The Last Letter from Juliet - Melanie Hudson Page 0,16

down. ‘But looking at the state of you, I think you really have been in a ditch!’ She turned to Charles who had followed me into the room. ‘Do leave us to catch up in peace, Charles! And perhaps arrange for some tea?’

Charles shook his head in mock disapproval, crossed the room to kiss me once more before turning on his heels to leave us alone. Lottie returned to the sofa while I mothered around her, straightening her shawl around her shoulders. It was Lottie’s comfort shawl from school, the thing she always turned to in moments of distress (that and a book of Christina Rossetti poetry). This wasn’t a good sign. If the shawl was out, before you knew it the poetry books would also be out and Lottie would spiral into a depression that could last for weeks. The door clicked shut.

‘Good, he’s gone!’ Lottie said, lounging back into the sofa. ‘So, tell me, what have you really been up to all afternoon?’

I was just about to sit down myself and launch into a watered-down version of the truth when the door clicked open again and Charles’ mother rushed into the sitting room carrying a bed sheet.

‘Ah, Juliet. You made it. Jolly good …’ She glanced at my clothes and then at the bed sheet. ‘It’s because of the oil, dear,’ she said kindly, before laying the sheet across a chair.

‘Sorry, Ma,’ (Lottie insisted I called her this, although Mrs Lanyon and I both seemed to wince every time I said it) ‘But I did take my muddy boots off in the hallway.’

She glanced at my stockinged feet – men’s stockings – and patted me on the head as I sat down – ‘Thank you, Juliet. Most considerate.’ She pulled the bell for tea, sat down and started to chat, leaving Lottie to roll her eyes with annoyance at having had her confidential catch-up delayed.

The late afternoon passed pleasantly. Charles reappeared with the maid, Katie, who brought tea and a few eats, and we all caught up in the civilised manner befitting gentle folk who lived in a house like Lanyon. Final plans for the wedding were made, and it was only when Ma and Charles retired to dress for dinner that Lottie and I finally found a few moments to be alone. We sat in a delicious silence at first. I was perched on the end of her sofa, having dragged the sheet with me to tuck underneath my oil-stained clothes. We stared out into the darkness of the garden, which in daylight had uninterrupted views across the grounds to the ocean beyond, but at night was one long expanse of black, except for the moon, which was almost full and served to backlight a line of cedar trees perfectly, the moon shadows throwing glorious patterns across the lawn and river of silver through the sea.

‘I don’t know why I’m asking,’ Lottie said, breaking the silence. ‘But have you given any thought to what you might wear to the wedding?’

‘Oh, I’ve brought a warm woollen suit that belonged to Mummy. That will do, I suppose.’

Lottie shook her head in frustration. I pressed on.

‘But it’s winter, Lottie! And it’s very smart, too. Truly it is.’

‘But it’s your wedding day, Juliet. I can’t understand why you’re keeping it so simple.’

I began to play with a tassel on Lottie’s shawl.

‘Charles and I agreed – no fuss. And your Ma was relieved on the “no fuss” front, too. There might be a war. It doesn’t do for the big house to start being extravagant in front of the tenants. And I’ve got no one to invite, no one at all. I’d much rather spend Pa’s money on a new aircraft …’ I sat up. ‘Oh, did I tell you? There’s this fabulous little monoplane coming out soon and it’s …’ Noticing Lottie glance down at her very slightly swollen belly, I stopped. ‘Well anyway, that’s just a bit of a dream. But what about you.’ I tried to buoy her up. ‘What will you wear?’

She shrugged, disconsolate.

‘I know!’ I said, not waiting for an answer. ‘You should wear your cream cashmere two-piece. The one I bought in you in Paris.’

Lottie shook her head.

‘I was going to. But Katie can’t do the zip up anymore. And anyway, I want you to wear it.’

‘Me! But … look at my hands, Lottie! I’ll never get them clean enough to wear cream.’

‘I thought of that. I’ve told Katie to scrub them. No buts. It’s been