Page 130 of The Love Letter

Simon cursed the cruelty of human nature under his breath. ‘Jamie, your mum is going to be home very soon. I want you to promise me you’ll tell her everything you’ve told me, so there’ll be no misunderstandings in future.’

Jamie looked up at him. ‘Have you methim?’

‘Yes.’

‘What’s he like?’

‘Nice. He’s a nice man. You’ll like him, I’m sure.’

‘I don’t think I will. Do princes play football?’

Simon laughed. ‘Yes.’

‘And eat pizza and baked beans?’

‘I’m sure they do.’

‘Will Mumma marry him, Simon?’

‘I think that’s something only your mother can tell you.’ His mobile rang in his pocket. ‘Hello? Zoe? Did you get my message? Yes, Jamie’s safe and absolutely fine. We’re down in Dorset. Want a word with him?’ Simon passed the phone to Jamie and stood up to leave the room and give him some privacy. When he returned once the call was finished, he saw a little colour was returning to Jamie’s cheeks.

‘Will she be very angry with me?’

‘Did she sound angry?’

‘No,’ Jamie admitted. ‘She sounded very happy. She’s coming straight here to see me.’

‘There you go then.’

Simon sat next to him and Jamie snuggled down on his knee, yawning. ‘Wish you were the prince, Simon,’ he said drowsily.

So do I, he thought.

Jamie lifted his head and smiled at Simon. ‘Thanks for knowing where to look.’

‘Anytime, old chap, anytime.’

At past three a.m., Zoe paid the taxi driver and opened the front door to Haycroft House. Everything was silent. She went first to the kitchen, then into the sitting room. Jamie was curled up on Simon’s knee, fast asleep. Simon’s head was resting against the back of the sofa, his eyes closed too. Tears came to her eyes at the sight of her son. And Simon, who had so generously helped them both when it seemed no one else would.

Simon opened his eyes as she walked towards them. Very carefully, he extricated himself from beneath Jamie, substituting a cushion for his lap and indicating they should leave the room.

They walked silently into the kitchen. Simon closed the door behind him.

‘Is he okay? Really?’

‘He is absolutely fine, promise.’

Zoe sat down in a chair and put her head in her hands. ‘Thank God. You can’t imagine what was going through my mind on that interminable flight.’

‘No.’ Simon walked to the kettle. ‘Tea?’

‘I’d love some chamomile tea. There’s some in the cupboard over there. Where did you find him?’

‘Asleep on your grandfather’s grave.’

‘Oh Simon! I . . .’ Zoe clapped a hand to her mouth in horror.

‘Don’t blame yourself, Zoe, really. I think what happened to Jamie was an unfortunate combination of some unkind, but natural teasing at school, delayed grief and . . .’