‘Ah, but would you bet money on it?’
‘I wouldn’t bet money on anything.’
‘You get begging letters?’ Benny was incredulous.
She tore open the envelope and skimmed the contents. Red said, ‘Come on then, let’s hear it.’
Rosa cleared her throat and began to read aloud:
Dear Rosa,
Hello, it’s me again, little Maisie’s grandma. I haven’t heard back from you so I’m writing to say I have been saving my pennies by cutting down on my supermarket shop and have now managed to save £7.50. I know it isn’t enough but I wondered if you could make a smaller doll? Maisie would still love it. Please, my dear, I beg you, don’t ignore my letter just because I’m a widow and a pensioner with terrible rheumatism and a bad back. If I was rich, I would buy my Maisie all the dolls in the world.
Bless you again.
Yours sincerely,
Pamela Baker
She finished reading just as the horse race on the TV reached its climax. The commentator, hysterical with excitement, bellowed, ‘And the winner is Shady Lady!’
Benny said, ‘Bloody hell.’
‘I know. You should have heard the last letter.’ Red shook his head. ‘I told Rosa it was a scam.’
‘Talk about laying it on thick,’ Benny agreed. He looked at Rosa. ‘Does this happen often?’
‘Not often. Well, sometimes.’
‘It’s emotional blackmail. And this is your job. You mustn’t give in to it.’
‘I know.’
Red stood up, reached across and took the letter from her hand. ‘Shall I do the honours?’
‘Yes.’ She nodded and watched him tear it into small pieces before dropping it into the kitchen bin.
‘There, done. Now forget it,’ he said.
‘You’re right.’ Rosa nodded. ‘I will.’
Upstairs, she double-checked that the first letter from Pamela Baker was still there in her jumper drawer before hauling the box of wrapping paper, tape and ribbons down to the living room. ‘OK, here we are. Choose whichever kind you like.’
Having picked out pale turquoise and silver paper, Benny watched as she cut it to size and expertly wrapped each of the presents in turn, then tied them with white ribbons and, using the blade of her scissors, began making curls and spirals out of the ribbon ends.
‘That one,’ said Red, pointing at the TV as a horse was led out for the next race. ‘That’s the winner right there. Number six, Paris Perfect.’
‘And this is what I call fate,’ Benny marvelled. ‘I was just thinking I should take Ingrid somewhere for her birthday when I noticed the Eiffel Tower charm.’ He pointed to the bracelet on Rosa’s left wrist. ‘And then Paris Perfect turns up on the TV. That has to mean something, doesn’t it? Sorted!’
Rosa smiled, because Benny clearly adored Ingrid and it was heart-warming to see a man wanting to make such a romantic gesture. She said happily, ‘Oh she’ll love it! Joe and I took Layla to Paris when she was eight, two days at Disneyland, then two days in the city itself, and we had such a fantastic time. In fact that’s why she chose the charm . . . I mean, when she found the bracelet in the shop and saw that the Eiffel Tower was one of the charms on there . . . Whoops!’ In her panic to cover up her mistake, Rosa dropped the scissors and almost speared her own foot.
‘Twelve to one,’ said Red. ‘Pretty good odds. I’m placing a virtual ten-pound bet on Paris Perfect.’
Rosa finished attaching the ribbons to the parcels. They watched the race unfold on TV. Paris Perfect finished in fourth place.
‘And this is why I never bet actual money,’ said Red.
‘Those look incredible,’ Benny told Rosa. ‘Thank you. For everything.’
When he’d driven off, Red said, ‘Nice guy.’
‘He is.’ Rosa nodded as she rewound the unravelled ribbons and placed them back in the box.
‘Were you being extra helpful so that when the time comes to ask him about visiting his garden, he’ll be more likely to say yes?’
‘No! Because I’m never going to ask him again.’ Rosa shook her head vehemently. ‘I wouldn’t even mention it. They sent the scary letter from their solicitors and that was enough for me. Are you OK?’
Red nodded, but his eyes were closed, his face creased with pain. He breathed his way through it, knuckles clenched and white as he clutched the arms of the chair. After a minute or so he opened his eyes once more and said wryly, ‘Never better.’
He was still looking pale. ‘Can I get you anything?’
‘Just some water, thanks. I might go back to bed, see if I can sleep through it until the next round of painkillers.’
She hated seeing him like this, but also knew he didn’t want to be fussed over. ‘Well if you want anything at all, just give me a shout.’
After another nod, he rose slowly to his feet. She went into the kitchen to fill a glass with ice-cold water and carried it upstairs for him.
‘Thanks.’ Wincing, he lay down on the bed. ‘God, I’m a barrel of laughs today, aren’t I? Sorry. I try not to be too miserable, but sometimes this is just . . . shit.’
Rosa’s heart went out to him. ‘Don’t you dare apologise. It is shit. But the pain comes and goes, and by this evening you’ll be feeling better.’ Hopefully.
Red looked up at her, then raised a hand and brushed his fingers against hers. ‘Thank you. And don’t worry, I’m not planning on kicking the bucket just yet.’
His eyelids closed once more and Rosa left him to it. Crossing the landing to her own bedroom, she slid open the jumper drawer and took out the letter from Pamela Baker with the photo of her granddaughter attached.
Yes, she knew she was a soft touch and it was an odds-on certainty that Red and Benny were right to warn her she was being conned. But what if it was a genuine plea from a loving grandma desperate to cheer up an unhappy child?
How could she refuse to help if that was the case?
Chapter 21
Two days ago, whilst Red was sleeping upstairs, Rosa had begun the construction of the doll she’d been instructed in no uncertain terms not to make. Paying close attention to the photograph of Maisie, she’d fashioned a paper template before cutting out the cream cotton material to create the head and body. Next, she’d drawn on the facial features with coloured indelible felt pens, taking care to make the eyes bright and the mouth smiley. She then replicated in precise detail the outline of the birthmark on Maisie’s neck and chest. By the time Red had rejoined her later in the evening, the first stages were complete and the Maisie doll was packed away in one of her workboxes, hidden beneath plenty of wadding.
The next morning, thankfully feeling much better, Red had been collected by Shay to spend time over at Hillcrest and observe whilst work continued on the cottage. Rosa carried on with the doll, sewing the various sections together and stuffing each in turn before carefully stitching the hair to the head then plaiting the wool and fastening the ends of the plaits with blue ribbons just like Maisie’s.
The final stage had been the clothes, necessitating a trip to the high street on Monday afternoon to buy red T-shirt material and blue cotton for the shorts, plus a pair of oval-framed reading glasses from the pound shop, from which she needed to remove the glass before stitching Velcro to the frames so they could be attached or removed when required.