Page 72 of The Love Letter
‘Because he was Michael O’Connell’s messenger. He had to stand in front of Swan and Edgar waiting for someone called Rose.’ Zoe rolled her eyes. ‘I ask you, William’s a dear old boy, but it all sounds rather far-fetched to me.’
Joanna’s heart was starting to thump against her chest but she kept silent, praying Marcus would ask the right questions.
‘It might be true, Zo.’
‘Some of it, maybe. William obviously did know him years ago, but I think the passage of time has clouded his memory and maybe he’s got James confused with someone else. Although, admittedly, he seemed very definite about the details.’
‘You’ve never heard anything from your grandfather about this?’ said Joanna, unable to stop herself from asking.
‘Never.’ Zoe shook her head. ‘And to be honest, if there was a story to tell, I’m sure James would have told me before he died. We kept few secrets from each other. Granted, towards the end when the morphine was addling his brain, he did mutter on about Ireland, something about a house in a place . . .’ Zoe searched her memory. ‘I can’t remember the name exactly but I think it began with an “R”.’
‘I’ve read some of your grandfather’s biographies. I’m surprised nothing was mentioned in there,’ Joanna remarked.
‘I know. That’s why I find it all so hard to believe. William said that James eventually told him it was better if they went their separate ways and broke off contact.’
‘Wow. Surely it would be worth investigating?’ said Marcus.
‘Oh, I will, when I have time. That attic at Haycroft House needs sorting out anyway. When I’ve finished filming, I’ll go and spend a weekend there and see what I turn up.’
‘Unless you want me to do it, Zo.’
‘Marcus –’ Zoe raised an eyebrow at him – ‘I can hardly see you trawling through boxes of dusty old letters and newspaper cuttings. You’d get fed up after the first one and dump the lot on a bonfire.’
‘You’re right there.’ Joanna rolled her eyes. ‘He went to the pub and left me to it. I reckon you’d need a good week or more to go through everything. I managed a couple of boxes.’
‘You were looking through James’s stuff? What were you hoping to find, exactly?’ Zoe asked with a worried frown.
‘Oh, just a couple of photos of Sir James as a young actor to go with the memorial fund article,’ Joanna answered hastily, realising in that moment that Zoe hadn’t given Marcus express permission for the recent treasure hunt.
‘Listen, girls, I had an idea the other day,’ Marcus piped up, clearly wanting to move the conversation along.
‘What?’ Zoe asked suspiciously.
‘Well, to be truthful, it was Joanna’s,’ Marcus corrected himself. ‘When we were down there a couple of weeks ago, Joanna came up with the idea of either auctioning some of the stuff to raise funds for the memorial scholarship, or handing it over to the Theatre Museum. But that means the whole lot will have to be sifted through and catalogued.’
Zoe hesitated. ‘I’m not sure whether I want to let it go.’
‘It’s all rotting away up there, Zoe, and if you don’t do something with it soon, there’ll be nothing worth holding on to anyway.’
‘I’ll think about it. So, you didn’t discover anything significant while you were looking through the stuff?’
‘Sadly, no. The most I did was expose the secrets of Dorset pond life,’ Joanna muttered.
‘So, the actor you were talking about was William Fielding?’ confirmed Marcus.
‘And the lady whom he met was definitely called Rose?’ added Joanna quickly.
‘Yes and yes.’ Zoe looked at her watch. ‘Sorry to spoil the party, chaps, but I need my beauty sleep. I’m back off to Norfolk tomorrow.’ She stood up. ‘The food was fab, and the company even better.’
‘Do you fancy coming along with me to the National Theatre tomorrow?’ Marcus asked her. ‘I’m meeting the events organiser to discuss the details of the launch at two thirty.’
‘I’d love to, but I’ll be in Norfolk filming by then. Sorry, Marcus,’ Zoe replied, then turned to Joanna. ‘You and I must set a shopping date. I’ll take you to that little boutique I mentioned.’
‘I’d love it, thanks.’
‘Great.’ Zoe picked up her jacket from the chair and put it on. ‘How about next Saturday? Oh, except Jamie’s home for an exeat weekend. I tell you what, why don’t you and Marcus come to my house on Saturday morning? Marcus can babysit while you and I go out.’
‘Hold on a minute . . . I—’
