"Excuse me Sir, there is a policeman here to see you. He says he worked with you when you were serving in the Met."

"Thank you Denton. Please show him in." Tommy stood up to greet his guest. His hip was still bothering him and he winced. It had been three months since his operation but it was still painful when he stood, even when he used his stick. He had never imagined he would be thrown by his horse. It was simple lack of concentration but he was paying dearly for it now. He was only in his early fifties and he walked like an eighty year old.

"Detective Inspector Nkata, Sir," Denton announced.

"Winston! How wonderful to see you. And you are a DI, that's terrific, well done!" Tommy shook Winston's hand heartily. "How long has it been, eight years?"

"Good to see you too Sir. About ten years I suppose. A little after you went back to Howenstowe after you mother passed away I think."

"Yes, too long. And don't call me Sir. I'm Tommy. I'm not in the force anymore and you are equal rank now anyway." Tommy noticed the serious look on Winston's face. This was not a social visit. "So what brings you all the way out here?" he asked cautiously.

"It's Barbara I'm afraid Sir." Winston could no more call him Tommy than fly to the moon. "It's not good news," he said as he handed Tommy an envelope.

Tommy sank back into his chair. He noticed it was addressed to him in a faltering but instantly recognisable hand. Tommy swallowed hard then opened it slowly.

Dearest Tommy,

I'm currently resident in St James Hospice awaiting the inevitable. They suggested we write to people we needed to clear the air with so that we die in peace. I've no idea how to do this but there's only one person in my life that I need to make peace with, you. I've asked Winston to deliver this to you after I pass on and make sure you read it. I know that he will so I need to take care in getting this right. If I ramble bear with me, I have something important to say but I need to put it in context.

I'm not sure that writing a letter can ever make up for life's mistakes but I owe it to both of us to at least try to explain why I made the decision I did. It wasn't for the reason I gave you then, nor was it for the reasons I told myself. It was simply that I was sacred. I was scared of your offer; I was scared I could never do it and I was scared I would ultimately disappoint you. So it was easier to disappoint you upfront but I didn't know it would feel so devastating. Not seeing you since that terrible night tore a hole my life that has never been repaired. Maybe that is the greatest irony. I know you never married and I worry that you have the same emptiness. I hope not but if so, maybe this letter can help. I always wanted, and still want, you to be happy Tommy.

I know I said I didn't love you, but I did; more than life itself. I wanted to marry you more than anything. Your proposal was a dream come true but I knew I could never be your wife. I always hoped that once your anger passed you'd realise I did love you and know why I did it. For weeks I was sure you would see it and come rushing back to me and that we'd find a way. I sat outside your house each night until you moved back to Howenstowe trying to build up enough courage to knock and beg forgiveness and try to explain. I once made it to your door but chickened out like the coward I was. I wish I'd knocked, if for nothing else than to explain.

I rejected you to save you. I told myself that and it was true. But it was only half the story. I was too scared to try. I didn't believe in myself or in us and for that I need your forgiveness. I did believe in you but I didn't believe you loved me enough to make it work. I thought you would tire of me. You were right when you told me I could not decide that. Your hurt and anger broke my heart but if you believe nothing else then believe that I was trying to protect you from yourself. Your mother had just died in that terrible accident and you were leaving London. I thought your proposal was too impulsive and that you would regret asking me. We had only just started going out. It was too new. You could not possibly want to marry me.

My tirade about the aristocracy and your role in it was said to hurt you, to try to make you see I'd never fit in to your world. But I didn't mean it and if I had a penny for every time I close my eyes and see the hurt in those beautiful chestnut eyes of yours I would be as rich as you. It still tears at me ten years later. In order to protect you I thought I had to hurt you. I knew you so well it was easy to know what to say but it was much harder than you think to say it. All I wanted to say was yes, I will marry you. I wanted to tell you how much I loved you but I thought I was being honorable and noble. I know now I was being a fool.

So I hope you can forgive me but if not at least understand I did love you, I still love you. I loved you almost from the time we first worked together and it has been the memory of that one night we had that has sustained me. Over the years I have ached to feel you touch and kiss me and love me like that night.

I'd do things differently if it happened again but I can't undo it. I only hope you're able to understand and forgive me. In a way I hope I was right and that you didn't love me as much as you thought you did and that you have moved on and found happiness.

I have left you my estate and my solicitor will be in touch soon with details. There is one memento of our years together that I treasure beyond anything else that only you can look after and I hope you will understand and honour my wishes.

May you be blessed with a long and happy life.

All my love,

Barbara

Tommy stared at the letter that he had read three times. Oddly it brought him no comfort at all to learn she had really loved him. It was not news, he had known that then too. He knew why she did it but he had been too stubborn to go back. He had waited for her to come to him and she never had. He had driven up from Cornwall five times in the first two months but each time he had simply followed her and watched her. She seemed happy enough and so he left her to her choice. But what had he expected to see? Her sitting in the gutter crying and wrenching at her clothes over her lost love? They had both been stubborn fools and it had cost them their happiness.

Tommy put his head in his hands. He needed time to adjust to her death before he spoke to Winston. He wondered about the memento. He was only aware of one photograph of them together and he had that on his dresser. He cherished the photo so he could understand her attachment to her keepsake. Whatever it was it would be sacred to him now that she was gone.

Finally he felt able to speak. "When?" he asked not really wanting to know the answer, "when did she die?"

"She hasn't yet Sir but she doesn't have long," Winston replied sheepishly, "I know she made me promise I wouldn't bring this to you until she had but I don't care if she hates me, you two need to talk before she goes so that you both have some peace."

Tommy looked up through blurry eyes. "Thank you Winston. Is she still at St James?"

"Yes."

"What's wrong with her?" It seemed a cold question if the end was close but he needed to know.

"It's her heart Sir. A piece of the bullet from when she was shot must have dislodged from somewhere and travelled there. It's ripped little tears in the muscle that are getting bigger. Eventually one will rupture. She has been ill for about a month."

"And they can't do anything?"

"Nah, apparently not."

Tommy stood ignoring the pain. "Right give me a few minutes and we'll leave."

Tommy issued orders to Denton and made a phone call then grabbed his car keys and his blue jacket. He was in jeans and a blue shirt, not what he would choose to visit her in but it would have to do. Denton would organise his wardrobe when he got to London. "Denton will arrange to have your car taken back. You and I will fly from Newquay. It will save around three hours."

Winston looked perplexed but followed Tommy to his car, a red Range Rover. "What happened to your old car Sir?"

"I still have it but this is more practical." Tommy did not want to tell Winston that the Bristol brought back too many sad memories for him to drive and too many good ones for him to part with it.

The tickets and the charter plane were waiting for them. Tommy settled into a seat opposite Winston and began to interrogate him about what had happened to Barbara. He tried to ask about Winston's life and was pleased he was married and had three young sons but he was only just listening; his focus was on Barbara and the time he had wasted that they could have been together. Barbara was dying and Tommy knew his spirit would die with her.