‘I’m sorry for mentioning Perry. I should have kept my mouth shut.’
‘No, you shouldn’t have,’ retorted Bunty. ‘You followed your gut instinct and I’d have done the same.’
Robin slid Bunty a sly look, which wasn’t lost on her. She knew exactly what he was thinking and he was right. She herself had done the very same. Nothing wrong with giving fate a helping hand. And now, she was about to do it once more. She inhaled deeply.
‘And I’m about to follow my gut instinct again,’ she announced causing Robin and Jasmine to look up sharply.
‘What are you about to do precisely?’ asked Robin with caution.
‘I’m going to contact Perry,’ Bunty said with conviction.
Bunty sat poised, pen and paper at the ready. She needed time and space to think, so had barricaded herself in Daddy’s old study. It was situated right at the top of the house, with a huge picture window overlooking the bay. The surrounding walls contained bookcase cabinets with an upper railing, where a wooden ladder ran along.
As a child, Bunty had had lots of fun, climbing and pushing herself along the track, picking out all manner of books. The Deville family held an eclectic taste in reading. From her father’s art books ranging from the Renaissance period to the Arts and Crafts movement, her mother’s biographies of the rich and famous and of course, all things art deco whether it be architecture or fashion, to Bunty’s childhood reads includingCharlotte’s Web, Tom’s Midnight Gardenand the full Enid BlytonThe Secret Sevenseries.
She’d whiled away many a rainy day here, absorbed in the pages of books, providing escapism and adventure to a child’s imagination.
Now though, she was applying her mind as an adult, on a sincere mission. Bunty was at pains to pitch the letter just right. She didn’t know what she was dealing with, after all. Not knowing what position Perry was in, meant she had to tread very carefully. Bunty decided to keep it affable and platonic, a case of old friends getting in touch. In many ways, that’s what she was – just an old friend reaching out. What could go wrong?A lot, she glumly told herself. Supposing he didn’t even remember her?Unlikely!her instincts snapped back, and, as if in support, a flash of inspiration struck her. She’d enclose a photograph of them, surely that would strike a nerve? Yes, now which one to choose… Once again Bunty had the pictures spread out on the desk in front of her. After glancing over them, she selected the one at the beach, where they were paddling in the sea. What a magical day that had been. Then, with a steely nerve she began writing.
Dear Perry,
This may come as a surprise to you, but better late than never!
I’ve enclosed a photograph which recently came into my possession. I remember that day at the beach so well; such happy memories created.
I often think about you, Perry, and the times we shared. For me, I’ve never had such like with anyone else. I expect you’re happily married with a large family by now and wish you well.
If, however, you are in a position where you would like to reacquaint, it would be nice to meet up once again.
As you probably guessed, I’m still here in Samphire Bay, living in the ‘big house’ as you called it, on the peninsula.
With very best wishes,
Bunty
There. Short, sweet and succinct. Not too gushy or pushy. If Perry wanted to respond, he knew her address and could write a letter back. She refrained from giving her mobile or landline number, not wanting to be caught off guard by an unexpected call. No, she had to be prepared, not put on the spot. Perry could read her letter and have time to decide his actions, if any. It would come as a complete shock hearing from an old love after all this time and he would need breathing space to reflect and contemplate. If he was happily married, he could write a jolly letter back, thanking her for getting in touch and explain his circumstances, no harm done. If he was single, living alone, then he might well be glad of her company and be pleased Bunty had contacted him.
Bunty folded the letter and slipped it inside an envelope along with the photograph. Jasmine had supplied his address:
Fisher’s Cottage
Spinney Lane
Galgate
Lancaster
Jasmine had also typed in Perry’s address into her laptop and got his cottage up on a street view map. There he was, Bunty thought, tucked away in a pretty, little cottage on the edge of a leafy lane. She took in the ivy climbing up the grey stone, its white studded door and its house sign, Fisher’s Cottage, carved into a piece of driftwood. All so tasteful. The question was, who else, if anyone, lived there?
Jasmine was also sat taking stock downstairs in the kitchen. Having created graphics to accompany written text for an event brochure, she was in need of a break. Instead of doing the sensible thing and making a well-earned cup of coffee, she had kept her laptop open and searched for news of Tom’s killers. There was plenty. Those daunting faces of Adrian Hall and Ian Dixon stared up at her. Bile seeped up her throat, threatening to spew out. She got up, shaking, and quickly switched on the tap. Cupping her hands underneath the cold water, she splashed her face, then ducked down under the stream to gulp a few mouthfuls. That was better. Feeling slightly refreshed, she pushed the laptop cover shut. Enough.
How long would she have to hide out here? Jasmine missed her own home. It was now day three in Bunty’s house, undercover on the peninsula. Surely she should be yesterday’s news by now? Judging by what she’d just read, Ian Dixon had been charged with manslaughter and Adrian Hall in perverting the course of justice. They had both pleaded guilty and were awaiting sentencing. Jasmine had been contacted by the police so was aware of this development, but seeing it sprawled before her on the screen was too much to absorb.
Her parents had offered to visit, as well as her brother, but Jasmine had put them off, assuring them all she was fine. Which she was. Most of the time. Apart from the occasional wobble like earlier. All she had to do was sit it out, she kept telling herself. Her thoughts were interrupted by Bunty entering the kitchen.
‘I’m going to the post office,’ she told her, waving the letter in the air.
‘Good luck, Bunty.’ Jasmine smiled, proud of the old lady she was growing rather accustomed to. She had half anticipated being shown the letter and was secretly relieved. It was personal and she hadn’t wanted to be privy to its contents. Shewascurious, on the other hand, to its repercussions. Jasmine couldn’t help but feel responsible. She hoped and prayed it would all end well for Bunty and Perry. It seemed such a waste to think of two people, who clearly loved each other once, being apart. Of course, this was assuming Perry was available. Even so, Jasmine conceded, there was nothing wrong in just being friends, if Perry did have a partner. It could open up a whole new world for each of them she concluded.
