The Last Letter from Juliet

by Melanie Hudson

  ‘So, don’t think about it. You’ve always had such strength. Such belief. I’ve envied you of that. Don’t stop believing now.’

  I nodded but couldn’t hold back the tears. Lottie placed her arms around me and held me tightly, rocking from side to side as if comforting Mabel. ‘We’ve both had our share of heartbreak, haven’t we, old thing? And poor Charles, too. Did you know he’s coming home on leave next month?’

  I took a handkerchief from my pocket and blew my nose.

  ‘Yes. I heard about Florence. Poor woman. Charles must be devastated. I think he really loved her, you know.’

  ‘He did,’ Lottie said softly. ‘He did. And to be killed on a hospital ship, too. It seems nothing is out of bounds. Just terrible.’

  I thought of Anna.

  ‘Do you remember when Anna and I came to see you in Yorkshire? You were so low and so frightened. I was worried about you.’

  Lottie began pulling out long strands of grass from the cliff top.

  ‘I’m sorry, it wasn’t fair,’ she said. ‘But I was overwhelmed with such black feelings then. I couldn’t see straight.’

  I took her hand again.

  ‘I didn’t mind. And you know, I will always love Mabel every bit as much as I’d love one of my own. She’s such a dear little thing.’

  Lottie smiled and hugged her knees to her chest. ‘She really is. When I tuck her into bed at night, I jump in next to her, just to hold her close, to make her as real as I can. And I know I squeeze her too tightly, but she just murmurs, “I love you, Mummy” because she knows that I’m the one who needs reassurance at bedtime, not her.’

  ‘And how are you feeling now, Lottie? Can you see a bright future for you both?’

  She squeezed my hand. Her golden curly hair brushing across her face. She smiled. It was the brightest smile I’d seen from Lottie Lanyon in a very long time.

  ‘Do you know, I can! And it’s as bright as the brightest star! I always thought my happiness was dependent on being desperately in love with a man. That I needed to be looked after by him – to be married – to feel secure and content. But I don’t feel that way now. Working as a WAAF has done wonders for me. Really helped me to see how capable I can be, truly.’

  ‘Well at least the war has done one good thing then.’

  She stood and held out her hands to help me up.

  ‘You know, I really think it has.’

  The very next day, allied troops crossed the channel and fought their way to victory across the beaches, a victory that would eventually lead to the liberation of France and the end of the war. But Lottie Lanyon never knew any of this. While driving from Redruth train station back to Predannack, having picked up a senior RAF pilot who was heading to the base to begin a new tour of duty, on Cornish lanes that were only ever designed for carts and cows, at the exact point where Ma Lanyon and crashed six years before, Lottie’s car came head to with an Army truck. Lottie was rushed to the medics at Predannack, who fought to save her life. Four hours later, holding my hand and fighting desperately for a life she had hoped would be as bright as the brightest star, she asked me to make a promise to her to look after Mabel one final time.

  ‘The poem, Christina Rosetti, Remember,’ she murmured, half in, half out of consciousness. ‘Tell it to Mabel … tell her, no tears. I want her to be happy and tell I love her, love her with all my heart. Look after her, Juliet.’

  I buried my face in her hair and through a million tears of my own, promised her that I would. Moments later, dear Lottie Lanyon passed away and another shining beautiful star was extinguished forever.

  Chapter 39

  Katherine

  Sam’s grandmother

  I had returned to the manuscript only briefly while Sam pottered in the kitchen rustling up a late supper. He walked into the lounge with a smile on his face and a tray of cheesy nachos in his hand to find me staring at the last words. I was devastated.

  ‘Oh, no,’ he said, noticing the manuscript in my hand and tears streaming down my face. ‘Who died now?’

  ‘Lottie! Lottie died! I can’t believe it. How absolutely awful. Life was just so cruel back then, so cruel. How on earth did they find the strength to carry on?’

  He sat down beside me and offered a nacho, which I took and dipped in sour cream. It was always best to feed grief, I found.

  ‘Did you know Lottie was my grandmother?’ he asked.

  The nacho paused halfway to my mouth.

  ‘Grandmother? But I thought Juliet …’

  He rested the tray on his knee.

  ‘Juliet is my grandmother – my adopted grandmother. I’m Mabel’s son.’

  ‘Mabel’s. Oh, I see. But then, what happened to Mable?’

  His eyes glistened.

  ‘She died ten years ago. Cancer. I … Juliet … well, we were all devastated. My mother was such a kind, beautiful woman. Juliet brought us both up as her own.’

  ‘I’m sorry. I thought that as your surname was Lanyon, Juliet perhaps got back with Charles …’

  ‘No, that never happened. I was given the Lanyon name to keep it going. I’m the last one.’

  ‘And what about her own children?’

  ‘Juliet? She never had any.’

  Just then we heard the sound of distant voices in song through the window.

  ‘That’ll be the church choir,’ he said, heading to the door. ‘They always gather to sing on the harbour before heading up to the church for midnight mass.’

  He opened the door. I wrapped Lottie’s shawl around my shoulders and we stood in the moonlight and listened. In a moment of strange synchronisation, I realised they were singing Edward’s poem, not the one he had written for Juliet, but the one Juliet had found as a loose leaf in the Bible, the one he had memorised for the passing of coded messages – the peace prayer of St Francis.

  We listened as they sang.

  Make me a channel of your peace,

  Where there’s despair in life let me bring hope,

  Where there is darkness, only light,

  And where there’s sadness, ever joy.

  I suddenly had a desperate desire to get outside. To run with the wind.

  ‘Would you come for a walk with me?’ I asked. ‘I don’t know where and I know it’s late, but I just feel like being in with the crowd, suddenly. Do you mind?’

  He didn’t answer but grabbed our coats from the hallway.

  ‘Mind? I’d love it.’

  I closed the door behind us.

  ‘It’s strange,’ he said, as we headed down the hill towards the choir. ‘But I’ve got the strangest feeling you might be a kindred coddiwompler, after all.’

  I laughed just as the church bell rang twelve. I glanced up the hill towards Lanyon.

  ‘Happy birthday, Juliet,’ I thought, drenched through with melancholy. Happy birthday.

  Chapter 40

  Juliet

  An old friend returns

  On 24 August 1944, the Americans entered Paris and suddenly everything changed, although my own life had already veered into a different direction, and one that did not include flying. With the retreat of the Germans, there was no longer the requirement to fly covertly into France and so my wartime flying career came to an abrupt but welcome end. It was time for me to take on a new role entirely – that of guardian and mother to dear Mabel. I would never try to replace Lottie, but I would try to bring as much joy and love into that little girl’s life as I could possibly muster.

  Wilkins returned to a job in London but kept in touch and I took comfort in the knowledge that he was doing everything he could to trace Edward.

  On December 15th Wilkins telephoned to say that he was returning to Lanyon and he had a surprise for me – two surprises in fact – and could I pick him up at Penzance station the very next day? Having finally learned to drive by now, I said, yes, of course, and took Mabel along for the ride.

  My surprise came in the form of a glamorous lady who stepped off the train ahead of Wilkins.
I was standing further down the platform holding Mabel’s hand tightly, scanning the carriages for Wilkins when I saw her – all mink coat and bright red lipstick. And when our eyes connected through the steam, I had to put my hand to my mouth to hold back a scream. It was Marie and she was running down the platform, her arms flung open, to greet me.

  The hug was long and told of a thousand unspoken words. Words that were too painful to say out loud. Marie stepped away from me and took my face in her gloved hands. The tears ran for both of us.

  ‘I should have been there,’ she said. Wilkins eyed us nervously as he approached down the platform, carrying two suitcases.

  I shook my head.

  ‘I can’t talk about it, Marie. It’s just too hard.’

  ‘I know. For me, too.’

  I took a deep breath, rallied, stepped back and held her arms at a distance. ‘But look at you! You look amazing. What on earth are you doing here?’ I turned to Wilkins, not waiting for Marie to answer. ‘Is this my surprise?’

  ‘It certainly is,’ he said. Looking a little coy.

  Coy? Wilkins?

  ‘I hope she’s not a disappointment.’

  I beamed. ‘A disappointment? I’m absolutely thrilled! But I had no idea the two of you were even remotely acquainted?’ I glanced from one to the other as we stood on the platform, a river of passengers walking around us.

  ‘We weren’t, not until a month or so ago. And when Matthew said he was returning to Cornwall for a visit I couldn’t believe it was your Lanyon he was headed to, so I invited myself along too for a little visit, just a couple of days. Is that all right, Honey?’ Marie asked, her eyes glistening with a mixture of excitement and tears.

  ‘Yes, of course. But tell me, how on earth did the two of you meet?’

  Marie threw a side-glance at Wilkins. He caught it and bounced it back. ‘Oh, we met through work …’

  ‘Work? I can’t keep up. Are you flying for the ATA again?’

  Marie shook her head. ‘No, that ship has sailed. I’m doing something else now, I’ll tell you about it sometime. No, Matty and I bumped into each other at an embassy party and …’

  Matty?

  ‘And … it’s a long story that’s best told over a cup of tea, I’m parched,’ Wilkins interrupted, picking up the cases again. He turned to Mabel. ‘Hello, little one,’ he said. ‘Cold, isn’t it? What say we all nip into town for a nice iced bun?’ Mabel nodded wildly. ‘Is that little tea room still going on the Causeway?’ he asked, turning to me. ‘The best scones in England, I’d say.’

  ‘I think so.’

  ‘Let’s go there, then. My treat. You two can catch up while Mabel helps me with the crossword …’ he winked at me ‘I didn’t get to do it on the train. I don’t think Marie drew breath since Paddington! Americans, eh?’

  Marie tapped him gently on the arm. ‘Hey! I’m a Yankee tourist now, remember? I can’t help but gas away!’

  Mabel giggled and another glance passed between Marie and Wilkins that hinted at more than a professional relationship, but surely, I must be mistaken? Marie and Wilkins? Together? But no, it couldn’t be. He wasn’t her type at all.

  He was.

  And the surprises kept coming. Marie took off her gloves in the tea room to reveal a sapphire engagement ring. Speech eluded me. It didn’t elude Marie, whose thousand mile an hour conversation made up for the both of us.

  It seemed that Marie had returned to London in August on invitation from a chap she knew from the 400 Club (who also worked at the Home Office) who knew she had a degree in Maths and an incredibly sharp mind, and asked if she would report to the Government Codes and Ciphers School to lend a hand. Marie said yes, but I didn’t know any of the detail of this until long after the war had ended, at the time all I was told that she was using her maths degree to help the Government. But I always suspected she was doing more. After all, Wilkins worked for the SOE and if she was running in the same circles as him, then her work would probably be something top secret. I knew not to pry.

  After tea, we wrapped ourselves up again and took Mabel for a little stroll. Wilkins played with Mabel in the park while Marie and I looked on from a bench.

  ‘She’s a real sweetie pie,’ Marie said, nodding towards Mabel. ‘It’s good of you to take her on,’ she added, ‘especially now you’re divorcing Charles. Are you sure it’s not going to be too … restricting for you?’

  I waved at Mabel who looked back for reassurance as she ran across the park, laughing.

  ‘I want to do it,’ I said. ‘It seems to be the most natural thing to do now the war is coming to an end – and please God, let it come to an end soon.’

  ‘Will you stay on at Lanyon or start again, somewhere new?’

  I took a deep breath.

  ‘Stay at Lanyon. Someone has to, Charles seems to have no interest in the place and his parents are not what they were. But in the long term, I don’t really know, not until …’ I paused.

  She took my hand.

  ‘Until you know about Edward?’

  I nodded.

  ‘Matty told me what happened. The poor guy. But listen, that’s what we’ve come to talk to you about.’

  I turned to face her on the bench. Such conversation deserved face-to-face conversation, not sideways meanderings. ‘About Edward, you mean?’

  ‘We were going to wait until we got back to the house to tell you, but now seems as good a time as any. He’s been traced.’

  ‘Traced?’ I put a hand to my mouth. ‘Oh, my God. He’s …’ I daren’t finish the sentence.

  ‘Alive? Yes, he is, Juliet. Edward is alive. He escaped!’

  Having been able to use his old network to see him safely from Bavaria into France, by grace and by God, malnourished and having been beaten almost beyond recognition, Edward crossed France to safety. But he was ill. By Brittany he could travel no more. His old contacts in the Résistance stepped in to care for him and those carers, not surprisingly, were in the guise of Monsieur and Madame Bisset. Typhus was suspected and the couple were doing all that they could to care for him, but the prognosis was not good.

  That evening I asked Wilkins if he could find me a Lysander, to bring Edward home. He couldn’t. Frantic, I spoke with Pa Lanyon in the hope of finding a fishing boat that was planning a trip to Brittany, but there was none and he would not be able to get me there until after the New Year, but if I was planning to bring Edward back by boat, I should probably think again. No captain would want Typhus on his ship.

  That evening, I left Marie to the capable hands of the Lanyons and ran across the cliffs to Angels Cove in the rain. I wanted to be at the cottage, to hold Edward’s things near to me and hope for a miracle. But rather than head straight for the cottage, I ran to the church and prayed. I looked up at the angel and begged – begged for inspiration. It was only while staring at the stained-glass picture of the beautiful questioning angel that the solution came to me and I could not for the life of me understand how I had not thought of it before.

  The rain stopped. I dashed back up the hill and ran into the field, sprinted to the barn, threw open the doors and there she was – my bright yellow Tiger Moth, waiting for me. A little dishevelled, yes, and in need of a great deal of love and care before I could even think of getting her airborne, but get her airborne I would and I knew just the woman who could help me.

  Marie extended her stay to help prepare the Tiger Moth for the biggest flight of her life. Wilkins arranged for the fuel to be delivered – the 20th of December being the date we worked towards for my departure. But the weather was not on my side. A thick mist descended that spread from the tip of Cornwall across the Channel to France, but the next day was expected to be brighter. It was.

  At eight a.m. I pulled on my old ATA uniform and a flying jacket and headed off across the fields towards the barn. With Marie by my side, something of our old ATA pioneering spirit kicked-in and as we crossed the fields, my helmet and goggles in my hand, we could almost have been at Ham
ble again.

  Almost.

  ‘Anna would have loved this,’ Marie said, vocalising my own thoughts as I opened the barn doors.

  ‘She would.’ I turned to Marie. ‘I wish … I wish we’d never …’

  ‘Never persuaded her to get her ass into that Spitfire at Upavon? Me too, honey. Me too.’

  Nothing more needed to be said.

  We took a wing each and pushed the Tiger Moth out of the barn and into the field. A cold north-westerly shook her as I climbed in. I put on my helmet, goggles and gloves while Marie, standing on the footplate, wrapped Ma Lanyon’s warmest blankets around my legs. She kissed me on the cheek.

  ‘Safe trip, darling Juliet.’

  I took a deep breath and smiled.

  ‘I’m a Spitfire Sister,’ I said. ‘An Attagirl! I’ll be just dandy, as you lot say over the water.’

  Marie gave me a last hug before jumping off the footplate and walking to the nose.

  She turned the propeller.

  ‘Contact.’

  ‘Contact.’

  And before I could even think, I turned the Moth into wind and after waving goodbye to Marie and the Angels, set a straight course for Brittany, not worrying about keeping an eye out for German fighters this time.

  Chapter 41

  Katherine

  Christmas Day

  The final flight

  Juliet was sitting in her chair staring out of the window, dressed and ready for the day and listening to a Christmas choir on Classic FM when we arrived at Lanyon the next morning. I hovered at the doorway, allowing Sam time to enter the room alone.

  Sam and Juliet embraced. Juliet began to cry.

  ‘My boy,’ she said, her delicate arms thrown around his neck. ‘My darling boy. You made it home. You made it home …’

  ‘Happy birthday, Grandma,’ he said, his voice shattering into a million pieces of raw emotion.