Richard
Life’s Tangles
‘Bridget, darling, what is it?’
‘I don’t know, to tell the truth, Edward. It is nothing Megan has said in her letter, more what she hasn’t said. I’ve just got this feeling . . .’
‘That’s your imagination, dear. Your motherly instinct is always in top gear, making you think something is wrong with Megan. It’s always the same, and then you find you had nothing to worry about.’
‘No, not always. The whole time we were trying to find her, I used to say I felt things weren’t right for her – and I was right then.’
‘Let’s start with what the letter does say, shall we?’
‘Megan says she’s trying to get Billy released. She feels he may do something really bad if he is cooped up in that secure mental hospital much longer. But she doesn’t sound happy about it.’
Richard had let his parents’ conversation go over his head. He’d been engrossed in what the post had brought for him, but now unease entered him on hearing his mother’s words. Billy, free. But that would mean Sarah and he . . . Oh God! ‘Is it likely they will set him free, Father?’
‘It’s possible. It has been nine years since his incarceration. I haven’t kept up with his medical condition lately, but I’ll see what I can find out. I’m due at a meeting of the Trust this afternoon, so I’ll look up Dr Hutting’s number in the directory of psychiatrists that’s kept at the hospital. Last I heard, he was in charge of Billy’s case.’
Richard nodded. He knew the finding out wouldn’t be a chore. A vibrant personality at seventy years old, his father would still be going strong in his career as a surgeon to this day, had it not been for the slight tremor that now afflicted him. As it was, he remained active as a member of the Leicestershire Hospital Trust and enjoyed getting involved.
As a lad, Billy had been in a secure mental institution in the area, but had moved up to Leeds at the age of sixteen. Since then Richard hadn’t seen anything of him, and didn’t wish to, either. He voiced that now. ‘Well, I – for one – hope he doesn’t come out. Oh, I know I haven’t met him many times, but when I did, I didn’t like him. Sorry, Mother, I know he is your grandson and my half-nephew, but, well . . .’
‘I know, dear. We can’t choose our relatives. I’m always wishing things were different – not about finding Megan, of course. The years after she was taken from me, at her birth, were hell for me. Finding her was a completion of who I am. Her circumstances, when we did find her, were appalling enough for us all to come to terms with. But to have the problem of her son, my grandson Billy, on top of that, and all he was capable of and carried out – well, that marred the reunion of Megan and me.’
‘Look, old girl, I’ve told you before that you cannot change things; and Megan is happy with Jack now. All the violence she suffered is behind her, so you have to stop worrying about it all.’
‘I don’t think it is behind us, I—’
Richard rose and left the room. His mother looked close to tears, and he knew it was best to leave his father to comfort her.
They made a striking couple, he thought as he reached the door and looked back. They were holding each other: Father, tall, slender and with white-grey hair, and Mother, younger than his father by about twelve years, and still retaining her graceful beauty. A rush of love for them both assaulted him.
Although he had inherited his father’s love of medicine, Richard took after his mother in looks, having the same very dark hair and oval eyes. Many times she’d told him he was a mirror image of her own father. ‘Every time I catch sight of you when I’m not expecting to, my heart stops, as it seems that my dad has come back to me. You look exactly like him – the same deep-blue, smiley eyes and your tall, strong build, though my father got his physique from working down the pit from the age of six or seven.’ She’d go on to say that sometimes her dad’s image was like a haze in her memory, and at other times was crystal-clear. ‘I was only little when he died, but the locket my mam gave me, which had a picture of them both, kept him alive for me.’
Going off at a tangent, she’d tell him how she’d left the locket with her baby, and how it had been the cause of her and Megan finding each other all those years later. Then she would resume talking about Richard’s resemblance to his grandfather. ‘You know, my mam once told me that my dad had an Italian in his ancestry, but that nothing was known of him.’
Richard smiled at this romantic notion as he walked through the hall. Catching a glimpse of himself in the mirror as he passed by, he thought there might be some truth in the Italian heritage and vowed to get his mother to tell him more about her family. There seemed such a mystery surrounding his maternal grandparents, and nothing about their names gave a clue to anything out of the ordinary: Will and Bridie Hadler. Definitely not Italian-sounding!
Wanting some air and some time to consider his own thoughts, he took his jacket off the coat stand and went outside. The chill in the air surprised him. The last few days had been warm and sunny, making all the speculation about war seem as though it belonged somewhere else. The buff envelope with its War Office stamp that had arrived for him this morning had reminded him that it didn’t.
Crossing the cobbled yard, he reached the gate. Beyond lay acres of softly rolling landscape. Their house, on the outskirts of Market Harborough, stood on an incline, affording them views far and wide of this part of Leicestershire, on the border of Northamptonshire.
To his left he could see the many church towers and spires of the villages, dotted here and there amidst the farmland. Some of the fields had been harvested and ploughed, whilst others were pastures with herds of cows idly chewing away on the grass; and some still boasted their crops of wheat swaying in the breeze, making the scene look like a patchwork quilt of browns, greens and yellows. To his right lay the more densely built-up area of the town itself, a place with much history to it. In particular, he loved the seventeenth-century grammar school building at its centre; criss-crossed with old beams and looking as though it was supported by stilts, it told of a bygone age.
As Richard leaned on the gate, the only sounds to disturb his thoughts were those of the wildlife variety: birds twittering, and the occasional sheep or cow telling the world whatever. He looked back at the rear of their home, a large detached house – rural, peaceful; a happy place – the front of which looked out over the Welland Valley, with its ever-changing kaleidoscope of colour reflecting the seasons. A lovely place, but one that belied the trauma that the two loving people who lived there had experienced, before marrying and giving life to him and his younger brother Mark. Their heroic actions in the Great War were enough for anyone to endure in a lifetime, working as they had done in sparse tents behind the front lines. His father being a surgeon and his mother a nurse, they had battled to save lives, with minimal equipment and in horrendous conditions. But even worse than that was what his mother had suffered as a young girl.
It had been a shock when they had decided to tell Richard the truth about how he came to have a much older half-sister. The story angered every bone of his body. To hear of the rape of his mother, when just a young girl, and having her child taken from her – only to find her years later, and to have to face the shocking truth that her long-lost half-brother, Bert Armitage, and her daughter Megan had met and married, in ignorance of their relationship to each other – had been devastating to him. Added to that, the product of that marriage, Billy, born unwittingly of incest, had been inflicted with mental-health disturbances, resulting in him committing vile acts that had blighted all of their lives.
The tremble shaking his body and stippling his arms with goosebumps unsteadied Richard now. He thought he’d come to terms with it all. He was in his last year at university and was hoping to go to medical school, to become a surgeon one day; at the age of twenty-two, he should have been able to deal with it, but he couldn’t, not really. And now there was the possibility of that monster Billy gaining his freedom!
Sarah came into his mind: his fear for her and – yes, he had to admit – his longing for her. Despite the horror of the revelations concerning Megan’s birth, he’d been quite proud to find out, at the age of twelve and a half, that though he and Sarah weren’t blood relatives he was a step-uncle by marriage to her, and half-uncle to Billy, without being much older than them. But now those relationships meant very different things to him: he hated his nephew and was in love . . . No! He must stop thinking like this! Sarah belonged to Billy. Always had done and always would.
The sound of horses’ hooves from the direction of the lane that ran by their house caught his attention. Its rider – beautiful, raven-haired and elegantly side-saddled – called out to him. ‘Hey, Richard, are you all right?’
‘Yes, I’m fine. I’m just pondering things.’
‘Nothing too serious, I hope. You looked very downcast.’
‘I’ve had one of those envelopes! Have to report for a medical next week. Not looking forward to it, or to the interruption of my studies.’
‘Oh no! So soon? God – that nasty, moustached little . . . Oh, I don’t know, there doesn’t seem a name that would fit Hitler, or describe what I think of him. He’s going to spoil all of this. Us, and what we have.’
She dismounted and walked towards him. Her horse, held by the reins, pulled against her, poked its head over the gate and nudged Richard, knocking him backwards. The action made him laugh and gave him an excuse to try and get away. ‘He’s not happy at having his ride interrupted. I won’t keep you, Lucinda. I have to go in and break the news of my call-up to the parents. I’ve been avoiding doing so.’
‘Oh, don’t mind him. And you’re not stopping his exercise – he had that earlier. I rode over specifically to see if I could catch you. We have something to talk about, remember?’
Richard’s heart sank. Damn his stupidity for kissing Lucinda at the autumn ball! She’d been trying to snare him for ages, and would now read more into the kiss than there was. How was he going to get out of this?
Everyone seemed to assume they would marry one day. His mother had hinted at it, and his father had said he couldn’t do any better for himself. His parents and Lucinda’s, who were wealthy farmers, had been friends for as long as he could remember. He and Lucinda had grown up together. He’d never had feelings other than friendship for her, but even their own circle of friends seemed to take it for granted that one day he would formally court her. God, what a mess!
‘Well? Have you a moment to talk? I mean, Richard, we should sort things out. Even more so, with the possibility of you having to go to war.’
‘I – I know. Sorry, look, I – I acted very foolishly the other night. I didn’t mean to compromise our situation. But—’
‘But you do love me, don’t you? So why don’t you take it further?’
‘I can’t, and I don’t know. I mean, now isn’t the time. Our lives are going to change. Besides, I’m not of independent means.’
‘Which way around did you mean all of that, Richard? I hope you haven’t misled me? You must realize I can’t hang around much longer. This is very unfair on me. Surely we can make it official for now? Once you are my fiancé, well . . . well, we wouldn’t have to stand on ceremony. We could get a lot closer.’
The insinuation she put into this took him aback. ‘I can’t promise myself to anyone, Lucinda. I . . . Look, you’re right, we do need to talk. Are you free this evening? Perhaps we could drive out and find somewhere to have dinner where no one knows us, so we won’t be interrupted. A hotel in Northampton maybe?’
‘Yes, I would love that.’
‘I’ll arrange everything and pick you up at seven.’
Her body swayed towards him, her face upturned. There was nothing he could do, without embarrassing her, other than kiss her. He managed, though, to avoid her lips and peck her cheek instead.
As she rode away, Richard felt despair at the situation he’d created. Somehow, tonight, he had to find a way of letting Lucinda down gently. But how? Whatever I say, I’ll look like a cad. Maybe I am one. What kind of man falls in love with someone who’s practically a relative?
The shudder that went through him was a throwback to the horror of what had happened to his half-sister, Megan. But Sarah herself wasn’t related to him. He must remember that. She was the daughter of his half-sister’s husband. There would be nothing at all wrong with a union between them. If only it would happen . . . If only.