The Last Letter from Juliet - Melanie Hudson Page 0,96

supporting my head in his hands, his eyes full of love and tenderness. ‘Just hold on, my darling. Hold on tight.’

I closed my eyes and passed out.

I was beyond lucky, that day. My injuries were significant enough for hospitalisation at Predannack sick bay, but not serious enough for my life to be in question. A bullet that penetrated the cockpit had punctured my left arm, hence the blood, and I was also heavily bruised and concussed from the impact. But fear and adrenalin make for a powerful painkiller and I hadn’t even noticed much more than the pain of a scratch on my arm as I positioned the Spitfire for crash landing, but the wound was relatively deep and required surgical attention.

Two days later I went home. Ma was adamant that I should go to Lanyon, but Lanyon wasn’t home to me, not anymore. Home was where Edward was – at Angel View. We didn’t worry about the repercussions (I was still officially married to Charles, after all), because all I wanted was to lay in his arms, in his lounge, in front of the fire, look across at the angels, and thank them every single day for bringing me home safely.

It was potentially a scandal in the making – Charles Lanyon’s wife holed up with the mysterious American – but it was a scandal I was prepared to face.

And then there was Lottie.

I had written to her to explain about Edward, to say how much I loved him – had always loved him – and that Charles knew and had given his blessing. I received a perfunctory response. Lottie said she didn’t mind about Edward, she was still grieving her husband after all and had never had serious designs on the man, but she was shocked and disappointed that I hadn’t confided in her, my oldest friend, that there was a secretiveness about me that disappointed her since I’d met Anna, who had obviously replaced her as my confidante and all round best friend. Having no idea how to respond to this letter, I fell silent until I wrote again later, to explain that Anna had died. This had merited a response from Ma Lanyon and from Lottie, too, who had both written individual notes expressing their sympathy and their fondness of Anna.

But I had had no real contact with Lottie for many months until that day, Christmas Eve, 1943, when, at ten a.m. we heard a knock. Edward opened the door and the cottage was suddenly filled with the sound of my favourite Christmas carol – Silent Night. Lottie was holding Mabel, who was dressed in layers of hand-me-down clothes and sporting a bright red beret on her head.

Despite the bruising and shortness of breath, I pushed back the blanket with my good arm, got to my feet and rushed to the door. Mabel was holding a Christmas present. I tried to interrupt the singing in an attempt to hug them both, but Lottie held up a gloved hand to stop me – Mabel was determined to finish the carol.

I knew by the look on her smiling face that I was forgiven.

Lottie stayed at the cottage for an hour of chat that was surprisingly easy-going. We waved them off from the door and watched as they wandered down the lane towards the harbour, hand in hand, singing Christmas carols and swinging arms as they went. For a moment, I almost forgot that the war still raged on our doorstep. For a moment.

It was mid-afternoon when Edward asked if I felt up to a little walk. As I wandered slowly down the lane, leaning on Edward for support, I thought he would point us in the direction of our little beach, but he didn’t. Instead, we turned into the village and five minutes later, opened the picket gate that led into the churchyard. Edward gestured towards a pew half way down the aisle on the right. We sat for quite some time, holding hands in silence, staring at a stained-glass window above the altar that showed the side view of a magnificent winged angel. His long hair flowed over his wings and he was looking upwards, towards an omniscient, unseen figure. The angel held the same expression a child might have when looking up to a parent when desperate for an answer. His hands were clasped together in prayer.

‘The expression on that angel’s face says it all, really, doesn’t it?’ Edward said, looking ahead and holding my gloved left