Page 21 of The Love Letter

He held her by the shoulders and looked at her. ‘Still pining for that idiot?’

‘A little, yes. But I’m much, much better than I was.Really.’

‘Good. Heard from him at all?’

‘Not a word. I’ve put all his stuff in four rubbish sacks and left them in my entrance hall. If he doesn’t come for them in the next month, they’re going to the dump. I brought some wine.’

‘Well done on both counts,’ nodded Simon, reaching up into a cupboard above him to retrieve two glasses, and handing her a corkscrew. She opened the bottle and poured a healthy amount of wine into both of the glasses.

‘Cheers.’ Joanna toasted him and took a sip. ‘How are you?’

‘Good. Sit down and I’ll serve the soup.’

She sat at the table by the window, and glanced out at the spectacular skyline of buildings that formed the City of London to the south of them, their high, red-lit rooftops glowing in the distance.

‘What I’d give to actually see the stars again, without any of this light pollution.’ Simon placed a dish of soup in front of her.

‘I know. I’m planning to go home to Yorkshire for Easter. Fancy coming up with me?’

‘Maybe. I’ll see what’s on at work.’

‘God, this is good,’ Joanna said as she hoovered up the thick black-bean soup. ‘I think you should forget about the civil service and open a restaurant.’

‘Absolutely not. Cooking is my pleasure, my hobby and my sanity after a long day in the nuthouse. Speaking of which, how’s your work?’

‘Fine.’

‘Not stumbled on a major scandal recently then? Discovered a famous soap star has changed her perfume?’

‘No.’ Joanna shrugged good-naturedly. She knew Simon had a passionate dislike for the tabloids. ‘But there is something I want to discuss with you.’

‘Really?’ He wandered into the kitchen, put the soup bowls in the sink and took out an exquisite-looking rack of lamb, with roasted vegetables, that had been resting in the oven.

‘Yes. A little mystery I managed to stumble on. It could be something, or nothing.’ She watched as he filled two plates then ferried the steaming food over to the table, accompanied by a jug of aromaticjus.

‘Voilà, mademoiselle.’ Simon came to sit opposite her.

Joanna doused her lamb liberally with the richjus, then forked up a mouthful. ‘Wow! This is delicious.’

‘Thanks. So, what’s the story?’

‘Let’s enjoy eating first, shall we? It’s so weird and complicated that I need my full concentration to even know where to begin.’

‘Sounds intriguing.’ Simon raised an eyebrow.

After supper, Joanna washed up while Simon made coffee. Then she sat down in an armchair and curled her legs underneath her.

‘Okay. Shoot. I’m all ears,’ said Simon, handing her a mug and sitting down too.

‘Remember the day you came round to the flat, and I was so distraught about Matthew dumping me? And I told you I’d been to Sir James Harrison’s memorial service and sat next to that little old lady who almost keeled over, and who I had to help home?’

‘Yes. The one who lived in a room full of tea chests.’

‘Exactly. Well, this morning at work, I received an envelope from her and . . .’

Joanna went through the day’s events as chronologically and carefully as she could. Simon sat listening attentively, sipping his coffee every now and then.

‘Whichever way you look at it, her death points to one thing,’ she finished.