‘I sure am. I showed up unannounced and being the perfect English hostess, Romily has kindly invited me to stay for Christmas.’
‘You might not think that after I’ve put you on potato peeling andwashing-up duty for the duration of your stay,’ said Romily.
He laughed and Florence said, ‘How will Mrs Collings feel about that?’
‘She won’t know anything about it. She’s snowed in, so I shall be in sole charge of the kitchen this year. You and the family will join us on Boxing Day for drinks, won’t you? Snow permitting, that is.’
‘Of course.’
From a large shopping bag, Romily pulled out four beautifully wrapped presents. ‘Put these under your tree,’ she said.
Taking them, Florence said, ‘If you have a moment, could I have a word with you, alone, please?’ She inclined her head towards the swing doors.
‘I’ll just be a few minutes,’ Romily told her handsome friend.
‘Take as long as you like. I’m going to enjoy choosing us a selection of these fine pastries. Billy, what do you recommend?’
‘I’m sorry for dragging you away from your guest,’ Florence said, when the swing doors closed behind them, ‘but I wanted to tell you I’ve received another letter. It was delivered just a few minutes ago.’
‘Presumably it wasn’t to wish you season’s greetings?’
‘No, it wasn’t.’ Florence took the letter out of her apron pocket and gave it to Romily.
When she’d read it, Romily said, ‘You know there’s no truth in it, don’t you, Florence? It’s just spiteful meddling.’
‘It’s hard not to think the worst,’ murmured Florence.
Romily stared at the piece of paper with itsglued-on words cut from a newspaper. ‘I’m still convinced these letters are nothing but wild shots in the dark. Nothing but somebody wanting to cause mischief in order to give themselves a feeling of superiority.’
‘Wouldn’t that person want to see the results of their spite, though? Otherwise, what’s the point?’
‘Sometimes it’s enough for a twisted mind to stay in the shadows imagining the trouble being stirred up. A bit like playing God.’
‘If it is random, why haven’t more people received letters?’
‘Unless the recipients of the letters are prepared to come forward, we have no way of knowing just who has received one.’
Taking the letter from Romily, Florence slipped it back into her apron pocket. ‘I know we can’t be sure, but it seems it’s only women who have been targeted.’
‘I agree, and would therefore surmise that it’s because the person behind the letters sees women as weak and easily upset. And I think for your sanity, Florence, you should show this latest letter to Billy and tell him about the ones before. You’ll feel better for having Billy knowing what’s troubling you. And now I really ought to go and save Red from an excess of interrogation by the good ladies of the parish.’
Florence smiled. ‘He is rather dishy. Like Gregory Peck, or Rock Hudson. Is he somebody ...special?’
Romily smiled too. ‘Strictly between you and me, I think he might be. But not a word to anybody else.’
‘My lips are sealed.’
They hugged each other goodbye, wishing one another a happy Christmas.
Watching Romily and her handsome American friend leave the shop, their sledge loaded up with shopping, Florence thought they made an attractive couple. And since Christmas was a time for wishes, she wished that Mr Red St Clair might become a very special part of Romily’s life.
She wished too that she didn’t feel so nervous telling Billy about the letters. What if he was upset that she had doubted him?
Or worse still, what if guilt got the better of him and he admitted there was some truth in what he was accused of?
ChapterSeventy-Two
Melstead Hall, Melstead St Mary
