by Beth Corby
As for your inheritance, The Laurels is now yours, barring all the final trumpery and bureaucracy that Dingbat Sanderson will no doubt muster. But remember that with money comes great responsibility, and responsibility for those around you. And remember, money is not the only currency. As we know from Mrs Jennings, people will do almost anything if you give them the right incentive. The trick is to make it a worthy one.
So my dearest Hannah, bravo, and bravo to me, too! Planning how to open your mind to new experiences has been a delight that has enriched my final months, and for that I thank you. Plus, perhaps, I should give a nod to Alec, Jane and Mrs Crumpton. (Mr Sanderson was paid, so he can thank himself.)
All that is left for me to do is to tell you to live well, and please know that I die happy in the knowledge that the world is a far less interesting place without me!
Forever yours,
Uncle Donald
I hand the letter to Alec and he reads it through.
‘Is he asking me to look after Mrs Crumpton?’ I ask as he hands it back.
‘And me, and Jane, and Jim and May, I expect,’ he adds with a small smile.
‘OK,’ I say, and curl my feet up under me.
‘So, which part of Donald’s life are you going to write about in your novel?’ asks Alec.
‘All of it, of course. Sort of. With the names changed to protect the innocent.’
‘What about the guilty?’ he asks solemnly.
‘Them, too, I suppose.’
‘Well, if you need a proofreader, typist or general factotum, I know of one that’s free.’
‘Not all that free, I hope! I’ve booked him for a date.’
Alec grins and reaches across the gap between our two chairs. He takes my hand, lifts it to his lips and kisses my fingertips, sending small tingles pulsing up my arm, then kisses my palm. My eyes close for a second.
‘So, what would you like to do on our first date?’ he asks, holding my hand to his cheek, and I feel a hint of stubble. ‘Any ideas, or would you like to go the traditional route and go out for dinner?’
‘I know exactly what I’d like to do, if you don’t mind?’
‘Not at all. What were you thinking?’
‘Something special,’ I say, and press my lips together to show that he’s going to have to wait and see.
On the same hilltop, but with far more space on the blanket, Alec and I gaze up at the stars, hand in hand. Neither of us needs to say a word. We lie still, absorbing the starlight, and experience all the things that Donald hoped we would feel the first time. We stare up at the cosmos, hearing only the wind rustling in the trees, aware of the Earth rotating beneath us as the stars expand away into the never-ending universe way over our heads.
Alec breathes out a contented sigh, and his fingers intertwine with mine. His hand is warm and soft, and this small contact feels strangely intimate in the darkness. I glance over at him, and it’s as he rolls onto his side, and his lips brush mine oh-so-gently, that I learn exactly how blissful stargazing can be.
Acknowledgements
I have been fortunate enough to be part of an amazing team whose combined and unrelenting support helped crystallise this story into a book I am very proud of. It absolutely would not have been the same without them.
In particular, I’d like to say a big thank you to my wonderful editor, Thorne Ryan, and everyone at Hodder & Stoughton who have made publishing this book so enjoyable. Also, my special thanks to my literary agent, Jo Bell from The Bell Lomax Moreton Agency, who has been both reassuring and diligent throughout.
My husband and children have been brilliant – their energy, patience and enthusiasm when trialling plot lines, testing ideas and being guinea pigs for my early drafts, was truly invaluable.
And finally, my deepest gratitude to an unsung, dearly departed hero, whose generous guidance and skilful encouragement all those years ago sowed those first seeds for my becoming a writer. His belief and confidence have stayed with me, and will continue to do so.
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