June walked across the room, dropping the light coat she had been carrying onto a chair, and then picked up a framed picture from its place on top of a small bookcase. She held it up, gazed at it for a moment, and then walked back to where Martin was standing, passing it to him without a word. It was a rather faded photograph of a young man and woman standing in a park or recreation ground of some description. There was a sort of roguish look about the man, and the woman was smiling happily. Looking at that picture, Martin could see at once that there was a likeness to both of them in June.
“I remember them as always being very happy,” she said. “I suppose they must have been very much in love; I just never thought about it like that. I don’t remember any cross words passing between them. I remember that Dad played with me an awful lot; he was always full of fun. He never seemed to have much money but he was always happy. And then one day he wasn’t there anymore.”
“So you don’t know what happened to him then?”
She shook her head, and took the picture from him to carefully replace it on the bookcase. “After a while, I came to accept that my mother had died,” she said “Only somehow, I couldn’t believe that my dad was dead as well. As a child I always imagined that one day he would come and save me, and that we would be together again. I don’t know if the authorities ever made any effort to find him; certainly nothing was ever said to me about it. It was the one thing that kept me going; the thought that he was out there somewhere, looking for me, and that one-day he would find me.
Even when things were really bad, I still thought he would come. He never did of course, yet I never gave up hoping that we would be together again one day. Even now, I still haven’t entirely given up, even though my common sense tells me it is just a hopeless dream.”
She paused, and then came back to where he was standing.
“Look, I’m sure you don’t want to hear all this,” she started to say.
“On the contrary, I do,” he assured her earnestly. “I really do need to understand how you feel.”
There were a brief silence as she stood there looking at him, her face betraying that same mix of emotions; the need to confide in someone, and the natural guarded reactions of a person who has been hurt too many times in life to take a risk.
“You are not just saying that, are you?”
“Look June, I, too, have been through a lot of pain. Unfortunately I never found anyone I felt I could share it with, maybe if I had I would have come to terms with it quicker; but that's my problem. I fully respect your privacy, so you don’t have to tell me anything if you don’t want to, yet just for the record, I do sympathise, and I honestly believe if only you can allow yourself to talk about it, matters will get easier to bear. Tell me to mind my own damn business if you like, I won't take offence.”
She seemed to be searching his face, looking deep into his eyes as she balanced the all too obvious need to talk, and the natural reluctance that her life had bred into her. He waited, watching her, hoping she would speak, yet fearing in a way that he had already pushed her too far
“Very well, if you are sure?” she said at last, and turned to pace slowly down the room and back again before coming to an abrupt halt directly in front of him, looking deep into his eyes once more.
“Call it an obsession,” she said suddenly, “call it anything you like, being re-united with my father became the one driving force that kept me going All through that terrible time in the children’s home it was the one thought that helped me to survive. Somewhere, I believed that he still existed, and to this day I still have this feeling that my father is out there if only I knew where. There are all sorts of reasons that may explain why he vanished from my life. Maybe he didn’t have the idyllic marriage I always imagined, maybe he left my mother, maybe he married again, maybe I have lots of half brothers and sisters I don't know anything about. They are all possibilities. Maybe he was taken ill, maybe he has suffered from amnesia, or maybe he has been kidnapped? As I grew older I thought of all these things, yet it didn’t matter; I just wanted to find him. When I finally escaped from the care system it was all I wanted to do. I didn’t know how to start, but I never stopped looking.”
She stopped speaking as suddenly as she had started, looking at him searchingly to see how he was reacting to what she was saying.
“Go on,” he said softly.
“I eventually tracked down the couple that used to live next door to my parents,” she said, looking back towards the picture as it reposed on the small bookcase. “They were surprised to see me, and from them I learned that shortly before he disappeared, my father told them that he had had a real stroke of luck; he had been offered a job with enough money to enable him to get his family out of our existing home and into a much better place. He was full of this job, and really excited about his prospects.”
“Did they know what it was?”
She shrugged again, her eyes straying from the picture and looking at nothing in particular as her mind travelled back over the years. “I asked of course, even if they ever knew, they had long since forgotten. But that one snippet of news really excited me; it provided me with a reason why he had gone away. He always wanted something better for my mother and myself, and going after a much better paid job was something he wouldn’t hesitate to do.”
“Did you discover where he had to go to get this job?”
She shrugged eloquently. “All they could tell me was that it was in Wellworthy.”
“And that is why you came to this part of the world?” he exclaimed as a tiny part of the enigma his housekeeper presented slipped into place, “You thought he might still be here?”
“It was the only hope I had,” she said defensively, “and of course there was no proof that he really did come here. When I was told about it, the ex-neighbours were thinking back over a good many years, and just thought that it was Wellworthy. Common sense told me that I was probably on a wild goose chase, only somehow I just felt that he really did come here. With nothing to lose, and with nobody else in this world who gave a damn about me, I set out to come to Wellworthy. I’ve been here ever since, and spent the last few years trying to look at everyone I could see, just in case I should recognise him. I thought that he might have worked here, maybe settled down here. Or maybe the job he had come here for had taken him somewhere else in the country. Maybe somebody knew him, or could tell me where he had gone. Logic says he may never have come anywhere near the place, that I’m wasting my life chasing shadows, yet something seems to tell me that he
did
come here.”
“And in all that time you haven’t uncovered anything that makes you hope?”
“No, not a thing,” she admitted with a small hopeless sigh. “I’ve come close more than once to accepting that I was completely wrong and just clutching at straws. Maybe the neighbours didn’t hear the name of the place right, maybe he never got here; there are a million things that may have happened. Any yet, somehow, I
still
feel in my bones he is here somewhere. Can you understand that?”
“Yes.”
“I shall never give up looking.” she said, as if defying him to try to convince her otherwise.
“Of course you won’t,” he agreed, “and I have a feeling that one day you will be successful.”
She looked at him dubiously, as if suspecting him of being patronising.
“No, I’m not just saying that to be polite,” he added quickly. “Nor am I saying that you will find him tomorrow, or next week, any more than I’m saying you will find him alive and well in the arms of another woman. I’m just saying that I know instinctively that you are the sort of person who will never give up on anything you have set your heart on. Even if you discover that, in the intervening years he has passed away, you will find him eventually, and then you will find closure.”
“You truly think so?”
“I’m certain of it.”
“Then I’m glad I told you.”
“And I’m glad too.” He paused, and then added; “Will you allow me to help you in your search?”
She held his gaze for a few moments, the old wary expression returning once more to her features, “Martin,” she said, watching his eyes closely, “if you don’t mind me asking; why would you want to do that?”
“I’d just like to help, that’s all. Two heads are better than one, and after all, I have the resources that you don’t. I’ve money, transport, and contacts; I would be pleased to do it.”
He smiled at her, but there was no sign that he had allayed her latent suspicions.
“You must forgive me for being blunt,” she said quietly, yet with an air of deliberation. “I don’t think that that really answers my question. Why would you, a busy, successful man who has only been aware of my existence for a day or so, wish to get so heavily involved in something of this nature? Personally, I can only think of one answer to that; in my experience men only do things for women because they want something in return; usually sex.”
Her words were so unexpected that they pierced him in a way he wouldn’t have believed possible. He had been so wrapped up in concerns for her vulnerability, and the suffering she had endured, and the naturally desire to help that the whole story and the emotions they engendered had caused him to temporarily forget his own painful loss. It was as if she had suddenly slapped him in the face, and flung his words back at him with incredible venom. Even worse, as she had framed what was tantamount to an accusation,
he suddenly realised that there was an element of truth in it
! Like a second blow in the face he realised that he was attracted to her, yet up to that point he had been convinced that the interest he felt was purely a manifestation of sympathy for someone who had suffered, just as he had suffered. Would he have felt the same way about a man, or even a physically unattractive woman? He felt almost sick when he realised that the hitherto unrecognised physical attraction was undoubtedly part of the reason why he had made the offer. In a way, she must have sensed this underlying, and up to that point quite unrecognised, truth implicit in his words and actions.
“I think,” he said slowly, keeping his voice under control, with an effort, and refusing to allow his true feelings to show on his face, “that I should be getting back to the house. I don’t like to leave the girls alone too long. I’m sorry that I have inadvertently caused you offence; it was not my intention. Thank you for showing me the picture.”
He turned to leave, a feeling of intense depression building up as he realised that he had so easily deluded himself. She wasn’t Alicia; never could be Alicia. He loved his wife to distraction; but his wife was dead, and he was alone. He had wanted a distraction, and worrying about June had provided it, but how had he allowed himself to drift unknowingly in the direction she so obviously recognised was latent within him? Suddenly, he thoroughly despised himself. He had been using her, perhaps unconsciously, but using her all the same as a means of assuaging his own pain. He felt disgusted, gutted, depressed, even angry, but beyond all that there was a feeling of black despair.
“I’m sorry!” she exclaimed as he turned to go. “I’m so very sorry. I really am; I should not have said that. Please don’t go?”
He turned and looked at her again, and he could see the tears starting at the corner of her eyes. It would have been so easy to reach out to her, to have taken her in his arms and comforted her. But the thought was still there at the back of his mind; the possibility, the very real possibility, that he only wanted her to satisfy his own longings. The simple truth was that at that moment he thought so little of his confused motivation that he couldn’t trust himself at all.
“I think I should,” he said softly, “for both our sakes. Truthfully, there is nothing for you to be sorry about. I meant what I said; I really do want to help. I hope you will accept that the offer is genuinely made with no strings attached to it. Maybe you can tell me in the morning if you would like that help; I will not hold it against you if you should decline. Good night June.”
He didn’t wait for her to respond as he turned and left the room, crossed the small hallway and let himself out of the front door. She didn’t try to follow him, and for that he was glad.
Letting himself back into the house, he crossed the hallway and ascended the stairs. Moving very quietly, he opened the door of the girls’ bedroom and was relieved to see that both of them were soundly asleep. Satisfied, he returned downstairs. He was much too unsettled to think of retiring, and he went into the study, where he poured himself a large whiskey. He moved across the room and sat at the desk, with the glass placed in front of him as he thought matters through again and again.