Josephine Cox Sunday Times Bestsellers Collection

Finally he hailed a taxi and, bitterly disappointed, travelled back alone. He knew the house would be clean and tidy, thanks to his daily woman, Mrs Riley, who ran the place and used Lucy Baker on a Saturday to do any extra jobs. But it would be cold and lonely, too.

Arriving at The Manse he paid the driver and went inside; where the warm, earthy aroma of fresh bread filled his nostrils and took him straight to the kitchen. ‘Why, it’s young Lucy!’ He was astonished to see her, sleeves rolled up, taking a crusty-baked loaf out of the oven.

‘Welcome home, Mr Maitland,’ she said with a shy smile. ‘Vicky offered to look after Jamie so I could nip in and make you some supper, after your long journey. There’s mushroom soup to go with the bread. I didn’t think you’d want anything too heavy, so late in the day. Oh, and I’ve lit a fire downstairs and one in your bedroom. I hope that’s all right?’ She looked anxious.

He smiled. ‘It’s more than all right – it’s a wonderful welcome. Thank you, my dear, for being so very thoughtful.’ More thoughtful than his so-called fiancée, he thought.

Lucy took off her pinny and went to get her coat and hat. ‘Don’t slice the bread while it’s still warm,’ she urged. ‘It’ll only squash up and you won’t get a clean slice.’

‘I’ll let it cool,’ he promised. ‘Now go home and get some rest.’ All he wanted was to be alone, put his feet up, eat from a tray and enjoy a strong drink. ‘There’s a chill in the air.’ He held Lucy’s coat open for her. ‘It was cold in Boston, too.’

‘Good night, Mr Maitland. It’s good to see you back.’ Lucy hoped she wasn’t being too familiar. She was rather in awe of Leonard.

He smiled. ‘It’s lovely to be home,’ he told her.

By ten o’clock that evening, Leonard had bathed and changed, eaten three slices of the best bread he had ever tasted, dipped into a sizeable bowl of hot, thick mushroom soup; the whole lot washed down by two cups of tea and a tot of best whisky.

God, it was good to be back by his own fireside. Yawning, he was thinking about going to bed when a moment later, he was taken by surprise when the door opened and in walked Patricia, done up in all her finery and looking especially beautiful.

Purring like a kitten she wrapped herself round him. ‘You smell delicious,’ she whispered, caressing him and deeply arousing him. ‘I’ve missed you, my darling.’

Summoning all his courage, he drew away. ‘Did you now?’ he asked cynically. ‘So, why did you forget to meet me at the docks?’

She gave a long, impatient sigh. ‘I didn’t forget,’ she answered rather petulantly. ‘It was just … well, I went shopping. I wanted to look my very best when you saw me. It got late, and by the time I reached the dock, you must have already left.’

‘So, you would rather go shopping than come and meet me, is that it?’

Her expression hardened. ‘No – but does it really matter? I’m here now, aren’t I?’

Having moved away when she saw he was angry, she now came at him again, her avaricious eyes appraising his body and her roving hands touching him in all the right spots. ‘I’m really sorry.’ She put her lips to his ears and softly blew. ‘I’ve missed you … I want you so much.’

He wanted her too. All the while he had been in Boston he had wondered if he should end his engagement the minute he got home. But now, when she was close like this, and his need was pressing, he had little control. He was a man, with a man’s hunger, and here she was, a beautiful woman, his fiancée, freely offering herself to him.

So, he took her hand and walked her to the foot of the stairs, where he swept her into his arms and carried her up to his bedroom, lit and warmed by the fire Lucy had set earlier.

He carried her inside and closed the door behind them.

And they did not come out until morning.

It was eight-thirty the next morning when he took Patricia home to her parents’ grand house on the other side of Liverpool. ‘I’ll see you later,’ she told him. ‘We can talk more about your trip to Boston then. I’m sure Daddy will loan you all the money you need, then there will be no need to sell Overhill Farm. Or you could still sell it and start a different business – nothing to do with farming. I think that would be a good idea, don’t you?’

‘I’ve already said, I don’t want you discussing my business with your father,’ Leonard said tightly.

‘Why ever not?’

‘For reasons you would not understand.’ This woman was suffocating him.

‘All right, but I think you’re being selfish.’

Dear God. ‘Like you said, I’ll see you later.’ He couldn’t trust himself to say anything else at that moment.

As he watched her go inside, he thought, The more you open your mouth, the more I realise we will never be suited.

At that moment in time, Leonard was not only concerned about his relationship with Patricia. There was Barney and his entire family to think of now. How would they take the news that the farm was being sold from under them? And what would Barney’s answer be, when Leonard asked him to come with him to America? And even if Barney agreed, what of Vicky and the three children? Would they be prepared to leave behind everything they knew?

Only now when he was home, did Leonard come to realise how huge a step he was taking, giving up his life here, moving back to the States, taking up his grandfather’s crumbling business and starting it again from scratch, already deep in debt.

In the end, for whatever reason, he was now embarking on a lonely, daunting journey.

Early the following morning, Leonard drove into Liverpool. As always, the city was a busy, vibrant place, despite the serious problems of poverty and unemployment.

When he found the address he was looking for, Leonard drew into the kerb and parked. A sign hanging above the offices read:

W.H. Brewer & SonLand Agents

Leonard had dealt before with the tall, whiskery-faced man inside, who greeted him now with: ‘Ah, good morning, Mr Maitland. How can I help you, sir?’ He pulled out a chair in his office for Leonard to sit on.

Mr Brewer was always very polite, particularly with a man of Mr Maitland’s admirable character. Moreover, Leonard was a good customer, having piece by piece expanded his landholding until it was now some 400 acres in total.

While shaking hands he informed Leonard, ‘If you’ve come looking for land, I’m afraid there is absolutely nothing at the moment. Investing in land is being seen as a reliable option these days; we have it one minute and it’s gone the next. Oh – and the prices are on the up and up all the while.’

Leonard could hardly conceal his delight. He had been basing his own valuation of the land on rather pessimistic calculations. ‘This is good news for me,’ he answered, ‘because I’m here to sell my entire holding.’

The other man was visibly shocked. ‘Everything? Are you sure?’ he asked. ‘The farm and the house and outbuildings, too?’

‘Everything,’ Leonard confirmed, ‘although I haven’t yet decided what to do about my old gardener’s cottage.’

‘Really?’ The agent was intrigued. ‘From what I can recall, it’s little more than a ruin?’

Leonard nodded. ‘Well yes, it is, and I’ve done nothing to it since he’s been left these past years. It’s a tiny place, with only one bedroom, and a scullery a man can hardly turn about in. I’m sorry to say it’s been left to the elements; the little garden is shamefully overgrown, and the whole place is somewhat tumbledown. But I may have a mind to hang on to it so I’d appreciate it if you would exclude it from the sale.’

‘What about Barney Davidson’s cottage?’ The agent knew how Leonard valued Barney and his sons.

‘Hopefully, he won’t be needing the cottage,’ came the reply. ‘I have other, more rewarding plans for him and his family.’

Thoughtfully, Mr Brewer stroked his finger along his beard. ‘I should think we could get a substantial amount for that lot,’ came the welcome answer. ‘In fact, I could sell it tomorrow to a gentleman who has been searching for a property such as yours. But it would be best if we trod extra carefully on this one,’ he said sagely. ‘Of course I shall inform the gentleman straight away, but I will also inform some of my other clients, who might be interested in acquiring smaller parcels of land rather than the whole.’

Leonard knew only too well that buyers’ ambitions were always dictated by the amount of capital they could raise. He thought of his own circumstances. If he had been able to pay off his grandfather’s debts without selling his own land, he would not be in this office today.

‘Sometimes, for whatever reason, a man may have more need of a smaller parcel of land,’ the agent went on. ‘But this can work well in our favour.’

He explained. ‘We could sell off say, three hundred acres either in a single lot, or if you preferred, we could separate it into smaller units. That would leave one hundred acres with the house – which is a small farm in itself. This way, the sale will attract more money, or at the very least it will create competition, which will return a far more handsome price than if we went straight to the gentleman in question and sold him the entire holding.’

Leonard liked the idea. ‘Let them fight it out between them – is that what you’re saying?’

The Land Agent’s smile was positively wicked. ‘Of course, let them fight it out. And why not?’

So they got down to facts and figures, and when the meeting was over, Leonard dared to hope that if all went well, he might even be able to pay the US creditors every single dollar they were owed.