The Last Letter from Juliet. Melanie Hudson

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 laid out on the end of your bed. I knew you wouldn’t have brought anything suitable.’ She glanced at my clothes. ‘Just look at you, Juliet. I mean to say, have you even brought any decent clothes? You do know there’s a party here tomorrow evening? In your honour, I might add.’

      I went back to the tassel.

      ‘I managed to pack a few bits and bobs. But truly, Lottie, it’s difficult to fit anything in the old Moth, what with the tools I carry and so on …’ My voice petered out.

      Lottie wasn’t listening. She stirred herself sufficiently to leave the comfort of the chaise and cross to the fireplace to ring the bell. Katie appeared.

      ‘Katie, please escort Miss Caron to her room – via my room. Do not allow her to deviate. Wash her hands and help her to pick out a dress for dinner this evening, and for tomorrow evening, too. And when she finally steps out of the dreadful clothes she’s wearing, wash them and when she’s not looking, give them to the poor, although the poor probably won’t want them so you might as well burn them.’

      ‘Lottie!’

      Katie tried to hide a smile. I made tracks towards the door.

      ‘Oh, and Katie …’ Lottie added, forcing Katie to pause at the door.

      ‘Yes, Ma’am?’

      ‘Tomorrow’s dress should be something stunning for Miss Caron. And don’t forget to take that tweed suit I pointed out for yourself, too. I don’t need it anymore and it will be nice for you to wear it over Christmas …’

      Katie’s eyes widened.

      ‘Thank you ever so much, Ma’am.’

      Lottie batted us off, but as we left the room, I took a moment to look at Lottie from the doorway. She had turned to face the moon shadows again. There was something in the way her head dropped and in the way her right hand was reaching to her cheek that told me she was crying. I wanted to rush her, to hold her and tell her everything was going to be all right. But if I did, Lottie would want to discuss the inevitable – her inevitable – a topic we had been skirting around all day, the topic Charles wanted to discuss when I arrived. The topic of a baby – and a promise, too. And if we did that, I wasn’t entirely sure that my previous resolve to help my friend would hold true, and the problem was, it had to.

      Instead, I grabbed my boots, flying helmet, coat and gloves from the hallway, followed Katie to Lottie’s room and asked her to lay out a couple of evening dresses – but not to worry too much about what she found, any old thing would do.

       Chapter 6

      Juliet

       The compass and the coddiwompler

       18 December 1938

       Dear Juliet

       We said our goodbyes without arranging a time or date for the flight you offered me. Is today too soon? I can get fuel if necessary. I’ll wait at the barn at one p.m. in the hope you can make it.

       Yours,

       E. Nancarrow

      Edward’s letter, handed to me by Katie a little after breakfast, caught me by surprise. I would usually run to Lottie with this kind of thing, but I didn’t tell her about the letter because … well, because I didn’t want anyone to know. I spent the morning walking the grounds with Lottie pretending E. Nancarrow did not exist, but later, with Charles busy paying Christmas good tidings to tenant farmers (including Jessops who would receive extra cider this Christmas for his inconvenience with the cows) and with Lottie resting, I felt restless and bored. Persuading myself that I really should go and make sure the aircraft was safe and sound, I pulled my flying jacket over a shrunken Argyle jumper of my father’s and tucked Oxford bag trousers into my flying boots before striding out and heading down the road. This Edward Nancarrow chap may well have been what might generally be regarded as quite a dish, but still, summoning me to take him flying when he had behaved so dismissively the day before really was taking the biscuit.

      No, I would go to the barn and explain that I could not fly today, but as a woman of my word I would take him flying at some point that week – but at my convenience, in a day or so perhaps, weather permitting.

      When I arrived at the barn Edward was already there, sitting on a hay bale and engrossed in a literary supplement – The Beano. I stood in the doorway and watched him. He tittered to himself while reading, seemingly a different man from yesterday – a happy-go-lucky, relaxed man. I coughed to attract attention and hoped that the midday winter sun backlighting me in the doorway would highlight the copper (my mother called it red) hair in just the right way. He looked up and smiled.

      ‘Hello, there,’ he said, putting the comic down before making his way around the wing and stepping towards me. His greeting had the casual air of an old friend about it.

      Who was this new man with his relaxed airs?

      Whoever he was he was dressed in layers of warm clothes.

      Ready for flying, no doubt.

      The presumption!

      ‘I