Ron scanned through the pages again, desperately trying not to read into them things that weren’t there, but failing miserably. They might just be friends, Rosie and the Major, but they were clearly on first-name terms, and what did she mean about where they were staying? Did they plan to be in the same hotel or boarding house? And it seemed the Major’s eagerness to help was over and above what should be expected from a mere friend.

Ron tried to stop his jealousy from ruining what should have been a moment of joy. Rosie had written to him, after all, and there was a very real reason why she’d had to leave Cliffehaven. Of course it was sad that James had died, but it meant that Rosie was free at long last to marry him, so why was he being so sour?

He re-read the last but one paragraph, trying to figure out what she meant by having to come to terms with what James’s death would mean for her. They’d talked about it often enough – planned their future together for when the time came. Now it had, it seemed she was having second thoughts, and that could only mean one thing. Major Henry Radwell.

Ron’s emotions were mixed, his thoughts confused as he sat there in the shaft of sunlight that streamed through the coloured glass of the small window in the door. He couldn’t honestly say he felt much about James’s passing, for he’d never met the man, but he understood that it would affect Rosie after all these years of sorrow. He wasn’t sure what to make of any of it, for parts of her letter held promise, and other parts felt as if she was holding back.

‘What’s the matter with you?’ Brenda said cheerfully as she opened the door and stepped inside. ‘You look as if you lost a bob and found a farthing.’

‘Nothing a pint won’t fix,’ he muttered.

‘So the order’s arrived then, that’s good,’ she replied, her gaze falling on the grubby envelope in his hand.

He shoved it in his pocket just as the telephone began to ring in the hall. There seemed to be an added urgency to its tone, so he hurried out to answer it.

‘Ron, it’s me, Stan. I need your help, old friend.’

Ron gripped the receiver. ‘What’s happened? Where are you?’

‘I’m at the police station. Ethel’s been brought in for stealing …’ His voice broke and he couldn’t continue.

‘I’ll be right over,’ said Ron, slamming down the receiver. ‘Would you be after minding things for a wee while, Brenda? Only I’ve got something important to do.’