The Love Letter (93 page)

‘By the time that Jamie and I were reunited,
the Raven’s Curse
had already been written. To those of you – and there are many – who I have upset by what happens in that novel, I think I should explain that I have had a change of heart, a total change of heart.

‘There is now an alternative end. It will be live on my website by the end of today, and I will be reading it aloud throughout the course of this week here at Farcombe Festival. But first, Jamie has joined me here on camera for a very special reason. He is an intensely private person, but he’s aware that all our lives will be under the spotlight now, and he wants to make a very public
statement which will give many of you an idea of why Ptolemy deserves a new beginning.’

The camera honed in on Byrne and his huge, intense eyes, staring at the camera.

He had none of his mother’s articulacy. He was tongue-tied and hoarse-voiced, intensely awkward and desperate to be done, like a hostage victim at gunpoint making a tape for his family back home. He would have made a disastrous media personality. But for this one-off appearance, this very handsome, very honest, very private man made himself an instant star with just six words coughed out at speed:

‘Allegra.
Gráim thú.
Marry me.’

All at once the Farcombe parkland seemed to ignite with shared delight.

Legs let out a squeak of excitement, which was quite lost amongst the cheering and clapping around her. On all sides, people were demanding to know who ‘Allegra Grime Poo’ was, the real life Purple.

‘How do I answer?’ Legs wailed in sudden panicked realisation. ‘How can I give him an answer?’

Her voice was drowned out by the crowd as they all whooped and shouted at the big screen, which showed one last lingering shot of Byrne’s intense, blazing eyes before cutting to the spinning
Raven’s Curse
cover again.

But one person standing nearby had heard exactly what Legs was saying. Immobile amid the frenzied animation, tufty hair on end, Will was gaping at her in amazement. ‘It’s
you
!’

Voice too choked with emotion to speak, tears of happiness already streaming, she could do nothing but nod. On the screen, the book jackets were twirling about like playing cards between an unseen magician’s fingers as a commercial break was counted out.

‘You dark horse!’ Will laughed as he watched her spinning around in total, overexcited bewilderment.

‘No,’ she finally found her voice as she laughed, ‘I’m a Heavenly Pony, trust me.’

He turned to shout at Daisy. ‘It’s
Legs
!’

Legs stopped spinning, trying to think what to do. ‘He said to meet him on the shore,’ she remembered, pressing her palms to her hot face. ‘I have to get to the cove. He’ll be going down the sea passage, I just know it.’

‘Then run!’ Will laughed, gathering her into a bolstering hug. ‘Gallop as fast as you can, little pony. The world will want to know your answer.’

They heard a wail of anguish behind them that made Will drop Legs like a stone.

‘Daisy!’ He spun round.

His wife was squatting on the picnic blanket between the homemade quiches and her daughters’ plastic tea set, waters breaking like a flash tide across the tartan check.

‘It’s coming!’ she screamed. ‘The baby is coming. And, man alive, is it in a hurry!’

‘Oh shit.’ Legs wavered in an animated dance between birthing friend and unanswered proposal.

‘Go!’ Daisy wailed, Will already at her side and talking to the local ambulance service from his mobile. ‘Go, Legs, go, go!’

Legs didn’t need telling twice.

She battled through the crowds, darting and diving, faster and faster as they thinned out where the parkland gave way to woodland. In she dived through the cool columns of willow and alder, pounding along the shadowed avenues, feet spring-loaded on the spongy paths of leaves and moss around the perimeter of the lake then into the darker shadows of the ancient oaks. Bursting out into sunlight again, the sea ahead of her, she crashed through the bracken to Gull Point and on towards the cliff path, slithering and tripping as the ground began to fall away from under her and she leaned back, hand out to balance herself against the rocks.

As she rounded the first hairpin turn in the steep, narrow track,
she saw him emerging onto the beach, hair lifted from his face by the sharp sea breeze, those intense eyes creasing against the sunlight as he looked out to the horizon before turning to see her there.

She felt such love burst through her chest, she expected petals and confetti to steam out between her buttons like a magic trick at any moment. She put on a burst of speed, flying around the next hairpin, feet slipping in her haste. As she did so, the path seemed to crumble from under her, great lumps of rock dropping away so that she felt for a second as though she was running in mid-air, still ten yards above the stony beach.

‘Arghhh!’ She flung her arms out desperately, catching onto a twisted branch of whitebeam that was bravely growing out of the cliff side. There she dangled, trying not to whimper.

Byrne was at the base of the cliff in seconds, dark eyes blazing up at her.

‘Are you holding on tight?’ he called as he started to climb.

‘Very, very tight,’ she assured him.

He appeared alongside her, breathing hard with the effort.

‘The answer’s yes by the way.’

‘Good.’ He beamed across at her happily. ‘Now we just have to figure out how to get you down so that I can kiss you.’

Text message received 09/09 11.57 WILL HERBERT: Baby boy! 8lbs exactly. Nigel Ptolemy Herbert, to be known as Toll. Mother and baby doing fine. Did you say yes?

Text message received 12/09 18.10 CONRAD KNIGHT: Secret safe. Gordon proving a superstar. Kizzy gone to work for Hector Protheroe Foundation; have a new assistant called Jean who will never threaten glass ceiling. Renewing vows with Madeleine. Live long and prosper.

P.s. Miss your flirting.

Text message received 30/09 21.33 NICHOLAS HERBERT: I have a girlfriend! She’s called Violet (so almost Purple) and in my class. She’s v good at Wii games. Mum quoting poetry all the time and acting weird.

Email sent 28/11 13.55

Allegra,

I am preparing a statue to celebrate your wedding, which I suggest should be erected in your honour on a stone plinth at the highest point of the field that is now known as Gordon’s Green. I should like to unveil it personally at the next Farcombe Festival.

My son seems surprisingly resistant to this very important work of art, which will depict you both in the act of creating my grandchild and will give great pleasure to the many visitors who now flock to the site.

Please do your utmost to talk him round.

Gordon

P.s. Have bought red Mini. Very speedy. Will give you a spin next time you’re here.