“You were his special chum. It was natural that he should speak most of you.”
“And—er—my letters! Did he read those aloud?”
“Parts of them. I never saw them, of course, except—”
“Except when?”
“When he was ill. He could not read himself, and was anxious to hear the news. Three letters from you arrived during that time. He said it did not matter. That there would be no secrets in them—nothing you would not wish me to know.”
Betty flushed, cast an agonised thought back through the years, to try to remember the gist of those three missives, failed completely, and nervously twisted her fingers together.
“There was one thing they would show you pretty plainly, which I’d rather have kept secret.”
“Yes?”
“Myself?”
She looked across the room with a flickering glance, and met Will Gerard’s steady gaze.