Taking them, Florence said, ‘If you have a moment, could I have a word with you, alone, please?’ She inclined her head towards the swing doors.
‘I’ll just be a few minutes,’ Romily told her handsome friend.
‘Take as long as you like. I’m going to enjoy choosing us a selection of these fine pastries. Billy, what do you recommend?’
‘I’m sorry for dragging you away from your guest,’ Florence said, when the swing doors closed behind them, ‘but I wanted to tell you I’ve received another letter. It was delivered just a few minutes ago.’
‘Presumably it wasn’t to wish you season’s greetings?’
‘No, it wasn’t.’ Florence took the letter out of her apron pocket and gave it to Romily.
When she’d read it, Romily said, ‘You know there’s no truth in it, don’t you, Florence? It’s just spiteful meddling.’
‘It’s hard not to think the worst,’ murmured Florence.
Romily stared at the piece of paper with its glued-on words cut from a newspaper. ‘I’m still convinced these letters are nothing but wild shots in the dark. Nothing but somebody wanting to cause mischief in order to give themselves a feeling of superiority.’
‘Wouldn’t that person want to see the results of their spite, though? Otherwise, what’s the point?’
‘Sometimes it’s enough for a twisted mind to stay in the shadows imagining the trouble being stirred up. A bit like playing God.’
‘If it is random, why haven’t more people received letters?’
‘Unless the recipients of the letters are prepared to come forward, we have no way of knowing just who has received one.’
Taking the letter from Romily, Florence slipped it back into her apron pocket. ‘I know we can’t be sure, but it seems it’s only women who have been targeted.’
‘I agree, and would therefore surmise that it’s because the person behind the letters sees women as weak and easily upset. And I think for your sanity, Florence, you should show this latest letter to Billy and tell him about the ones before. You’ll feel better for having Billy knowing what’s troubling you. And now I really ought to go and save Red from an excess of interrogation by the good ladies of the parish.’
Florence smiled. ‘He is rather dishy. Like Gregory Peck, or Rock Hudson. Is he somebody . . . special?’
Romily smiled too. ‘Strictly between you and me, I think he might be. But not a word to anybody else.’
‘My lips are sealed.’
They hugged each other goodbye, wishing one another a happy Christmas.
Watching Romily and her handsome American friend leave the shop, their sledge loaded up with shopping, Florence thought they made an attractive couple. And since Christmas was a time for wishes, she wished that Mr Red St Clair might become a very special part of Romily’s life.
She wished too that she didn’t feel so nervous telling Billy about the letters. What if he was upset that she had doubted him?
Or worse still, what if guilt got the better of him and he admitted there was some truth in what he was accused of?
Chapter Seventy-Two
Melstead Hall, Melstead St Mary
December 1962
Julia
Breathless with laughter and exertion, Julia stood for a moment to watch Charles chase after Ralph with a snowball in his hand.
They had been out here in the garden for over an hour, the snow constantly falling. It had been Ralph’s idea for Julia to have a go at sledging with him and Charles. To Ralph’s disbelief, she had admitted that she had never been on a sledge before. Her father had been against such frivolity when she’d been a child, and Arthur had said it was not befitting of any wife of his to behave in so undignified a manner. ‘Then you haven’t lived, step-mama.’ Ralph had said. ‘And it’s time you did! Isn’t that so, Charlie-Boy?’
His eyes ablaze with delight, Charles had agreed. ‘Come on, Mummy,’ he’d said, ‘it’ll be fun. You can be on the sledge with me, that way you won’t be scared. I’ll look after you, I promise.’
Her heart had melted like the snow on his long lashes as he’d stared up at her. How had she and Arthur produced such a sweet and beautiful little boy?
Charles had been right; it had been fun racing down the slope, and even when they’d hit a bump and they’d both been thrown off the sledge, she had rolled over in the snow and laughed. She’d laughed and laughed, until her sides had ached. How free she had felt!
She smiled now as Ralph deliberately let Charles catch him up and then bombarded him with snow, making Charles yelp. Watching them play so happily together, Julia wished it could always be like this.
No Arthur.
That was what she meant. No Arthur telling her what to do and threatening to tell the police that she was the one who drove into Hope.
And no Miss Casey either, always looking down her nose at Julia, making her feel so insignificant.
Ralph had forced her to see her situation exactly for what it was. She was married to a man who couldn’t possibly love her, not when he kept her virtually as a prisoner, and was prepared to lie so she would be sent to prison.
Could there be another way to live, just as Ralph said? But how would she manage? How would she care for Charles the way she would want to? She had no money of her own. Not a penny.
Guiltily, and through the falling snow, she turned to look up at the house behind them, as though it could somehow read her mind and betray her to Arthur. At the top of the house, in one of the windows where Miss Casey had her suite of rooms – a bedroom with her own private sitting room and kitchenette – stood the woman herself. Her arms folded across her chest, she stared back at Julia. At this distance, Julia couldn’t make out her expression, but it was probably one of haughty disapproval.
‘Don’t let the old witch intimidate you,’ said Ralph, coming over to Julia. ‘Wave back at her with your cheeriest smile.’
To her amazement, Julia found herself doing as Ralph instructed and when Miss Casey stepped away from the window, she felt a small sense of triumph.
‘See,’ said Ralph. ‘Nothing to it. You just have to show her you’re not scared of her.’
‘Who was that you were waving to?’ asked Charles, joining them. ‘Was it Father?’
‘It was Miss Casey,’ said Julia.
‘I don’t like her very much,’ said Charles, wrinkling up his nose.
‘You’re a boy of discerning taste,’ said Ralph.