Page 61 of The Love Letter

‘Okay.’ His expression cleared with what even Joanna believed was genuine relief. ‘Let’s go over the facts again: strange old lady at Sir Jim’s funeral, letter, programme, your flat gets trashed, you give said letter to so-called friend to have it analysed, who then tells you it’s disintegrated in the process—’

‘And you know what?’ Joanna butted in. ‘I can’t believe it did. I mean, think of letters from hundreds of years ago that are still in existence, but would have been chemically processed to determine their age?’ She shook her head in frustration. ‘The question is, why did Simon lie to me? He really is my best friend.’

‘Sorry, Jo, but I think you’re right to be suspicious of him. So,’ Marcus continued, ‘then you mention it to your boss, who tells you to follow it up, but does a quick U-turn a few days later and has you moved to a useless section of the paper where you can cause no harm.’ Marcus rubbed his chin. ‘Whatever it is you’re on to, it’s something. The question is, what do you do now?’

Joanna rifled through her rucksack for the envelope. ‘This is the photo I borrowed from the house in Dorset to dress up the article. And this is the theatre programme the little old lady gave me.’ She laid them side by side. ‘See? It’s him, isn’t it?’

Marcus studied both pictures. ‘It certainly looks like him, yes. If anyone would know more about this, it’s my sister Zoe. Except she’s filming in Norfolk at the moment.’

‘I’d love to speak to Zoe, although I have to be very careful from now on, look as though I’ve dropped the whole thing. Could you arrange it?’

‘Maybe, but it’ll cost you.’

‘What?’

He grinned. ‘A brandy back at my place.’

Joanna sat in Marcus’s living room watching the flames leap in the gas fire. She felt calm, a little drowsy, and comforted that she had shared her secret with someone else.

‘There you are.’ Marcus handed her a brandy glass and sat down next to her. ‘So, Miss Haslam, where do we go from here?’

‘Well, you try and arrange for me to see Zoe and—’

He put a finger to her lips. ‘No, I wasn’t talking about that. I was talking about us.’ He ran his finger up her cheek and caught a lock of her hair. ‘You see, I really don’t want to just play Watson to your Holmes.’ He took the glass away from her before she had even taken a sip, then leant towards her. ‘Let me kiss you, Joanna, please. You can tell me to stop at any time if you want to, and I promise I will.’

Her stomach coiled in anticipation as Marcus put his lips to hers. She closed her eyes as she felt his tender kiss become more passionate, his tongue gently caressing hers. His arms closed around her shoulders and she relaxed into him as sense and right and wrong vanished in a haze of longing. Then he abruptly pulled away.

‘What?’ she murmured.

‘Just making sure you don’t want me to stop.’

‘No, I don’t.’

‘Thank God for that,’ he whispered and pulled her back towards him. ‘Oh Joanna, God, you’re gorgeous . . .’

An hour later, she saw his face next to hers, his expression full of wonder. And gave him a contented smile.

‘Joanna, I think I love you . . .’

His arms wrapped around her shoulders and she drank in the smell of his fresh, clean hair and the faint musky aftershave on his neck.

‘You okay?’ he whispered.

‘Yes.’

He rolled away from her and propped himself up on his elbow.

‘I meant what I said, you know. I think I’m falling in love with you.’

‘Bet you say that to all the girls,’ Joanna replied briskly.

‘Before maybe, but never afterwards.’ He sat up and reached for his trousers to dig in his pocket for his cigarettes. ‘Want one?’

‘Go on then.’

Marcus lit up two cigarettes and they sat on the floor cross-legged, smoking.

‘That was really enjoyable.’ Joanna smiled at him.