The Chocolate Tin

by Fiona McIntosh

  Alex glanced at Harry, who wore an expression of detachment. He’d withdrawn into that remote mood, speaking only when spoken to, like now as she saw Matthew return his attention to her companion.

  ‘So, Blakeney. I can’t have you dashing around Yorkshire with my wife on your arm without a valid explanation.’

  Alex’s breath caught but then she saw Matthew break into a grin.

  ‘Shall we order first?’ Harry suggested, nodding at the waitress who had arrived to stand patiently alongside their table while they’d removed hats, coats, scarves and gloves to have the larger garments hung up.

  ‘I’m Lucy,’ the young woman said, a picture of primness in her black dress and starched white pinafore with matching cap. She possessed a smouldering dark gaze that landed on Harry and remained on him, Alex noted. ‘May I take your order?’

  ‘Why not?’ Matthew agreed, beaming at her. ‘Darling – what’s your poison today?’

  ‘I’ll have a pot of Darjeeling, please,’ she replied, forcing Lucy’s attention off Harry to her small pad. Her pencil scribbled.

  ‘Sir?’ Lucy said, lifting her eyes to Harry once again. ‘What can I offer you?’ she asked and managed to make it sound more than a little generous.

  Alex saw Harry break into the easy smile that hurt her heart as she realised in that instant that she might never feel it fall on her again, alone with that same playfulness. These could be her last moments in his company and she was being forced to share them with Matthew and a waitress who was clearly flirting with the man she loved. Yes, she did love him; that was the reality of today. She had avoided confronting that truth, soothing herself it was an infatuation, their friendship barely days old, their intimacy hours old. Who was she fooling? She had fallen for Harry during supper at her home . . . how effortlessly he could make her laugh, how easily he kissed her and won her eager response. Now he knew every inch of her, had touched her in a way she had never known. She had cried out, hadn’t she? She had called his name aloud in a sighing mix of ecstasy and surprise. She knew she was blushing, recalling their morning, and behind it galloped a restless anger that she would now be denied that experience, and all of those hot, desperately wanted sensations again.

  ‘What would you recommend?’ she heard her lover enquire distantly on the rim of her mind.

  ‘You’re in the north, sir,’ Lucy replied, without hesitation, and even chanced a cheeky wink. ‘I would recommend our own brand at Betty’s of the best Yorkshire tea.’

  ‘Perfect,’ Harry said, giving Lucy the benefit of another beaming grin.

  Alex wanted him to stop flirting with the pretty waitress but she was in no position to insist upon anything. She watched Lucy reluctantly shift her attention to Matthew, who Alex noted was not in the slightest bit interested in the woman with her bouncing hazel curls and generous lips that looked like they enjoyed being kissed. Harry, meanwhile, was still looking at her, Alex observed sourly. She comforted herself that he was doing this deliberately to avoid looking her way with the shared misery that their final couple of hours had been stolen.

  ‘Er, let me see.’ Matthew frowned, scouring the menu. ‘Make mine Assam. I like a strong brew.’

  Lucy pasted on her best serving smile and offered sandwiches and a stand of cakes for the three to share, which Matthew gladly agreed to. And then she was gone, with only a slight backward gaze at Harry, leaving the odd trio to themselves.

  ‘Over to you, Blakeney. I’m all ears,’ Matthew said with a forced brightness.

  Why did she get the impression that they had interrupted his plans as much as he had disturbed theirs?

  She listened to Harry retell his sad tale, during which Lucy and a helper served their refreshments. The tea arrived in heavy nickel silver teapots and the china was near transparent. Alex was impressed that their cool grey-blue gave way to white inside the teacups.

  ‘I see. So you’re now on the hunt for this elusive girl who worked in the factory some four or five years back.’

  Harry shrugged. ‘I don’t know. She may never have worked there. I’m making a sweeping presumption. Either way, we haven’t found her yet,’ he replied, not wishing to admit they hadn’t yet tried. ‘But I have returned Fletcher’s belongings to his family.’

  ‘So it hasn’t been an altogether wasted journey,’ Matthew finished for him, slanting a look at his wife, prompting a fresh sense of alarm that he could see straight through the talk, all the way to her infidelity.

  ‘No,’ Harry replied softly. ‘Not a wasted journey at all.’ She knew from his tone it was directed at her and warmth flooded but she would not allow herself to look his way. Matthew was far too canny. And she was not ready to have a conversation about infidelity with him.

  She could hear in the awkward pause that she needed to deflect Matthew from probing more into the last few days. Harry was sounding guiltier by the moment too; she wondered if he regretted today. Right at this moment she felt an overwhelming desire to reach out, hold his hand and assure him that she had no such regret. In fact she was surprised how light her heart felt in the midst of her shame and the despair of knowing she would lose Harry. She beamed a fresh smile at Matthew as he began to speak, his attention back on her.

  ‘So what have you discovered about this woman?’

  Alex took a breath to fashion a fib, but it was Harry who spoke first. ‘I only know her first name. Signed simply Kitty, it’s been —’

  Both men looked sharply at Alex when she helplessly gasped at the mention of Kitty. So fate had not finished with her yet.

  21

  ‘Everything all right, darling?’

  ‘Er . . . yes, yes, of course,’ Alex assured, her mind in turmoil, reaching for any reason to excuse her outburst. ‘I just spotted an old friend I haven’t seen in years.’ She raised a hand and feigned a bright smile in the direction of the door as two women entered. Fortunately they were around her age. ‘I lost track of her during the war years and we were so close during school days. If you’ll excuse me, I might just go over and say hello on my way to the bathroom.’

  Both men stood, her husband looking bemused, and Harry frowning slightly.

  ‘Hurry back, darling, or your tea will arrive and get cold.’

  She cast a smile over her shoulder but moved purposefully, with her throat feeling as though it might close with horror. Kitty! Kitty! So it was poor Tom Fletcher who had been the recipient of her note! It had seemed fun, even kind, with its sweet intention but now she felt distraught by its repercussions. She arrived as the pair of women queued for a table.

  ‘Excuse me.’

  The taller of the two turned to her. Crimson lipstick of darkest cherry to match her coat was painted across a wide mouth that stretched into a generous smile. ‘Yes?’

  If Alex hesitated, she’d lose her courage but this situation was dangerous. ‘I wonder if you’d help me? I have a favour to ask of you.’

  The woman frowned as she deftly pulled away the floral silk scarf that was tucked loosely around her neck. Its bluish hues were the perfect match to crimson. ‘A favour? How odd. Surely we’re strangers.’ She glanced towards her companion, who seemed more interested in trying to catch the eye of the maître d’.

  ‘That’s just it,’ Alex murmured with a nervous yet rueful grin. ‘I’m wondering if you would kiss my cheek as though you recognise me. It’s my husband, you see. I . . . well, something’s happened with another man and —’

  Alex was stunned that the woman barely took further breath. ‘Oh, my dear,’ she exclaimed and wrapped long arms delicately around Alex’s shoulders and kissed both cheeks with affection, before holding her back to admire her. It was feigned friendship but even Alex could believe it. ‘How wonderful to see you again,’ the woman said, loud enough to be heard and at the very least for those cherry lips to be read easily from a distance. ‘To be friends,’ she continued, in a far lower volume, ‘I should know your name.’

  ‘Alexandra Frobisher . . . er, Alex to you.’r />
  ‘Oh no, Lexie for me, I think,’ her new friend replied with a lazy chuckle. ‘I do love a little . . . chicanery,’ she said, choosing the word with obvious delight. ‘I’m Eloise Ransome and this is Jennifer Spalding.’ The companion cast her a polite smile, not fully privy to their discussion. ‘Are we childhood friends?’ Eloise asked, dark-green eyes sparkling with intrigue behind a slow, disarming blink.

  ‘Our parents were friends in Scotland . . . Argyll.’

  ‘How fortunate for you that I know the area. Oban is divine but only in summer. I’m struggling enough with York at this time.’

  ‘You’re up from London?’

  Eloise nodded. ‘We thought we’d take the spa waters, although we realise we’re a bit late for the season. I’ve had my special glass of the prized water this morning in that delightful glazed annexe of the Pump Room. But enough of my ails. Tell me, are you having an affair? How deliciously naughty,’ she said, without waiting for an answer. She glanced over to the table. ‘Oh, my, I don’t know which man is your husband, dear Lexie, but I’ll take whichever one you cast aside. They’re both darlings, although that dark one looks incredibly broody. He would kiss very well, I’m thinking.’ She looked back at Alex. ‘Ah, you don’t even have to admit which is the lover now, my dear. I hope he makes you feel outrageously desirable and adored.’

  Alex swallowed. ‘Thank you for doing this.’

  ‘Sisterhood is a powerful thing. Who knows, one day I may need you!’

  Alex had to smile. ‘In that case, let me give you a card; it will look like we’ve exchanged addresses. I told my husband that I’d lost track of you.’

  ‘By all means, then we can officially be friends,’ Eloise chuckled. She took the card and placed it in her small handbag, withdrawing one of her own. ‘If you and that hunk of a lover ever need a place to stay in London, do call. We’re always travelling.’

  ‘We?’

  ‘My husband, Dickie Drake.’

  Alex frowned. ‘But isn’t he . . .?’ She wasn’t sure how to say it.

  ‘Yes, ancient, darling, but if I can give you one iota of advice, you should always marry an old man. Then he’ll adore you for life and shower you with whatever you want, from property to jewels, because you’ll always make him look good.’ She chortled deliciously. Alex couldn’t be offended by her sentiment; besides, it had a pragmatic sensibility to it. ‘Oh, look, darling Lexie, the waitress is here. Is our table ready, Jen?’ Her friend nodded. ‘Better dash, then.’ She leaned in to give Alex a hug. ‘Hope he’s worth it, darling. Don’t throw your lifestyle away over sex, though . . . trust me, it’s always available and especially to someone who looks like you. Come to London and visit.’ She patted her hand knowingly and then kissed Alex afresh. ‘Glad I could help.’

  With a wave to the pair of women, Alex made for the bathroom and behind a closed door she allowed herself a moment of despair. What now? Why had she taken so long to discover it was Kitty whom Harry was hunting? How would she explain to him that the woman he had come to find was in fact her?

  Best to just say it. Be honest, come clean. Be direct. But when? She might never get the opportunity. Today was about farewell. She had to let him go so that he could marry Bethany. Perhaps it was for the best that he never learned who Kitty was. Yes, why make it any harder for him? Oh, what a mess! She’d convinced herself that having some affection and male attention lavished on her was harmless, providing no one ever knew. She had managed to persuade herself that only her conscience would be the burden and in time she would learn to live with this episode, consider it a sweet, secret interlude that had made her feel special and desired for the briefest period.

  Witnessing Matthew and Harry together in the same breathing space was like pouring vinegar into an open wound. Couldn’t fate have kept them apart? Couldn’t she have had time to say goodbye to Harry without Matthew being present? Now her farewell would have to be polite and detached with the only man who had ever found his way to her heart. Why couldn’t Henry Blakeney have walked into her life a few years earlier?

  No. She smiled sadly to herself. The universe had a sense of humour and wanted to tease her with glimpses of what might have been. Alex dabbed away the telltale tears, swallowed their salty aftertaste and emerged from her cubicle to check her face was not stained. She pinched colour into her cheeks, added a light sweep of a lipstick in a colour called Ashes of Rose and stepped out again into the lively atmosphere of Betty’s.

  It had felt like a lifetime but the clock on the wall told her she’d only left their table six minutes previously.

  ‘Tea’s brewed,’ Matthew said in welcome, pouring some of the contents of his pot into his cup.

  ‘May I?’ Harry offered.

  Their gazes met like an invisible kiss. Both let them linger; Alex was sure that Harry was also recalling real kisses in the cottage, which had been tender and searching, tongues speaking to each other without talking. It was Harry who held her gaze longer than she thought was safe – he wanted the intimacy to last and that buoyed her. She gave a soft, lopsided grin.

  ‘Please,’ she answered, glancing at her small silver teapot.

  He blinked away towards his task and she focused on his brow, shadowed in frown as dark lashes closed above his cheeks. She could still feel the freshly shaved smoothness of his jaw that was nevertheless gritty like gentle sandpaper against her skin . . .

  ‘Blakeney was just telling me more about his search.’

  ‘Oh, yes?’ she said.

  ‘Surely you came across a Kitty in your time during the war, even after it?’

  She pretended to think, then shook her head. ‘Not that I recall.’

  ‘Do you have the note with you?’ Matthew suddenly asked, blond head whipping to fix Harry with an earnest look as fresh inspiration apparently hit.

  Alex felt as though the world was tipping and she was dizzily trying to keep her thoughts straight. She had the teacup to her lips and sipped, hoping it might steady her, but all she tasted was the salt of fear. She presumed Harry would have brought the note with him today; after all, that’s why they were supposed to be meeting. Or was it? She watched in terror as Harry began to check his pockets. As soon as Matthew saw the note he’d recognise her writing – it was too distinctive with its extra loops on any long letters and there were several of those in Kitty. She held her breath at Harry’s smile as he dipped into his inside jacket pocket.

  Matthew regarded her with an indulgent smile. ‘Darling, you’re blushing.’

  ‘No, I’m not,’ she said as casually as she could. ‘I’m hot. This dining room is quite stuffy and the tea is piping, isn’t it?’

  ‘It’s why we like Betty’s,’ he said, raising his teacup as if in cheers.

  ‘I wish you’d told me you were back in the north,’ Alex suddenly said, trying to turn the focus back on her husband. ‘Why didn’t you?’

  Unperturbed, he closed a hand over hers. ‘I thought I’d surprise you.’

  She wanted to believe him, she really did, but now there was too much doubt. As Matthew gave her his most friendly yet detached smile, she sensed he knew about her infidelity or at least had guessed at the forbidden intimacy that his wife shared with their guest. He was simply playing along, or why else would he ask to see the note? What on earth could he contribute to Harry’s search by looking at it? Guilt laughed at her from the twinkling chandeliers, reflected at her in the mirrors, danced around the steam of her tea.

  She tried to disguise the anxiety as she shifted her glance to Harry, who was looking decidedly grim.

  ‘I can’t believe it,’ he was saying. ‘I must have left it at the guesthouse.’

  ‘Oh,’ Matthew said in a tone of feigned commiseration. ‘Pity.’

  Harry shrugged. ‘No matter. It doesn’t help us much, does it, Mrs Britten-Jones?’

  ‘Do call her Alex, old chap, I insist,’ Matthew said before she could reply. ‘In fact, I’m pretty certain my wife would prefer you to call her Alex
. She encourages all her closest friends to do so. Isn’t that right, darling?’

  They made small talk about York, railways, business in the south and ultimately the weather, which was a sign to her to bring this ghastly meeting to a close.

  She smiled thinly. ‘Well,’ Alex said, gathering up her gloves. ‘I’m sorry, gentlemen, I’m ready to escape this rather stifling atmosphere. And my sincere apologies, Harry, that we haven’t made much advancement in finding the author of your love letter.’

  ‘When do you head south?’ Matthew wondered, pushing back his chair.

  Harry gave a slight shrug. ‘Tomorrow, I imagine. I haven’t been able to catch Kitty’s trail and perhaps that’s for the best; maybe it’s a mystery that will lure me north again sometime.’ He’d clearly caught on to Matthew’s duplicity.

  ‘What would you say to Kitty if you did find her, anyway?’ Matthew asked.

  ‘I wanted to tell her I’d found her sweetheart. This was always about Tom Fletcher, though, and bringing him home via his possessions first. Maybe I should leave Kitty as it occurs to me now that she may have resigned herself to losing Tom. No point perhaps in reopening a wound, especially if she’s moved on, met someone else. She may even be married.’

  They both glanced again at Alex as she gave a choked sound. She waved away their attention, feigning a tickle in the throat.

  ‘Er, no, this is mine, old chap,’ Matthew said, as Harry reached for his wallet. ‘You’re in my city, my guest.’

  ‘Do you come to London often?’

  ‘Only all the time,’ Alex answered for Matthew, reaching for levity but not entirely disguising the arrow of accusation it carried. ‘He can’t stay away from the capital. Too many diversions.’