In view of your emotional feelings about Mr John Ducane I feel sure it would be of interest to you to see the enclosed.
Yours faithfully,
A Well-Wisher
Trembling violently Jessica fumbled with the other envelope and plucked the letter out of it. The letter read thus: Trescombe House Trescombe Dorset Oh my darling John, how I miss you, it seems an age till our lovely week-end arrives. I hate to think of you all lonely in London, but it won't be long until we are reunited. You are my property, you know, and I have a strong sense of property! I shall assert my rights! Don't be long away from me, my sweet, haste the day and the hour. Oh how heavenly it is, John, to be able to speak love to you, and to know that you feel as I do! Love, love, love, Your Kate P. S. Willy Kost sends regards and hopes to see you too.
Jessica sat down on the floor and concentrated her attention upon not dying. She felt no impulse to weep or scream, but it was as if her flesh were being dragged apart. Shock was more evident than pain, or perhaps pain was so extreme that it had brought her to the brink of unconsciousness. She sat quite still for about five minutes with her eyes closed and every muscle contracted to keep herself in a single piece. Then she opened her eyes and read the letter again and examined the envelope.
There was of bourse not the slightest doubt that this was a letter to John from his mistress. Quite apart from the tone of the letter, the reference to the significantly underlined week-end put this beyond question. They seemed to be on very happy, indeed ecstatic, terms. It was not the letter of a woman who was uncertain whether she was loved. The letter moreover had been written less than three weeks ago. The date on the envelope showed clearly and the letter itself was dated with day, month and year. So at this very recent time the affair had been for some while in existence, was in full swing. This then meant that John had lied to her.
Jessica got up from the floor. She went to the drawer which contained all the letters which John had ever sent her, and took out the postcard which lay on the top.
Forgive this in haste, I am most terribly busy in the office with various rather preoccupying matters. I am sorry not to have written. Could we meet on Monday, not of next week but of the week following? I shall look forward to that. If I don't hear otherwise I'll come to your place at seven. Very good wishes.. Various rather preoccupying matters, thought Jessica. Come to your place. How differently it read now. Of course she was not to visit him, she was never to visit him. Busy with his marvellous love affair he had coldly calculated what was the longest he could put her off for, what was the most he could make her put up with, without arousing suspicion. Monday, not of next week but of the week following. How carefully it was put so as to make a shabby offer sound less shabby. No doubt he would be just back from one of those lovely weekends. And he would look into her eyes, as he had done on the last occasion, and tell her in that grave sincere voice that he had no mistress.