‘My friends! Good grief, Miles, you can’t imagine for one minute that any of Rozalinda’s friends would do a foul thing like this?’
‘That’s the other thing I read about poison pen letters,’ Mary said thoughtfully. ‘ They are nearly always written by someone close to the victim.’
‘How hideous,’ Tom looked sick.
‘I don’t think we need talk about it any further,’ Aunt Harriet said, beginning to pour the coffees. ‘What Miles has said has put our minds at rest and will reassure Rozalinda. Once she knows she isn’t the only victim and that Marisa and Danella have received them as well, she will be able to see them in perspective. We must just feel sad that anyone should have such a sick mind as to send them in the first place.’
She led the way into the spacious salon, the subject firmly closed. No-one lingered very long. Harold was itching to get back to Rozalinda, though Aunt Harriet made him promise he wouldn’t wake her to tell her the news, but would wait until the morning.
Mary looked only too happy to leave, clutching Tom’s arm like a love-sick schoolgirl, and Phil was eager to be off and get back to his piano. Only Miles seemed content to stay, nursing a large brandy and cigar. We left him with Aunt Harriet who seemed only too happy to talk to him and walked in silence back to Phil’s villa.
The pine needles were soft underfoot, the moon rising high.
‘You haven’t changed your mind about listening to this new work of Tom Calloway’s have you?’
‘No, of course not. I can’t think of anything nicer. You played a piece of his at your last concert, didn’t you?’
‘Yes. The man’s a genius. Just listen to this.’
I curled up obediently on the big cushions as Phil sat down at the piano. Whether Tom Calloway was a genius or not I wasn’t competent enough to decide. His music was too sharp for my taste and it was hard to find any underlying melody. I would much rather have listened to Chopin or Liszt, but had no intention of admitting it to Phil. Besides, my mind was full of Jonathan, excitement growing in tight knots in my stomach. Tomorrow. Only hours away. I could taste his lips and feel his hands on my body and physically ached with longing.
Phil said exasperatedly:- ‘For the third time, Jennifer. Did you like it or not?’
‘It was a beautiful piece of music, Phil. Would you mind playing Chopin’s Waltz in C sharp …’
‘Opus 64, number 2,’ Phil mimicked. ‘Have you ever bothered to count the number of times I’ve played this damn thing for you?’
‘I don’t care. It’s beautiful.’
For a second I thought he was going to say something else. Something about me. Then he turned abruptly to the piano and played the waltz with far more fervour than was necessary.
Chapter Twelve
I was up and dressed at six-o-clock the next morning. It was a beautiful day. A fishing boat bobbed precariously up and down far out at sea, visible one minute, the next hidden by giant crests of surf. The birds in the woods were in full song as I made my own coffee, leaving the villa before Joanna-Maria arrived. The sun was already bright but without any warmth. I pulled a cardigan around my shoulders and set off for the deserted beach. If he left Vigo after breakfast he could be here for lunch. Or perhaps he wouldn’t arrive till dinner.
‘Oh, hurry my love. Hurry!’ I said aloud as I stood high on the top of the dunes, flinging my arms wide with happiness. Then I ran down the steep bank and onto the beach, slipping off my sandals and running straight into the icy waves that creamed on the sand. Walking into the breeze, my hair streaming back off my face, sandals slung around my neck, I walked on ankle deep in the swirling foam. Looking behind me I could see no sign of the villas or the hotel. Nothing but sea and sand and blue sky. I was so immersed in my own thoughts that I didn’t notice the footprints at once. I turned to see where they had sprung from. Like myself he had run down the sand dunes and into the sea, and then had walked along on the beach leaving deep prints in the sand. There was no sign of him ahead. I left the icy coldness of the Atlantic and padded along beside them, wondering if they belonged to someone from the hotel, or if it was Miles or Tom who had risen early. The sand dunes were thick with waving grass and the bobbing heads of scarlet poppies. I was nearing the headland when he called out—
‘Good morning, Jenny Wren. You’re up early.’
‘Jonathan!’
He was sitting with his back against the dunes, lazily pulling at a poppy.
‘Jonathan!’ I hurtled over the beach and into his arms. The poppy dropped from his fingers as he held me, the expression on his face changing. The laughter faded from his eyes to be replaced by a look suddenly serious and intent.
‘You haven’t changed, Jenny Wren. You are still as beautiful.’
‘Did you think I would change into an old hag overnight?’
‘No. A lifetime couldn’t do that to you,’ and he bent his head to mine.
His kiss held all the fire and passion of that first kiss outside the medieval walls of Valenca. It told me what I most wanted to know. That Jonathan loved me and that nothing had changed.
‘I missed you, Jonathan.’
He tilted my face to his. ‘I missed you too, Jenny Wren. I couldn’t stay away any longer.’
‘Oh Jonathan,’ I clung closer to him, his heart beating against mine. Happy and safe and secure.
‘Will you come back to England with me?’ he asked.
‘Yes. England. Africa. Anywhere.’
He smiled. ‘An English wedding will suit me fine. Is May sixteenth too soon?’
‘Three weeks?’
‘I haven’t been wasting my time since I last saw you.’ His eyes suddenly darkened and he held me away from him. ‘You haven’t changed your mind, have you?’
‘No. Three days would not be soon enough,’ and I wound my fingers in the thickness of his hair as he drew me into his arms, kissing me with such tenderness I thought I would die of joy.
A long time later, as we began to walk back in the direction of the villas, he said:-
‘I’ve been married before, Jenny.’
‘I know. It doesn’t matter.’
‘It mattered to me,’ he said quietly. ‘We weren’t divorced. She died.’
‘I’m sorry …’ the words were painfully inadequate. He gripped my hand hard.
‘I loved her very much and we were very happy. I thought it meant that I could never love again, but I was wrong. I love you, Jenny. You’re no second best and never will be.’
We stopped walking and he turned me to him, kissing me again, leaving no doubt in my mind.
I snuggled into his shoulder. ‘You’d better come back to my villa and we’ll have breakfast. It will give me a chance to put you in the picture regarding the rest of the enclave’s occupants.’
‘It’s just your Aunt and your cousin and her husband, isn’t it?’
‘No. There’s a girlfriend and her husband and another childhood friend there.’
‘Tell me over fresh coffee and toast. I’m starving. I haven’t eaten since I left Vigo.’
I opened the villa door, glad to see that Joanna-Maria had still not arrived. I wanted to make Jonathan’s breakfast myself. Just having him there made the villa like home and not just another impersonal room. He stood behind me, arms around my waist, kissing the nape of my neck as I took cups and saucers from the cupboard and milk from the fridge.
‘Are you always so affectionate? It could make my housework very difficult.’
‘Or impossible,’ he agreed, turning me round to face him. As his head bent to mine I stiffened.
‘Oh no!’
‘What is it?’
‘The clan. They must have seen us walking back. They’re arriving in full force.’
Through the kitchen window I could see Aunt Harriet with Miles and Tom on either side of her, and Harold and Rozalinda a few yards behind. Rozalinda was waving, not to me, but in the direction of Miles’ cottage. Simultaneously I heard the distinctive sound of Phil’s door
being slammed shut behind him.
‘Damn,’ Jonathan said good-naturedly. ‘Have they no sense of timing?’
‘Apparently not. You stay in the kitchen all ready to make your grand entrance. I’ll go and let them in.’
He let go of me reluctantly, squeezing my hand hard. There was no need for me to open the door, it was all ready opening. Phil was saying:- ‘What a bloody hour of the day to arrive,’ and Rozalinda pushed past him, radiant and beautiful showing no trace of the ravages of the previous day, saying ‘Where is he, Jenny? Aunt Harriet caught a glimpse of you both from her window,’ and then, letting go of me, asked coquetishly:- ‘He hasn’t been here all night, darling, has he?’
‘Don’t talk such rot,’ Phil said bad-temperedly and she pouted, looking across to Tom for support. He gave it in a flashing smile, saying:- ‘Come on, Jenny. Where have you got him hidden?’
Before I could reply I heard the kitchen door open behind me and Jonathan entered the room.
I had a perfect view of the expression on all their faces. Aunt Harriet paled, her mouth opening noiselessly. Mary stared at him, bewildered. Tom, incredulous. Phil began to move towards me and then Rozalinda screamed and went on screaming until Harold grasped hold of her and shook her hard.
Stunned, I turned to Jonathan. ‘What is it? What’s the matter?’
Phil had hold of my arm.
‘I think you got his name wrong, Jennifer.’ And then, almost brutally, he said to Jonathan:- ‘This is Jennifer Harland.’
Slowly Jonathan walked across the room towards me. I was vaguely aware that everyone else, apart from Phil, had instinctively moved backwards. Jonathan’s face was dreadful. His expression one of such fury and grief that I thought I was going to faint. Then his hand came up and struck me across the face hard.
‘You bitch. You filthy, lying, murdering little bitch!’
I couldn’t breathe. My ears were drumming, and then I pitched forwards in a vortex of thundering blackness, to lie senselessly at his feet.
Chapter Thirteen
‘Have a nice weekend,’ Sister Maynard called from her office as I went off duty.
‘Thanks, I will.’ I put my head round the glass door of her office. ‘Little Kenny Barnes isn’t too happy. Perhaps you could ask Nurse Rowse to keep a special eye on him.’
‘I will. It’s always the same if his mother doesn’t make the afternoon visiting.’
I hurried across to the nurses’ home and changed out of my staff nurse uniform and into sweater and jeans. Then I hurriedly threw my night things and the book I was reading into my bag and went out to my car. The Fiat was my pride and joy. The first thing I had ever bought myself. I settled myself happily behind the wheel and rolled down the drive and out onto the main road. It was a comfortable hour’s run to Templar’s Way and I judged I should be there about six-o-clock. It would give me plenty of time to talk to Aunt Harriet and catch up on the latest village news, and to have a bath and change in readiness for Phil’s party.
Bromley High Street was relatively quiet as I cruised down it half an hour later. I turned right for Hayes, breathing a deep sigh of contentment as I sped across the common. From here on it was villages and open countryside. And home. Bluebells crammed the woods, the branches meeting above the narrow road, shadowing everything in a soft green. I plunged down a steep wooded hill, past the church I had been christened in and which still had original Norman foundations, and then crossed the valley and climbed up to the opposite hilltop where Templar’s Way commanded magnificent views across the Weald.
The distant church bells chimed six as I drove past the ‘Royal Oak’ pub and rolled down the high hedged lane to Aunt Harriet’s Tudor beamed cottage.
She was in the garden, secateurs in one hand, an armful of dahlias in the other.
‘Jenny! You’re lovely and early. I was just picking some flowers to take along to Phil’s. Not that he’ll notice them, but his cottage does always have a threadbare look of bachelorhood and I think the flowers help to soften it.’
She took my arm. ‘ It’s going to be a lovely evening. Harold and Rozalinda flew back last week.’
Beyond the silver trunks of the birch trees the Weald lay bathed in the golden rays of the dying sun. I sighed happily.
‘It’s lovely to be home. It seems an age since I was last here.’
‘Nonsense. It’s only a month,’ Aunt Harriet said practically. ‘What are you doing for your holidays this year? Are you going with Jane again?’
‘No, Jane got married at Christmas.’
‘So she did. I’d forgotten. Isn’t it about time you started to think in that direction yourself?’
I laughed. ‘Who with? Phil?’
‘Yes,’ she said, taking the smile off my face. ‘Who else?’
‘I don’t think Phil is ready to get married yet. And I’m sure I’m not.’
‘I think you’re wrong about Phil. You know what they say. The spectator sees most of the game.’
‘Oh Aunt Harriet,’ I laughed and hugged her arm.
‘Sometimes Jenny, I doubt your judgement,’ and with a reproving look she opened the cottage door and went into the kitchen to put the flowers in water.
‘How is Rozalinda?’
‘Fine. Miles is coming down. They are to star together in a new film. She seems very excited about it.’
‘Miles?’
‘He had a small part in her last film. I believe this one is a little bigger. He’s not the leading man, of course. They’re still casting for that.’
‘I bet he’s six feet tall and devastatingly handsome.’
Aunt Harriet stopped arranging the flowers. ‘How did you know?’
‘Because Rozalinda’s men friends always are. I’m going for a bath now. What should I wear. Long or short?’
‘Long I think. You know how Rozalinda likes to dress up.’ She picked up a rose and rammed it rather crossly next to an aster.
‘I don’t know why the hell I’m doing this,’ Phil said, as he let us into his tiny cottage at the far end of the village. ‘I must be mad.’
‘Don’t be a spoil sport, Phil. You haven’t had a party in ages.’
‘And I wouldn’t be having one now if I had any sense. I’m glad you got here before anyone else.’ He gave me a brotherly kiss on the cheek. ‘Rozalinda and Harold are coming and bringing a host of people.’
‘It will be fun. We haven’t all been together for ages. How is Mary?’
‘Fine. Full of the children. Timothy can walk now, which is apparently a stupendous achievement.’
‘Don’t be such a bore, Phil. It is. For Mary.’
He grinned. ‘ Nice to have you home, Jennifer.’
‘Nice to be back.’
Aunt Harriet displayed her flowers around the room, checking on the drink and the food that Phil had laid out buffet style in the kitchen.
‘Satisfied?’ he asked.
Her face softened as it always did when she looked at Phil. ‘The food looks beautiful. You’ll make a very good husband, Phil.’
‘I’d make a lousy husband,’ he said good-naturedly, carefully avoiding my eyes.
‘The doorbell rang and he groaned. ‘Here we go. Once more into the breach…’
It was Mary and Tom. I noticed with something of a shock that Mary’s figure was beginning to thicken around the waist and hips, making her look several years older than she was. She looked vaguely preoccupied.
‘I hope that girl who is baby sitting is reliable. We’ve never had her before and Helen has the beginnings of a cough. I gave her the number, but …’
‘Heavens, girl, we’re only a hundred yards from home,’ her husband said in affectionate exasperation. ‘She has Phil’s telephone number and she’ll ring if she needs to. I don’t intend to spend the evening running between here and home checking up on the baby-sitter!’
Mary looked sheepish, her fingers interlocking with his. ‘Sorry, darling I promise I won’t spoil the evening by worrying.’
‘When does our star arrive?’ Tom asked.
‘Any minute now,’ Phil answered him as Rozalinda’s tinkling laugh sounded from the garden.
The door opened and Rozalinda, a sapphire blue mink slung carelessly around her shoulders, a wisp of silk enhancing every curve, paused for us all to admire. Then, having made her entrance she dropped the mink onto the nearest chair and came towards me, arms outstretched.
‘Jenny, darling. How absolutely super! I thought you were in London nursing the sick and dying!’ her lips brushed my cheek, her heavy perfume suffocating me. ‘I must say you still look normal enough!’
‘Because I am,’ I said placidly, too used to Rozalinda to take offence.
‘God! No-one who chooses to be with old and ill people can be classed as normal!’
‘My oldest patient is twelve.’ I said dryly, but it fell on deaf ears.
‘A very worthwhile profession,’ Harold mumbled from behind her, trying to catch hold of my hand and failing as Rozalinda swung wide once more, pushing him out of the way as if he were no more than a fly.
‘Isn’t Miles here yet? He said over the phone that he has the most stupendous news for me …’
Harold finally succeeded in wriggling round his wife. He was thirty years older than her, balding and without any redeeming feature except his perpetual good humour and unswerving devotion.
‘Nice to see you again, Jenny.’ The heavy pouches around his eyes made them almost invisible and his double chin had grown to swaying proportions since I had last seen him. ‘ Mustn’t take too much notice of Rozalinda’s remarks. Doesn’t mean them.’
‘No, Harold. I know that. How is everything?’
‘Fine, fine. Rozalinda has just finished “The Pretenders” in France and now she and Miles are to star in another film. It’s a marvellous part for Rozalinda, but so far I’m keeping it as a surprise.’
‘I don’t think I’ve met Miles.’
‘Grand chap … devoted to Rozalinda.’ I looked over to where Rozalinda had trapped Phil in a corner, her body far closer to his than was necessary. Mary had told me that she thought it very bad of Rozalinda to have invited Miles to Templar’s Way. Rozalinda had told her some months back that she was having an affair with him, and though Mary had come to accept Rozalinda’s behaviour as unchangeable, she had been indignant that Rozalinda should have the nerve to bring her present lover to Templar’s Way.
The Guilty Secret Page 9
