What an inspired present you sent Kit—red satin tap shoes covered with sequins. Wherever did you find them? Where are mine?
Amelia has been tired since her return from France, so it seems best for Kit to stay with me, especially if Remy decides to come to Amelia’s when she leaves the hospice. Kit seems to like the idea too—Heaven be thanked. Kit knows her mother is dead now; Dawsey told her. I’m not sure what she feels about it. She hasn’t said anything, and I wouldn’t dream of pressing her. I try not to hover unduly or make her special treats. After Mother and Father died, Mr. Simpless’s cook brought me huge slices of cake and then stood there, watching me mournfully while I tried to swallow. I hated her for thinking that cake would somehow make it up to me for losing my parents. Of course, I was a wretched twelve-year-old, and Kit is only four—she would probably like some extra cake—but you understand what I mean.
Sidney, I am in trouble with my book. I have much of the data from the States’ records and a slew of personal interviews to start the story of the Occupation—but I can’t make them come together in a structure that pleases me. Straight chronology is too tedious. Shall I pack my pages up and send them to you? They need a finer and more impersonal eye than mine. Would you have time to look them over now or is the backlog from your Australian trip still so heavy?
If it is, don’t worry—I am working anyway and something brilliant may yet come to me.
Love,
Juliet
P.S. Thank you for the lovely clipping of Mark dancing with Ursula Fent. If you were hoping to send me into a jealous rage, you failed. Especially as Mark had already telephoned to tell me that Ursula follows him about like a lovesick bloodhound. You see? The two of you
From Sidney to Juliet
1st July, 1946
Dear Juliet,
Don’t pack up your pages—I want to come to Guernsey myself. Will this weekend suit you?
I want to see you, Kit, and Guernsey—in that order. I have no intention of reading your pages while you pace up and down in front of me—I’ll bring the ms back to London.
I can arrive Friday afternoon on the five o’clock plane and stay until Monday evening. Will you book a hotel room for me? Can you also manage a small supper party? I want to meet Eben, Isola, Dawsey, and Amelia. I’ll bring the wine.
Love,
Sidney
From Juliet to Sidney
Wednesday
Dear Sidney,
Wonderful! Isola won’t hear of you staying at the inn (she hints of bedbugs). She wants to put you up herself and needs to know if noises at dawn are apt to bother you? That is when Ariel, her goat, arises. Zenobia, the parrot, is a late sleeper.
Dawsey and I and his cart will meet you at the airfield. May Friday hurry up and get here.
Love,
Juliet
From Isola to Juliet (left under Juliet’s door)
Friday—close to dawn
Lovey, I can’t stop, I must hurry to my Market stall. I am glad your friend will be staying with me. I’ve put lavender sprigs in his sheets. Is there one of my elixirs you’d like me to slip in his coffee? Just nod to me at Market and I’ll know which one you mean.
XXX
Isola
From Sidney to Sophie
6th July, 1946
Dear Sophie,
I am, at last, on Guernsey with Juliet and am ready to tell you three or four of the dozen things you asked me to find out.
First and foremost, Kit seems as fond of Juliet as you and I are. She is a spirited little thing, affectionate in a reserved way (which is not as contradictory as it sounds) and quick to smile when she is with one of her adoptive parents from the Literary Society.
She is adorable, too, with round cheeks, round curls, and round eyes. The temptation to cuddle her is nearly overwhelming, but it would be a slight upon her dignity, and I am not brave enough to try it. When she sees someone she doesn’t like, she has a stare that would shrivel Medea. Isola says she reserves it for cruel Mr. Smythe, who beats his dog, and evil Mrs. Guilbert, who called Juliet a Nosy Parker and told her she ought to go back to London where she belonged.
