The Legacy: Trouble Comes Disguised As Family (Unspoken Book 2) by T. Belshaw (the best books to read .txt) 📗

those entries had been there when she first brought the memoirs down from the attic. Then she remembered that Nana had asked for that particular volume to be left inside her bedside drawer a few days before she died.

‘What was so bad you felt the need to hide it from me, Nana?’ she asked aloud.

She decided to ask Gwen, Alice’s carer, if she knew anything about it when she called her to see if she could make use of Alice’s expensive hospital style bed.

Still puzzling over the missing pages, Jess took a sip of coffee and smoothed down the page titled, June 1939 and began to read.

June 1939

The summer has arrived at last. After a cool, damp April and May when we had to spend much of our spare time indoors, June brought sunshine and warm air with the promise of more to come. I set four of the farmhands to work shearing and dipping of our small flock of sheep and dehorning the young bovines while others were cutting the long grass in the fields left fallow, and piling it into tall haystacks that would be left to dry out before being made into bales and stored in the barn for winter feed.

Martha has been niggly for most of the spring. She loved being outdoors, it didn’t matter where, as long as she could feel the breeze on her face. Her favourite place on earth was the farmyard. She loved to watch the chickens scurrying about, pecking and scratching in the dust, but she saved her most excited squeals for when she was up close to the pig pens. She adored our big boars, Hector and Horace and would scream with delight when I held her up to the bars of the pen while one of them rubbed its wet snout on her bare tummy.

She would get seriously annoyed when it was time to go back inside again and nothing would placate her. She had begun to crawl about in early spring and we had to build her a playpen to stop her getting into places we’d rather her not get into.

On her birthday, after an hour of tantrums, I stomped out to the piggery, grabbed two of the smallest piglets and carried them back to the kitchen. Miriam wiped off the worst of the muck with a damp cloth while Martha watched, mouth agape, from the confines of her new built prison.

When I put the piglets into the playpen with her, Martha screamed with delight and spent the next half hour rolling around the floor of the pen with them. She was so happy. I suddenly dreaded the thought of having to explain to her why the piglets were taken away when they had bulked up. I have to admit, more than one tear came to my eye when, after about forty minutes play, the three of them curled up into one large, pink ball and went to sleep.

On the Friday of that week, I had just finished cleaning out the piggery when I heard the tooting of a car horn. Puzzled as to who it might be, I walked across to the big barred gate, stood on the second rung and looked up the dirt track drive at the side of the farmhouse.

Parked at the top, near the lane, was a sleek, black Alvis. Standing in front was a man, wearing a pin striped suit. He took off his hat as he spotted me, and waved it in the air. My Gangster Lawyer and occasional lover, Godfrey Wilson, was paying me a rare visit.

‘Hello, Alice,’ he called.

‘Hello, stranger,’ I shouted. ‘Go to the front door, I’ll be there in a jiffy.’

I raced for the back door, stopping only to pull my dirty wellies off on the top step, then yelling, ‘It’s Godfrey,’ to Miriam, I hared through the kitchen into the front room.

At the front door, I took a deep breath, patted the headscarf that protected my curls from the worst the pigpens had to offer, and yanked the door open with a flourish.

Godfrey stepped inside still holding his hat. Smiling, he looked me over. ‘You look as beautiful as ever, Alice.’

I had completely forgotten that I was still wearing my dirty, work overalls that were covered with splodges of farm detritus. I looked down at myself and screwed up my face. If I could smell the pig muck on my clothes, he must be able to as well.

I pointed to the chairs that were tucked neatly under the round dining table and backed away towards the door.

‘Take a seat, Godfrey, I’ll be back in five… possibly ten… just let me get out of these… this…’

I stepped into the kitchen and ran through the parlour to the bathroom, pulling the buttons of my overalls open as I went.

‘Miriam, make tea… keep him company… Help!’ I hissed.

Miriam stepped away from the big Belfast sink where she was hand washing my smalls and picking up a tea towel to wipe her hands, she ushered me away and went to take my place in the lounge. Miriam was my live-in housekeeper, baby-minder, head cook and bottle washer, although she was paid for fulfilling her duties, she was more a part of the family than an employee. More than that, she was one of my closest friends.

In the bathroom I stripped naked as I ran hot water from the Ascot boiler into the sink. Picking up a flannel I soaped it up and had an all-over wipe down, paying particular attention to the bits and pieces that might have got a bit whiffy as I was going about my duties in the piggery.

Grabbing a towel, I gave myself a quick rub down and leaving my shed clothing on the bathroom floor, I hurried back through to the kitchen, holding the towel across my front. Miriam was standing at the big oak table, pouring boiling water into the teapot as I sped by, bare arsed.

She laughed as her eyes followed my bare