The Postcard
Leah Fleming
was born in Lancashire and is married with three sons and a daughter. She writes from an old farmhouse in the Yorkshire Dales and an olive grove
in Crete.
Also by Leah Fleming
The Girl from World’s End
The War Widows
Orphans of War
Mothers and Daughters
Remembrance Day
Winter’s Children
The Captain’s Daughter
The Girl Under the Olive Tree
First published in Great Britain by Simon & Schuster UK Ltd, 2014
A CBS COMPANY
Copyright © Leah Fleming 2014
This book is copyright under the Berne Convention.
No reproduction without permission.
® and © 1997 Simon & Schuster Inc. All rights reserved.
The right of Leah Fleming to be identified as author of this work has been asserted in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988.
Simon & Schuster UK Ltd
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London WC1X 8HB
Simon & Schuster Australia, Sydney
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A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library
Hardback ISBN: 978-0-85720-400-4
Trade Paperback ISBN: 978-0-85720-401-1
eBook ISBN: 978-0-85720-403-5
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either a product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to
actual people living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
BEGIN THE BEGUINE (from ‘Jubilee’) Words and Music by COLE PORTER © 1935 (Renewed) WB MUSIC CORP. All Rights Reserved. Used by permission.
Typeset by Hewer Text UK Ltd, Edinburgh
Printed and bound in Great Britain by CPI Group (UK) Ltd, Croydon, CR0 4YY
Remember before God
those men and women of
The European Resistance Movement
who were secretly trained in Beaulieu to fight
their lonely battle against Hitler’s Germany
and who before entering Nazi occupied territory,
here found some measure of the peace
for which they fought.
From the plaque in the Cloisters of Beaulieu Abbey,
unveiled 27 April 1969.
Prologue
Adelaide, Australia, 2002
The summons from the hospital came in the middle of the night. Although it was expected, it was still a shock.
‘Your father’s asking for you, Melissa. I think he wants to make his peace,’ said the concerned-sounding nurse.
Why should I go? Mel’s head was spinning. Why should I bother? He’s never been the greatest dad in the world. Where was he when I needed him after Mum died? When did he ever give me
anything but cheques and empty promises?
Yet something stronger than her anger made her shoot out of bed, ring for a taxi, then throw on her jeans and T-shirt before dunking her face in cold water.
Lew Boyd was all the flesh and blood she had left in the world. Years of heavy drinking had taken its toll on his liver, and all his success in the world couldn’t spare him now. Besides,
Mel owed it to her mother to hear him out one last time.
The hospital corridors were silent but for her scurrying footsteps, and Mel’s heart sank at the thought of what was waiting for her in the private ward. The one and only time she’d
visited, she’d breezed in with a bunch of grapes and a smile to tell him she’d won the coveted Post-Grad Music Scholarship to the Royal Academy in London, but her excitement had been
quickly doused by the sight of the once big man reduced to skin and bone. They’d made small talk, but she had been shocked at the change in him and glad to escape.
This was different. This was the last goodbye. With a sinking heart she wondered what he wanted to say that couldn’t have been said before now.
Lew sat propped up with an oxygen mask by his side. His tanned skin was now a papery yellow, his cheeks pinched, his hair in sparse tufts from the chemo. He looked a shadow of his former
handsome self. At the sight of his daughter he held out a bony hand.
‘You came,’ he croaked. ‘I wouldn’t have blamed you if you hadn’t.’
‘They rang and said you wanted to see me.’ Mel’s voice trembled as a nurse retreated discreetly from the room. Mel sat down, staring at this frail figure struggling for breath,
shocked at his deterioration. How could she have thought of not coming?
He turned slowly, those blue eyes fixed on her. ‘Not been much of a dad, have I?’
‘You’re the only one I’ve got,’ she replied, trying to hide years of resentment. He’d been such a driven man, developing his building empire, making a fortune, and
for what?
‘Time to come clean, Melissa. I’m sorry for letting you down so many times. I really loved you and yer mom, but when she was killed in the car I couldn’t handle it, lost the
plot, as they say now. I’m sorry, kiddo. I’ve always been so proud of you and those lungs of yours.’ He paused as if saying each word was agony to him. ‘I’ve often
wondered just who gave you that wonderful voice. Not me or your mom, for sure. She was tone deaf, bless her. Must have skipped a generation, I reckon.’
‘You didn’t bring me here to talk about my voice,’ she snapped. ‘Sorry, but I don’t understand you.’
‘Of course you don’t. I don’t understand myself, but I need to tell you a story and I’m hoping you’ll be able to finish it.’ He took a gulp of oxygen.
‘Long ago I came on a ship from England with Ma, yer gran Boyd. It was after the war. I don’t remember why we came or where we went. The truth is I don’t know who I am, Mel.
You’ll not find a birth certificate for me. Granny Boyd was not my mother. You need to know all this in case . . .’ Lew tailed off and Mel could see tears in his eyes. She reached out
her hand to take his.
‘It doesn’t matter now, Dad. It’s all in the past.’
‘You’re wrong. I’ve lived with these blanks all my life. I once saw a shrink in rehab who wanted me to have some hypnotherapy but I wouldn’t go there. Now I wish I had.
It might have made me face this head-on instead of just drowning my sorrows. I’ve been a closed book to you with my binges and my moods. I never deserved the love your mom gave me.’ Lew
stared at his daughter as if seeing her for the first time. ‘I sense such a waste of potential in me, love. I worked so hard to blot out bits of my childhood. My folks were kindness itself
but they never shared my past and I never asked until it was too late. When I asked your gran about things, she clammed up tight.’ He smiled, shaking his head. ‘Your mom opened my heart
to such loving possibilities but I let you both down. I’m ashamed of how I neglected you. I’ve messed up on you and your mom big time. I thought if I was successful it would prove I was
a proper provider, but it all went too far. I wanted you to be proud of me but no one is proud of a drunk.’
‘Stop this! It doesn’t matter now.’ Mel felt the tears rising.
‘If only I knew . . . There’s blanks in my memory but there’s one thing I do remember when I was a kid . . . One day you’ll have kids of your own and they ought to have a
proper history to blame for all their failings. I’ve left some stuff for you with Harry Webster, my lawyer. Promise me you’ll go and see him when I’m gone?’
‘What are you trying to say?’ Mel leaned forward, the better to catch his words.
‘When you go to England you might find the places, people who might recognize my stuff. I meant to do this for myself but I was always too busy and now I’ve run out of time. I just
know Gran was not my real mom. There was a lady who once came from England when I was little . . .’ He paused, staring towards the wall. ‘Would you find out who she was and why she
never came back? She may be still alive. Please, Mel, before it’s too late. Will you do it for me?’
Panic rose in Mel at the thought of what he was asking of her. ‘Why didn’t you tell me all this before? We could have searched together.’
‘I just never gave it much thought until I got crook, and then with the chemo it went out of my mind.’ Lew sank back as if all the breath was leaving his body. ‘See Harry
– he’ll help you – and forgive me for letting you down . . .’ Those were the last of his words she heard through her tears.
The nurse slipped back into the room. It was almost dawn. ‘You take a break, Miss Boyd. It won’t be long now.’
‘I’ll stay,’ she whispered. ‘I’m not leaving him alone.’
One afternoon two weeks later, Mel, wearing her black audition suit, found herself walking along the busy King William Street, climbing up the steps to the offices of Harry
Webster Associates for an appointment with the senior partner. Having delayed the meeting until she felt strong enough to face this stranger, now she felt nervous. So many questions were racing
through her mind and here was someone who might provide some answers.
Webster was a squat little man of her father’s age. He looked like a rugby player, with his squashed nose and his arms bulging beneath his jacket sleeves. His cheeks were ruddy as he
smiled and ushered her into his office, which was a clutter of files, books and coffee mugs. The walls were covered with certificates stating his legal qualifications, but sports trophies acted as
paperweights.
‘I’m sorry for your loss, Melissa. Lew was so proud of you – I hear you are in for the Elder Hall Award. We go back a long way, yer dad and me . . . school and that sort of
thing. Great man for keeping stuff in order,’ he laughed, glancing around his room. ‘Not like this. My father knew the Boyd family and looked after their affairs . . .’ He looked
straight at her, then made for a cupboard and pulled out a shoe box from the bulging shelves, catching the files before they clattered onto the floor. He took the box to his desk, swiping away some
papers to make a space for it. Mel sat expectant. She realized she was holding her breath and let it out slowly. At last, some answers were on their way.
Harry tapped his finger on the box. ‘Lew came to see me six months ago as soon as he knew . . . He said to open the package after his death so I’ve opened it. There’s a letter
for you and some bits and pieces of private stuff. He’s made good provision for you. It’s all straightforward: the apartment; moneys, should you wish to travel. His will is in
order.’ He pushed the box across the desk to her. ‘I think his whole life is in that box . . . what little he knows of it. The Boyds were not his birth parents. I reckon he meant to
follow up on his real history but you know what he was like.’ He hesitated. ‘He could get easily distracted.’
Oh, yes, full of promises never fulfilled was Lew Boyd: birthdays forgotten, outings cancelled. She’d learned early to take any contact if and when it came, but now he was gone she felt
bereft.
‘There’s been a lot in the papers about child migrants,’ Harry continued. ‘But I don’t think he was one of those poor sods who got shipped out here after the war.
He never said much, only that the Boyds saved his life.’
‘Do you realize I only found out they weren’t my real grandparents at his bedside?’ Mel snapped. ‘Why couldn’t he have shared all this with me himself instead of
making it all a mystery?’
Harry sat down and sighed. ‘I’ve met a few guys like Lew, guys with no history. They can’t remember and there’s no one left to jog their memories. He just didn’t
talk to anyone about his past. Perhaps he had a bad start. Humankind copes as best it can, but I think this is the nearest we’re going to get unless that box holds any clues. I’ve not
opened anything addressed to you. I hope it’s all in there – what he wanted you to know, Melissa. I realize he wasn’t much in the dad department but he was proud of
you.’
Mel took the box from him, shaking her head. ‘Thank you. I prefer to open it alone.’
‘If I can help in any way, feel free to ask,’ Harry said, ushering her to the front door.