In Search of Hope Read online

  Table of Contents

  Cover

  Recent Titles by Anna Jacobs from Severn House

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Epilogue

  Recent Titles by Anna Jacobs from Severn House

  CHANGE OF SEASON

  CHESTNUT LANE

  THE CORRIGAN LEGACY

  FAMILY CONNECTIONS

  A FORBIDDEN EMBRACE

  AN INDEPENDENT WOMAN

  IN FOCUS

  IN SEARCH OF HOPE

  KIRSTY’S VINEYARD

  LICENCE TO DREAM

  MARRYING MISS MARTHA

  MISTRESS OF MARYMOOR

  MOVING ON

  A PLACE OF HOPE

  REPLENISH THE EARTH

  SAVING WILLOWBROOK

  SEASONS OF LOVE

  THE WISHING WELL

  WINDS OF CHANGE

  Short Stories

  SHORT AND SWEET

  Anna is always delighted to hear from readers and can be contacted via the internet:

  Anna has her own web page, with details of her books and excerpts, and invites you to visit it at

  http://www.annajacobs.com

  Anna can be contacted by email at [email protected]

  If you’d like to receive an email newsletter about Anna and her books every month or two, you are cordially invited to join her announcements list. Just email her and ask to be added to the list, or follow the link from her web page.

  IN SEARCH OF HOPE

  Anna Jacobs

  This ebook is copyright material and must not be copied, reproduced, transferred, distributed, leased, licensed or publicly performed or used in any way except as specifically permitted in writing by the publishers, as allowed under the terms and conditions under which it was purchased or as strictly permitted by applicable copyright law. Any unauthorised distribution or use of this text may be a direct infringement of the author’s and publisher’s rights and those responsible may be liable in law accordingly.

  First published in Great Britain 2013 by

  SEVERN HOUSE PUBLISHERS LTD of

  9–15 High Street, Sutton, Surrey, England, SM1 1DF.

  First published in the USA 2014 by

  SEVERN HOUSE PUBLISHERS of

  110 East 59th Street, New York, N.Y. 10022

  eBook edition first published in 2014 by Severn House Digital

  an imprint of Severn House Publishers Limited

  Copyright © 2013 by Anna Jacobs.

  The right of Anna Jacobs to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs & Patents Act 1988.

  British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data

  Jacobs, Anna.

  In search of hope.

  1. Inheritance and succession–Fiction. 2. Abused women–

  Fiction. 3. Interpersonal relations–Fiction. 4. Absentee

  mothers–Fiction. 5. Lancashire (England)–Fiction.

  I. Title

  823.9’14-dc23

  ISBN-13: 978-0-7278-8332-2 (cased)

  ISBN-13: 978-1-84751-494-3 (trade paper)

  ISBN-13: 978-1-78010-475-1 (ePub)

  Except where actual historical events and characters are being described for the storyline of this novel, all situations in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to living persons is purely coincidental.

  This ebook produced by

  Palimpsest Book Production Limited,

  Falkirk, Stirlingshire, Scotland.

  One

  As Libby was carrying out the rubbish, the bag split. It was the final straw in a horrible week, during which her husband had been in a foul mood.

  She was fighting to hold back the tears about the mess when she saw a stained and dirty letter among the rubbish … sticking out of an envelope addressed to her. It had been opened and thrown away without her even seeing it.

  Her husband usually took out the rubbish, but he’d forgotten today, because he’d been too busy complaining about their four-year-old son’s untidiness. His need for perfect order and tidiness was beyond reason, an obsession that was hard to live with. And poor Ned did very well for a child.

  Steven always picked up their mail from their PO Box and she wasn’t surprised that he’d opened her letter. It wasn’t the first time it had happened. But why had he thrown this one away without letting her see it? This seemed to be a new step in their deteriorating relationship. Or had he been doing that sort of thing all along?

  Grimacing at the mess of coffee grounds and vegetable peelings which now decorated the letter, she took it out of the rubbish, wiped it and began to read.

  Dear Mrs Pulford

  You appear not to have replied to our previous letter, although it was sent by registered post and was signed for by someone at your address.

  In brief, your grandmother, Rose King, has died and left you a bequest of £20,000, plus some residual money which will come from a later sale of goods.

  If you will be so kind as to contact us, we will explain the conditions attached to your inheritance and arrange to have funds transferred to you once you have signed the agreement …

  Libby gasped and clapped one hand to her mouth. She hadn’t seen her grandmother since she was twelve, when her mother had remarried and moved from Lancashire to Bristol, but she had very fond memories of Grandma Rose and had hoped to see her again one day.

  It was her stepfather who had kept her away from her straight-talking grandmother. He’d claimed the ‘old hag’ was teaching his stepdaughter to be cheeky and answer him back. And anyway, since Libby was adopted, Rose wasn’t really related to the child at all, so there was now no need for them to keep in touch.

  There had been a few spectacular scenes, but in the end her mother had given in, as she always did, begging her daughter to let the matter drop and do nothing more to upset her stepfather.

  Libby had written to Grandma Rose every year at Christmas, however, sending the letter secretly and getting the replies sent to various friends. But the replies had stopped after she got married and, when she asked, Steven had told her gently that her grandmother had died.

  But that couldn’t have been true, if her grandmother had only just died. It was just another of Steven’s lies. But why had he said it? What harm could it have done for Libby to keep in touch?

  She sighed. Were you fated to repeat the mistakes of your parents? Her mother’s second marriage had been unhappy – but not, she thought, as unhappy as her own. Libby had married young, desperate to escape her stepfather and enjoy a proper family life. It had been all right at first, not perfect, but mostly happy.

  The turning point came when she got pregnant. Steven hadn’t planned for a child yet, so he grew angry when she suffered morning sickness and let the house get a little untidier than usual.

  After Ned’s birth, things had continued to deteriorate. Steven had taken charge of her life so slowly she hadn’t understood for some time what he was doing to her. By then it was too late: she had no friends, little confidence in herself, no money of her own and a child dependent on her.

  How to get away from him had been worrying Libby for some time. You couldn’t escape without money and he made sure she had non
e to spare.

  She turned back to re-read the letter with a surge of hope, bright and shiny as a new coin. This was the answer to her problem. She could now afford to leave him.

  At six o’clock Steven turned into the drive and Libby stiffened her spine. The small inheritance had given her the courage to act. Tonight she was going to tell him she wanted a divorce. She would try to do this openly first.

  Steven didn’t beat her, so she wasn’t afraid of him physically, but she sometimes thought the way he treated her was worse than physical violence.

  He sauntered into the kitchen from the garage, stopped to hang up his keys and then studied her face. ‘What’s wrong this time?’

  So she blurted it out, couldn’t hold it in any longer, not now she was filled with hope for the future. ‘I want a divorce, Steven. I can’t go on like this.’

  His face went expressionless, something he’d perfected over the years. ‘No.’

  ‘I mean it.’

  ‘I mean it, too. If you try to leave me, I’ll take Ned from you. They’ll give him to me, too, you know they will, because you don’t have any way of supporting a child and I do.’

  She didn’t tell him she knew about the money. ‘I can get a job.’

  ‘Your skills are way out of date. You aren’t even au fait with modern technology.’

  ‘And whose fault is that? You won’t buy a new home computer.’

  He had the gall to smile. ‘You don’t need one. You’d only play around on it.’

  ‘I could soon catch up with technology.’

  ‘Oh, and who’ll care for our dear little son while you’re working and studying? I, on the other hand, can easily afford to employ a nanny, and I have a history of stable employment, not to mention a very successful career.’

  She tried one last time to make him see sense. ‘Steven, you know we’ve not been happy together for a while. Can’t we just call it quits and arrange an amicable divorce?’

  ‘There’s no such thing. They always give far too big a share of the goods and chattels to the wife. I’m not handing my money over to you.’

  ‘I won’t ask for anything financially.’ She gestured to the house. ‘You can have all this. I just want Ned and my freedom.’

  He moved closer, impaling her with those icy grey eyes. ‘But I don’t want my freedom. You’re very useful to me – most of the time, anyway – a credit to me in public, if not always satisfactory in private, and an excellent housekeeper, for all your other failings. Besides, your timing is terrible, as usual. I’m in line for another promotion and, though the company may not specify it, given the stupid rules for political correctness people have to comply with these days, it’s well known they prefer married men. Maybe we’ll think about a divorce in a year or two, once I’ve reached the top echelons … if you do as I ask in the meantime.’

  He’d said that last year when she hinted at a divorce. She’d thought he meant it, because he’d moved into a separate bedroom that very night, but he’d laughed in her face after he got the promotion.

  ‘I mean it this time, Steven. I’m leaving you.’

  There was the patter of footsteps and their son peeped into the kitchen, saw his father’s scowl and ran away again.

  She pointed her finger at the retreating child. ‘See what you’ve done to him! Ned runs away from you.’

  Steven flicked one hand in a carelessly dismissive gesture. ‘He’ll learn to obey me once I turn my attention to training him. He’s getting old enough to understand what I want now. Maybe I’ll start at the weekend.’

  He pushed her roughly aside. ‘End of discussion. Now, get the dinner on the table. I’m hungry.’

  ‘Get it yourself.’ She turned to leave the kitchen, knowing it would infuriate him to be directly disobeyed.

  But what happened shocked her rigid.

  Joss Atherton drove slowly home from the physiotherapist. Final session, thank goodness. They’d done as much as they could for him. He felt well again; better than he had for years. A crash during a car chase had put him and another police officer in hospital. The other guy had recovered fully, but Joss would always have a weakness in his left leg.

  He’d been offered a desk job but couldn’t stand the thought of spending his life in an office, so had opted for compensation. He could live on it for years, but he was bored and couldn’t seem to settle on another direction in life.

  He picked up the mail – one catalogue and two bills – and moved into the back room of the small terraced house he now owned outright. Ironic really. Fate had taken away with one hand and given with the other. His elderly neighbour, who had been his landlord for the past five years, ever since his divorce, had left him the little two-up two-down house when she died.

  He’d rather have had her here still, because she’d been like a grandmother to him, but death was brutally final.

  Just as he was making a cup of coffee, the phone rang. He picked it up and a voice he recognised instantly said, ‘Leon here.’

  He was surprised that this man would call him now that he’d left the force. Leon was in charge of a government unit whose name said nothing and whose true purpose wasn’t known to most people, since it dealt with the practicalities of tidying up minor security problems. Even after working with him a couple of times, Joss had no idea what Leon’s surname was.

  ‘How are you feeling now, Joss?’

  ‘I feel great, but I’ve been left with a slight weakness in my left leg.’

  ‘Do you limp?’

  ‘No. They just don’t want me getting involved in hard physical work or sports that involve twisting and jumping. Why?’

  ‘A genuine limp is rather hard to disguise.’

  Joss frowned. Did this mean what he thought?

  ‘Would you be interested in some contract work with my unit?’

  ‘Very interested. What exactly did you have in mind?’

  ‘We never have specific ongoing roles. It’s whatever needs to be done at the time. A bit of this and that, escort duty and protection mainly. The work is only intermittent and we haven’t got a job for you at the moment, but we’ll get you down to London for a briefing soon and give you a few useful bits of gadgetry.’

  ‘Great.’

  ‘I’ll be in touch soon.’

  Joss beamed as he put down the phone. Who knew where this might lead? Something a damn sight more interesting than desk work, that was sure. He’d been right to take a settlement.

  The following morning Libby stayed in bed, pretending to be asleep till Steven left for work. Thank goodness he had a long commute into London and had to set off at seven-thirty.

  It was an effort to get out of bed and she winced as she stood upright. She suspected a cracked rib. He’d gone mad last night.

  After one shocked look in the bathroom mirror, she avoided it, not wanting to see the huge bruise on her cheek and the puffy, black-rimmed eye. He’d always been able to use words to hurt, but he’d never hit her before or she would definitely have left him by now.

  When she peeped into her son’s bedroom, Ned was pretending to be asleep, his cheeks tear-stained, as if he’d rubbed them with dirty hands. His teddy was clasped tightly in one arm, as always. Boo-Bear was his constant companion.

  Last night’s quarrel had upset him and when Libby screamed involuntarily in pain, he’d tried to intervene, only to be shoved violently out of the way by his father.

  ‘Daddy’s gone to work. We can get up now,’ she said softly and watched her son open his beautiful blue eyes.

  Why had Steven beaten her last night? She’d been prepared for verbal tirades, for more restrictions on her comings and goings, but not this. All she could think was that something had upset him badly at work. Maybe … maybe he wasn’t really in line for the next promotion. Or maybe a valuable account had gone to someone else. Who knew? He rarely told her any details of his working life.

  But he was wrong about one thing: if she left him, she would have some money to start her off now,
thanks to her grandmother. So surely the courts would look on her favourably when it came to custody?

  This year Steven had installed a program on the elderly computer, which made sure she had only limited Internet and email access, and that he saw everything she wrote or viewed. It was a program for controlling children’s use of computers.

  ‘It’s that or nothing,’ he’d said when she protested.

  Well, never mind looking backwards. She had to look forward now and leave here before the bruises faded and her ribs healed. She needed evidence against him and he’d certainly provided it. She’d have to see a doctor and get some photographs taken, however much she hated the thought of that.

  In spite of the pain in her ribs, she smiled as she cuddled her son. You made a bad mistake last night, Steven Pulford. You won’t get custody of Ned now. And I will ask for my share of the house and family goods after all. I deserve it.

  From across the road, Mary Colby kept an eye on the house opposite. She hadn’t seen any signs of movement this morning so far, not even after Mr Pulford left. She was worried about the young woman who lived there after the sheer violence of the quarrel the previous night.

  The Pulfords had quarrelled before – often – but not like that. They must have forgotten to close the windows and the sound of Libby screaming had carried clearly in the still night air. The poor young woman didn’t usually scream. Had he started thumping her?

  She’d wondered whether to call the police, but the sounds had stopped abruptly, so she hadn’t.

  When the quarrel began, her husband had scowled and retreated to the conservatory at the rear, from where he couldn’t hear the noise. He’d told her to stay out of it, but Mary couldn’t do that any longer. Not after what had happened to their daughter.

  In the end she went out and crossed the street, needing to make sure Libby was all right this morning. When the door opened, she was shocked at the sight of the bruises on the younger woman’s face. ‘Oh, my dear! What has he done to you now?’

  ‘Hit me, as you can see.’

  ‘I couldn’t help overhearing the quarrel last night. Is there anything at all I can do to help?’