Maris and Dinah pulled out the trunk a couple of nights later to read the letters Moresby had written to Annabelle. They had opened a bottle of Chardonnay and were prepared to make an evening of it. Maris had been with Axel the previous evening and had not arrived home until the early hours of the morning, just enough time to shower and change her clothes for a day at the gallery. She wasn’t being paid for her time, but Dinah was giving her free room and board and that was fine with Maris. And Dinah didn’t seem to mind that Maris was spending a lot of time with Axel. She thought they were a good couple, and she was especially pleased that Axel was encouraging Maris to paint again.
“I’ve barely slept the last two nights, I’ve been so excited about this stuff of my grandmother’s,” said Dinah. “I wish I knew why Peter never showed it to me.”
“Well, you know,” said Maris, “he probably hadn’t looked at it or thought about it for a long time, and then came across it when he decided to put his affairs in order. He was probably going to show it to you, but then he was murdered.” Maris realized this was the second time she had used the word “murdered” when referring to Peter. The first was when she had told Axel about Peter’s death.
“How shall we do this?” said Dinah.
“Let’s put them in order first and see what dates they cover.” They untied the bundle and checked the postmarks. All had been sent from England, between 1928 and 1931. There appeared to be three or four letters a year.
“Let’s start with 1928 and read them in order,” said Maris. “We’ll single out anything unusual that isn’t just letter chit-chat.”
“Okay,” said Dinah, and slipped the first letter out of the envelope. In a couple of minutes, she said, “You should read this one.”
August 12, 1928
Dearest Annabelle,
I arrived home a few days ago and can report that Frankie is in fine form. He painted me a picture of himself standing in front of his pony, which he has named Dulcie. Don’t ask me where he got that from!
I was reluctant to leave you, Anna-belle, after all that happened recently, but Dicky assured me he would keep a close eye on you. I hope you will not forget your promise not to do anything like that again. Suicide is not an answer to anything, and your death would break many hearts, mine and Frankie’s uppermost.
I will never stop asking you to return to England. If you ever change your mind, let me know immediately and a ticket will be on its way.
As ever, with great affection,
Sutty
“Suicide?” said Maris. “Did you know anything about this?”
“No,” said Dinah. “I wonder if Peter ever read these letters.”
“I guess we’ll never know,” said Maris. “This next one is pretty straightforward.”
November 26, 1928
Dearest Annabelle,
I was so pleased to receive a letter from you this month. Of course I’ll send you the painting by Frankie. In fact, I’ll get him to paint one especially for you. He asks about you all the time, but I fear you are moving further and further away from him as time goes by. I don’t say this to make you feel guilty — never, never — but only so you’ll know how much you mean to your dear son. He does not forget you. You remain in his heart.
We send our love.
Sutty
The letters from 1929 and 1930 were in a similar vein with Sutty replying to letters from Annabelle, but not always. Occasionally he would drop a note to say he hadn’t heard from her in a while and he hoped she was all right. A couple of times he asked if she needed more money. Once he wrote: I hope you’re not giving the extra money to Dicky because I fear he will only drink it away. I appreciate that he looks after you to some extent and that he is a friend, but I worry that he will inadvertently leave you with not enough for yourself. Do be careful, Annabelle. There are some who might want to take advantage of you. You have heard the expression “fair-weather friends,” I am sure. I’m not saying this is Dicky, just that someone attached to Dicky might not be so reliable. Sorry, I don’t mean to lecture.
Toward the end of 1930, the tone of the letters began to change, indicating that all might not be well with Annabelle.
December 8, 1930
Dearest Annabelle,
I am concerned about the note of dismay in your letter. I won’t say despair, because I truly hope it is not that. People often feel out of sorts at this time of year, with Christmas coming. Especially people who have suffered loss such as you have. Please assure me in your next letter that this is a temporary mood and that you are in fact feeling better.
As to your question whether I would be coming to Singapore in the next year, I had no plan to, but if you would like me to come, I certainly will.
Frankie is looking forward to Santa’s visit and has submitted a long list of suggestions in case Santa’s elves can’t think of anything to bring him. His Grand Maud cannot say no to the boy, and I fear he is becoming spoiled. But he is a boy like no other and life would now be so dreary without him.
Wishing you a good Christmas, Annabelle and, dare I say, a happy one. I am enclosing a few extra pounds for you to buy yourself something special.
Please be well and don’t wait too long to respond.
Yours, as ever,
Sutty
“Well,” said Maris, “for a writer, he’s not the most sensitive guy. I mean, if she was suicidal at one point, and now he senses dismay, shouldn’t his warning bells be going off?”
“Maybe they were,” said Dinah, “but he knew he couldn’t do anything about it. I mean, what was he supposed to do? Jump on the next ship and spend two months getting there, only to find she had PMS that day?”
“I suppose,” said Maris. “It must have been tough being in touch only by letter. No instant communication like now. People might die between letters and you wouldn’t know it for weeks, even months. I guess there was a level of acceptance I find hard to understand.”
“Listen to this,” said Dinah.
April 20, 1931
Dearest, dearest Annabelle,
Your last letter truly frightened me. You tell me you spent a few days in hospital, but you don’t really tell me why. Was it fever? Did you meet with an accident? I wish you would be more forthcoming in your letters. I’m afraid my imagination runs away with me at times and I imagine the unimaginable. You know what writers are like. We are always making things up, especially if we don’t have all the facts.
Anyway, I’m glad you’re feeling better and that whatever was the matter no longer troubles you. But next time you write, be more explicit. Please. If it was “female troubles,” you don’t have to give me details. Heaven forbid. But better that than what my uneasy mind can conjure.
Sorry to be an old nag.
Frankie, Grand Maud, and I send our love. And I also enclose a new photograph of Frankie. See how fast he’s growing up! Before we know it, he’ll be in cap and gown.
Sutty
“Another suicide attempt?” said Maris.
“If that were the case, she probably wouldn’t say anything. I wouldn’t, anyway. I think I’d want to hide the fact from him. Unless, of course, she wanted him to come right away. It could have been a ploy, but he didn’t bite.”
“Strange relationship they had,” said Maris. “He obviously cared about her, but she didn’t seem to care about anybody. Except her dead husband, of course.”
“And maybe this Dicky character,” said Dinah. “The one Sutty doesn’t trust but has to trust because he’s the only one around.”
The last two letters appeared not to be replies to Annabelle’s letters, but pleas from Sutty to write to him immediately.
October 23, 1931
Dear, dear Annabelle,
What has happened to you? I have heard nothing for months and am frantic with worry. I have booked passage on the P&O leaving next week and will arrive in Singapore the last week of December. Please, I beg you, contact me as soon as possible. I am forfeiting Christmas with Frankie because I am so worried. If he were a few years older, I would bring him with me so we could ring in the New Year together.
This time you must return with me to England. I will not take no for an answer. It’s time you were reunited with your son. He needs you, and I believe you need him.
I am not happy playing this authoritarian role, but you leave me no choice. I am losing patience, but remain
Your affectionate, devoted friend,
Sutty