was a good customer, having piece by piece expanded his landholding until it was now some 400 acres in total.

  While shaking hands he informed Leonard, “If you’ve come looking for land, I’m afraid there is absolutely nothing at the moment. Investing in land is being seen as a reliable option these days; we have it one minute and it’s gone the next. Oh—and the prices are on the up and up all the while.”

  Leonard could hardly conceal his delight. He had been basing his own valuation of the land on rather pessimistic calculations. “This is good news for me,” he answered, “because I’m here to sell my entire holding.”

  The other man was visibly shocked. “Everything? Are you sure?” he asked. “The farm and the house and outbuildings, too?”

  “Everything,” Leonard confirmed, “although I haven’t yet decided what to do about one little cottage.”

  “Really?” The agent was intrigued. “From what I can recall, it’s little more than a ruin?”

  Leonard nodded. “Well yes, it is, and I’ve done nothing to it since it’s been left these past years. It’s a tiny place, with only one bedroom, and a scullery a man can hardly turn about in. I’m sorry to say it’s been left to the elements; the little garden is shamefully overgrown, and the whole place is somewhat tumbledown. But I may have a mind to hang on to it so I’d appreciate it if you would exclude it from the sale.”

  “What about Barney Davidson’s cottage?” The agent knew how Leonard valued Barney and his sons.

  “Hopefully, he won’t be needing the cottage,” came the reply. “I have other, more rewarding plans for him and his family.”

  Thoughtfully, Mr. Brewer stroked his finger along his beard. “I should think we could get a substantial amount for that lot,” came the welcome answer. “In fact, I could sell it tomorrow to a gentleman who has been searching for a property such as yours. But it would be best if we trod extra carefully on this one,” he said sagely. “Of course I shall inform the gentleman straight away, but I will also inform some of my other clients, who might be interested in acquiring smaller parcels of land rather than the whole.”

  Leonard knew only too well that buyers’ ambitions were always dictated by the amount of capital they could raise. He thought of his own circumstances. If he had been able to pay off his grandfather’s debts without selling his own land, he would not be in this office today.

  “Sometimes, for whatever reason, a man may have more need of a smaller parcel of land,” the agent went on. “But this can work well in our favor.”

  He explained. “We could sell off say, three hundred acres either in a single lot, or if you preferred, we could separate it into smaller units. That would leave one hundred acres with the house—which is a small farm in itself. This way, the sale will attract more money, or at the very least it will create competition, which will return a far more handsome price than if we went straight to the gentleman in question and sold him the entire holding.”

  Leonard liked the idea. “Let them fight it out between them—is that what you’re saying?”

  The Land Agent’s smile was positively wicked. “Of course, let them fight it out. And why not?”

  So they got down to facts and figures, and when the meeting was over, Leonard dared to hope that if all went well, he might even be able to pay the U.S. creditors every single dollar they were owed.

  With that in mind, he got back into his car and drove straight to Overhill Farm, where he found Joanne standing on a box, singing to herself and cleaning the kitchen windows. When he saw her, he slowed down, his mood brightening even further at the sight of the small, familiar figure, her long silken hair gently lifted by the cool breeze. And now as she stretched on tiptoe to reach the upper part of the panes, his eyes were drawn to her slim, shapely ankles and calves. “You’ve a lucky man, Barney Davidson,” he whispered, and no
w, as she turned to look straight at him, his heart did a dance inside his chest so he could hardly breathe.

  “Morning, Joanne.” His voice gave nothing away as he climbed out of the car and went toward her. “I wonder if I might have a word with Barney. Is he around?”

  “Sorry, Mr. Maitland, he’s out in Top Field,” she said, preparing to clamber off the box. She was taken by surprise when Leonard reached his hands round her waist and lifted her down without effort. “He’s checking the sheep,” she said, her face flushing pink. “I can fetch him if you like?”

  “No, it’s all right,” Leonard said. “Best not disturb him at his work. What I have to say can wait until this evening.”

  “Are you sure? It won’t take above five minutes for me to fetch him. I can settle you with a cup of tea before I go?” Joanne’s curiosity was heightened; it wasn’t often the boss came down here to talk in the middle of the day.

  “No, no,” he told her. “It’s fine. But will you please tell him I called by, and that I have business to discuss with him.” He paused, not wanting to alarm her. “If you wouldn’t mind, Joanne, I’d like you to be there as well. In fact, what I have to say might concern all of you.”

  Seeing her expression of concern, he quickly added, “I’d rather not discuss it now, but I’ll be here at about eight. Will you have finished your evening meal by then?”

  “Well, yes, but—what is it, Mr. Maitland? What’s wrong? It all seems very serious.”

  “You’re not to worry,” he said gently. “We’ll talk this evening, then. Goodbye for now.” Quickly, before she could ask any more questions, he climbed into the car and drove off, leaving Joanne in a quandary.

  “Is everything all right?” Lucy had seen Leonard leave and now, with Joanne seeming deep in thought, her happy singing silenced and the window-cloth hanging forgotten in her hand, she grew alarmed.