‘I wonder what his wife would say if she found out.’ Caroline frowned. ‘And what about that waitress at Wheelers? Lucy, I don’t suppose you know which one of them it is?’
And without having to think, Lucy knew. ‘It’s Nancy, Nancy Peterson.’ She looked at Caroline. ‘You would do that for me?’
But Caroline only tucked an arm through hers. ‘Whatever happens, Lucy, remember that you’ll always have us.’
‘But what’s Shirley going to say, and the others—’
Betty cut her off. ‘No one else needs to know. In any case, they were worried about you because they care. We all do. Shirley told us about how difficult it was for you growing up, how awful your mother was to you after she remarried.’ She took her other arm. ‘Well, now you’ve got us, Lucy Jones, whatever happens.’
And Lucy felt the warmth flowing back into her veins as Betty pulled her closer.
She might have been exhausted, but for the first time in weeks she felt that things were going to be all right. She’d never known anyone doing anything kind for her without her having to do something for them first, and yet here they were, this motley collection of friends, looking after her as if it were second nature.
Back at the house, there was a letter waiting for Lucy on the mat. She stood looking at the writing numbly while the others wentto put the kettle on. Her mother had never sent her a letter before. She wondered whether she should just put it to one side or throw it in the fire. Surely nothing good could come from opening up past wounds.
But with the sound of her friends in the kitchen, for once she felt able to face whatever was inside.
The letter was brief.
Dear Lucy,
I hope you’ve managed to sort out your problem. I felt awful after your telephone call, and I knew I had to write. There’s a lot of things I should have said to you a long time ago, and perhaps it took something like this for me to set the record straight, in case you think you are the one at fault.
Although I love Stan, he has not always been a good man – men will be men, after all. As you grew up I could see that he was taking you out, buying you gifts. It’s never easy for a wife to know her husband favours another woman, especially if it’s her own daughter, and I blamed you for leading him on.
But when I came in and saw you sitting on his lap, I knew it looked wrong. Believe me when I say I acted for your own benefit when I sent you out of the house. I was relieved that Shirley got you the job in London as I didn’t know how else to protect you.
Now that you’re a grown woman maybe you’ll understand. I don’t feel good about how we left things, but for now it’s best that you stay in London.
Take care of yourself,
Love, Mum
Lucy tore the letter in two, then again. Her mother couldn’t be more wrong! It wasn’t the fault of either of them – only Stan was to blame.And as for the ‘men will be men’ comment: was she letting him off the hook?
However, her mum was right about one thing: Lucy was grateful she’d left.
She went to throw the torn scraps into the fire, but then, as if remembering something, she looked at them and hurried into the kitchen.
‘Betty, Miranda, Caroline, wait until you see this!’
MIRANDA
APINK DUSK SETTLED OVER THE WHITEWASHED TERRACESas Miranda wove through the backstreets of north London, wondering if she was lost. But, there, as she turned the corner, the dark canal came into sight, gleaming like glass. Long barges nestled against the treelined towpaths, a peaceful paradise tucked away from the chaos of the city.
The invitation had been cemented only a few days ago, Sinclair suggesting dinner on his canal boat. She couldn’t wait, curious to see it for herself: Sinclair in his water-bound home.
And, of course, there was that other matter.
‘Physical attraction can be so very base,’ she muttered, pushing it out of her mind.
With the coronation only days away, she’d be heading back to New York soon, and all of this would drift into memory, that peculiar time she’d had in London.
A lone Italian guitar played from a café as she ventured onto the towpath, and there, standing by the boats, was Sinclair, his mouth lifting into a smile as he saw her. He looked relaxed in casual clothes, his usual ironic manner replaced with a genuine pleasure at seeing her.
And with a sudden whoosh, she felt on top of the world. It was one of those special moments, the boats on the still water, the soft lilting music, and the man taking her hand so that she could step onto the boat.
‘Welcome to Nessy!’ he said. ‘I hope you find her shipshape.’
