Michael was right, of course. They settled on two hundred and fifty thousand; a quarter of a million pounds. There had been a time when a sum like that was beyond her wildest dreams; a lottery win to most. Yet, she’d never got used to her wealth. She didn’t spend any more than she needed to spend and most of that was on the upkeep of the house.
The car was an indulgence, of course, but that had been Emma’s idea, not hers, and although she’d have bought a car of some description to ferry the girls around, it would have been far more modest. She had to admit, though, she felt safe and secure in it and that was the important thing.
But a quarter of a million? She wouldn’t miss it. She was conscious she was giving away the girls’ inheritance and, however far into the future that might be, she still felt guilty. But she took consolation in the thought that she was doing it for them, in order to keep them safe, and, after all, wasn’t that why Peter had left it to them in the first place? It was regrettable, but it was the right thing to do.
Michael said he would have to liquidate some of her assets and that would take a week or so, but she exhibited no interest in how he did it, just signed the requisite bits of paper as and when required. He’d agreed a completion date with Pauline Robson three weeks hence, which would give them time to draw up the necessary contracts and get the funds together, and although Jess wanted it to be quicker, Michael had got assurance from his opposite number that, until everything was finalised, her client would neither come anywhere near the house, nor communicate with her in any way.
So, with at least some of the weight off her mind, she tried to live life as normally as possible. She and Jade studiously avoided each other at school times, and it now seemed much easier to do after once catching a glimpse of Jade looking at her strangely; a weird mixture of contempt and smugness which surprised and disappointed her. Oh well, she picked Dave, so they must have something in common.
***
A week had gone by and, as lawyers racked up fees, documents were drafted, argued over and redrafted, lives rearranged and reorganised to steer the hapless participants through the next stages of their complicated lives, the world moved on regardless. And despite the combined intellect applied to the matter, which gave it a gravitas and importance way beyond its intrinsic worth, no one, least of all Jess, could see through its superficiality; until someone did and the call came.
Michael asked to see her and, by arrangement, he turned up at the house the next morning. She showed him into the kitchen and they sat opposite each other at the kitchen table with some tea. Pleasantries over, and assuming he simply needed more signatures, she felt relaxed and therefore unprepared for what he had to say.
“I decided to bring this over personally, Jess. I thought it only right and proper.” She tensed. Given the many terrible things that had happened to her over the years she was no stranger to bad news, and her instinct told her that this was something bad. “I had an email yesterday. From Sujay.”
“Sujay in Nepal?” she asked, although it was more an expression of surprise rather than a question, and she sat up, anxious.
“Yes.”
“Is he all right? Did he get the money?”
“Yes. On both counts. But I think it’s best if I just let you read what he says.”
Michael slid four pages of stapled-together A4 across the table and crossed his hands. She looked down at the paper and scanned the headings. The subject line contained the words “Miss Alisha”. She felt a wave of foreboding. Her eyes dropped to the text of the message, which was quite short.
Dear Miss Jess,
I wanted to write to thank you so much for the money you have sent. I was in the hospital and not able to work for three weeks and I became worried that my wife and children would struggle without having any money. It was very kind and thoughtful of you, especially as I let you down on that terrible day. I am most humbled that you should think of me like this and I offer my sincere apologies that I failed in my duty to protect you from harm. I am very grateful also to your friend Simon, who saved my life, and I hope you will send him my best wishes when you see him again. I hope it has not put you off visiting my country again and I hope very much to see you soon so that I can thank you personally.
“Oh God. I never imagined he might feel guilty about anything. It wasn’t his fault. I must write to him,” she said, visibly moved by his letter and saddened he felt the way he did, but relieved that, so far, the email had been quite innocuous.
“They’re obviously a very proud people,” said Michael, “and, as a professional, he thinks he could have done better. But … there is more.” Reluctantly, she turned the page.
The other reason I am writing is that I received two letters from Miss Alisha, both in her own handwriting. One of these is addressed to me, thanking me for helping Colonel Peter all those years ago and also for finding her. The other is addressed to you. Mr Goodman asked me to open and scan the letter so you can see what she says. I have not read it, because it is not mine, but I believe my own letter contains similar information. Thank you again for all you have done for me.
Best regards,
Sujay Bahadur Gurung
Jess looked up at Michael in wary anticipation, but he remained impassive.
“Sujay called me to say he had Alisha’s letter for you and he would post it. I was nervous about what might be in it and concerned that it might never get here, which is why I asked him to scan it. I hope you don’t mind.”
She turned the page over. A slightly skewed image of a letter, handwritten on modest, lined notepaper, occupied the centre of the page.
Dear Jess,
I hope you and Simon managed to find your way back to Kathmandu without too much difficulty and that you had a satisfactory flight back to England. I prayed for your safety every day.
A few days after you left, I sat on the decking looking out over the mountains, eyes closed, legs crossed, just as we did together, trying to imagine the scene at Chalton the moment you were reunited with your daughters. It brought me a deep joy and a profound inner contentment. The sort of thing we Buddhists like the most!
At this very moment, and as I write, the sun is going down over Langtang Lirung, the river below continues its relentless journey to the sea and that seemingly tireless old eagle circles interminably overhead. I often wonder what he is looking for but then I realise I already know. The same thing as the rest of us!
I am very grateful you took the time and trouble to come and visit me. I know you may have had certain expectations that were not realised, but I hope that what you discovered about me and my father and Janica will have provided you with some peace. It was only after you left that I tried to imagine what you thought of me, of my disappearance and my apparent lack of concern for my father. I fervently hope that you might look upon it in a new light and appreciate we were all victims of events, most of them outside our control.
Similarly, there were some things within our control which, for whatever reason, either through human weakness, misplaced loyalties or simple misunderstanding, we were unable to influence or articulate, and to the extent that we all realise this now, we may be able to avoid the same mistakes in the future.
Despite any preconceptions you may have had about me, I hope now you believe that I truly loved my father as much as I now know he loved me. I shall always be indebted to you for the sacrifices you made in order to convey the depth of love my father had for me, and I feel comforted that, in my absence, he was able to share the same love with you. That fact alone creates a bond between us that cannot be broken.
It may surprise you to know that you ably demonstrated some of the characteristics of a person steeped in the Dharma. The lack of interest in material wealth; the generosity of spirit in leaving your children to travel halfway around the world to meet someone whom you may have judged harshly, in order to return something you felt belonged to them; your passionate desire to convey the love of another, to another, to bring them peace and contentment; and finally, your earnest attempt to persuade someone to seek salvation, at your own expense. All of which behaviour is consistent with the bodhisattva; one who places the welfare of others before their own.
I am bound by the Dharma to resist temptation wherever it arises, which is one reason I shall not express any desire to make you into a Buddhist! That isn’t who we are. You will find your own way, adopt those teachings and principles you feel are appropriate to your own life and use them. Anyway, as I said to you before, I need do nothing to try and convince you as, without realising it, you are already halfway there.
The other reason I shan’t seek to influence you is that, by the time you read this letter, I shall already have passed from this life. My condition deteriorated rapidly after I returned from England, and since you left, I have been preparing for the transition, which will come within the next few days.
I imagine you may be distressed to hear this, but I urge you not to be downhearted. I have been waiting for this moment all my life, and now it is upon me, I am filled with a contentment that borders enlightenment, and when the time comes, I shall finally have achieved the awakening.
And it is to you that I direct my thanks and my love that, through your kindness and equanimity to me and my father, you were able to steer me along this last stretch of the path I was following. I know you have the strength to extend the same love and consideration, not only to all those close to you, but also to those for whom you may harbour feelings of fear, anger or pain.
I have my suspicions that, through your own indomitable spirit and with the help and love of your children, you yourself may be fortunate enough to achieve the awakening first time round.
Good luck and best wishes Jess Jeffries, my sister. You deserve nothing less.
Lisa Jeffries
Jess slowly laid the paper on the table and lifted her head to see Michael watching her.
“Have you read this?” Her voice was so distant and detached it could have come from five thousand miles away.
“No, may I?”
She slid the paper back towards him, got up and stood by the window overlooking the garden. She could hear the rush of the trees outside, and beyond that, the distant howl of the wind around the mountains, the rush of water in the stream, and she could see Alisha sitting in meditation on the decking and the eagle soaring, circling above. She felt a profound sense of well-being and serenity, an inner peace and calm and an unbridled optimism that belied the tears flowing down her cheeks. She heard the rustle of paper and Michael’s sigh.
“Goodness me. Thank you for letting me see something…so private.”
“It’s not private between us. We have no secrets. Thank you, as always, for looking after us.”
“You’re the nearest we have to family, Jess, the nearest Emma and I have to a daughter. We’ll always be there.”
She pulled a small handkerchief from under her sleeve and wiped her eyes, then walked around the table and wrapped her arms around him. He held her awkwardly and patted her back.
“There’s nothing to do, is there?”
“No. I guess not. Will you go back to Nepal one day?”
“Maybe. When the girls are older. It would be a wonderful adventure for them.”
“I think Peter would have been proud of you both,” he said.
“Don’t start me off again, Michael Goodman!” she said, slapping his arm.
“Yes, ma’am.”
***
From a mind recently obsessed with and tormented by the unexpected return of Dave Morley into her life, the fear and anxiety it created had now been supplanted by a new calm and optimism that, in the end, everything would turn out all right.
The letter had been heart-breaking yet profoundly beautiful and uplifting. She could still not subscribe fully to the teachings of Alisha’s faith and doubted she ever would, but she aspired to the principles it propounded and was still perplexed as to why some of these principles seemed to come naturally to her. She knew the day she left Chumtang that she would never see Alisha again, but as with all the dear and departed, she would be forever in her heart, along with their father, Peter.
But sitting alone in Chalton Manor while the girls were at school, or later on when they were asleep in bed, she had little to occupy her mind other than the matters at hand and the future and what it might hold.
And as for the “awakening”, she had no conception of how that might be achieved or what it would mean. Life for her had always been a search for the truth, taking the path that promised least but invariably led her to the light.
She knew that she had to go on and she believed Alisha had shown her the way.