‘I haven’t been accused of being unfaithful, have I?’ he asked.
‘No,’ she said. ‘Nothing like that.’
‘What then?’
‘Oh, that I was a harlot, the usual stuff that a person who enjoys sending poison pen letters would say of a woman they don’t like.’
Kit was aghast. ‘Why didn’t you tell me?’
‘Because I didn’t want to give the silly letters any credence. Or upset you. And you are now, aren’t you?’
‘As would any husband be upset when his wife is being attacked like this. It’s not on. It’s ...’ He faltered and then slapped a hand to his forehead. ‘Oh my God,’ he cried, ‘I’ve just remembered something!’
‘What?’ asked Evelyn.
‘She told me ... well, it was in confidence. Hope made me promise I wouldn’t say anything and so I didn’t. It was the night of our party. She told me she’d received a poison pen letter, but I’m afraid I didn’t take it seriously.’
‘Why on earth not?’ demanded Edmund.
‘I’m sorry, Edmund, but I thought it was no more than some silly old biddy in the village up to mischief. I advised Hope to ignore it.’
‘And look where that’s got us. You should have told me!’
‘Edmund, that’s not fair,’ intervened Evelyn. ‘If Hope swore Kit to secrecy, what else was he to do?’
As the voices around the table became more heated, Romily noticed that Annelise had barely touched what was on her plate. ‘Are you all right, Annelise?’ she asked quietly. ‘Can I fetch you something else to eat if the pork isn’t to your liking?’
‘I’m sorry,’ the girl murmured, her pallor now the colour of putty, ‘but I’m not very hungry. It must be the shock of hearing about these awful letters.’
‘That’s my fault,’ said Stanley. ‘I shouldn’t have said anything.’
‘I disagree,’ retorted Edmund, turning towards him, his tone uncharacteristically harsh. ‘You should have spoken up before. So should Kit. Maybe then Hope and I wouldn’t have had that dreadful row and she wouldn’t have gone out for a walk. And then,’ he went on, his voice rising, ‘she wouldn’t have been hit by some bloody reckless driver and now be fighting for her—’ He broke off as Annelise suddenly pushed back her chair and stood up.
‘Please excuse me,’ she murmured before bolting from the room.
Watching her go, Romily was visited by the strongest sense of déjà vu. In a flash she was transported back in time to a day more than twenty years ago when a similar scene had taken place in this very dining room. The memory, along with another that was much more painful, propelled her to her feet.
‘If you’ll excuse me, I’ll go and see if Annelise needs anything,’ she said, gesturing to Edmund that he should leave this to her. ‘The dear girl is obviously upset.’
ChapterFifty-Seven
Island House, Melstead St Mary
December 1962
Annelise
Annelise made it upstairs to the nearest bathroom just in time. She flushed away the small amount she had just eaten, then went over to the basin to wash her face. Running the taps, she shuddered at theblotchy-faced woman staring back at her in the mirror. Who was she? Who was the idiotic person who had got herself into this mess?
Pregnant.
The word alone was enough to make her feel sick all over again.
There was a discreet knock at the door, followed by Romily’s voice. ‘Annelise, can I get you anything?’
‘I’m fine,’ she answered. ‘I’ll be down in a moment.’ How long had Romily been standing there? Had she heard Annelise being sick? If she had, she would know that Annelise wasn’t fine. But then anyone sitting around the table would have reached the same conclusion.
‘Annelise, I know you probably want your privacy,’ said Romily, ‘but I’d like to help if I may.’
