“. . . entirely inappropriate for our readership . . . unnecessarily complex and self-indulgently ambiguous . . . dark and depressing subject matter . . .”
Someone had scribbled across the insulting comments with a red pen, and written “Arse!” over Bruce’s extravagant signature. It was Anthony’s handwriting. “Quite right too,” Laura agreed. She would reread the manuscripts thoroughly later, but somehow she didn’t think they would contain the answer she was looking for.
There was a rattle of metal wheels across the hall floor and Sunshine entered the study pushing the horse, followed by Freddy and a curious Carrot.
“He looks like a different horse!” Laura exclaimed, and Sunshine grinned proudly.
“He’s called Sue.”
Laura looked at Freddy to see if he could provide an explanation, but he simply shrugged his shoulders. “Sue” it was, then. Sunshine was eager to examine the contents of the suitcase and was spellbound by the ring. As she slipped it onto her middle finger, turning it this way and that to “catch the sparkles,” Laura had an idea.
“Perhaps it’s the ring Therese wants us to find. Maybe that’s what it’s all about.”
Freddy was uncertain. “Hmm, but what’s the connection with the pen?”
Laura ignored the flaw in her argument, instead warming to her theory.
“It was her engagement ring. Don’t you see? It’s all about their connection, the bond between them. That’s what an engagement is.”
Freddy was still doubtful. “But so is a wedding, and that didn’t work when we gave them one.”
The face that Sunshine was pulling clearly showed that not only was she totally unconvinced but that she thought that they were both being particularly obtuse once again.
“The pen was for the clue. That means writing,” she said.
She picked up the photograph of Anthony and his parents.
“That’s why she plays the music,” she said, handing Freddy the picture. It was his turn to look to Laura for an explanation.
“It’s Anthony and his parents. Robert Quinlan told us about it. His parents were going out one evening while his father was home on leave, and he came down to say good night and found them dancing to the Al Bowlly song. It was the last time he saw his father before he was killed.”
“And then when St. Anthony met the Lady of the Flowers”—Sunshine was eager to tell the rest of the story—“he told her all about it and so she danced with him in the Convent Gardens to stop him being sad.” She twisted the ring, which was still on her finger, and added, “And now we have to find a way to stop her being sad.”
“Well, I think the ring’s worth a try,” said Laura, holding out her hand to Sunshine, who reluctantly took it off and gave it to her. “We’ll put it in the garden room next to her photograph. Now, where shall we put this splendid steed?” she added in an attempt to distract Sunshine. But Sunshine had seen the box from the dressmaker and carefully removed the lid. Her gasp of astonishment drew both Laura and Freddy to her side. Laura lifted from the box a stunning dress made of cornflower-blue silk chiffon. It had clearly never been worn. Sunshine stroked the delicate fabric lovingly.
“It was her wedding dress,” she said, almost in a whisper. “It was the Lady of the Flowers’ wedding dress.”
Freddy was still holding the photograph.
“What I don’t understand is why all these things were shoved into a suitcase and hidden away in the attic? It seems to me these were some of the things that must have been most precious to him; the ring, the photo, the dress, the beginnings of the rose garden. Even the manuscripts. He stood by them, refusing to change them, and so he must have been proud of them.”
Sunshine traced circles in the dust on the lid of the suitcase.
“They made him hurt too much,” she said simply.
Carrot poked his head round the door of the study and whined. It was time for his tea.
“Come on,” said Laura. “Let’s put the ring and the dress in the garden room and find a home for this horse.”
“Sue,” said Sunshine, following behind Laura and Freddy. “And it’s not the ring, it’s the letter.” But Laura and Freddy had already gone.
CHAPTER 38
Eunice
1997
“I’m damn sure the ruddy man’s just doing it to be bloody awkward!”
Bruce flounced across the office and flung himself into a chair like the tragic heroine of a silent black-and-white film. Eunice quite expected him to raise the back of his hand to his forehead to better illustrate his anguish and frustration. He had arrived, uninvited, and begun his rant before he had even reached the top of the stairs.
“Steady the Buffs, old chap,” said Bomber, fighting to keep his amusement from contaminating his platitudes. “You’ll do yourself an unpleasantness.”
Baby Jane viewed Bruce from her vantage point, perched majestically on a new faux-fur cushion, and concluded that his presence was unworthy of any acknowledgment.
“Would you like a cup of tea?” Eunice asked him, through gritted teeth.