Harvest: Book 2 of The Crossing

By Faith Mortimer

HARVEST - continues Richard and Billy's stories which begun in The Seeds of Time. Billy returns home and marries his love, while Richard has to make a decision between the two beautiful women in his life. Richard discovers he is torn between love and duty.

In Sorrel he finds what he believes is his soul-mate, whereas sexy Miranda keeps Richard guessing. When Richard discovers an old war-torn photograph of a woman and two children he is shaken to the core. What was it his father did & never divulged to his wife and family? Harvest is a world where tragedy rests alongside joy. Harvest deals with harsh, cruel, and often despicable conditions – at the same time describing the indestructibility of love in past and present lives. This is a story of deep romance, bravery, survival, heartbreak and happiness, all poignantly and convincingly conveyed. Richard's compelling desire to finally lay his father’s dark secrets to rest brings warmth and understanding into the two intertwined stories. All perfectly blended with non-stop action, intriguing locations, and appealing characters.

Reviewers say;... "If you like adventure, excitement, romance and suspense then this book is for you!"

Review snippets from The Seeds of Time, Book one.

Isn't it comforting to pick up a book by a favourite author and have confidence that you are going to enjoy their book? Faith is one such author. My confidence is always justified...This was a departure from her other books I've read, which feature her glamorous amateur sleuth, Diana Rivers. This was quite, quite different and represents the diversity of talent Faith has...
***

I received a copy of this book in exchange for an honest review, and I'm so glad that I accepted. After suffering a devastating loss, Richard Barker comes to terms with his grief with the help of two beautiful but vastly different women. Dark and compelling, The Seeds of Time is a must read.
***

Faith asked me to read The Seeds of Time, which is a rewrite of The Crossing. I was a little hesitant because I already knew the story and thought how can you better a gripping story? Wow and I mean WOW! I should not have worried because the new chapters and the changes have made it a more powerful story. I really felt that I was there with Billy and Nat in the POW camp. I also like how the book ends; you just want the next book so that you can carry on with the story.
***

You'll find Faith Mortimer's new book absolutely delightful. She has picked up on her strength and talent for exploring the state of ever-changing, ever-fascinating human condition and capacity for emotional growth to produce a veritable masterpiece.
***

Faith Mortimer is best known for her Diana Rivers mysteries. Here she shows us another side with an involving story of two generations wedded to the sea. Richard takes on the challenge of crossing the Atlantic with a small crew. Billie, his father, served in WW2 in Motor Torpedo Boats and was captured as a prisoner of war. Their two intertwined stories are told with great warmth and understanding.
What I think is particularly notable - and what is true of all of Faith's writing - is the great talent she has for description as well as story-telling. In 'The Seeds of Time', this is revealed in the wonderful, vivid descriptions of the peril and beauty of being at sea with all the dangers this involves.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Faith Mortimer
• Release date: Jan 4, 2013
• ISBN: 9781301287246

Book preview

HARVEST

Book 2 of The Crossing

By Faith Mortimer

About the author:

Faith Mortimer: born in Manchester, England and educated in Singapore, Malaya and Hampshire, England. Qualified as a Registered nurse and later changed careers to oversee a number of travel and sport related companies.

Faith is married with a family. Once the children attended University, she decided to join them in reading for a Science degree. Faith obtained an Honours Science degree in 2005 and believes the dedication and stamina needed to sit for a degree while in full-time employment, gave her the confidence to finish writing her first novel.

For more information about Faith and her writing please follow on Facebook.

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Website: www.faithmortimerauthor.com

Where Faith writes a regular blog about all manner of things!

HARVEST

Book 2 of The Crossing

Copyright © Faith Mortimer 2012

The right of Faith Mortimer 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.

All Rights Reserved

No reproduction, copy or transmission of this publication may be made without written permission.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents originate from the writer’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead is purely coincidental.

Published in 2013

by Topsails Charter at Smashwords

Acknowledgements

Once again a Big Thank You to my editor Catherine and to my husband Chris for their invaluable assistance and patient support.

Faith Mortimer

HARVEST – Book 2 of THE CROSSING

Dedication

To the gallant men of the British Royal Navy Coastal Forces who served with such bravery and distinction during the Second World War.

Chapter 1 Memories

Richard glanced at his watch. It was still early. There was plenty of time to do what he wanted that morning. He took a sip of his strong coffee and then finished the last of his fried egg, ensuring no trace of the yellow yolk remained on the plate. He smiled; he took after his father. With a slight pang, he remembered the old man and his sometimes odd ways. Only now, since his visit to Hamburg, was Richard beginning to understand some of what had gone on in Billy’s mind.

So many things had happened since Richard first heard about Billy’s bible and his first meeting with Sorrel on her visit to England from America. Richard realised Sorrel and her ideas had been the perfect catalyst to start the healing process after the death of his wife, Connie. Sorrel was so full of life herself, it was impossible to stay morose in her company for long. He suddenly felt annoyed with himself. He knew he should have arranged another get together with her before they left Hamburg. He was stupid because he had felt a definite attraction between them. He got a grip of himself; then again, he didn’t want appear too eager. He would leave it a short while and contact her maybe a week later; he was sure he could come up with a good premise for a meeting.

Feeling relaxed and pleased with his decision, Richard poured another cup of coffee and thought about the morning’s task and the events leading up to it. He felt he had discovered so much about his father and his life, yet he still felt there was a lot more—hidden, but not forgotten. Despite all he now knew, Richard wanted to delve deeper into his father’s past.

After loading the dishwasher, he wandered along to his study. There, lying on the rug was his father’s old sea chest. He eased back the heavy lid and removed the smaller of two albums which were lying on top of the contents. The first time he had opened the trunk, Richard had only given this volume a quick glance. He now wanted to see if he had missed anything important.

He turned the cheap thin cardboard cover over and was delighted to find that the album contained wedding photographs of his mother and father. Richard had never seen these before. Peering closely at the grainy prints, he noticed how his father had changed through his lifetime and especially during his younger years. Billy had aged prematurely it seemed. The photos of his time on HMS Warspite showed a young, physically fit and dark-haired young man in his prime. Even though they were in black and white, Billy looked tanned and lean. He was propped up against the ship’s bulwark with friends gathered around him. Turning the stiff pages, Richard learnt more about Billy’s life. He obviously enjoyed a drink, a smoke, the occasional fist fight, and time spent ogling the girls.

But the wedding photos told a different story. Although Billy was smiling in each picture, the man standing there could have been an older brother. He stood awkwardly posed, thin and gaunt, wearing a suit which hung from rather than fitted him. That wasn’t all. The most startling feature was his hair. After his time spent in the camps, Billy emerged completely white-haired, but he certainly wasn’t an old man. Richard knew these photos were taken only a few years later. His mother, Penny, on the other hand, was slight and pretty; her face was alive, and she was smiling with complete happiness. In her arms she held a little girl with dark curly hair and solemn blue eyes which were most definitely her father’s. It could only have been his older sister, Megan.

Richard’s face softened when he remembered funny little Megan. It was a dreadful day when she died; she was far too young. Richard knew Billy mourned her deeply and never really came to terms with her premature death. Her passing was a wretched, long phase which left a void in his father’s life, especially after Penny’s death.

Richard turned another page of the album and smiled at the expressions on his grandparents’ faces. They had always been there for him, especially his grandmother. She had been swift to wipe away a tear when he fell and cut himself. She always gave him a quick consoling hug when he lost the obstacle race at infant school and—he laughed at the memory—a short sharp whack on the backside when he was caught stealing fairy cakes straight from the hot oven. Richard never did discover whether the whack was for stealing or because he was stupid enough to nearly burn himself. There were other faces on the page, some pale and blurred, which Richard didn’t recognise at all. Maybe they were local friends of the family or distant relatives? It didn’t matter now, anyway, as they were all long gone. Even his grandparents’ cottage in Bishop’s Waltham, where they had farmed the surrounding land, was no longer in the family. Everything had been sold and the acres parcelled off. It was a different era. The only other person left in the family was his aunt Mavis, Penny’s older sister. Richard was close to his garrulous old aunt and treasured knowing she was still around when everyone else had passed away.

Richard paused and looked up; he stared pensively at the wall. The album was a book of smiles and pleasures to be remembered. It possessed a pleasant richness of its own. Richard allowed himself a small sigh. His father found love during the war. Penny waited faithfully and patiently for him to return to her as she had promised. It was no different for so many other wartime couples. Richard’s parents’ love had been deep, there was no doubt about that; his sister, Megan, was the proof.

Richard was sure they had loved him too. But he was born much later and in peacetime, when everything was different and more stable, when there was no longer a fear of nothing being permanent or even long-lasting. The true sense of urgency threatened them no longer. Life was calmer and organised.

Richard placed the book back into the chest. He understood much more now, and although he didn’t have an answer to all his questions, many were solved. He could imagine how his father had felt; in the beginning, when he had left battleship life and the company of many hundreds of crew, to be thrust into a life which was much riskier aboard the small and infinitely more fragile motor torpedo boat; the death of his mates on-board and then the long incarceration in the POW camps with their own uncertainties and unimaginable terrors. Richard couldn’t possibly know everything that the old man had endured and suffered. Richard had struggled to understand his father in the past. But now he thought he could at last feel sympathy for an old sailor’s reticence about telling his own war stories and why he was so dedicated to his wife and daughter. They had needed him so much more than Richard had himself. As a son and man, he was always much more independent. The image of Connie and how she died so tragically passed through his mind. He felt really close to his father for the first time in years. Both father and son had shared unimaginable suffering. Sorrel was right. Richard’s visit to Germany and going through his father’s things was therapeutic. He crossed over to his desk in front of the study window and, with a reverence he hadn’t felt before, picked up Billy’s bible. It was amazing. Richard had no idea of its existence a few months before, let alone that someone had kept it in the States for almost sixty years. Now after meeting up with Sorrel and their subsequent visit to Germany, he had unearthed a wealth of history he was completely unaware of. This bible brought all the threads together. A strange feeling spread through Richard; he trembled as something seemed to flow from this tattered volume and into his body. He laid the bible down. So much had happened, and it was all down to this one book. His father may not have been a staunch Christian, but the bible had somehow looked after and shown the family the way.

Returning to the old sea chest, Richard rifled through the items for one last nostalgic look. He believed he had given everything at least a cursory look the first time he opened it, but he thought he would take another look at the correspondence between his parents; there might even be a letter or two he had missed. After a few minutes, he gave up and stood next to the trunk, stretching the stiffness from his cramped legs. Time had flown, and he hadn’t realised how long he had been crouching on the carpet. More coffee would be a good idea, he thought, and returned to the kitchen. Still thinking about the morning’s discoveries, he refilled the espresso machine reservoir and waited for the familiar smell to fill his nostrils. The view from the kitchen window was particularly beautiful this morning, but Richard gazed at it with unseeing eyes, lost in thought.

The pealing of the front doorbell startled him out of his reverie. He hadn’t heard a car come up the drive nor the scrunch of footsteps over the gravel. It wasn’t his aunt’s usual day for visiting. Perhaps it was the postman with a parcel. Richard retraced his footsteps back into the hall and glanced at his reflection in the mirror hanging above a small oak occasional table. He realised he was looking well. He was much fitter and healthier than he had been a few months ago, and he reckoned he didn’t look his age. Despite his different colouring, he thought he looked a lot like his father when he was younger. Connie had always said so. Connie. He was glad he was finally coming to terms with Connie’s death and able to see a new life ahead of him, despite the lingering sadness.

Glancing through the small panel of glass in the front door, he could see a woman standing with her back to him as she looked at the garden. Long silky hair hung around her shoulders in pretty soft curls; Richard always had a weakness for long hair. He opened the door, and when she turned towards him, he gasped. Richard was momentarily stunned, and he felt the blood drain from his face before he recovered and gave her a half-hearted smile.

Chapter 2 Miranda

Richard! was all she said.

My God, Miranda! I didn’t expect—! What on earth are you doing here? Richard exclaimed. He hadn’t seen his cousin’s ex-wife, Miranda, for years, but he recognised her immediately.

Sorry, I know it must be a bit of a shock after all this time. Are you going to invite me in, or shall we stay out here?

Yes, of course. Come in.

He stepped aside as she crossed over the threshold and into the hall. After closing the door, he turned to her, with dozens of questions flashing through his mind. She forestalled him as she walked further into the house.

This is beautiful. I’ve often wondered about you and where you lived. You certainly have good taste. Miranda looked around her with interest. She stood in front of an evocative landscape painting which could only have been executed from local composition.

How long have you been here now?

Richard answered her, and then with some impatience, since he couldn’t abide small talk, he asked in a brusque tone, But you tell me something. Why the sudden interest? When we spoke on the phone about my father’s bible a month ago, you gave me no indication you might visit.

Miranda gave him a dazzling smile which he recognised as dangerous.

Richard, please don’t be cross. Knowing you, I recognise your terseness is an attempt to cover up your confusion.

He opened his mouth to say more when she anticipated him with a pretty little pout. Look, I wasn’t expecting a warm welcome. I know it’s been a long time since we’ve seen each other, and then we didn’t part on exactly the best of terms. And I’m sorry, but I didn’t feel confident enough to go to Connie’s memorial service either. But now that I’m here and you’ve invited me in and we’re talking, it’s all to the good. Of course, it could just be your impeccable manners that I remember. All the same…dear Richard, say something! You haven’t changed a bit, you know. I would have recognised you anywhere. Which way shall I go? Through here?

As she was already heading in the direction of the kitchen, Richard nodded in agreement. She hadn’t changed one bit either! She still possessed the ability to rob him of words. Richard felt his hackles rising. He would be civil, but he would see her out as soon as possible.

Yes, through here. He gestured towards the room where sunlight was spilling in through the open back door. The contented murmur of honey bees from the nearby herb garden evoked a peaceful, serene scene—a contrast to the tense awkwardness inside.

Would you like a drink? A cup of coffee, or would you prefer tea? It was too early to offer wine, and he certainly didn’t feel that friendly.

Oh, coffee please, darling. Yours smells delicious. What a fabulous kitchen, a cook’s dream. And that view is pure heaven.

Walking over to the door, Miranda let her gaze take in the garden and linger on the fields and wood beyond. The garden was still in full heady bloom. Spires of pink and yellow hollyhocks, interspersed with varying shades of delphiniums, vied for space and colour with clumps of lupins, red-hot pokers and aquilegia.