Well, that didn’t make me cry. Good old Alex, or Lady Wilson, should I say. Not only did she sign it but she kissed it as well. There it is. A great, big, fat, red kiss at the end. I can just imagine her pouting and applying fresh lipstick, then pressing her lips on the paper. I expect she was laughing when she did it, the eternal flirt. But I’ve always liked her. She was fun when I was a child and she likes a good time even now. She’s still good looking for her age, though not as beautiful as she was then. She’s not yet 70, so I suppose she was in her late thirties when she wrote this.
And how would she feel if she knew I’d read her letter? Maybe a little embarassed, but knowing her I think she’d laugh it off. She might not like her daughters to hear about what she was up to though.
I don’t particularly like her references to my parents or Helen, but I’m not surprised by the rest. So she had something going on with Nick then. She seems to be implying that they got up to no good the night of the dinner. Surely someone would have noticed. But I wouldn’t know, I was far too excited about the fireworks.
Alex’s not very nice about Charles. Shame. He’s such a sweetie. She doesn’t deserve him. But they’ve managed to stick it out somehow, although this letter makes it sound as if she wasn’t at all happy with him or his career. I’d have thought his hugely respected charity work would have pleased her. Or at least the title that came in recent years. Lady Wilson. Oh yes, she’s very pleased about that.
Her writing is bold, the letters curl. I sniff the paper, wondering if her scent is there. She used to wear Obsession. But no, it only smells of damp earth, not the young, voluptuous Alex.
And what is this gripe about Mary? Is this the same Mary? She calls her an artist, but the name still doesn’t ring a bell. I can’t think who she might be. Does she mean that Mary is the person who had something to do with Helen? I think I’m beginning to get a picture of Mary, but I still don’t know who she is.
to be continued April 14