The Last Letter from Juliet - Melanie Hudson Page 0,1

while, given the number of empties. An hour later saw me continuing to give the rest of Gerald’s letter a stiff ignoring because I needed to get back to The Crown and plough my way through an ironing pile that saw its foundations laid in 1992. Just at the point where Prince Philip jaunts off solo on a raucous stag do to Australia (and thinking that I really ought to write a letter to The Queen to tell her how awesome she is), I turned the iron off (feeling a pang of guilt at leaving a complicated silk blouse alone in the basket) poured a glass of Merlot, popped a Tesco ‘extra deep’ mince pie in the microwave and returned to the letter …

I expect you will agree that this is a question of historical context, not a grammatical issue.

I do not.

As the ‘go to’ local historian (it must run in the family!) I attempted to offer my own hypothesis at the parish meeting last week, but can you believe it, I was barracked off the stage just two minutes into my delivery.

I can.

But all is not lost. This morning, while sitting on the loo wrecking my brains for inspiration, I stumbled across your book, From Nob End to Soggy Bottom, English Place Names and their Origins in my toilet TBR pile (I had forgotten you have such a dry wit, my dear) and I just knew that I had received Devine intervention from the good Lord himself, because although the villagers are not prepared to accept my opinion as being correct, I do believe they would accept the decision of a university professor, especially when I explain that you were sent to them by God.

So, I have a proposition for you.

Time for that mince pie.

In return for your help on the issue, please do allow me the pleasure of offering you a little holiday here in Angels Cove, as my very special present to you, this Christmas. I know you have balked at the idea of coming to stay with me in the past (don’t worry, I know I’m an eccentric old so-and-so with disgusting toenails)

True

but how do you fancy a beautiful sea view this Christmas?

Well, now that you mention it …

The cottage is called Angel View (just the one angel, note) and now belongs to a local man, Sam Lanyon (Royal Navy pilot – he’s away at sea, poor chap). He says you can stay as long as you like – I may have mentioned what happened to James as leverage.

Gerald!

The cottage sits just above the cove and has everything you could possible need for the perfect holiday (it’s also a bit of a 1940s time capsule because until very recently it belonged to an elderly lady – you’ll love it).

The thing is, before you say no, do remember that before she died, I did promise your mother that I would keep an eye on you …

It was only a matter of time.

… and your Christmas card seemed so forlorn … Actually, not forlorn, bland – it set me off worrying about you being alone again this Christmas, and I thought this would be the perfect opportunity for us to look out for each other, as I’m alone, too – George is on a mercy mission visiting his sister in Brighton this year. Angels Cove is simply beautiful at Christmas. The whole village pulls together (when they are not arguing) to illuminate the harbour with a festival of lights. It’s magical.

But?

But … with all the shenanigans going on this year, I’m not sure the villagers will be in the mood for celebration. Please do say you’ll come and answer our question for us, and in doing so, bring harmony to this beautiful little cove and save Christmas for all the little tourist children.

Surely this kind of thing is right up your Strasse?

My idea is that you could do a little bit of research then the locals could present you with their proposals for the placement of the apostrophe in a climatic final meeting. It will be just like a Christmas episode of the Apprentice – bring a suit! And meanwhile, I’ll have a whole programme of excitement planned for you – a week of wonderful things – and it includes gin.

Now you’re talking

Do write back or text or (God forbid) phone, straight away and say you’ll come, because by God, Katherine, you are barely forty-five years old, which is a mere blink of an eye. You have isolated