Not My Thing

Jamison, still in his chair, was lying face down across the desk.

‘Sir!’ Smyth exclaimed. ‘Is something wrong?’

Jamison didn’t move.

Putting down the silver plate, Smyth went to him. He saw in a moment that Jamison was dead, and he also saw, clutched in Jamison’s fingers, a letter.

Shocked, Smyth took the letter from the dead man’s hand. He hesitated for a long moment, then read the letter.

Rome.

Dear Sherry,

I do hope you will be understanding. I have decided I don’t want to get married either to you nor to any other man. Guiseppi has offered me a partnership in his wonderful, enormously successful fashion house. The firm will be known as Guiseppi & Lawrence. I am sure you will realize what this must mean to me.

Sherry, I am sorry, but I do hope you will find someone else who will be a mother to your children.

Forgive me?

Tarnia.