‘Flo,’ Sister Veronica said, smiling. ‘What a marvellous idea.’
‘And,’ Florence said. ‘I overheard Lucie talking to Neil on the phone about giving up her PhD, as they can’t afford for her to do it. I think that’s why she was so glum the other day, she must have been about to ask me for some money, then realised there wasn’t any due to Giles’ idiocy. Apparently, she was on the verge of resigning from it and going back to a nine-to-five paid job, just so they could keep the bailiffs from the door. So I’ve told her I’ll lend her a generous amount, that she only needs to start paying back when they can afford to do so. She was absolutely over the moon, V. It was lovely to see her face light up.’
‘How’s Cecily taken the news?’ Sister Veronica said, imagining the look on the woman’s face when she realised she’d never be the dame of Chalfield Hall. She almost wished she’d been there to see it.
Florence laughed.
‘Better than I expected,’ she said. ‘But she’s not happy, started on the wine again, in fact, so goodness knows what she’ll get up to later. I’d better put a lock on the wine cellar. Oh yes, and I’m going to donate a generous amount to you and your convent, V.’
Sister Veronica opened her mouth, a protest on the edge of her lips.
‘No, don’t say anything, V, I’ve made up my mind about it. You and the other sisters are free to use the money as you wish, donate it all to charitable causes if that’s what you want, but I’m definitely giving it to you. Think of it as a final thank you for everything you’ve done this week.’
Sister Veronica smiled, and settled back into the large fluffy pillows Florence had positioned behind her back.
‘Thank you, Flo,’ she said quietly. ‘You really don’t have to, but I’m truly grateful for it.’ Seeing Florence again, even under the most horrendous of circumstances, had unexpectedly warmed her heart and made it glow. She hadn’t seen much of her family since entering the convent, none of the sisters did. Her dear parents were long buried, and were most likely having a wonderful time in heaven, hopefully sitting down to their celestial Christmas lunch right now. She felt closer to her cousin now than she ever had, and suspected they would remain that way for the rest of their lives. She, for one, would make a concerted effort to remain in touch with Flo, become better at writing letters and making phone calls. That was what Christmas was really about, she thought. Renewing that love between family members and friends. Of course, one could do that all year round, but the festive season offered an unprecedented opportunity for it, when most people had the time – if not always the inclination – to re-evaluate relationships.
The living-room door opened, and the serious face of Mrs Hardman appeared.
‘Christmas lunch is nearly ready, Mrs Beresford,’ she said quietly, before retreating. ‘I’ll be ready to serve up in five minutes.’
‘Wonderful.’ Florence slapped her hands on her knees and stood up. ‘Oh, V, before I forget, a letter arrived for you yesterday, but I never had a chance to give it to you, what with all the horrendous goings-on.’ She reached into the pocket of her trousers and withdrew a slightly crumpled envelope, passed it to her cousin, kissed her on the forehead, then exited the room with a smile.
Sister Veronica eyed the writing on the envelope with suspicion. She’d know that copperplate scrawl anywhere; it was Sister Julia Augusta’s hand – her Mother Superior from the Convent of the Christian Heart. What on earth was she writing to her at Chalfield Hall for?
She tore open the envelope and withdrew the paper. A faint, familiar smell of incense wafted up from it.
Dear Sister Veronica, she read.
I hope you are having a restful, prayer-filled festive break. Sister Veronica snorted to herself.
I am writing to inform you that an emergency has occurred in one of our affiliated Christian Heart convents in Torquay, Devon. It is a place of convalescence, where people who have been injured in terrible accidents can come and stay and recuperate after they’ve been discharged from hospital. Many of the residents – nuns and patients alike – have been struck down by a virulent virus, and are now in South Devon Hospital. There are still a few patients remaining at the convent – who were lucky enough not to catch the virus – but who still require the care that the nuns were giving to them. One woman in particular, who is recovering from a car crash, requires immediate attention. However, the sister who was fulfilling that role is now very poorly herself and is unable to continue working. The convent’s local bishop wrote to me asking if I had a robust, caring nun in my convent, who could be transferred to Torquay immediately after Christmas to continue caring for this woman. And, of course, I thought of you, Veronica. You are certainly robust, very caring in your own way, and more pointedly you seem to be allergic to staying at our convent in Soho for more than a few weeks at a time.
‘Bah!’ Sister Veronica said to the now empty living room. Transfer me immediately? she thought. I don’t think so, Mother Superior. I have too many things to do once I get back to London. I’m sure Sister Irene would be most willing to fulfil the role…
Now before you challenge my words, the letter went on, almost as though Mother Superior had fortune-telling abilities, I have given this matter a lot of thought and I’m afraid the decision to send you to Torquay is not up for discussion, Veronica. It is final. As you know, I have been extremely lenient on you over the last year, what with all your gallivanting and escapades, and you have just been lucky enough to spend Christmas away with family. So I know you will repay my kindness by not making a fuss about this, but by calmly packing your belongings on your return to the Convent of the Christian Heart, and willingly travelling to Torquay to care for this poor woman who so badly needs your help. In fact, I have already purchased a train ticket for you. One way, of course, as the role is indefinite, and will last until the Sister who was the woman’s previous carer is fully better, has left hospital and has recuperated.
God bless and Merry Christmas,
Sister Julia Augusta
P.S. You may wish to research the distressing mental condition of paranoia. I’m told the woman you will be looking after is suffering from a hefty dose of this at the moment, due to the bad head injury she suffered.
Sister Veronica slapped the letter down onto the duvet covering her legs. So she was being sent away to Torquay, was she? Without even being consulted about it? And what was all this about paranoia? Goodness gracious, she’d never heard anything like it. Well, she thought, the inklings of a new forthcoming adventure stirring in her stomach, cutting through her initial indignation. At least her life could never be described as boring. She swung her legs over the side of the sofa and gently eased herself up. She sniffed the air, the rich scent of roast beef, perfectly seasoned potatoes and a sensational-smelling stuffing causing her to lick her lips. Fine, she decided. She would worry about Torquay tomorrow. Right now, she had an enormous Christmas lunch to eat. She plodded out towards the dining room, breaking into a cheery hum, wondering if Wilfred the walking encyclopaedia knew anything about paranoia… perhaps, if she got the chance, she could question him about it over pudding…
* * *
THE END
Acknowledgements
A huge thank you to Betsy, Fred and the whole team for their help in bringing this book out. Particularly to Ian Skewis, for being such a great editor to work with, Tara, for her fantastic organisation, Maria for all the publicity work, the ARC readers for taking the time to read and review The Tormented. And of course my wonderful family and friends, for just being there and eating copious amounts of chocolate with me.
A note from the publisher
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The Tormented Page 19