‘The latest Ngaio Marsh mystery,’ Romily said, holding up the book for Evelyn to see. ‘Hope’s always been rather fond of Roderick Alleyn.’
‘I must confess that I have a weakness for him too,’ said Evelyn. Removing her coat, scarf and gloves, she sat on the other side of the bed. ‘How was your trip?’
‘In a word: cold. It’s good to be home. Even with this smog.’
Evelyn smiled. ‘It’s good to see you again.’ Then taking hold of one of her sister-in-law’s hands, she said softly, ‘Hello Hope, it’s me, Evelyn, here to bother you again. Apologies for interrupting Romily reading to you. Do you remember the two of us once discussing who would make the better dining companion?’ she went on. ‘Hercule Poirot, Lord Peter Wimsey or Roderick Alleyn? And we both said Roderick because he would be so quietly attentive to one’s needs, whereas Wimsey would be a little too full of himself, and Poirot irritatingly pedantic, questioning the precise way the food was cooked.’ She forced a small laugh, trying hard to keep her voice light and upbeat.
Edmund, along with the rest of the nursing staff, had told the family that they should talk to Hope as normally as possible. ‘There’s every chance she can hear what you say,’ Edmund had explained, ‘so keep the chatter going at all times.’
To begin with Evelyn had felt self-conscious talking to Hope this way, but it gradually became perfectly natural. She talked to her about work, about the children and how it would soon be Christmas and that before too long Hope would be back with them, right as rain.
‘Keep what you say light and positive,’ Edmund had further instructed. Which was not easy, given that Hope was neither of these things and conversation with her had always tended to be on the serious side. Hope had never been interested in the mundane, so why bore her with it now when she couldn’t escape the grinding tedium of it?
Edmund had stressed that he didn’t want his wife knowing that her condition had now been reported in the national press, following the story being plastered over the front page of the local paper. Many column inches had been devoted to the bestselling children’s author who had been ‘mown down by a callous hit and run driver’. Local and Fleet Street hacks had tried to talk their way into the hospital to get the inside story, but thanks to the smog, that was suddenly of more interest and now dominated the newspapers.
Sack-loads of letters and cards written by children from all around the world, wishing their favourite author a speedy recovery, had been delivered to Fairview. Evelyn had read just a handful of them with Edmund and had been reduced to tears. Hope was adored by her young fans and for the first time, Evelyn pondered what that pressure must have been like for a woman who was essentially so private and undemonstrative.
Romily had now closed the book she had been reading from and put it away in the locker. She then shut the door of the small room. ‘I think it’s time we put our heads together,’ she said, coming back to her chair.
Evelyn looked at her. ‘What do you mean?’
‘I mean we have to turn detective and root out who has been sending the anonymous letters you’ve received. Florence has also been sent two.’
‘Florence? But what could anyone accuse her or Billy of? A more blameless couple never walked this earth.’
‘I don’t think the letters are about blame, they’re a means merely to cause trouble.’
Evelyn wanted to believe Romily was right, but she wasn’t so sure. ‘So that makes three of us who have received letters,’ she said.
‘Yes,’ Romily responded with a small nod. ‘There may be others, all of whom have kept quiet, just as you, Hope and Florence did. I think the person who sent the letters was perhaps banking on that. The letter we know Hope received was so obviously sent to undermine her confidence and make her suspect that Edmund was being unfaithful to her.’
‘My brother would never cheat on Hope!’
‘That’s as maybe, but I think we should pool resources and see if that gets us anywhere.’
‘By that, do you mean you want to know exactly what my letters accuse me of?’
‘Only if you want to tell me. It might help us pin down the culprit.’
Before Evelyn could answer, the door opened and two nurses came in. Leaving them to tend to Hope, Evelyn beckoned Romily to continue the conversation in the corridor. If Hope could hear what was being said around her, Evelyn didn’t want her to hear what she was going to tell Romily.
Alone in the corridor, her voice low, she said, ‘The accusation in both letters I’ve received is that Kit isn’t Pip and Em’s father.’
Not missing a beat, Romily said, ‘And is there any reason why somebody might think that?’
Evelyn steeled herself. ‘There was a man where I worked during the war . . . he and I . . . well, it was a terrible mistake. A one-off moment of madness. You know him. Max Blythe-Jones.’
Again without missing a beat, Romily said, ‘And I believe he came to your party when I was in Palm Springs?’
Evelyn nodded. ‘Kit tracked him down, along with a group of other people I hadn’t seen in years. He did it to surprise me.’
‘And you’d had no contact with Max in the intervening years?’
‘None at all. When I left the Park, that was an end to things with Max. Then when I saw him at the party after all this time, and when I had just received the first of the letters, I leapt to the conclusion that it was him who’d sent it. It was too much of a coincidence. I even challenged him, but he was adamant it wasn’t him. And now that I know about Hope and Florence, I’m certain he was speaking the truth.’
‘I think you’re right.’
‘Does Florence have any idea who it might be?’
‘Her mother-in-law is her most likely candidate.’
Evelyn frowned. ‘That would make sense if Florence was the only recipient of a letter, but I can’t see a reason for Ruby Minton wanting to target me, it’s not as if we’ve ever crossed swords.’
‘I agree.’
Evelyn smiled ruefully. ‘We need Roderick Alleyn, or better still, your Sister Grace to help us find the culprit.’
Romily smiled too. ‘Life is seldom as straightforward or as tidy as it is in a crime novel.’
Yes, thought Evelyn, thinking back to the mess she had made of her time at Bletchley Park.
Chapter Fifty-One
Wayside Cottage, Buckinghamshire
September 1942
Evelyn
It was the discovery that Tally my housemate was a spy that led to my moral disgrace.