The Last Letter from Juliet - Melanie Hudson Page 0,100

cottage on the morning of Christmas Day, I waited with Edward’s beautiful dog at my side for Lottie to arrive to escort me back to Lanyon. It was one of those perfect, crisp days, but when I closed my eyes, I could not stop re-living my crash, and all the fruits of Arabia could not have sweetened the taste of blood or lessened the acrid smell of my beautiful Spitfire as she lay burning at Predannack. Lottie arrived promptly at ten. She had brought Jessops and a horse and cart. With our previous quarrel forgotten (or, if not completely forgotten, put to one side forever) we headed up the hill away from the cove and back to a house that felt like a prison to me.

I settled into my old room, allowed Amber to sleep on my bed, slumped down next to her, tried and failed to finish Gone With the Wind and wondered, with Lottie busy at work all day, how on earth I was going to endure the coming weeks of having no one to talk to or to play with at Lanyon. Charles had gone, having recovered sufficiently to return to a portside desk job with the Navy. We had said our goodbyes on such amicable terms, it would not have been uncomfortable to spend time with him at Lanyon. But it was academic, Charles was not at home.

I was just about to return to my book when a pretty little face – a face that glowed with the personality of a sincerely beautiful soul – appeared at my door. It was darling Mabel, who had been sent by Ma Lanyon (who had been the first to remember that the family would do well to keep me – and my money – on side) to see if I would like to join her and Pa for a cup of tea and a bit of bread and butter. Pa had brought some cheese home from one of his tenants and maybe, after tea, Mabel suggested, we might have a bit of a play in the garden with the dog, if I felt up to it. My melancholy melted immediately and I realised I needed to buck up.

‘Yes, Mabel,’ I said, prising an equally depressed dog off the bed. ‘That is a fabulous idea. Amber and I would love to play.’

I spent two months recuperating at Lanyon, and thanks to my new pals – Mabel, Amber and Margaret Mitchell (Gone with the Wind) – they were not wasted months. I often watched the house from the garden, watching the comings and goings of the SOE and noticed that Pa Lanyon often ventured into their territory. At first, I thought his visits to the other side of the house were from an estate management perspective, but the regularity and duration of the visits spoke of something else. Pa, I decided, had become part of it all, whatever it all was.

Then, one miserable afternoon. Mabel, Amber and I were playing hide and seek in the house when Pa appeared at the foot of the stairs and asked Mabel to report with Amber to cook, who had a surprise treat for them. He asked me if I would mind nipping into the other side of the house to meet a friend of his, who was also a friend of Edward’s, who was also the man who ran the whole operation at Lanyon.

His name was Matthew Wilkins. He had a pronounced limp and a kind smile. I took a seat in his office while he talked in general terms about flying – he’d been a pilot himself, he said, early in the war, but an accident had brought an end to all that. He asked me about my own flying career, what type of aircraft I had flown and if I missed my life in the ATA since the accident. Yes, I said, I had. So much so, in fact, that I planned to return to Hamble next month to resume flying duties with the ATA.

But Matthew had another idea, he needed my help, he said. He wanted to recruit me into a small team of aviators, aviators who were given very specific and very secret, tasks. This was when I finally found out the truth about the operation at Lanyon. Yes, I already knew of their involvement in clandestine operations – had gathered as much from Edward – but in my wildest dreams I had not imagined just how significant the whole