Melanie Hudson - The Last Letter from Juliet

‘So, will you help? Because I can manage on my own if not.’

‘I’ll help,’ he said.

‘And you’ve started a propeller before, you say?’

He nodded. ‘A few times, yes.’

‘I’ll jump in and leave you to it, then.’ I paused. ‘But only you’re sure you know what you’re doing?’

‘Of course, I do.’

‘Good.’

‘Good.’

I climbed into the back seat and prepared the Moth for taxi. He turned the propeller and then …

‘Contact?’

‘Contact!’

And off the little Tiger Moth went.

I grabbed my bag and ran away from the field, sharpish , arriving at Lanyon half an hour later to find a concerned Charles on the drive pacing outside the grand front door.

‘Oh, hello, darling,’ I said, blundering my way into the hallway ahead of him. ‘Sorry I’m late. I had to put down in a field and ended up having a bit of commotion with some cows, but it’s all sorted now.’ I pecked him on the cheek. ‘Where’s Lottie,’ I asked, taking off my flying helmet while glancing in the hall mirror. God! Had I really looked like that in front of Edward? I quickly tidied my hair and tried to rub a smudge of oil away with the back of my hand. ‘Only I’m desperate to catch up.’

Charles didn’t answer but took my hands.

‘But … Darling,’ he paused. ‘Before you see Lottie, I really do think we need to talk about, you know, the arrangement … only, Pa wants to iron a few things out. Details, you know.’

I shook him off with a peck on the lips.

‘Yes, I suppose we do. But not now though.’ I smiled my brightest smile and patted him on the arm. ‘I’m desperate to get in front of the fire and warm up, it was absolutely freezing up there today. Oh, and I’m afraid I rather upset those cows when I landed. Do you think you could send a thank you to your man … Jessops, is it? Perhaps some cider or something? He was ever so helpful, moving the cows to another field. And I’ve left the Moth in a barn.’

Charles laughed.

‘Poor Jessops. Yes, of course I can. I’m visiting him tomorrow. I’ll take something to him then.’

I kissed Charles again, with a little more enthusiasm this time, before striding across the hallway and placing my hand on the sitting room door handle. ‘Is Lottie in here?’

Charles nodded. Smiling, I slipped off my muddy flying boots and turned the brass knob on the large panelled door.

Lottie was dozing on a large sofa by the bay window. A King Charles Spaniel lay by her feet. An embroidered shawl, the most perfect shade of russet red, was wrapped around her shoulders.

‘Juliet!’

Lottie, stirring at the sound of the door, threw her legs off the sofa and crossed the room to hug me. ‘I’ve been waiting for you all afternoon. We saw you fly past ages ago. Charles imagined you dead in a ditch somewhere, although why a ditch always has to be involved whenever anyone goes missing is beyond me.’ She took a step backwards to look me up and down. ‘But looking at the state of you, I think you really have been in a ditch!’ She turned to Charles who had followed me into the room. ‘Do leave us to catch up in peace, Charles! And perhaps arrange for some tea?’

Charles shook his head in mock disapproval, crossed the room to kiss me once more before turning on his heels to leave us alone. Lottie returned to the sofa while I mothered around her, straightening her shawl around her shoulders. It was Lottie’s comfort shawl from school, the thing she always turned to in moments of distress (that and a book of Christina Rossetti poetry). This wasn’t a good sign. If the shawl was out, before you knew it the poetry books would also be out and Lottie would spiral into a depression that could last for weeks. The door clicked shut.

‘Good, he’s gone!’ Lottie said, lounging back into the sofa. ‘So, tell me, what have you really been up to all afternoon?’

I was just about to sit down myself and launch into a watered-down version of the truth when the door clicked open again and Charles’ mother rushed into the sitting room carrying a bed sheet.

‘Ah, Juliet. You made it. Jolly good …’ She glanced at my clothes and then at the bed sheet. ‘It’s because of the oil, dear,’ she said kindly, before laying the sheet across a chair.

‘Sorry, Ma,’ (Lottie insisted I called her this, although Mrs Lanyon and I both seemed to wince every time I said it) ‘But I did take my muddy boots off in the hallway.’

She glanced at my stockinged feet – men’s stockings – and patted me on the head as I sat down – ‘Thank you, Juliet. Most considerate.’ She pulled the bell for tea, sat down and started to chat, leaving Lottie to roll her eyes with annoyance at having had her confidential catch-up delayed.

The late afternoon passed pleasantly. Charles reappeared with the maid, Katie, who brought tea and a few eats, and we all caught up in the civilised manner befitting gentle folk who lived in a house like Lanyon. Final plans for the wedding were made, and it was only when Ma and Charles retired to dress for dinner that Lottie and I finally found a few moments to be alone. We sat in a delicious silence at first. I was perched on the end of her sofa, having dragged the sheet with me to tuck underneath my oil-stained clothes. We stared out into the darkness of the garden, which in daylight had uninterrupted views across the grounds to the ocean beyond, but at night was one long expanse of black, except for the moon, which was almost full and served to backlight a line of cedar trees perfectly, the moon shadows throwing glorious patterns across the lawn and river of silver through the sea.

‘I don’t know why I’m asking,’ Lottie said, breaking the silence. ‘But have you given any thought to what you might wear to the wedding?’

‘Oh, I’ve brought a warm woollen suit that belonged to Mummy. That will do, I suppose.’

Lottie shook her head in frustration. I pressed on.

‘But it’s winter, Lottie! And it’s very smart, too. Truly it is.’

‘But it’s your wedding day, Juliet. I can’t understand why you’re keeping it so simple.’

I began to play with a tassel on Lottie’s shawl.

‘Charles and I agreed – no fuss. And your Ma was relieved on the “no fuss” front, too. There might be a war. It doesn’t do for the big house to start being extravagant in front of the tenants. And I’ve got no one to invite, no one at all. I’d much rather spend Pa’s money on a new aircraft …’ I sat up. ‘Oh, did I tell you? There’s this fabulous little monoplane coming out soon and it’s …’ Noticing Lottie glance down at her very slightly swollen belly, I stopped. ‘Well anyway, that’s just a bit of a dream. But what about you.’ I tried to buoy her up. ‘What will you wear?’

She shrugged, disconsolate.

‘I know!’ I said, not waiting for an answer. ‘You should wear your cream cashmere two-piece. The one I bought in you in Paris.’

Lottie shook her head.

‘I was going to. But Katie can’t do the zip up anymore. And anyway, I want you to wear it.’

‘Me! But … look at my hands, Lottie! I’ll never get them clean enough to wear cream.’

‘I thought of that. I’ve told Katie to scrub them. No buts. It’s been laid out on the end of your bed. I knew you wouldn’t have brought anything suitable.’ She glanced at my clothes. ‘Just look at you, Juliet. I mean to say, have you even brought any decent clothes? You do know there’s a party here tomorrow evening? In your honour, I might add.’

I went back to the tassel.

‘I managed to pack a few bits and bobs. But truly, Lottie, it’s difficult to fit anything in the old Moth, what with the tools I carry and so on …’ My voice petered out.