The Last Letter from Juliet - Melanie Hudson Page 0,7

Poor thing. I promised her I’d pop in on my way home. She’s had a bit of a bereavement and isn’t coping very well.’

‘Husband?’

‘Worse. Dog. Her cottage is on the harbour. We can nip in and pay our respects, quick cup of tea, then make our excuses and go back to mine … via the pub. You might as well meet the enemy straight off.’

I wanted to say, ‘Thank Christ for that. Yes please.’ But the curse of the twenty-first-century independent woman prevented me from throwing myself at his mercy. And I didn’t fancy the pub.

‘Don’t be silly,’ I said with a blasé shoulder shrug, taking my coat off one final time. ‘I’ll be absolutely fine.’ (Which is the exact phrase everyone uses when they are, in fact, sure that they will not ‘be absolutely fine’.)

He put his hand on the door handle.

‘And how are you sleeping these days?’

I shrugged.

‘Don’t tell me you’re still listening to Harry Potter audio books half the livelong night?’

I shrugged again.

Listening to Stephen Fry narrate Harry Potter was much better than tossing and turning all night. There was just something about the combination of the two – Fry and Potter – that made the world seem like a safe place again.

‘It relaxes me. And you must admit, you can’t beat a bit of Stephen Fry at bedtime.’

Gerald laughed.

‘I wouldn’t kick him out of bed, I suppose – but don’t tell George, you know how jealous he gets. Well, if you’re sure, I’ll be off. Just phone me if you need reassurance. Oh, and there’s WiFi here.’

Result.

‘The code is …’ Gerald paused and delved into his coat pocket. He took out a scrap of paper. ‘… “tigermoth”, one word, all lowercase. And try not to worry. I wouldn’t leave you here if I thought it wasn’t safe.’

Gerald kissed me on the cheek and stepped out into the wind.

‘I’ll pop up tomorrow morning once the storm’s gone through,’ he shouted. ‘I’ve got a fabulous programme of events all worked out, people to meet, things to do! And lock the door behind me straight away. It’ll bang all night if you don’t.’

‘I will,’ I shouted back, down the lane. ‘And, thank you!’

With the door locked and bolted, I walked into the lounge, sat on the sofa and stared into the fire, unconsciously spinning my wedding ring around my finger. The lights began to flicker, and in the kitchen, another window rattled. I grabbed my laptop from the hallway, logged onto the WiFi and – for at least five seconds – thought about doing a little apostrophe research (or any research that might lead me in the direction of a new project and take my mind off the storm). I closed the laptop lid.

Tomorrow. I’d do the research tomorrow.

I grabbed the remote control, flashed the TV and Freeview box into life and pressed the up button on the volume. The closing scenes of a Miss Marple rerun sounded-out most of the noise of the storm. Now all I needed to do was make a cup of tea, rustle up dinner and settle down to a spot of Grand Designs (the harangued couples who mortgaged themselves to the hilt and lived in a leaky caravan during the worst winter on record with three screaming kids and another on the way while trying to live off the land and source genuine terracotta tiles in junk shops for a bathroom that wouldn’t be built for another five years … they were my favourites).

With the closing credits of Miss Marple rolling down the screen, I walked through to the kitchen to make dinner. It was the real deal on the quintessential cottage front – not a fitted cupboard in sight – and very pretty, with French doors at the rear. A circular pine table with two chairs sat at the opposite end of the kitchen to the French doors, underneath a window. A golden envelope addressed to Katherine Henderson, C/O Angel View, sat on the table. I opened the envelope and took out the Christmas card.

Another angel, they were everywhere this year.

Dear Katherine

Just a quick note to welcome you to Angel View and explain about the house, which until recently belonged to a very special lady called Juliet Caron – my amazing Grandmother. You will find that her personality is still very much alive within the cottage walls. I’m sorry I wasn’t able to decorate the cottage for Christmas before you arrived, but you’ll find lots of decorations in the loft if you