by Clare Revell
By
OCEANS APART
By
Clare Revell
Copyright © 2018 by Clare Louise Revell
This book is a work of fiction based in a real location. Any reference to historical or contemporary figures, places, or events, whether fictional or actual, is a fictional representation. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced without written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.
eBook editions are licensed for your personal enjoyment only. eBooks may not be re-sold, copied or given away to other people. If you would like to share an eBook edition, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with.
Contact Information: [email protected]
Scripture taken from THE HOLY BIBLE, NEW INTERNATIONAL VERSION® NIV®
Copyright © 1973, 1978, 1984, 2011 by International Bible Society®. Used by permission. All rights reserved worldwide.
Holy Bible, New Living Translation, copyright © 1996, 2004, 2015 by Tyndale House Foundation. Used by permission of Tyndale House Publishers, Inc., Carol Stream, Illinois 60188. All rights reserved.
Cover design by Marion Ueckermann © Marion Ueckermann www.marionueckermann.net
Cover Image Man ID 44702169 purchased from Depositphotos © Aletia
Cover Image Handwriting ID 60182487 purchased from Depositphotos © Agneskantaruk
Contents
Oceans Apart
Praise for Clare’s books
Dear Reader
Dedication
Connie’s Family Tree
Oliver’s Family Tree
Glossary
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Peppermint Creams
Excerpt ~ Dark Lake
About Clare Revell
Connect with Clare Revell
Titles By Clare Revell
Oceans Apart
A romance 48 years in the making...
Dragged half way across the world by his parents, the only contact Oliver Voight has with his native England is his friend Matt’s kid sister, who keeps him up to date with her rambling, winsome letters.
When Connie Falcon promises her brother’s best friend she will keep in touch, she has no idea where that assurance will lead. But Connie always keeps her promises, so forty-eight years later, she is still writing.
As the years have flown past, both of them have been transformed into different people by what life has thrown at them. When they finally meet face to face, everything begins to change. Forever.
(Please note this book is written with British English.)
Praise for Clare’s books
Quinn’s Choice by Clare Revell is an emotive story of second chances and the characters too scared to take them: a hero facing conflicting professional and personal choices, a heroine unwilling to let go of past hurts, and a spunky teen with her own issues who helps keep them both on their toes.
~ Marion Ueckermann, USA Today Bestselling Author
Horses! Need I say more? Any book with horses is a winner in my book, but Clare Revell makes the glorious creatures gallop off the page in Zara’s Folly. Oh yeah, and with a romance heating up at the stables and family members who plot to stop it cold, this novel has surprise twists and turns that keep the reader begging for more. Enjoy. I certainly did.
~ Jan Elder, Author of A Semi-Sweet Summer
La Fiamma Sacra (The Sacred Flame) is the beautiful story of a brave firefighter and a single mom, each battling their own personal fires that threaten to consume them. Ric has a dark secret he’s struggling to live with, and Bracken is scared to love again. She cannot face the prospect of being a widow for a second time should a relationship with her handsome, Italian neighbour develop into marriage. Ric risks his life every time he charges into a burning building. And what of her six-year-old son who has a close relationship with Ric? She had to protect him too.
Read La Fiamma Sacra—book five in the multi-author series, A Tuscan Legacy—and discover whether the sacred flame of love can burn brightly for Ric and Bracken.
~ Marion Ueckermann, USA Today Bestselling Author
Not your average holiday novella by a long shot, Once Upon A Christmas charms and captivates bringing mesmerizing characters to life. Set aside a delicious day to race to the finish. You won’t want to put it down until you find out just what lies behind Mr. Shade’s mysterious facade.
~ Jan Elder, Author of the Moose Creek Series
The Hector Clause is an uplifting holiday story filled with a delightful toy store, festive elves galore, and second chances for our heroes, Brie and Hector. Christmas stories never fail to warm my heart, but I will read this one over and over. Not to be missed!
~ Jan Elder, author of Love, Lies, and Fireflies
I really enjoyed reading The Hector Clause! The plot was interesting and you weren’t sure how the relationship was going to turn out until the last moment. I want to know what happens next!
~ Louise Watson
Down in Yon Forest – She writes books like Alfred Hitchcock and M Night Shyamalan direct and produce engrossing and captivating movies. A hint of an answer here, a red herring there, light here, dark there—Down in Yon Forest shines a bright light on her skills as a storyteller.
~ Marianne Evans
Down in Yon Forest – Fantastic. Awesome. A must read. I couldn’t put the story down until I finished the last page. I absolutely loved this book! Highly recommended!
~ Wendy Davy
Dear Reader
The main thing to note in this book is that once again it’s written in British English with British spellings. Thus there may well be the odd word missing that you’d find in US English. It’s usually the word ‘a’ in a sentence. Something that I never notice, but you might. It’s not a typo, it’s the way we speak :) EG he’ll do it when he gets chance.
Dates are written the British way. Day month year with no comma. There are a couple of exceptions to this being when a US born character writes a letter or email.
One big thing to note, this story covers a vast span of 48 years. Doing that amount of letters was not just impractical as the book would be in the region of two million pages long, but it also probably wouldn’t make very interesting reading. So there are some gaps, especially when they’re calling each other every few days. However they do send a Christmas and birthday card to each other every single year.
The book starts present day, then takes you through 48 years of letters before returning to the present day narrative.
I love writing letters. Some say it’s a dying art. But there is something about a really nice pen and a crisp sheet of paper that gets me all fired up. Probably why I write by hand and then type up. Emails and texts just aren’t the same thing.
How about you write someone a letter today? A brother or sister, parent, friend, or aunt? Just a short note to say hi, thinking of you… It’d make their day. Something through the post that isn’t a bill. Unless of course you’re called Bill…
Glares at Oliver. Yes,
it is too late to change your name, so don’t even go there.
Love,
PS. Actually, there really isn’t any need for a post script. It just seemed fitting. Read on and you’ll see why.
PPS. The QM2 does regularly sail from Southampton to New York. However it doesn’t stop at Cherbourg, St Helier or Dublin. That voyage was invented solely for the purposes of this novel.
Dedication
To anyone who’s ever written a letter and brightened someone’s day because of it.
Thank you.
Connie’s Family Tree
Oliver’s Family Tree
Glossary
Family allowance : Child Benefit.
Standpipe : A way of getting water from the mains when you have no water in your house. Used in the UK during periods of drought. One communal tap used by everyone.
I will be your God throughout your lifetime – until your hair is white with age. I made you and I will care for you. I will carry you along and save you.
~ Isaiah 46:4 (NLT)
Chapter One
Friday 20th July 2018.
OLIVER VOIGHT CHECKED HIS PASSPORT for the third time. He knew it was valid, but the conversation with his son, Anthony, had gone the same way it always seemed to these days. Downhill fast.
“So let me get this right, Dad,” Anthony sounded as condescending as he could and then some, “you’re driving to the airport, to get on a plane, to fly to England, to get on a boat to sail to New York, to meet a woman getting off a boat. Why not simply wait until she arrives in New York, and we could meet her at the docks together? It’ll be easier all around. Less hassle and you can do the convention in Orlando.”
“Ship,” Oliver corrected. “It’s a ship. And that would be way less fun than doing it my way. I’ve already declined the Florida engagement and accepted one in a small town in Dorset, England. Following that, I have cleared my schedule for a month. It’s not like I don’t have enough leave accumulated—I haven’t taken any in years. You and your sister keep telling me to take time off. So I am.”
“And you keep saying that God wants you to work. You didn’t even bother to book off your birthday.” Anthony paused. “Happy birthday, by the way.”
“Thank you.” Oliver dropped the passport on the desk, enjoying the thud it made. He shoved his hands deep into his pockets. If his son knew what he really had planned, he’d be even less happy. But he was tired of having Anthony dictate what he did and when. It was time he did something for himself.
In actual fact, he was planning on sailing from Southampton on the same ship that Connie was. But he hadn’t told her or anyone else. Neither was he going to. He wanted to meet her without anyone else around. So they could see if the love that blossomed through the letters spanning forty-eight years was real or just fantasy.
Oliver fixed his gaze on his son. “A burned-out pastor is no good to anyone. I need time alone with the Lord, Anthony, and this is the way to do it. A nine hour flight to London, followed by a train journey to the south coast for this speaking engagement in Dorset, and a couple of nights in a hotel. Then I catch the ship, spend ten days at sea and end my vacation with a bit of sight-seeing in New York with Connie. I’ll be back towards the end of August.”
“That’s a month!” Anthony huffed and stomped across the room to the window overlooking the vast grounds of the Voight Bible Institute. “You’re taking your phone, I trust?”
Oliver tossed the wretched device into the desk drawer. Actually it was five weeks, but he wasn’t going to count them. “I am not. I wouldn’t be on vacation if I had to keep checking my phone every few minutes.” He studied his son. Anthony was so unlike him at the same age. Hi son seemed to be driven by self and what he could get out of every situation, not by the One who’d called him in the first place. “Be honest, son. You don’t want me meeting Connie at all, do you?”
“No. No I don’t. And Mom wouldn’t either.” Anthony scowled, the reflection in the window causing ripples of pain to run through Oliver. He pointed to Oliver’s left hand. “Where’s your wedding ring?”
“I took my ring off several years ago. I’m surprised you didn’t notice. Abi did. Your mother didn’t want me to be alone. She told me as much before she died. Connie is a friend whom I haven’t seen since I left England when I was sixteen. And I never hid her or any aspect of our friendship from your mother. Or from you kids. She never once forgot your birthday, you know that.”
Anthony harrumphed. “Really.”
Oliver bristled. “Yes really. I don’t know what sort of a marriage you and Emerald have, but the relationship between me and your mother was totally transparent. It had to be. She read every single letter Connie ever sent me. Even replied to a couple herself, or added a note to the ones I wrote.” He scooped up the passport and slid it into his inside jacket pocket. “Your mother has been gone ten years and it’s well past time I began to live again. I’m flying to London. I will see you in five weeks give or take. Do not run the Institute into the ground while I am gone. Owen is in charge, not you. Try to remember that.”
He turned to go.
“Mom trusted you.”
Oliver spun back to glare at his son. “And I just said I was completely honest with your mother from the get-go about Connie. Maybe you weren’t listening! The letters came from the both of us, not just me. I was totally faithful to your mother and so was she for the whole twenty years we were married.”
“And what about the Institute you named after yourself? Have you been faithful to that and its vision? You can’t just up and fly across the country to be with some childhood sweetheart—assuming you haven’t booked yourself onto the same ship in some ridiculous hope of meeting her before I get to see her when she arrives in New York. What will people think about you two being alone on the same ship? You’re a grown man, Dad. Way beyond childish behaviour and teenage emotions.” Anthony slammed a fist into the window frame. “It’s not just your career you’re throwing away here.”
Oliver’s temper boiled. He bit his tongue, not wanting to give his oh so selfish son the tongue lashing the kid deserved. And he used the word kid deliberately. Despite the fact Anthony was now twenty-nine, at times he acted more like he was three. If he read between the lines correctly, Anthony was afraid that Connie would come between him and the Institute.
“First of all, Anthony, Connie wasn’t a childhood sweetheart—she was my best mate’s kid sister. Secondly, you were employed here, by the board, on your own merits. You getting a job here had nothing to do with me. As for the Institute—what you seem to have a problem with is that I won’t run this organisation like some of the other televangelist and preachers out there. Send me money and you will be saved. Send me more money and you will be blessed and your wife or daughter or grandchild will be miraculously healed. Sell your house, send me the money so I can have five jets, because four just aren’t enough, and you’ll have a bigger mansion in heaven.”
Oliver drew in a long, deep breath. “All I need to show people the road to salvation is in here.” He held up his Bible. “You can’t buy your way into heaven, Anthony. You of all people should know that.”
“And if the money runs out?” Anthony was all about the money. He took the task of Institute Financial Director way too seriously at times.
“Money isn’t everything. Perhaps the Lord is calling me to a different type of ministry. A different way of life. I need to wait upon Him and find out. If anything crops up in the meantime, I’m sure Owen can handle it.”
Owen Mitchell had been his deputy for five years and could run this place as well as Oliver could do it. In fact, if things went the way he hoped, Owen would soon be Director and Oliver would be off to pastures new.
“Can I at least have your itinerary?” Anthony wheedled.
Oliver bit his tongue. “Sure.” He turned around and tugged a sheet of paper from the top drawer of his desk. “Here.” He’d hoped not to have Anthony see it until after he’d left the country,
but as always, Anthony had jumped the gun.
Friday 20th July – Leave for the UK. 20:30 flight from Denver International Airport to London Heathrow.
Saturday 21st July – Arrive UK and catch train to Dorset.
Sunday 22nd July – Preach in Lyme Regis, Dorset.
Wednesday 25th July – Train to Southampton. Board QM2 at 13:10. Emergency boat drill for all passengers 16:00. Leave QE2 Cruise Terminal, Southampton, 17:00 local time.
Thursday 26th July – Day in Cherbourg, France.
Friday 27th July – Day in St Helier, Jersey.
Saturday 28th July – Day in Dublin, Ireland.
Sunday 29th July to Saturday 4th August – At sea.
Sunday 5th August – Arrive Brooklyn Cruise Terminal, New York, 07:00 local time.
Anthony studied it, and then flapped the paper in the air, glaring at him. “So, what is this speaking engagement in Dorset on Sunday? That wasn’t in the schedule. And who’s paying for it?”
“Actually it was, but I don’t have to share all my engagements with you. And I’m paying out of my own money. Same with the cruise.” Oliver tilted his head. “I’m preaching in a small chapel on the coast. They asked and I accepted. Now if you don’t mind, I have a plane to catch.”
He left his office and closed the door. A week. A week until he finally saw the woman he’d been writing to for forty-eight years.