Journey to Melford
By Helen Davey
()
About this ebook
Set in England in the autumn of 1938, Journey to Melford describes the aftermath of a major train accident in which Sally Claythorne (widowed with one young adult son), Simon Sinclair (divorced), and Dorothy Weston (single, elderly and worldly wise) are thrown together. Sally, a widow, is returning from an exhausting visit to her Aunt. Simon has been staying with his sister and Dorothy, an elderly lady, has been to see a solicitor to wind up her deceased brother’s estate and collect a diary written by her mother in 1857. Not far into the journey the train derails and crashes with disastrous consequences. As a result, the lives of these three strangers began to intertwine. Unfamiliar emotions and surprising revelations follow in the wake of the disaster. Sally and Simon rediscover emotions they thought were lost for ever and Dorothy discovers secrets of her past. Who could have foreseen the twists of fate that brought these three people together.
Helen Davey
Mary Helen Davey was born in Portsmouth, UK, in 1936 and has lived in Hampshire all her life. She received her education at Daley’s Commercial School in Portsmouth, and after working as a private secretary for eight years, devoted the next fifteen years to raising her two sons and establishing the home in which she and her husband now live near the Hampshire village of Wickham.In 1974 Mary started painting wild flowers in their natural habitat, painting under the name Mary Dipnall, her maiden name. The beautiful close-by Meon Valley held for her a wealth of subject material and she has developed her style around her subjects, choosing unusual perspectives that delight the eye and capture beauty and colouring often missed.Mary is also an accomplished still life painter of the Provencal style kitchen scenes that are equally sought after by collectors from around the world. Her many exhibitions, both in the UK and in the USA, have met with deserved success.Writing under the name of Helen Davey, Mary has now branched out into writing novels. The romantic Journey to Melford is her first novel.
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Journey to Melford - Helen Davey
Journey to Melford
by
Helen Davey
Summary
Set in England in 1938, Journey to Melford describes the aftermath of a major train accident in which Sally Claythorne (widowed with one young adult son), Simon Sinclair (divorced), and Dorothy Weston (single, elderly and worldly wise) are thrown together. Sally and Simon rediscover emotions they thought were lost for ever and Dorothy discovers secrets of her past.
Published by Helen Davey at Smashwords
Copyright 2015, Helen Davey
This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment. The eBook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please buy an extra copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not buy it, or it was not bought for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and buy your own copy. Thank you for respecting my hard work.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or based on facts used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
First published in 2015 by Melford Books
ISBN: 9781310895715
Dedication
For my sons Christopher and Mark.
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Acknowledgment
About the Author
Chapter 1
Pale dry grasses and stately seed heads rustled softly against the branches of overhanging trees, more dramatic now that the leaves had nearly all disappeared. Clouds of small flies danced in golden shafts of evening sunlight filtering through the lacework of the autumn hedgerow. The blackbird paused in his foraging and cocked his head on one side as he listened to an unfamiliar sound in the distance. He pecked once more at the dead leaf litter and then sprang from the ground, giving his loud alarm call as the sound drew closer. The woman riding in the pony and trap saw the blackbird break cover and rise up, flying across in front of the horse to soar away over the fields and into the distance. Sitting next to her, the driver flicked the reins and talked quietly to the horse, urging him on down the narrow lane leading to the station.
Sally Claythorne rarely slept well these days but the exhaustion she felt now was entirely due to the demands made upon her by Aunt Louisa who, in her ninety-fourth year, looked upon her sister’s child as the daughter she never had. The pony trotted into the station yard and Sally found herself longing for the solitude of her own cottage. She looked forward to the journey home. She had been staying with her aunt for three weeks while Miss Jenkins, her aunt’s companion, was away and she now felt suddenly very tired, as if all her energy had drained away.
Arthur Harris halted the pony, looped the reins over the back of his seat and stepped down onto the cobbled yard. He held out a hand to Sally and helped her down.
Thank you Mr Harris.
He could hear the strain in her voice. He put her suitcase on the ground and reached for the carpet bag and two parcels.
I reckon the train should be along any moment,
he said in his comfortable drawl. She liked Mr Harris, a big man in his late sixties. Married, with three children, he had worked as a general handyman to her aunt for as long as Sally could remember. Harris picked up the bags and walked ahead of her through the door into the dimly lit waiting room.
The autumn light was fading and one small oil lamp burned brightly over the ticket office window. Inside, a young man looked up as Sally offered him two one pound notes.
Evenin’ Ma’am,
he said.
A single to Melford please,
Sally said as she took in the warm atmosphere of the small ticket office. A black-and-white terrier was stretched out in front of the stove in the corner and a half-consumed mug of tea balanced precariously on the arm of the chair next to it. She waited while he took the ticket, stamped it and handed it to her with the change. He glanced up at the clock.
The half past four train is due any minute ma’am,
he said brightly.
Thank you,
Sally nodded and turned to where Harris stood with her luggage.
If you could just see me onto the train with this lot Mr Harris?
Certainly Miss Sally.
He still called her that even though she was now 46 years of age, had been married, widowed and had raised her own son.
They moved onto the platform, empty except for a man and woman standing close together in the gloom, apparently deep in conversation. The dim lights on the station platform picked out porters’ trollies, fire buckets, litter bins and tubs of flowers still full of colour. Corley Wood was a small village that boasted a clean, neat and well-cared-for railway station.
Sally turned. She could hear the distant chuff-chuffing of the approaching train. She gazed into the distance and watched as the train drew closer, blew its whistle, slowed down and slid smoothly into the station amid clouds of steam. Then she thanked Harris and they moved towards one of the carriage doors. Before she could open the door a hand reached past her and opened the catch.
Allow me.
She turned and was confronted by a kindly face with dark eyebrows and grey hair on his uncovered head.
Thank you. That’s very kind,
said Sally smiling.
The man was dazzled by the way her smile suddenly lit up her face. He stood to one side to allow her to step aboard, following her onto the train. She put the two parcels in the luggage rack and turned to take her other bags from Harris.
Thank you so much Mr Harris. Will you tell Aunt Louisa that I’ll write as soon as I get home? Goodbye.
Can I help you with those bags?
The man was still beside her.
That’s quite alright, I’ll manage,
said Sally looking once more into his gentle blue eyes. She moved in through the sliding door of the carriage and he smiled and walked on down the corridor.
Sally looked around the carriage. A woman and a small boy were occupying one of the window seats but the other was vacant and, after putting the rest of her luggage onto the rack, she settled down comfortably next to the window. She took off her gloves, undid the top button of her coat, placed the gloves in her handbag, checking that she had remembered to bring her book, and sighed deeply as she felt her whole being relax. Daylight was fading now so her gaze rested on her carriage companions. Opposite her the woman, in her thirties Sally guessed, wore a brown woollen ankle-length coat and leather boots. A fur collar and hat framed her delicate features and her right arm was draped lovingly around the small bespectacled boy who snuggled close against her side. He held a toy dog with one bald and bitten ear against his chin while he sleepily sucked his thumb. Further along on the same side was a stout elderly man in a grey overcoat. A trilby hat rested on his lap and he was polishing his glasses with a blue bordered handkerchief. On the same side as Sally sat a young man and woman, she in a bright red skirt, black high-heeled shoes and a black jersey and he in a light brown suit. The woman wore a spotted scarf over her blonde curly hair and held the man’s arm fondly as they talked in earnest whispers, seemingly oblivious to the other passengers in the carriage. Young love, Sally thought with a sigh. She and Peter had shared moments like that when they were much younger. She looked out of the window at shadowy shapes rushing past and allowed her thoughts to wander back to that summer’s day at Southwold.
She was looking for the post office when the tall young man came hurrying around the corner and nearly knocked her over.
I’m so sorry,
he said.
Not at all,
said Sally and started to walk on. Then suddenly she turned back.
Excuse me but do you happen to know where I can find the post office?
As a matter of fact, I’m going there myself to post a letter. Why don’t you come along with me?
She thanked him and hurried along trying to keep up with him.
I must get this letter off to my aunt,
she said. Are you here on holiday?
She blushed, suddenly feeling she had been too familiar with this stranger.
No, I live here: just at the end of the road.
They rounded the next corner.
Here we are then.
He opened the door for her and the tinkling bell brought the post mistress scurrying out from the back room, putting on her glasses and smiling at them across the counter. Sally looked around the small post office at the holiday souvenirs and the small range of pottery they sold there. She was busy trying to decide between a china pig and a letter rack to take home with her when a voice close by said Goodbye then Miss...er...Enjoy the rest of your holiday,
and he was gone. She decided upon the china pig and adding a stamp for her letter, paid and left the shop.
She didn’t see Peter for some days after that until on her last afternoon at Southwold she was taking a short stroll along the promenade before dinner. At the Fairview Guest House, Mrs Mullins insisted on dinner at 7.30pm sharp. Sally looked at her watch. There was exactly an hour before she had to be back, time to enjoy a last look at the sea, the beach and the rock pools stretching away to the cliffs on the south side of town. She would have to pack and leave at 10.30am the next day to return to London and her little desk in the corner of the dimly lit front office of Wilson, Denton & Clarke, solicitors just off the Brompton Road. Not wanting this holiday to end, she strolled easily in the evening sunlight, filling her lungs with the fresh sea air and watching the seagulls hovering over the beach, diving down now and then to savour titbits left by the day’s visitors. She walked towards the rocky end of the bay and the ice cream stall which was now boarded up for the night. She loved this end of the beach, the rock pools with their hidden delights, the smell of the seaweed...suddenly she halted. There, leaning against the ice cream stall was the young man she had met when she was looking for the post office earlier in the week. She hesitated but he had already seen her.
Hello,
he said. Are you enjoying your holiday? I’m sorry; I didn’t get your name.
Sally Parker,
she said, blushing furiously.
Peter Claythorne – how do you do. Sorry I didn’t introduce myself properly before. How long are you staying?
Sally was standing just a few feet away from this tall good-looking young man and saw how easy and relaxed he seemed to be with his friendly smile and his hands dug deeply into his trouser pockets.
Oh...sorry,
she laughed. Um...actually I’m leaving to go back to London tomorrow, but it has been a lovely holiday. I’m very fond of this place. I’ve been coming here for the last three summers.
He grinned. Well now, it’s a wonder I’ve not seen you before then.
His gaze swept quickly over her chestnut hair, the hazel eyes and the slim figure of this attractive girl in ankle-length green skirt and cream lace