The Last Letter from Juliet - Melanie Hudson Page 0,68

more day. That’s all I ask.’

I was nothing more than putty.

‘Let me change out of my flying garb first …’

And that was when it began – really began. On a boat. On the Helford River. On a sunny Wednesday afternoon in early August 1941. It was the beginning of knowing for definite that this was the only man I could ever consider loving. Ever truly give my body to. Ever feel this connected to. The fact that I was already married to Charles and that his family were just a couple of miles up the road seemed, at that moment – despite my half-hearted excuses – utterly inconsequential.

Afternoon tea in the cottage was fun and charged with an increased sense of flirtation and expectation. I did not mention Edward’s wife – or ex-wife – and Edward did not mention Charles. We placed ourselves firmly inside a bubble.

And yet we didn’t kiss. But does that mean that our day together was an innocent one? No, it does not. How could it when our hearts had already become so irreversibly intertwined? To unravel that tangle of emotion would have been impossible. I’ll never forget the joy in Edward’s tanned, bold face that afternoon as we pootled down the river and out to the islands on his boat, The Mermaid. He was so completely happy. It was like a firework had gone off inside his heart. And it was the same for me, too – that same honeymoon feeling. As if, with two previous false starts under our belts, we were both determined to make the most of every moment together. I’m sure that, if it hadn’t been for poor Lottie’s unexpected arrival at Lanyon that evening – with Mabel in her arms, declaring that her new husband (yes, husband. A Canadian whom she had secretly married after whirlwind romance) had been shot down, presumed dead, over Germany the week before – then, like a thief in the night, I would have dashed down to his cottage after dinner and spent the night. But it seemed that other people – other priorities, other consequences – would continue to get in the way of our taking the final step, of the giving of ourselves to each other and being able to set the affair, irrevocably, in stone.

Chapter 24

Katherine

Be more Marie

Juliet sipped on water and turned to glance towards Logan Rock, across the beach.

‘Oh, Juliet. What a life you’ve led,’ I said, looking up from my empty coffee cup. ‘It was all so very … romantic.’

She smiled. ‘Yes, I suppose it was. But tell me, what do you think of Anna and Marie?’

‘Oh, I absolutely love them. How could I not? And the job you all did? It was amazing.’

Juliet put on her reading glasses, opened her handbag and with stiff fingers, unzipped an inner compartment. She took out a black and white photograph.

Three women wearing the same ATA uniform I had seen hanging on the outside of the wardrobe in Juliet’s spare bedroom – a knee length skirt and smart buttoned jacket – were standing in front of what I believed to be a Spitfire. Across the top of the photo someone had written Attagirls. They all looked so incredibly happy.

I leant in so we could look at it together. A perfectly manicured finger as gnarled as a twig pointed shakily towards one of the women.

‘That’s my Anna,’ she said. ‘And there’s Marie.’

Tears edged onto her lower lids – sand between the toes again. I pointed to a vibrant-looking woman with chin length thick hair standing to Anna’s left. ‘And is that you?’ I asked, certain that it would be.

She nodded. ‘It all seems like yesterday,’ she said, returning the photograph to its safe place. I sat back in my chair and we both took a moment to stare out of the window and sip tea. Juliet turned away from the view to smile at me kindly. ‘Gerald said you’ve given up a little, since your husband died.’

‘Given up?’ That was the last thing I wanted Juliet, the ultimate Attagirl, to see me as. ‘Not … given up, so much, as pressed the pause button.’

Juliet nodded her understanding.

‘And when do you intend to press play?’

Her response surprised me and I floundered, because it sounded so simple, and the truth was I had become exhausted by my grief, playing Queen Victoria to James’ Albert. But like a soldier living on the edge of no-man’s-land, I had dug my trench of grief deep enough to keep