In the library, Romily invited her to sit in the comfortable armchair to one side of the fire. ‘If you don’t mind,’ she said, ‘I need to ask you something personal.’
‘Goodness, that sounds ominous.’
Romily sat in the chair opposite. ‘I’m afraid it is. We’ve always been very honest with each other, haven’t we?’
Puzzled, Florence nodded.
‘In the past when you’ve had any worries, you’ve shared them with me, and I with you. I’ve always valued that between us. It’s made us the friends we are.’
‘That’s true,’ said Florence.
‘Yet, and I don’t think I’m imagining this,’ Romily went on, ‘you haven’t been yourself lately, have you? You’ve had something on your mind, and I’ve been a poor friend in that until now I haven’t made the time to find out what was wrong.’
‘You don’t need to apologise to me, Romily, I know how busy you are. And then, what with Hope being in hospital and you being away, it didn’t seem right to bother you.’
‘My work schedule, no matter how busy, is no excuse. A while ago you tried to talk to me. In fact, you tried on several occasions, and for various reasons, for which I can only apologise, I didn’t pursue the matter with you. It didn’t, by any chance, have something to do with receiving an anonymous letter, did it?’
Florence’s jaw dropped. ‘How do you know about that?’
‘It was a guess. You see, Hope received one, and Evelyn has had two sent to her. They both had struck me as being out of sorts recently, and the letters would explain their behaviour.’
‘So you thought I was in the same boat?’
‘Yes. It came to me while I was away. What did your letter say?’
‘I’ve had two, both accusing Billy of cheating on me. Rubbish, of course. Billy’s not like that. He really isn’t. But—’
‘But the letters sowed the seed of doubt,’ said Romily, ‘and now you can’t stop wondering if it might be true.’
‘Yes,’ murmured Florence. It shamed her to admit that she could doubt her husband. ‘It’s been driving me mad. I’ve even begun snooping through his things. Can you believe that?’
‘If it reassures you, the letter Hope received implied that Edmund was being unfaithful to her.’
Again Florence was shocked. ‘Dr Flowerday would never do that!’
‘I agree. No more than your Billy would. But to sow the seed of distrust in a wife’s head about her husband is a particularly malicious act.’
‘What about Evelyn’s letters?’
Romily hesitated before saying, ‘A variation on the same theme, but slightly different. Evelyn wondered if the sender of the letters was somebody with whom she worked during the war. But I think we can discount that theory now. Do you have any suspicions who it might be?’
‘Only that it could be Ruby, you know how she hates me. I was so sure it was her I searched her cottage for any sign of glue and bits of newspaper.’ Florence gave a hesitant smile. ‘You would have been proud of me, I was just like your Sister Grace, looking for evidence. I didn’t find anything though.’ She paused and considered for a moment what she now knew. ‘But it doesn’t make sense that my mother-in-law would be sending anonymous letters to Evelyn and Hope, does it? Ruby doesn’t have a grievance with them, only me for marrying Billy.’
Romily looked thoughtful. ‘You’re right,’ she said. ‘Would you show me your letters? There might be a clue in the wording that could give away who’s doing this.’
‘I’m sorry, but I’ve got rid of them. Do you suppose the three of us are not the only ones to be targeted, that there might be others in the village who have received letters?’
‘Possibly.’ Romily smiled. ‘Who knows, I might be next on the list of recipients?’
‘They wouldn’t dare, not to you.’
‘To a twisted mind nobody is immune.’
Florence knew Romily was right. Ruby was a perfect example of somebody whose mind was so twisted against her, she would stop at nothing to make life as difficult as she could for her.
Sensing there was nothing more to be said on the subject for now, Florence rose from her chair. ‘I’d better get on,’ she said.
She was at the door when she turned around. ‘We won’t have to go to the police about this, will we?’
‘I’d like to think not,’ Romily replied, ‘but if the situation escalates it would be the sensible thing to do. We’ll cross that bridge if we need to. Over the years, you and I have solved many a problem together, so let’s see if we can resolve this one too. Oh, and I meant to say earlier, don’t leave it too late going home this afternoon. By all accounts the smog in London is getting worse and heading our way. And knowing how you worry about George, why don’t you try telephoning him before you go to make sure he’s all right?’
‘Thank you, Romily, I will.’
Chapter Forty-Eight
London
December 1962
Ralph
The smog was so thick visibility was reduced to less than a few yards. With a handkerchief pressed to his mouth and nose, Ralph had lost count how many times he’d bumped into another person or building, or stumbled off the pavement very nearly into the path of an oncoming car crawling along in the dark. It was unnervingly disorientating, and he supposed this was how it had been during the blackout in the war. Just without the choking air.
Everyone in London was hoping it wouldn’t be as bad as the smog that killed thousands ten years ago. He’d been a boy back then and could remember receiving a rare letter from his mother – from the safety of the south of France – advising him to stay indoors. The letter had been sent to the prep school he attended in North London and he’d opened it with a mixture of emotions. He hated the slapdash nature of her communications – nothing for six months, then suddenly a rambling letter telling him how much she loved him and how she wished he could be with her. Initially he had made the mistake of believing her, but when he replied saying he would like to spend the school holidays with her, there was a lengthy silence. His father hated him to have any contact with his mother, and so he kept her letters secret. He had enjoyed keeping secrets. But didn’t everybody?
More than once he had thrown a letter from his mother straight into the bin, not bothering to read it. She had abandoned him, after all. What kind of mother did that? But as the years went by, he reasoned that any woman in her right mind wouldn’t stick around for long with a husband like Arthur Devereux. For the life of him, Ralph couldn’t understand how any woman would want to attach themselves to his father in the first place.