The Last Letter from Juliet - Melanie Hudson Page 0,64
a burial mound, to act as a portal to the otherworld – a passage to find the final sleep. I imagined Juliet climbing through the hole in the stone to make a wish and burying an offering close by. I decided to make a wish of my own, but what could I offer to the Gods in return? I delved into my coat pocket and found a tissue, my phone and car keys. All I had to offer of my own that the Gods might be remotely interested in was a single band of gold, my wedding ring. No, I wouldn’t let that go, and I had nothing to wish for anyway – even the God’s can’t bring someone back from the dead. But as I picked up the ammunition box, I realised there was something I desperately wanted to wish for.
I fell to all fours, climbed through the stone and wished, with all my heart, for the compass to be found, with a promise – an I Owe You – to return before I left Cornwall with an offering.
***
The next stop was the Minack Theatre for lunch, which meant heading back over the moor to the south coast. I had never been to Minack, but knew it to be a steep amphitheatre high on the cliffs overlooking the beach at Porthcurno. I wasn’t too sure about taking an elderly lady to a wind-blown rocky precipice, but Juliet was determined to go.
I needn’t have worried. The café was at the entrance and easily accessible by wheelchair. We manoeuvred our way inside, the ammunition box perched on Juliet’s knee, and took a seat at a table looking out to sea. I draped a blanket over Juliet’s legs, sat down and from nowhere began to laugh. She looked questioningly at me from across the box which sat on the table.
‘I just can’t believe this is real,’ I said, shaking my head. ‘When I started reading your memoirs, I would have given anything to meet you. And suddenly, here you are, the woman who flew Spitfires. I’m so in awe of you Juliet and I feel so … lucky. And I have so many questions, so much I’d like to know.’
‘Such as?’
I thought about it. What pressing issue would I like this wise woman’s opinion on?
‘I know … would you ever have considered Botox?’
She laughed out loud and shook her head in amusement.
‘Let’s have a look inside the box, shall we?’
It opened easily. I glanced inside, smiling up excitedly to Juliet, whose eyes also sparkled with anticipation. I slowly emptied the contents – a tiny teddy bear, four freezer bags stuffed full with old-style twenty-pound notes and, to Juliet’s absolute delight, a ring box, covered in mould. She opened the box and there it was still, a very pretty gold band with a large ruby set inside.
Juliet slid the ring onto her bare engagement finger, put the ring to her lips, closed her eyes, took a deep breath and exhaled, happily.
On a roll, I felt through the plastic money bags to see if the compass was hidden within the money. Please, God, let it be there. It wasn’t. I shook my head.
Juliet smiled.
‘Never mind,’ she said, ‘you’ll find it for me, I know you will.’
She looked down at the ring again.
‘I take it that’s a special ring to you?’ I asked, wanting to know the story but not wanting to pry.
Juliet nodded. ‘Oh, yes.’ She admired it on her finger. ‘I needed to move on from it for a while, which was difficult, but it’s time to wear it again now, I think. Tell me,’ she began, looking up, ‘how far have you got?’
‘Got?’ I swallowed a mouthful of quiche. ‘With your memoirs, you mean?’
She nodded.
‘Let’s see … you’re just about to meet Edward at the Bugle. I can’t wait to find out what happened next.’
Juliet’s eyes sparkled.
‘I’ll tell you now if you like.’
‘Now?’
Juliet glanced around. ‘We have the time, why not?’
Why not, indeed!
Chapter 23
Juliet
Twenty-four hours in Cornwall
Edward was nowhere to be seen in the Bugle when I arrived. With the phrase, ‘let sleeping dogs lie’ floating around in my mind, I smiled at the barman, explained that the person I had hoped to find wasn’t in the bar and turned to leave. Which is when I saw him – Edward – standing in the doorway. His left arm in a sling and a deep, angry-looking gash across his jaw line. His expression reflected my own – a perfect mixture of adoration, longing