The Letter

By Mary Colette

Despite the clear blue sky, a cloud hangs over Lynn Woods as a cold sense of foreboding descends upon her. Moments later, the postman delivers a letter from Drew Sommers, the married man she fell madly in love with before she met her current husband, Rob, and had two children. By the end of the three-year affair, each managed to break the other’s heart. Now as she summons the courage to open the envelope, Lynn has no idea that she is about to embark on a twelve-month journey she never saw coming.

After she reads the letter and learns that Drew has died and left her eight hundred thousand euros in his will, Lynn attempts to make sense of her muddled feelings that range from sadness to anger and from excitement to confusion and disbelief. After she discloses the news to her seemingly detached husband, Lynn meets Drew’s solicitor where she is told the funds must be deposited in her name and that she must return to meet with him in a year. When the solicitor hands Lynn another letter from Drew, its contents send her on a spiral inward to reconcile her past and decide what to do with the present. But just as she ends the long journey a year later, a shocking surprise awaits.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse UK
• Release date: Jun 21, 2021
• ISBN: 9781665587860

Book preview

Chapter 1

The sun sits high in the cloudless, pale-blue sky. I should feel relaxed, sprawled on my sun lounger, sipping my midday coffee, but I don’t. Despite the clear blue sky, an invisible cloud hangs over me, and a cold sense of foreboding has descended upon me. My thoughts are interrupted when the kids shout out, Mom, it’s the postman.

Sure enough, Con appears through the back garden gate with post in hand and a smile that would brighten even the saddest heart.

Anything of interest for me today, Con? I ask.

Nope, doubt it, although this one might have some potential, he says with a wink.

Reaching out, I take the letters, and Con whistles his way back to his car. Post in hand, I make my way indoors, and as I do, I leaf through the envelopes. I quickly discard the pest post and open the dreaded bills, placing them on the right-hand corner of my desk. It’s only when I rip open the brown envelope, the one Con referred to as having potential, that I see it’s from Hayes and Curry, a firm of solicitors. What on earth am I doing getting a solicitor’s letter? I panic a little, and reading on, I see that the heading is Andrew Sommers to You.

My stomach somersaults, my chest tightens, and I fight for breath. Oh my God, I gasp. It’s like a punch to the stomach as I struggle to catch my breath. I hadn’t thought of Drew in years—well, at least not often. The last I heard of him was several years earlier, when a former colleague of ours told me Drew and his family had moved to the States. He said Drew had been headhunted by an American multinational company for a high-profile megabucks job.

I force myself to read on: Drew has gone to a better place and has instructed that €800,000 should be transferred to you to do with as you see fit.

Drew being dead, along with the fact that he even remembered me in his will, is hard for me to take in. This was the man I forced out of my life and banished from my thoughts; he stole my heart and then broke it and almost finished me in the process. Please God, let it be a mistake; don’t let Drew be dead, I plead from the depths of my soul.

Minutes pass, and I force myself to read on: Contact my secretary to make an appointment to arrange for the transfer of funds and to present you with a letter Mr Sommers left for your eyes only.

A letter from Drew! My heart beats like a drum inside my chest. What will this letter reveal? How will I summon up the courage to read it?

These questions buzz around in my head like a swarm of bees around a flower bed.

Rob knew I had loved and lost before we met, and he was so patient and understanding with me when we first got together. I was still fragile, and he allowed me time to lick my wounds and dictate the pace at which our relationship would develop. But he didn’t know the gory details.

Three years before I met Rob, I had fallen madly and hopelessly in love with Andrew Sommers, the chairman of the company where I worked. He was older than me by more than a decade; he was handsome, funny, charming, but sadly very married to Joyce and father to three boys: Anton, Luke, and Aaron. There was an instant attraction between us, and we embarked on a torrid romance. Before long, we were madly in love. Yet somehow, by the end of the three-year affair, we had managed to break each other’s heart.

The sound of laughter brings me back to the present. I sit in a daze. Outside, I hear the kids playing together, oblivious to the fact that their mom has received a jolt of mammoth proportions. I am gobsmacked by the amount of money and worry about the repercussions it could have on us, on the very fibre of our family. Money like that could certainly make life easier for us.

With this thought, I lovingly look at my children as they play happily in the garden with the dog. Both Chloe and Kyle have inherited Rob’s love for animals; they love to visit the surgery and pet the animals. Rob is a lucky man. He loves his work, and his patients love him. They seem to respond naturally to him, sensing in some instinctual way that he is their champion.

Still clutching the letter, I manage to stumble around the kitchen to make myself a cup of strong coffee, although I really feel more in need of a brandy. OK, I counsel myself, reread the letter slowly. There is no mistake: Drew has died and left me eight hundred thousand euros in his will. I am in a state of shock.

The ring of the telephone jolts me back to reality. It’s Jeanne, one of my oldest friends. We’ve known each other since primary school, and the bond we made in those formative years has held strong to this day. Jeanne runs a travel company with her partner, so inevitably she jets off to exotic locations to top up her tan, recharge her batteries, or check out some new development as an up-and-coming holiday resort.

Now aged 38, Jeanne could easily pass for 28. She is blessed with dark, sultry good looks and is beautiful inside and out. She has a thriving business and a very healthy bank balance. Her success comes from her intelligence, hard work, integrity, and determination to succeed.

I am so proud of her, although if I am utterly honest, at times I feel a little envious of her lifestyle, especially when she calls from the airport to say ciao as she flies off on a working holiday to some new, exciting, and often exotic destination. On more than one occasion, she has handed Rob and me some lovely holiday opportunities. Jeanne’s generosity is renowned, and her loyalty is without question, so I will tell her about Drew—but not just now. We chat long enough to agree to meet up next week for a meal, a nice bottle of red, and a catch-up.

To be honest, I’m relieved that she has a meeting to rush to and our conversation is cut short, as Jeanne is so perceptive that she would quickly pick up on my state of disarray. I am all over the place, trying to make sense of muddled feelings which range from sadness to anger, from excitement to confusion and disbelief. Tension seems to have engulfed every fibre of my being. I feel weak, my legs are like jelly, and I am quivering inside and out. On hanging up from Jeanne, I make my way to the kitchen window for some air, where I again observe the kids playing happily with Kim, our mongrel puppy. Despite my inner turmoil, I smile at their determined efforts to teach Kim to fetch.

Kyle stands tall for his age, his blond hair shining in the sunlight and his clear blue eyes focusing on Kim. Crouching beside the dog is Chloe, my beautiful little girl, her dark-brown hair tied up loosely in a ponytail, her twinkly eyes fixed adoringly on her big brother.

On the count of three, Kyle says, then one two three, and he throws the ball. Fetch, Kim, he commands. Go, girl.

They both urge her on, but no joy, so Chloe retrieves the ball while a bemused Kim looks on at her playmates.

I guess Dad’s right, Chloe says knowingly to her brother. Kim isn’t the brightest pup in the kennel.

Kyle nods in agreement. But even so, we still love her, don’t we? And with that, they both rush over to hug their beloved dog.

Watching my children play together and interact with our dog, I can’t help but laugh out loud. In that moment, I realise how lucky I am, how blessed Rob and I are to have two wonderful children. What else do I need? I affirm to myself that the choice I made all those years ago was the right one. There is no room for regrets or what-ifs in my life.

Despite this, my mind spontaneously takes a wander down memory lane. It had been difficult at the time, and how heartbroken I was when I came to the realisation that Drew would never leave the big J (as we used to call Joyce). The affair had spanned a three-year period, so it was a serious wrench for both of us when we parted. It was not an amicable parting. I wanted him too much, and he, as I saw it, didn’t want me enough. I had fallen madly in love with him. I admired his business acumen, I respected his judgement, and I adored him, treasuring every single stolen moment we shared together. Our lovemaking had been sensual and passionate; he took me to heights of passion I had never before experienced.

When the end came, it was due partly to the unrelenting feeling of guilt that haunted my days and nights. I wanted Drew to tell Joyce; I wanted him to be honest with her, to leave their ailing marriage so he could be free to begin our life together. For a long time, it didn’t matter; I pushed any thoughts of guilt aside, focusing instead on the love we had for each other and reliving our nights of passion. I dwelt on and lived for the moments when we held each other close, hungry for each other, loving each other. Cuddling in his arms in the warmth of the afterglow, I felt at home. I believed I was with my soulmate.

My thoughts are drawing me back to a time and a place I don’t want to revisit. Stop now, I shout aloud to myself.

Reliving the passion, we shared wasn’t going to help me. It wouldn’t do to go uncover memories that were supposed to remain under lock and key. All I have to do is turn the key on the lock and box them away again, I logically tell myself. Otherwise, I realise that like a snowball rolling down a hill, the memories will grow stronger and stronger; I fear they will eventually bowl me over. I will myself to throw the key of my memory box out of reach and far, far away.

I scarcely have time to recover as my two tearaways come bounding into the kitchen.

What’s for lunch, Mom? Chloe asks.

McDonald’s, I automatically reply, as I realise I’m in no fit state to prepare anything edible.

We clamber into the old station wagon, and with safety belts fastened, we drive to town. The kids happily sing along with our current travelling anthem, giving me time to get my head together and regain control of my emotions. Sitting in McDonald’s, I watch with pleasure as Chloe devours her McChicken sandwich and Kyle savours his nuggets. They happily chat together, discussing one of the Simpsons episodes they managed to watch while my back was turned. I sip my coffee, still struggling to maintain my composure.

Even after all this time, I can close my eyes and bring up a picture of Drew in my mind. A part of me is still captivated by him. I shudder at the thought that he has passed, that he is no longer a living, breathing person. It seems so unreal to me. I am dragged back to reality by the buzz of activity around me; lots of people had the idea of lunching in McDonald’s today.

It’s no surprise when Chloe suggests we call into Dad and Granny at the surgery. I really don’t feel like it but realise I have little choice, as whenever we are in town, we drop by to say hello, so we head over there. I follow closely behind the kids, as they happily skip along just in front of me.

Agnes is sitting primly at the reception desk, as she has been doing for the past four months since Troy, Rob’s receptionist, left without notice. They had a good working relationship, and she had built up a good rapport with the customers (or at least with the two-legged ones). She was young, energetic and full of fun. She was blessed with a slight figure and long blonde hair, which fell naturally and framed her beautiful face.

I was surprised when Rob came home one evening four months ago and told me that Troy was off; he said it was really out of the blue, and he had no warning whatever. Troy, he said, had decided to take time out and travel with friends.

I was even more surprised when he told me she had finished up that afternoon and had left without giving her notice. I was a little miffed she hadn’t even said goodbye, as I liked the girl and frankly expected better from her. I thought her behaviour was selfish and irresponsible, and at the time, I said as much to Rob.

On reflection, her departure affected me worse than Rob, as he seemed to take it all in his stride.

The deed was done, he said rather calmly, and best to let it go.

He immediately thought of his mother, Agnes, to act as a stand-in. It was then Agnes got her feet firmly under the receptionist’s desk. As far as I can see, what Rob intended to be a temporary arrangement has somehow become anything but that. I sympathise with him, as he’s caught between a rock and a hard place. How in all good conscience can he give his mother the sack? It’s not as if she isn’t doing a good job; funny enough, she fits in really well, and it serves as a healthy outlet for her. She’s a genuinely good person who cares about the welfare of people and animals. To the observer, Agnes looks like a white-haired little old lady, but her stature should not be mistaken for fragility. Frank, Rob’s dad, died ten years ago, and Agnes really does make the best of life without him.

From some of the childhood memories Rob shared with me, his parents had a tempestuous relationship, but it was clear they had a strong affinity for each other, and this sustained them during the rough times.