Chapter 9
The letters started arriving a week after Opal got back to Fairfax.
She’d stayed in Marylebone the whole weekend.
Only when she’d gotten tired of the thrill of ignoring Martin’s calls to the flat, and failed to find any incriminating evidence within its four walls, had she driven home.
She had hoped that he would be racked with worry, not knowing for sure where she’d run off to.
When she met with Debbie on Tuesday night at the tennis club, though, she was a little irritated to find out that he had told everyone she was visiting her friends in London.
He’d worked it out and then not even bothered to test his theory by coming after her.
It had made her feel both predictable and pathetic.
Opal had always been uncomfortable with that title, mostly because she couldn’t shake the association with Saffie – who had inherited it along with the house when her brother had died young.
Opal had always suspected that her mother, in turn, was never able to shake the association with her brother Edwin’s death, and that Fairfax Manor had remained an awful reminder of that precious thing she had lost. The cruel irony of that particular recurring generational pattern was not lost on Opal either.
The second letter came forwarded from Toad. It was signed by Jojo, no last name, and came accompanied by a short note from Gareth: Johan is a truly wonderful photographer. G
The third arrived the following day and was sent with a Scottish stamp.
That was from Heather McCormack. Opal vaguely recognised the name; perhaps she had seen some of her work before, but she couldn’t be sure.
As with Adam, there was no mention of the discipline, only a distinctly unenthusiastic-sounding relay of arrival information.
Heather would need to be picked up from the station, and she signed off with a cool ‘yours faithfully’.
It was around that time, on the Wednesday, that Opal began to feel a little apprehensive about the whole endeavour. It was no exaggeration to say that she had never done anything so impulsive in her whole life.
She remembered a risky fringe she had cut herself in the bathroom mirror after her first-year exams. She’d fretted over the wonky result for weeks.
And now here she was inviting a group of strangers into her home with the promise of awarding one of them close to the entirety of the money in her personal bank account.
Of course when she rang Gareth in a particularly acute moment of panic, he talked her down, or rather up, and she felt fortified in her decision for the next couple of days at least. It was enough time for the fourth letter to arrive. The first thing she noticed was that the paper smelt divine.
Dearest Miss Fairfax,
I hope that this letter finds you well. I am writing in order to apply for a place in the summer tournament to be hosted at Fairfax Manor.
I am a scent and sound artist based in Birmingham and would relish the opportunity to both focus on my practice for the summer and compete against some of my most talented peers.
As a sensory creative I am unable to forward on a physical portfolio, but rest assured that your dear friend Gareth has seen and appreciated my work on multiple occasions.
I look forward to hearing back from you, and hold on to the hope that I may meet you in person someday soon.
Sincerely yours,
Noah
Opal read the letter through three times.
She found the mix of formality and familiarity intriguing.
There was no attached note from Gareth to place this Noah man in any kind of context.
But then again, none of the other letters had exactly come with a biography attached.
This one, though, piqued her curiosity. Was it just the smell?
She found herself reading something like longing in his words, for a chance, an opportunity, a payday?
Dearest Miss Fairfax. Did this Noah just assume she was unmarried – Gareth did always refer to her by her maiden name – or was there more to it?
Opal felt oddly embarrassed by her reaction to this letter.
But there was something else that was different with this one.
The others had only confirmed their attendance; they had made no mention of an application for a place.
Noah had obviously gotten the wrong idea from Gareth – that he needed to somehow earn his place. Maybe that explained his sweeter tone.
Regardless of the reason, it had indeed won her over. The artist in her was fascinated by his practice, and the bruised woman was flattered by the slightest hint of flirtatious attention. She responded:
Dear Noah,
It would be my pleasure to welcome you to Fairfax Manor to take part in the tournament this summer. Please make yourself available from the 14th of June until the 27th of July and I can make arrangements to pick you up from Cambridge train station upon your arrival.
Do forward on a list of essential materials you may require.
Opal paused, unsure of how reciprocal she was willing to be to his tone. She had opted for ‘Dear’ over ‘Dearest’ in conjunction with addressing him by his first name. It seemed a wise choice. But was she going to match the familiarity of his ‘sincerely’?
Yours faithfully,
Opal Fairfax
In the end she bottled it on the sign-off but didn’t correct her maiden name.