Lady in the veil, p.10
Lady in the Veil, page 10
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.
She nodded curtly and fled down the steps into the bustle of the busy traffic and the bright afternoon, heading straight back to the Music School to shove the box in her locker, where it stayed for a week until all the formalities of her future studies were confirmed and she took it home.
The box stayed unopened for another week. She just couldn’t face what might be inside. One evening, however, curiosity got the better of her, so armed with a bottle of Shiraz and a large block of milk chocolate, she carried it to her father’s flat in his apartment block. It was all black leather sofas and glass, the sort of soulless place she’d hate to live in. Now it felt emptier than ever.
This was a private wake between the two of them. She poured herself a large glass of the wine before she sank down to open the letter addressed to her. Her heart lurched to see that familiar scrawl. From out of the envelope a postcard fell to the floor. She picked it up. It had an old British stamp with a King and Queen’s head on it and it was addressed to ‘Master Desmond Lloyd-Jones c/o Mrs Kane, Ruby Creek, South Australia’.
Opposite, the message read: ‘TO DARLING DESMOND . . . from Mummy with lots of love’.
She flipped over to the picture, a sepia-tinted photograph of some village by a lake.
She picked up his letter with trembling fingers.
Dear Mel
Sorry to spring all this on you but I wondered if you were up to solving the mystery I never got round to sorting in my life. I feel I owe you an explanation . . .
I’ve had this postcard for years. Found it when I was clearing out old Grandma Boyd’s effects. It was stuffed in with Pa’s love letters. She’d kept it for a reason and when I saw the picture and the name, I just knew it was something to do with me. Don’t ask me why, I got a tingle of something, a fuzzy memory that just wouldn’t surface, but when I asked Pa he just laughed and offered to chuck it out. He said she liked the picture. It reminded her of her home in Scotland before the war. I knew he was telling fibs so I kept the postcard, and the other bits.
I don’t recall much how I came to be in Australia. My memories are like shards of broken glass: fragments, flashes of colours in a kaleidoscope. I recall the taste of the metal of a ship’s railings, flaking grey paint, salt spray on my cheeks; these are images that come to me in dreams. Some bits are heavy as lead, dark memories. It’s as if I am peering through a hole in a huge wall at a garden full of flowers. I’m not one for flowery lingo, as you know – don’t know one plant from another – but I can tell the smell of roses anywhere.
I’m not making excuses, but there are memories and bits of my life I’ve worked hard to blot out. Perhaps if I could have faced up, I might have made you proud of me instead of ashamed. The Boyds were kind folk but not ones to lavish the praise and affection I craved. It was your mom who opened my heart. I wish things could have been different for all of us . . . I’m handing on the baton to you. You have a right to know what made me the way I am, warts and all. There’s a Berlin Wall between me and my past.
I know once you get your claws into a job you see it through, but don’t let this interfere with your future. Have a wonderful life. I just hope you are curious. If you can find out who I really am, you’ll know where you belong too. The answers are out there somewhere but time may not be on your side.
Remember I never stopped loving you both, so forgive the apology who was your father, Lew.
The room swam around Mel as the tears flowed for all the misunderstandings and arguments they’d had in the past. Now she was completely alone.
Eventually, she gathered herself to see what else the box contained. At the bottom were swimming badges, snapshots, a postcard of some old-fashioned lady in a cartwheel hat smiling up at her, and a medal, its ribbon faded, its inscription in a foreign language.
For one angry moment, she wanted to ditch the whole box of tricks into the bin. What had all this junk got to do with her? Why should she burden her new life in London with a search for mystery ancestors? She knew in her heart, however, that she could not let her father down.
Perhaps fate was taking her to England for a reason.
Darling boy. Mummy is safe and coming home to you soon.
Leah Fleming, Lady in the Veil
