‘Well, because it won’t be long before Pip and I won’t be spending anywhere near as much time at home and it would be nice for you and Dad to have one. You know, for company. Don’t you think?’
Evelyn frowned, but Kit laughed. ‘Careful, Em, you’re making us sound as if we’re dangerously close to slipping into our dotage.’
Glancing further down the table, Evelyn thought how tired Annelise looked. Like Edmund, she was unusually quiet. The most Edmund had said since arriving was to say how awful he felt at not being at the hospital with Hope.
More food was passed around, and then Kit brought up a subject Evelyn would have preferred he hadn’t. Not with Max at the table.
‘Edmund,’ said Kit, ‘have you discovered if anyone else has received an anonymous letter like the ones Hope and Evelyn have been sent?’
Before he had a chance to reply, Isabella let out a hoot of laughter. ‘Anonymous letters,’ she repeated, ‘what’s all this about?’
Pip laughed too. ‘Don’t tell me there’s some frustrated old biddy in the village with nothing better to do than write poison pen letters!’
‘Who’s the suspect?’ joined in Em. ‘And why didn’t you say anything, Mum? Oh, this is straight out of a murder mystery novel, isn’t it, Romily? What a lark!’
‘Hardly a lark, I’m afraid,’ replied Romily.
‘No,’ agreed Evelyn. ‘I’m afraid it’s not as funny as you youngsters seem to think it is.’ Across the table she felt Max’s eyes on her. She hoped to goodness he would keep his mouth shut and not let on that she had already spoken to him about the first letter she received.
‘Evelyn’s right,’ asserted Edmund. ‘I’m convinced that if it weren’t for the letter Hope was sent, she wouldn’t be where she is now.’
‘You mean the two things are connected?’ asked Red. ‘Her accident and the letter? Hell, what kind of village is this?’
‘The same as any other,’ said Romily with a sigh. She was about to say something else, when from the hall came the sound of the telephone ringing.
She was gone no more than a few seconds before she returned. ‘Edmund,’ she said. ‘That was the hospital. They’ve been trying to ring you at Fairview for the last hour.’
The colour drained from his face. ‘But I rang them to say I’d be here.’
‘Somehow the message was mislaid. But it’s wonderful news. Hope is awake and asking for you.’
ChapterEighty-One
Chelstead Cottage Hospital, Chelstead
December 1962
Romily
It was anybody’s guess how long it would take them to reach the hospital, but nothing was going to stop Romily from making the journey.
Firstly, she telephoned her nearest neighbour, Reggie Potters of Holmewood Farm, to ask if she could borrow his Land Rover. As soon as he knew the reason why, he was only too keen to agree. She gave Edmund no choice in the matter as to who would drive, telling him he would be too agitated to get them to the hospital safely. It was better that she be the one to do it.
The Land Rover had three seats and a rear canvas hood, under which Kit and Evelyn, along with Red, and wrapped in blankets to keep warm, were hunkered down as best they could. Twisting her head round to check that they were okay, Romily saw Red grinning back at her through the smudged glass. He gave her athumbs-up sign.
Red had been keen to accompany them on the basis that some extramuscle-power wouldn’t go amiss if they were to find themselves stuck in a snowdrift. They’d loaded the Land Rover up with blankets, turkey sandwiches, mince pies, and thermos flasks of coffee, as well as spades and shovels to dig themselves out if needs be.
Not since the war had Romily driven a vehicle of this sort, and gripping the steering wheel with her gloved hands, the wipers only just keeping up with clearing the windscreen of snow, she was determined not to be defeated by the treacherous conditions. With each hazardous snowdrift they pushed through, she experienced a thrill of exhilaration.
Crammed against the passenger door, and constantly fidgeting, Edmund alternated between leaning forward, as though urging Romily to go faster, and throwing himself against the back of the seat. When he wasn’t doing that, he was wiping thesteamed-up windscreen.
Next to Romily, Annelise was sitting perfectly still, her mittened hands resting on her lap. Had they been alone, Romily would have asked how she was feeling and whether or not she had reached a decision about the baby.
They saw no other traffic, not until they were about a mile from the hospital. Coming towards them in the blizzard was a tractor; it was towing a small car with its front caved in. Very carefully, Romily slowed her speed to a stop, then wound down the side window. The driver of the tractor stopped also. ‘We’re trying to get to the hospital,’ she said, ‘what do you reckon to our chances?’
‘Now that I’ve cleared the road of this abandoned car you should make it. Be sure to keep your speed low. And don’t hang about for your return journey, the forecast is for the temperature to drop dramatically. Happy Christmas to you,’ he added with a smile.
‘And to you too,’ she replied, winding the window back up. ‘That’s a stroke of luck for us,’ she said, when she had the Land Rover into gear and was moving again.
