Chapter 9

Nobody rushed for an early breakfast on Wednesday morning but both Jerry and Emma were dressed when Zoë drifted in in her dressing gown at nine. She showed no reaction to Jerry being there just kissing them both good morning.

Jerry rang the vicar. She said immediately that she would like to meet them promising them that she would not give them a lecture on the sanctity of marriage and their responsibilities towards each other. "As a remarried widow you two will have twice my experience," she laughed. "All the same, it's not a bad thing to have met the bride and groom before the ceremony although I do, of course, know Emma well."

Jerry agreed that they would meet at the vicarage at eleven that morning. They only stayed for half an hour but agreed on Saturday 5th July at three o'clock for the wedding.

"She's a honey," said Emma, "but she could still embarrass us on the day with something because she's a great practical joker. Jerry, my sweet, why don't we go back to your house and pick up more of your clothes and any other bits and pieces. You can put it all in Will's dressing room. I cleared everything out. If you're not at home with me tomorrow evening I might pine away."

They did that and then decided to have a pub lunch. Zoë declined to go with them. Chris made a huge fuss of them and was very impressed with Emma's ring. Peter came through after Chris had left their order with him and congratulated them.

"You don't hang about," he teased Jerry.

"Surprised myself," grinned Jerry.

There was no one else they knew there but Friday evening and Sunday lunchtime were a different matter. Everyone seemed genuinely delighted for them. Again Zoë was not with them. She had gone to spend the weekend with an old school friend.

That evening they rang round the relations again and arranged the get together for the weekend of 23rd/24th May. They decided to hold it at the Lodge and have a barbecue on the Saturday evening leaving people with the choice of a pub lunch on Sunday or going home. Both sets of parent opted for the latter as did Rory and Sally.

The following Tuesday Jerry arrived back at the Lodge after his weekly round of golf to find Emma sitting at the kitchen table in floods of tears.

"Darling!" He moved swiftly towards her. "What's the matter?"

Wordlessly she handed him a sheet of paper which read:

HOW DO YOU HAVE THE NERVE TO GET ENGAGED WHEN YOUR HUSBAND'S BEEN DEAD LITTLE MORE THAN A YEAR? HAVE YOU NO RESPECT FOR HIS MEMORY OR PERHAPS YOU WERE A WHORE THEN? YOUR POOR DAUGHTERS. I WOULD NOT BLAME THEM IF THEY NEVER SPOKE TO YOU AGAIN. YOUR CHURCH ATTENDANCE HAS BEEN TOTAL HYPOCRISY. GET OUT OF OUR VILLAGE, YOU SELFISH, IMMORAL BITCH.

Jerry put the letter on the table and knelt beside Emma. He pulled her to him.

"You are none of those things, my darling, and you know it. That is a horrid, vicious letter from somebody with a twisted mind and a vindictive streak."

"How many other people feel the same way though but haven't written?"

"Judging by people's reaction on Friday and Sunday I'd guess none."

"It was one of the things I was worried about."

"I know it was, my darling, but as I said at the time it wouldn't be from a friend or relative and therefore wouldn't matter. It still doesn't."

She lifted her head and looked questioningly at him.

"Really, my precious one, it really, really doesn't. And all that tripe about your poor daughters. They couldn't be more thrilled for you. It just shows that whoever wrote that letter knows nothing of you at all."

"You're not just saying that?"

"No, I'm not. I'm dead serious and bloody angry if you want to know."

Emma managed the glimmer of a smile.

"That's my girl." He kissed the tip of her nose. "Now, go and wash your face and I'll have a nice reviving glass of gin for you."

"Can I have a proper kiss first?"

"You bet." He kissed her tenderly and then hugged her to him. "I love you Emma Roberts." He released her and kissed her again.

She smiled properly at him. "I love you too, my sweet man. You just don't know how much."

"Well, in that case, lunatic letters like that don't matter a bit, do they?"

She shook her head.

He stood and pulled her to her feet, pointed her in the direction of the door and gave her a pat on the bottom. "Off you go, my lovely."

He poured two drinks and then got the makings of lunch out and onto the table. When Emma came back he handed her a drink and took her other hand.

"Come on, my precious one, I want a snuggle on the sofa. Where's Zoë by the way?"

"Gone to Pitsbury. She's meeting a girlfriend for lunch."

"Ah!"

"I wonder who wrote that letter."

"No idea but I'd guess a churchgoer."

"Not a very charitable one."

"Some professing Christians are pretty uncharitable."

"I suppose."

"I'd imagine he or she was at the pub over the weekend too."

"Hmm!"

"Did you notice anyone looking grim or not meeting your eye?"

Emma thought. "Jean Warner," she said slowly. "She's a churchgoer too. Very pi."

"Fits."

"She was very 'caring' when Will was killed but I got the impression that she was more interested in seeing the inside of this house than trying to buck me up."

"You must point her out to me."

"Oh, Jerry darling, don't say anything to her."

"I won't unless she speaks to me first."

Nothing more was said about the incident until Sunday at the Trout.

"Don't look round," said Emma quietly, "but that's Jean Warner in the corner behind you with her chum Rene Whitmarsh with her back to you."

"OK. I'll go and have a look at the menu board and then have a shufti at her when I come back."

He did so, announcing to Emma on the way back, "Loin of pork or leg of lamb."

"Pork please, darling."

Chris had been hovering. "And you, Jerry."

"Pork as well please, Chris." He turned back to Emma. "Talk about mutton dressed as lamb. Is she a spinster or a widow?"

"Widow."

"Lucky chap."

"Jerry!" She gave the gurgle of laughter he loved so much.

Another couple, Nick and Alice Fields, came in and started to talk to them. Mrs Warner was forgotten.

The following Tuesday morning they found that a load of dog excrement had been emptied through the letter-box. There was also a typed note:

THIS IS JUST THE START. GET OUT OF THE VILLAGE, WHORE

There were no tears this time from Emma, just fury. The same went for Jerry.

"Don't do anything rash, darling," begged Emma.