Summer Loving (11 page)

‘Then tell her you’re worried about Percy. We’re all hoping he’ll be strong enough to attend the wedding,’ Jess said. ‘But we know there’s a risk he might not be. It’s not the whole truth, but nor is it a lie.’

‘Jess is right,’ Tom said. ‘When you get home, you and Mor will have a cup of tea so she can tell you how Percy is. Then you’ll walk her home. She’ll understand you want to get back. So you won’t have to put on a good face for long.’

‘I don’t like it, going behind her back.’ Misery dragged at Ben’s face.

‘You’re not hiding anything. You’re simply waiting until you have more information. Ben, it’s not my place to tell you what to do –’

‘Why do you think we’re here?’ Tom broke in. ‘Help ’n out, Jess.’

‘Please?’ Ben pleaded. ‘Look, will you talk to this Mr Rendall? I aren’t no good on the phone, ’cept with Mor. I won’t know what he’s on about.’

How could she refuse? ‘Of course I will.’ She pulled her notebook and pen forward and wrote as she spoke. ‘Right, tomorrow morning as close to nine o’clock as possible, you phone Gover Landry –’

‘But I thought you just said –’

‘No one will talk to me without your permission, Ben. Ask to speak to George Rendall.’ She tapped the letter. ‘He signed this and is the partner dealing with matrimonial matters. My solicitor dealt with wills and probate.’

‘I’ll be up the farm.’

‘I know. But if you can use your mobile to ring between nine and half past you’ll catch him while he’s still dealing with post and email before he starts seeing clients. Tell him you’ve received his letter about your divorce not being finalised.’

‘I’ll never remember all that.’ Ben was despairing.

‘That’s why I’m making notes for you. Don’t worry. You
will
remember because this is about your wedding to Mor. Drink that tea while it’s still warm. You can’t sing with a dry throat.’

He raised the mug to his mouth with a trembling hand.

‘Tell Mr Rendall my name, say I’m a close friend of both you and Mor and that you give him permission to explain the procedure to me. I’ll phone him at 9.30. If he’s not free, I’ll keep ringing until he is.’ Jess tore the page with its bullet points out of her notebook and handed it to him. ‘I know it’s a nuisance you could have done without, but it’s only a hiccup. We’ll deal with it.’

Ben drained his mug, stood up, and grabbed Jess’s hand, shaking it hard. ‘You don’t know – Small wonder Mor think the world of you. You’re some good friend.’

His relief and heartfelt gratitude made Jess’s eyes prickle.

‘Come on, pard.’ Tom put his empty mug on the table. ‘Time you was down at the hall. You know what Henry’s like when people come in late.’ Giving Jess a quick hug, he pressed a kiss to her temple murmuring, ‘Thanks.’

‘According to the file,’ George Rendall said and Jess heard papers rustling, ‘Mr Spargo did everything he was supposed to. I will make an application to the Court for the Decree to be made final.’

‘Forgive me, Mr Rendall, but as I’ve explained, Mr Spargo and Miss Crocker’s wedding is booked for the 3
^rd
September. Might it be quicker if Mr Spargo was to pick up a form D36 from the Court office, fill it out, and pay the £50 fee while he’s there?’ Jess held her breath. She knew she sounded pushy. But for him it was just another case. For Mor and Ben it was their future.

‘I see you’ve done your research. And, yes, it would be quicker. However, the Court may want Mr Spargo to file an affidavit explaining the reason for the long delay in applying. I realise that responsibility lies with Mr Grey and not Mr Spargo,’ he added before Jess could speak. ‘But we have to deal with the situation as it is, not as it ought to be. That said, I will have an affidavit prepared, together with another stating that no children of which they are the parents have been born between the date of the decree nisi and now. If Mr Spargo will make an appointment to see me as soon as possible, I will take him to the notary we use – his office is in the building next to ours – where his signature to both documents will be witnessed.’

Jess marvelled. Mr Rendall could certainly move. ‘He’ll be so grateful.’

‘Once the affidavits are signed, Mr Spargo can take them to the court to be handed in with his completed form D36. He should receive a form D37 shortly after. This is the decree absolute and proof that Mr Spargo is free to remarry.’

‘Mr Rendall, you’re dealing with situations like this all the time. It really would help if we – they – knew roughly how long it might take for the D37 to arrive?’

‘Two or three weeks. Four at most.’

That would be cutting it fine. All they could do was hope for sooner rather than later. ‘Thank you very much, Mr Rendall. I really appreciate you talking to me.’

‘Good day to you, Mrs Trevanion. May I say Mr Spargo is very fortunate in his friends.’

‘I knew there was something. More ’n worry about Percy, I mean. Ben put on a good face but he wasn’t hisself, dear of him.’ Morwenna sat at Jess’s kitchen table cradling a half-empty cup.

Jess had phoned her at work. A few moments after getting off the bus, Mor had knocked on the door. Tea made and poured, Jess had taken the chair opposite and told her the contents of the letter.

‘It’s not Ben’s fault, Mor. Apparently old Mr Grey should have retired years ago. But his wife had died. His children were married and busy with their own lives. I suppose work was all he had left. I know this is small comfort, but Ben’s isn’t the only case where papers were misfiled.’

‘What if Michelle married again and had a family?’

‘Then her new marriage is bigamous and her children are illegitimate.’

Horror crossed Mor’s face. ‘Oh my dear life, it don’t bear thinking about.’

‘If Michelle has remarried, she and her husband will want this settled as soon as possible. Once the affidavits have been lodged with the court the decree absolute will be granted.’

Mor nodded and gazed into her cup.

‘What is it, Mor?’

‘I had this dream that one day Ben and me would get married like I always hoped. After Mother passed, I felt ... free. I thought everything would be different. But nothing have gone like we planned.’

Jess saw a tear fall. It soaked into Mor’s blue cotton skirt, leaving a small damp spot.

‘Percy isn’t no better. Then there was the fire. Now Ben isn’t even divorced. I keep hearing her voice in my head, telling me I got no business being happy.’

Jess could have wept. Instead she took a moment to finish her tea and steady herself. ‘Mor, who would you rather believe? One bitter, unhappy, unkind woman? Or Ben, me, Tom, Viv, Annie, Gill, and Claire?’

Mor’s smile quivered, but it was real. ‘When you put it like that –’

‘I do, because it’s the truth. You and Ben have waited a long time for your happiness. Of course you deserve it. Do you love him?’

Mor wiped her nose, her eyes bright as she nodded.

‘Good, because as far as he’s concerned you are the sun, moon, and stars. Right now he’s blaming himself, thinking he’s let you down.’

Morwenna looked up. ‘That’s daft. It isn’t his fault and I don’t want him fretting. He got enough worry with his father.’ She put her cup carefully on its saucer and stood up. ‘I’ll go down and see him. Thanks for ringing me, Jess. I’m some grateful.’

––––––––

J
ess spent the whole of Wednesday tracing the ancestry of Diane Trewearn, nee Cowling. At four o’clock she picked up the phone.

‘Linda? It’s Jess Trevanion. Are you free for an hour? I think I may have the answer.’

Twenty minutes later, Linda and Jess were sitting side by side at Jess’s kitchen table. On the worktop by the sink two empty glasses held dregs of Jess’s blackcurrant cordial, and a few crumbs of lemon drizzle cake clung to the two plates.

‘So there is a definite black connection through both sides of Billy-Joe’s ancestry,’ Jess said, moving the chart detailing the Vickery-Ryerson family tree to one side. ‘But because many slaves were of mixed ancestry, I wasn’t sure the genetic link was strong enough to show up as it has in Karen and Scott’s baby.’

‘James. That’s his name. Karen told me before she went. She’s calling him Jamie. Dear little chap he is. I miss them awful.’ She wiped her eyes. ‘Sorry.’

‘Nothing to be sorry for,’ Jess went to the shelf and returned with a new box of tissues. ‘I hope Karen and Jamie will soon be back in their own home.’

‘Scott knows he got a lot to make up. But he dearly love her.’

‘I hope they can work it out. Jamie’s colour will always cause comment and questions. But if Scott and Karen can get through this they’ll be strong enough to face anything the future may throw at them.’

Linda patted her arm. ‘You never know what’s round the corner. You was saying about Mother?’

Jess drew the second chart towards them. ‘Diane’s great-great-grandmother was Sarah Snell, daughter of George Snell, a cargo broker of Falmouth. Sarah married William John Turnbull, part-owner of a packet ship carrying bullion, mail, and passengers between Jamaica and Falmouth. William John’s birthplace was given as Port Royal, Jamaica. His father’s name was John Turnbull, of Vale Park Estate in the south-west of the island.’

She tapped John Turnbull’s name. ‘I haven’t been able to find any record of John ever marrying. William’s mother’s name was given simply as Jenny.’

‘No last name?’ Linda frowned.

Jess shook her head. ‘This was quite common in these circumstances. Just as certain births were not recorded in the family bible, or in baptismal records. Instead they would appear in estate records.’

‘What circumstances?’

‘When the child’s mother was a slave. Given when and where William was born, this seems the most likely explanation.’

Linda pressed one hand to her cheek and Jess waited, giving her time to think it through. ‘Go on.’

‘I can’t give you definite proof. But these charts and some information I found on genetics, offer a convincing explanation for Jamie’s colouring. I printed it out and put it in the folder for you. The gene exists in three family lines. Brown eyes in one or both of the couple make a black baby more likely, especially if there is more than one black ancestor in the family.’

‘Scott’s eyes are brown. Mother’s were too.’

Jess nodded. ‘So when Scott and Karen conceived Jamie, some fluke in the combination of their genes triggered this – it’s called a genetic anomaly.’

Linda gazed at Jess. ‘First thing everyone thought when they seen the baby was that Karen must have been unfaithful. But the black have actually come from Scott’s side of the family through me. I don’t know whether to laugh or cry.’

Jess rolled the two charts together and slid an elastic band around them. ‘No need to do either. Jamie is Jamie. He’s Scott and Karen’s son, and your grandson. With a loving family to protect him from ignorant people who should know better, he’ll be fine.’ She laid the charts on the folder.

‘I don’t – Did you find out what happened to Billy-Joe?’

Jess paused, then nodded. ‘He survived the landing on Omaha beach but was killed two days later trying to pull a wounded comrade to safety. It’s all in the folder.’

Linda stood up and tucked her chair under the table. ‘I can’t thank you enough. How much –?’

‘The invoice is in there.’

‘I’ll go down the post office in the morning then drop the money in.’ She picked up the roll and folder. ‘I’ll sit down with Scott and show him our history.’ She looked at Jess. ‘I tell you this though. Billy-Joe Spencer might have bred me, but John Evans will always be my dad and Scott’s grampy.’

After she’d gone, Jess ran hot water into the sink. She had loved motherhood, enjoyed raising her boys, and knew she had done a good job. But this, uncovering the past and finding answers for people, gave her a different sense of pride and achievement. The more she did the better she became. Give it up? Never.

The phone rang. Wiping her hands on a towel she picked up the receiver. ‘Hello?’

‘Jess, it’s Tom. I got to be quick. I’m at Jimmy’s garage. He don’t know I’m calling you. Him and Viv? It isn’t another woman. He found this lump and he’s scared it might be cancer.’

‘Oh, poor soul. Where?’

‘Where what?’

‘Where’s the lump?’

‘Put it this way, he’s got three of what he should only have two of. Look, I can’t talk long. He’ll be back in a minute. He’s in the stores looking for a spare part.’

‘Tom, he must tell Viv. She thinks she’s losing him because she’s not young and pretty any more. He must know how unhappy she is.’

‘Hearing he might have cancer isn’t exactly going to brighten her day.’

‘It’ll be a shock. Of course it will. But knowing Viv, in a funny way it will be a relief. She loves him to bits and him being so distant is tearing her apart. If he tells her, they can deal with it together.’

‘If he tells her, he’s admitting it’s real,’ Tom muttered.

‘It won’t go away on its own. And the longer he leaves it –’

‘OK, I get it. I know you’re right. It’s just – Hell, Jess.’

‘I know. Someone says ‘lump’ and you always think the worst. But it might not be that. The sooner he sees the doctor the sooner he’ll find out and they can start treatment for whatever it is.’

‘Got to go.’ The line went dead.

***

‘W
hat’s on, Viv?’ Annie asked on Thursday evening. ‘You’ve been dripping round the place for weeks. Now all of a sudden you’re like a cat who got the cream. And looking very ... pink.’

‘My happy colour, idn it?’ Viv lifted the fluted hem of her rose-patterned tunic worn over calf-length cerise leggings. Fuchsia-tipped toes peeped from her cork-soled mules, and her hair was bundled up and anchored on top of her head with a glittery purple spring-clip. ‘I got my Jimmy back,’ she announced with a beaming smile and glowing cheeks.

‘Where’s he been?’ Gill looked up after setting a plate of buttered saffron cake slices on the low table.

‘Nowhere. But I was afraid – I thought he might have another woman.’

‘Your Jimmy?’ Gill’s eyebrows shot up. ‘Never.’

‘He wouldn’t dare,’ Annie said.

‘He didn’t.’ Jess put down a raspberry and chocolate tart.