The Last Letter From Your Lover Read Online Free PDF Page A

“The last time we spoke about it, you remarked that to have children it’s usually advisable for husband and wife to be on the same continent for a while. He’s away an awful lot, your husband.” She smirked, exhaled a perfect smoke ring. “It’s one of the other reasons I’ve always been horribly envious of you.” As Jennifer gave a reluctant chuckle, she continued, “Oh, you’ll be fine, darling. You should do what that ridiculously expensive doctor said and stop fretting. You’ll probably have some eureka moment in a couple of weeks and remember everything—disgusting snoring husband, the state of the economy, the awful size of your account in Harvey Nichols. In the meantime, enjoy your innocence while it lasts.”
    “I suppose you’re right.”
    “And having said that, I think you should wear the rose pink thing. You have a quartz necklace that goes fabulously with it. The emerald doesn’t do you any favors. It makes your bust look like two deflated balloons.”
    “Oh, you are a friend!” Jennifer said, and the two began to laugh.

    The door had slammed, and he had dropped his briefcase on the hall floor, the chill air of outside on his overcoat and skin. He took off his scarf, kissed Yvonne, and apologized for his lateness. “Accountants’ meeting. You know how these money men go on.”
    “Oh, you should see them when they get together, Larry. Bores me to tears. We’ve been married five years, and I still couldn’t tell you the difference between a debit and a credit.” Yvonne checked her watch. “He should be here soon. No doubt some unmissable column of figures to wave his magic wand over.”
    He faced his wife. “You look very fetching, Jenny.”
    “Doesn’t she? Your wife always scrubs up rather well.”
    “Yes. Yes, indeed. Right.” He ran a hand across his jawline. “If you’ll both excuse me, I’ll go and freshen up before our other guests arrive.” I don’t suppose one of you ladies could pour me a whiskey? Two fingers, no ice?
    “We’ll have a drink waiting for you,” Yvonne called.
    By the time the door opened a second time, Jennifer’s nerves had been dulled by a potent cocktail. It will be fine , she kept telling herself. Yvonne would step in with prompts if she was about to make a fool of herself. These were her friends. They wouldn’t be waiting for her to trip up. They were another step to bringing her back to herself.
    “Jenny. Thank you so much for asking us.” Violet Fairclough gave her a hug, her plump face almost submerged in a turban. She unpinned it from her head and handed it over with her coat. She was wearing a scoop-necked silk dress, which strained like a wind-filled parachute around her ample contours. Violet’s waist, as Yvonne would later remark, would require the hands of a small infantry company to span it.
    “Jennifer. A picture of loveliness, as always.” A tall, redheaded man stooped to kiss her.
    Jennifer was astonished by the unlikeliness of this coupling. She didn’t remember the man at all, and found it almost funny that he should be little Violet’s husband. “Do come through,” she said, tearing her eyes off him and recovering her composure. “My husband will be down in a few minutes. Let me get you a drink in the meantime.”
    “ ‘My husband,’ eh? Are we terribly formal this evening?” Bill laughed.
    “Well . . .” Jennifer faltered. “. . . as it’s been so long since I’ve seen you all . . .”
    “Beast. You’ve got to be kind to Jenny.” Yvonne kissed him. “She’s still terribly fragile. She should be reclining upstairs consumptively while we select one man at a time to peel her a grape. But she would insist on martinis.”
    “Now that’s the Jenny we know and love.” Bill’s smile of appreciation was so lingering that Jennifer glanced twice at Violet to make sure she wasn’t offended. She didn’t seem to mind: she was rummaging in her handbag. “I’ve left your number with the new nanny, Jenny,” she