A Lonely Sky (19 page)

“Julia, I know I said the restaurant was good, but that’s just hearsay.” He winked. “I hear the room service here is equally good.”

She ran a pink painted nail down the length of his arm. “I’m really not hungry.” She looked up at him and smiled.

“Neither am I.” Sam lifted her face to his and kissed her again, this time with an urgency Julia could not resist.

She spoke between kisses. “Forget room service, too.”

Sam groaned, picked her up and carried her to the bed.

Julia woke in the middle of the night wrapped in Sam’s embrace. She sighed, content to be with the man she loved. Slowly, so as not to wake him, Julia lifted Sam’s arm from around her and placed it at his side. She studied his face, so handsome, even asleep. She listened to his steady breathing, and watched as his eyes flickered ever so slightly in slumber. She could stay here forever watching Sam sleep yet a slight chill from the air conditioning sent her in search of covers tossed to the floor during their fervent lovemaking. She rose and gathered the heavy spread from the floor. As she wrapped it around her, bright moonlight streamed through an opening in the draperies. She walked to the windows and gazed out into the Chicago night. The city sparkled up and down the coast with the glitter from a multitude of skyscrapers, while the twinkling and the colorful lights from Navy Pier added another touch of shimmer against the late evening sky. She gazed up into the starry night, and thanked God for the most wonderful night of her life.

“What are you doing at the window, love?” Sam’s voice found her in the darkness. “Come back to bed.”

Julia returned to the warm safety of Sam’s arms. He pulled her close, cocooning them both in the heavy spread. “I can’t bear to be apart from you, Julia, even for a moment. And we have so little time left.”

Julia tried not to think of the impending dawn. “I’m going to miss you so much.”

He kissed the top of her head. “When you come to London, we’ll be together again.” He paused for a moment. “There’s a little white church I want to show you when you get there. It’s in the country, secluded at the top of a small hill. It’s beautiful in the springtime. My parents married there. To the right is a very old, but well cared, for cemetery. The Little White Church, that’s actually the name of it, is by a stream, and the only noise most days is the babbling of the brook. And all around the church, the most amazing flowers bloom in fields of lavender and white.”

“It sounds lovely, Sam.”

“I go there just to be alone or when I miss my parents. Before I left for Australia and I had a dream. You stood outside that church in the most beautiful white dress and had flowers in your hair.”

Julia closed her eyes for a few moments, and imagined the church he spoke of. Would it be possible that one day Sam’s dream might come true?

“I love you, Sam.” The words tumbled from her heart, unabashed.

She turned to kiss him, but found him fast asleep. She rested her head on his chest.

“If I never have another night with you,” Julia said into the darkness. “This will be the most memorable one of my life.”

“I’m sorry, Sam. I understand your predicament, but they just can’t advance your salary. The movie is already way over budget and there simply isn’t any money to spare.” Larry Minor, Sam’s agent, shrugged his shoulders. “I wish I could help you out, bloke, but money’s tight these days, and even I’m strapped. Have you tried a loan from the bank?”

“Yes. Turned me down flat. I’ve no credit, student loans still to pay and they don’t believe my career is stable.” Sam stubbed out his cigarette in an ashtray. “Such is the life and luck of a starving artist.”

“I would think your family name would carry some weight,” Larry said.

“I didn’t mention my relations.” Sam said. “Plus our fortune is in Deirdre’s hands anyhow.”

“Ah, that’s bloody right. Sorry there, Sam.” Larry looked away. “And my hands are tied.”

Sam rose from his chair, and extended his hand. “I understand, Larry. Thanks for listening.”

Larry stood and accepted the handshake. “Anytime. I just wish there was more I could do. Stick with the mini-series. After it airs, you’ll have tons of offers and scripts to choose from, and your financial woes will vanish. Sam, you’re going to be a big star, believe me.”

Sam offered a half-smile. “Good to see you.”

“And you, Sam,” Larry said as Sam headed towards the office door. “And my condolences again regarding your aunt.”

Sam didn’t answer as he headed down the shiny mahogany stairs of the office building and into the dismal London rain. He stopped as he exited, not knowing which way to turn or where to go. Larry had been his last hope to raise the money needed to pay off his aunt’s debts.

“Oh Polly,” he said to the sky. “How did it all end up like this?”

How did it indeed?  A month ago he had a lead role in a mini-series, a beautiful new girlfriend and a promising future. And then, within three weeks, Polly declined rapidly as did Sam's hope for the life he envisioned with Julia.

He had returned from Chicago to find Polly very ill. Confused and bed-ridden with pneumonia, she refused medication, believed it to be poison, and called constantly for her deceased husband. Sam’s heart broke to find her in such a condition, but Dr. Curtis hoped that once the pneumonia was under control, her mental decline might improve as well.

Agreeing with Doctor Curtis that Polly’s removal from the drafty manor might help her recover quicker, Sam admitted Polly to the hospital, despite her protests. But even after the administration of strong antibiotics, Polly’s condition continued to decline and days later, she succumbed.

Numb with grief and the shock of his aunt’s sudden passing, Sam, with Barnabas’s help, laid Polly to rest in the McTeel family vault; the last McTeel in a long line of ancestry. Later that same day, Sam found himself in the stuffy law offices of Kent, Kent and Pendergast for the reading of her will.

Sam faced the younger of the Kent brothers and silently cursed the “No Smoking” sign on the desk in front of him. As Trenton Kent tediously read Polly’s will, Sam could have smoked an entire pack.

“The will places you, Mr. Lyons, as the sole heir to Mrs. McTeel’s estate.” Trenton Kent’s beady eyes glared from behind tortoise-shell framed glasses.

“Well, I suppose there’s no one else,” Sam explained, shocked to find himself inheriting from Polly. “There are no more McTeels. I hope she left compensation for the help, Elliott Barnabas, her caretaker, Sylvie, her ladies maid, and the kitchen staff. I believe also, there’s a cook, and-”

“Mr. Lyons.” Trenton Kent threw the legal documents on the desk. “They should be so lucky to receive their last paycheck, and they should be the least of
your
worries.”

“Excuse me?”

“There’s
no money
, Mr. Lyons.”

“
No
money?”

“No money.” Trenton leaned back in his leather office chair and waved his hands across the vast amount of paper work strewn across his desk. “I’ve been contacted by Mrs. McTeel’s accountant. The estate is in arrears of a vast sum of money, Mr. Lyons. If there was any money to be had, it would be handed over to her creditors.”

Sam sat forward as if straining to hear his words. “How can this be?  Polly was a very wealthy woman, from a very wealthy family with a huge estate.”

“Yes, but over the years, she did not keep up with her bills, her taxes-”

“That can’t be.” Sam ran his hand through his hair and wished desperately for a smoke. “She has an accountant.”

“Who she kept in the dark for nearly two years, maybe more.”

“And he said
nothing
until now?  Didn’t he know that she suffered from dementia?” Sam cursed himself. Had he not been so self-involved, perhaps he might have noticed the accountant not coming round. He simply assumed all was well with Polly’s finances, as he never heard otherwise. Then again, it wasn’t his position to ask either. How was he to know he was her heir?

“I doubt her accountant knew about the dementia. So sorry.” Trenton Kent didn’t look sorry; he looked at his watch. “But what I do know, Mr. Lyons, is that unless the estate pays back the creditors, you’ll probably have to put McTeel Manor up at auction.”

Sam reached into his pocket and pulled out a cigarette and lighter.

“There’s no smoking in here, Mr. Lyons.”

Sam lit the cigarette and took a smoke. “There’s no way that estate is going up for auction.” He glared at Trenton Kent.

Mr. Kent opened a drawer and pulled out a small glass ashtray and gently pushed it towards Sam.

“Her good name will not be ruined.” Sam stood up and began to pace. “There must be money somewhere.”

“Not according to her account-”

“Quiet you. I’m trying to think.” Sam barely glanced at Trenton as he walked past his desk and flicked ashes into the tray. “There must be a way.” He paced a few more times, when the answer dawned. He stubbed out his cigarette and he looked directly at the lawyer. “I want a copy of all the paperwork.” It was an order, not a request.

“Of course, Mr. Lyons.” Trenton Kent stood, all too anxious to escort Sam from his office. “Good luck, Mr. Lyons. I’m sorry I couldn’t have brought you better news.”

“I’ll be living at McTeel Manor when I’m not on location. Send everything there.”

“Yes sir.”

“Except for your fee.” Sam turned to leave. “I won’t be paying that.”

The lawyer’s face turned ashen. “Excuse me?”

Sam turned back to Trenton Kent. “Just joshing. I’ll be in touch.”

Several days later, Sam sat in Polly’s stately library, hunched over her desk and reviewed the list of her creditors and balances due. He tallied the final amount owed and cringed as the devastating sum flashed on the calculator. Even with his added salary and the money he saved on rent by moving into Polly’s home, the estate still edged on financial ruin. He rested his elbows on the desk and held his head.

A gentle knock on the partially opened door drew Sam’s attention from his troubles.

“Tea, sir?” Barnabas carried a tray complete with silver tea set and china cup.

“Ah, Barnabas,” Sam turned to greet his old friend. “Tea is lovely, but a good stiff whiskey is what I could use right about now.”

“I don’t doubt it.” Barnabas placed the tray on a small table. “Any good news, sir?”

“Please call me Sam, Barnabas.” Sam motioned to a nearby chair. “And please sit.”

Barnabas appeared uncomfortable at the suggestion, but seated himself. “As it pleases you.”

Sam sighed, and turned his chair to face Barnabas. “Look, I’m not the master of this place, so you don’t need to treat me as such. I appreciate you staying on without pay, but really, you don’t have to. I can pour whiskey and make tea.” Sam smiled at the caretaker. “Wouldn’t you like to retire?”

Barnabas looked at the floor. “I wish to remain here. I don’t want the money. I don’t need much.”

Sam studied the man. Even with Polly gone, Barnabas still dressed like the proper employee, from his shined black shoes to the starched white hanky in his suit pocket. His gray hair remained steadfastly combed in place and not a stubble dared to grow on his clean-shaven face. Only his tired, gray eyes lacked something that existed before.

“Well, excellent then. Of course you can stay, if that’s what you wish,” Sam said. “It will do me good to know you’re here when I’m away working, but honestly, old friend, you don’t have to work here. Just relax.”

“I need to do it, sir.” Barnabas looked up. He paused and spoke again. “You see, I miss her.”

Sam ached at the thought of his aunt. “I miss her too.”

Barnabas fidgeted with his pant leg. Sam realized something bothered him more than he let on; Barnabas never lost his staid composure. He was a man of honor, a friend when needed, and a good companion for Polly. He never asked for anything in return. But now, tears welled in his eyes.

“I need to stay here, sir. Take care of things for her. When I’m here, surrounded by her things, I feel her with me.” He looked down at the floor again. “I can’t leave her.”

Sam’s eyes widened in surprise. “Barnabas, are you telling me-”

“That I loved her?  And Sam, she loved me as well.”

Sam sat back in his chair, more shocked than if Polly herself appeared and declared it. “Barnabas, I never knew.”

“No one did, except she and I.” Barnabas stared ahead as if a faded memory played on the wall. He smiled. “After Mr. McTeel died, I told Polly I would leave. After all, I was his valet, but how simply dreadful of me to carry a torch for his wife. But Polly asked me to remain. I suppose she loved me all along too, for after Michael’s passing, many months later, Polly revealed her feelings to me. It’s been our secret for years.” His face fell. “And then, very slowly, she began to fade.”

“And you stayed on.”

“I wanted to take care of her. I loved her unconditionally. We didn’t have very long, but what we had was wonderful. Being here keeps those memories alive.”