Page 73 of The Love Letter

‘You owe me, Marcus.’ Zoe kissed him on the cheek. ‘Night, Joanna.’ She waved and disappeared out of the bistro.

‘Well, you certainly scored a hit with my sis. I’ve rarely seen her so relaxed,’ Marcus said, taking Joanna’s hand. ‘Come on, let’s go back to my place. We can have a brandy and discuss what Zoe said.’

They left the bistro and walked the five minutes back to Marcus’s flat. He lit a posh candle he’d splurged on and ushered Joanna to sit on the sofa. She was still shell-shocked from what Zoe had said, and let Marcus pour her a brandy before he settled down next to her.

‘So, it seems you were right about Michael O’Connell and Sir Jim being the same person,’ Marcus mused.

‘Yes.’

‘William Fielding knew James all those years ago, under a different name, leading a different life, and, up until his death, never said a word. That’s loyalty for you.’

‘It might also have been fear,’ added Joanna. ‘If he was delivering and receiving letters for James, and those letters contained sensitive information, it was surely imperative he keep his mouth shut? He may well have been paid to keep quiet. Or blackmailed, maybe.’

Joanna yawned. ‘God, Marcus, I’m so tired of trying to understand what any of it means.’

‘Then let’s leave it now and think some more in the morning. Come to bed?’

‘Yes.’

He kissed her, then pulled her up to embrace her.

‘Thanks for supper,’ she said. ‘I thought Zoe was lovely, by the way.’

‘Mmm. We weren’t trying a bittoohard for our own selfish reasons, were we? It’d be very convenient for your investigation to get pally with Zoe.’

‘How dare you!’ Furious, Joanna disentangled herself from his grasp. ‘Christ! I make an effort to get on with your sister foryoursake, find I genuinely like her, and you accuse me of that! Jesus! You really don’t know me very well, do you?’

‘Simmer down, Jo.’ He was taken aback by her sudden anger. ‘I was joking. It was great to see the two of you getting on. Zoe could do with a female friend. She never opens up to anyone.’

‘I hope you mean that.’

‘I do, I do. And let’s face it, you didn’t exactly have to torture her to spill any beans. She did it without any prompting whatsoever.’

‘Yes.’ Joanna walked towards the hall. Marcus followed her.

‘Where are you going?’

‘Home. I’m too cross to stay.’

‘Joanna, please don’t go. I’ve said I’m sorry. I . . .’

She opened the door and sighed. ‘Look, I just think we’re going too fast, Marcus. I need some breathing space. Thanks for dinner. Night.’

Marcus closed the door behind her miserably, pondering the complexity of women, then sat down to work out how he could interrogate William Fielding further without arousing his sister’s suspicion.

19

William Fielding sat beside his old gas fire in his favourite armchair. His bones ached and he felt weary. He knew his days as a working actor were numbered, before he had to give in and turn himself over to some ghastly home for the ancient and bewildered. And once he stopped working, he doubted he’d last too long.

Talking to Zoe Harrison had been one of the pleasures of makingTess. And it had sent his brain skittering rather unwillingly back into the past.

William looked down at the thick gold signet ring clasped in his gnarled hand. Even now his stomach turned to think of it. After all the kindness Michael had shown him, he’d been low enough to steal from him. Just the once, when he and his mama had been desperate. She had said it was a bad stomach bug that had rendered her unable to work. But in retrospect, William rather suspected an assignation with a back-street butcher and a knitting needle to remove an unwanted tiny human.

And it had just happened that Michael O’Connell had sent him to his lodgings to pick up a change of clothes. William had let himself in, and there, sitting on the washbasin, had been the ring. He’d taken it straight to the pawnbroker’s and got enough to keep himself and his mum out of penury for a good three months. Tragically, she’d died of septicaemia only a couple of weeks later. The odd thing was that Michael had never questioned him about the missing ring, even though he was the obvious candidate to have stolen it. A few months later, having saved hard, William had gone to the pawnbroker’s and bought it back. But by then, Michael had vanished again.

He had decided he was going to give the ring to Zoe when he saw her down in Norfolk. He knew she thought him an old codger and a storyteller, and who could blame her? But it felt right that she should have it. As William lay in bed that night, the ring on his own finger so he would not forget it in the morning, he pondered whether he should also tell her the secret he’d kept to himself for seventy years. He’d absolutely believed James Harrison’s warnings of danger, because eventually, he had discovered who ‘Rose’ had actually been . . .

‘Hi, Simon, having a good week?’ Ian clapped him on the shoulder.