Wedding Rows (8 page)

Edna started walking away. “Come on, if we don’t hurry we’ll be late.”

“Why didn’t you give it to me this morning?” Polly demanded, hurrying as best she could on her high heels to catch up with her mother.

“Because you were taking so long to get ready for church.” Edna quickened her steps as Polly drew level. “I knew if I gave it to you then you’d take even longer.”

Polly didn’t answer. Her mind was buzzing with questions. A few months earlier, she and Sadie had collected letters from villagers and sent them to Marlene who’d promised to give them out to servicemen desperate for news from home. Polly had written a long letter herself, but had never really expected an answer.

She felt a little skip of excitement as she thought about the letter waiting for her. A letter from a mysterious stranger. Who was he? What was he like? How old was he? Where was his home? She could hardly wait now, to read it.

All through the service she kept thinking about it, and had to be nudged twice by her mother when she failed to stand up for the hymns.

At long last the sermon was over, and it wasn’t until she was outside the church again that she realized she’d forgotten to pray for the pain to go away when she thought about Sam. That was because she hadn’t thought about Sam at all, she realized with a shock.

That upset her at first, but then she started thinking about the letter again and her spirits soared. She couldn’t wait to read the letter and find out all about the person who’d sent it. Things were looking up. Life could still be exciting after all.

CHAPTER 5

When Elizabeth went in search of the Winterhalters, Violet informed her that Daphne had not returned from her walk and Rodney had gone to look for her. Since Elizabeth barely had time to get to the church on her motorcycle in time for the service, she was forced to wait until later before she could talk to Tess’s parents.

She’d hoped to see Earl that morning; he often joined her for the Sunday service, but she could see no sign of his dark head as she entered the church. Aware that people were discussing the death of Brian Sutcliffe, she avoided conversation with anyone and left hurriedly as soon as the service was over.

She arrived back at the manor in time to see both Daphne and Rodney strolling up the driveway. The sight of them greatly relieved her. She’d been rather worried that something might have happened to Daphne. Which just proved how easy it was to jump to conclusions.

She waited until the Winterhalters had settled themselves in the library before going in to see them. They both looked up as she entered, with identical expressions of dread on their faces. She hurried to reassure them.

“I’ve talked to Tess,” she told them, “and I don’t think she is responsible for the death of Brian Sutcliffe.”

Both parents uttered exclamations, though Rodney looked far more relieved than his wife.

He rose to his feet, one hand raking through his hair. “Did she tell you what happened?”

“Yes, she did.” Elizabeth sat on her favorite armchair by the fireplace and smiled at Daphne, who still looked stricken. “I really can’t go into it now, as I have many more questions to ask and people to talk to before we can come to any conclusions. As soon as I know something for certain I’ll let you know.”

“Do you have any idea who might have killed Brian?” Daphne asked, one hand clutching her throat.

“Not at present, no.” Elizabeth stood. “But I can assure you I’ll do everything in my power to ferret out the truth.”

“Well, if there’s anything we can do to help . . .” Rodney walked to the door with her. “I can’t thank you enough, Lady Elizabeth. As you can imagine, my wife and I have been out of our minds with worry. I only hope we can solve this mess before the inspector gets here and jumps to the wrong conclusion, as P.C. Dalrymple did.”

Heartily agreeing with that sentiment, Elizabeth left them alone and headed for the kitchen. She was eager to have her lunch and then get out of the manor for a while, in order to clear her mind. A brisk stroll across the downs with her two dogs, Gracie and George, bounding along by her side was just what she needed to organize her thoughts.

It wasn’t until she was tramping through the long grass that she allowed herself to think about Earl. He’d been absent a lot lately, and he seemed preoccupied. Which usually meant something big was brewing at the base. Talk of the Allied invasion of Europe had been the main topic of news lately, both in the newspaper and on the wireless. Speculation, of course. No one knew when or even if it would eventually take place.

One thing Elizabeth did know: if there was to be an invasion, Earl would be in the thick of it. The troops landing on the beaches would need air support. Undoubtedly that was the reason he’d been sent back to his base in England. Something else was just as certain. She wouldn’t know he’d gone until it was over. One way or another.

The fear that always hovered in the back of her mind surged to the forefront. To lose him now, just when the path ahead of them appeared to be offering a chance for happiness, would be too terrible to bear. She was devastated when he left England the year before, but there had always been a faint hope to cling to, a chance that she would see him again someday. To have him come back to her, only to lose him forever, would destroy her completely. No, it was too awful to even think about.

Her eyes misted with tears, she didn’t recognize the figure standing on the edge of the cliffs at first. The dogs, however, had no such reservations and were leaping about with joyous whines and yaps that left no doubt in her mind.

It was as if he’d materialized out of her thoughts, and for a moment she was too full of emotion to speak as she reached him.

“I was on my way back to the manor,” he said, holding out his hand. “I saw you across the downs and figured I’d wait for you here.” He’d parked the Jeep on the grass verge a few yards behind him. The dogs scrambled into it, their noses busily sniffing out unfamiliar smells.

Smiling, Elizabeth put her hand in his. “I was just thinking about you.”

She’d said it lightly, but the glow in his eyes intensified. “I’m happy to hear that.” He squeezed her hand and let it go. “You want to walk?”

She fell into step beside him as he started back across the cliffs away from the manor.

“I don’t feel like going back to my quarters just yet,” he said, linking her arm through his. “I want to be out here in the sun and the fresh air on a nice, normal. Sunday afternoon. For a while I want to forget everything and everyone and relax with my best girl.”

Something about the way he said it brought a chill to her heart. “You’re going away,” she said, her voice flat with misery.

He glanced at her, his expression hard to read. “Not as far as I know. Not yet, anyway.”

“Then what is it?”

He halted and pulled her around to face him. “You know I can’t tell you anything specific. It’s just that I might not be able to spend much time with you for the next week or two. Things are heating up, and I’ll be pretty tied up for a while. I’ve just got time to pick up my stuff this afternoon and I’m heading back to the base.”

The hollow in her stomach grew larger. “The invasion?”

“Elizabeth . . .”

“I know. You can’t tell me.” She pulled away from him, determined not to let him see her fear. “Well, then,” she added stiffly, “we’ll just have to talk about something else. What do you think these little pink flowers are called?” She turned her back and walked away from him, gesturing fiercely at the clump of wildflowers growing alongside the railings that lined the cliff path. “They come back every year and no one seems to know their name.”

“Dammit, Elizabeth!” He caught up with her, seized her arms, and turned her to face him again. “You know I’d tell you if I could.”

Struggling to keep the tears at bay, she muttered, “Yes, I do. It’s just that it’s so hard, not knowing. I try not to think about it, but every time I pick up a newspaper . . .” She looked up at him, helpless to continue.

The look in his eyes cut off her breath. “You know, Lady Elizabeth Hartleigh Compton, you sure make it hard for me to keep my promise.”

“Then don’t.” She didn’t know she’d said the words out loud until she saw his face change. Even if she could take them back, she knew she wouldn’t. Yes, he was right. They should wait. His divorce wasn’t finalized yet. Officially he was still married. Protocol demanded they keep their distance from each other, at least until he was a free man.

Right at that minute, however, none of that seemed to matter. No one was around to see them, and heaven only knew when she would be alone with him again. If ever. No, she would not take back the words.

She waited for what seemed an eternity before he moved. She wondered if he’d understood, but then he pulled her into his arms and covered her mouth with his. It seemed as if everything—the trees, dogs, birds, the grass, the ocean, the sun, and the salty breeze, all of it—disappeared into one soundless moment in time.
So this,
she thought with a sense of wonder,
this is what being in love is really like.

 

Polly flew up the stairs so fast she tripped at the top and went sprawling onto the landing. The carpet scraped her knee and she winced. Another flipping ladder to ruin her stockings.

Edna’s voice screeched up the stairs. “What are you doing up there? You sound like a herd of elephants.”

Polly pulled a face and scrambled to her feet. “I tripped, that’s all.” The precious letter had crumpled in her hand, and she smoothed it out.

“It’s those blasted high heels you wear. You’ll break your neck in those, my girl. You mark my words.”

Having heard the dire warning too many times to count, Polly ignored it and limped into the bedroom. With a flick of her foot she kicked off one sandal, then the other, and sank onto the bed.

She stared at her address written in an untidy scrawl across the envelope. Just above her name was a smudge of dirt, as if it had been splashed with mud. Tense with excitement, she stared at it, wondering where the writer had been when he wrote the letter.

There was one way to find out. Very carefully, hardly daring to breathe, she opened the flap with her thumb and drew out the flimsy pages.

There were three pages altogether, covered in the same scrawl, which at times was hard to read. She skimmed through it at first, skipping the newsy parts to get to something personal. She found it halfway down the last page.

Polly pressed the letter against her heart for a moment. His name was Tom! He was nineteen. Only three years older than her. He lived in Surrey, near London, and he liked dancing and football. Well, she wasn’t much of a dancer, and she never saw a football match, but that was something that could be worked on later.
Tom.
She tried it out loud. “Tom and Polly Reynolds.” Yes, it sounded good.

She went back and read the letter again, more slowly this time, taking in every word. He sounded well-educated. That worried her for a moment. She hoped he didn’t talk posh like Tess. Winterhalter. That would put a block on it from the start. Oh, well. She’d worry about that later.

She leapt from the bed and opened the top drawer of her dressing table. The cardboard cigar box that held her photographs was tucked underneath a pile of undies. She drew it out and opened it, then spread all the photographs out on the bed.

This one made her look too young. This one made her look ugly. In this one her hair was a mess, and this one was taken on a windy day and half her hair was wrapped around her face. None of them made her look like a film star.

Finally, in desperation, she settled on one that didn’t look too bad. It was taken in the summer, by Sam. She was standing by her bicycle and laughing at something Sam had said. The blue and white frock she had on that day was one of her favorites, with its little puffy sleeves and a full skirt.

For a moment tears pricked at her eyelids when she remembered that day. It was taken before the accident that had messed up Sam’s face. He looked so handsome back then. She thought she’d never seen anyone so handsome. Not even Clark Gable or Errol Flynn was as handsome as her Sam.

She stared at the photograph in her hand. She couldn’t send this to a stranger. Not if it meant explaining about Sam. She looked at the pile of discarded photographs lying on the bed, then at the one in her hand again. Confused and uncertain, she reached for Tom’s letter and read it again.

He’d never know Sam took it. She’d never tell him. Not even if they ended up getting married and living the rest of their lives together.

With a long sigh she gathered up the rest of the photographs and put them back in the box. After tucking it away in the drawer, she fetched her writing pad and pencil and started her letter to Tom. When she was finished, she tucked the photograph inside the letter, sealed the envelope, and propped it up on her dressing table. Tomorrow she’d take it to the post office.

At the door to her bedroom she paused and looked back. The envelope stared back at her, full of promise and exciting unknowns. “Good-bye, Sam,” she said softly, and closed the door.

 

Elizabeth was quite breathless when Earl finally let her go. Breathless and dizzy and feeling ridiculously young and shy. She couldn’t look at him, and instead pretended to be anxious about the dogs, both of whom were chasing butterflies, blissfully oblivious of the earth-shattering moment that had just taken place.

He still held her hands, and she sought frantically in her mind for something sensible to say. Anything that would break the forbidden spell that bonded them. In desperation, she said the first words that popped into her mind. “I’m supposed to be investigating a murder.”