The Last Little Blue Envelope Read Free

immediately reached for her purse, but Richard was ahead of her, holding out a few twenty-pound notes to the driver.
    Stepping out of the car snapped her back to reality. It wasn’t that it was any colder than it was at home, but there was wetness in the air as well. Richard’s house still had that strange, blank quality, that feeling like it had been furnished from an office-supply warehouse. The plain pine furniture, the low, industrial carpet. There was a large new television but not much else of note in the living room. It had the air of a house that was waiting for its occupant to show up. There were no decorations.
    The kitchen was in a mild state of disarray—take-out containers, bottles stacked on the counter waiting to be recycled, piles of bags sitting on top of the trash. All the signs of a man on his own who had been running nonstop for weeks.
    “I’ve got to get back to work,” he said. “I’m sorry you’re going to be alone for the rest of the day. Here’s your key—you probably remember, the square one is for the top lock. Genuine Harrods key chain, enjoy that. And there’s plenty of food. . . .”
    He indicated the kitchen with a general sweep of his hand. Ginny caught the little silver glint of a wedding ring on his left hand. Ginny had managed to miss that ring when she first met him. God, she’d been clueless the first time she was here.
    “I’ll be fine,” she said. “Promise. Sorry I’m busting in when you’re so busy.”
    “Don’t be. I’ll be back around eight. Maybe nine . . . but I’ll try for eight.”
    As soon as he was gone, Ginny dragged her suitcase up the steps. It was not an elegant trip, banging and clunking, smacking into the wall. The door to her room—Aunt Peg’s room—was open and waiting for her. It would always be strange coming into this room. The pink walls had an odd glow in the pale morning light. The glint of the wrappers and various pieces of trash that Aunt Peg had collaged on the walls stood in stark contrast to the large poster print of A Bar at the Folies-Bergère , Aunt Peg’s favorite painting. Richard had stacked towels and extra blankets on top of the patchwork quilt Aunt Peg had sewn.
    Ginny dropped the suitcase under the window and sat on the floor with her back against the bed, looking up at the walls, the ceiling, taking it all in. There were two things she had to accomplish while she was here. Thing One: Get the letter. That was all arranged. She would meet Oliver at a coffee shop tomorrow at two and he would hand it over.
    Which meant that she had today to accomplish The Other Thing.
    In the two weeks that she had planned this trip, Keith had spent less and less time online. Their conversations, when they had them, had been short. Normally, this would have devastated her, but since she was on her way back to England, she had decided to use this to her advantage. The thing about her Keith seemed to like the most was the fact that she sometimes just turned up out of the blue, with some very unlikely story. So she hadn’t mentioned that she was coming. Today, she was going to appear on his doorstep.
    This was a maneuver that required preparation. She had managed, through some creative questioning, to find out that he would be at home this afternoon. The timing was right. She also brought the proper tools. She reached over and unzipped the suitcase. Her favorite outfit was on top—a new black dress with white dots. With her new black boots and a pair of silvery tights, it was by far the greatest outfit she had ever owned.
    Time for a shower, which required a wrestle with the shower-spigot attachment in the bathroom. She had soaked the ceiling many times with this contraption over the summer. Richard had also kept all the toiletries Ginny had purchased on her last visit and had stacked them on an empty shelf in the bathroom. One quick and not-too-serious spray-down of herself and the bathroom later (already an improvement on her previous