Max looked at his daughter with admiration. There were no TV shows directed by women but he had no doubt that Ruby could be the first. And, of course, it was the perfect moment to launch a detective series, when everyone was still obsessed by the kidnapping case.
‘And I’ve met a new man too,’ said Ruby, spreading butter on a roll. ‘He’s a jazz musician, black as the ace of spades. You’ll like him.’
That explained the music case, thought Max. It also explained why Ruby had told Joe that people would be shocked at her choice of boyfriend. The ace of spades, just as the ace of hearts was the blood card. Max wasn’t shocked but he did hope that the jazz musician would be good to Ruby. And that he wouldn’t have to listen to too much of his music.
The waiter poured the champagne with a flourish. Max raised his glass to Ruby. ‘Your future is bright,’ he said.
‘I think it is,’ said Ruby.
Emma and Edgar were also having lunch, although the setting was slightly less glamorous. Sam had offered to babysit while they ‘talked things over’ but Emma couldn’t face a restaurant with people whispering, ‘That’s the police superintendent and his wife, their daughter got kidnapped, you know.’ It was another lovely day so they took a picnic to Cuckmere Haven, a beauty spot near Eastbourne, where the river meandered lazily to the sea. They parked by a convenient pub and then walked along the shingle path. The land was marshy and flat with secret pools fringed by reeds. The sky was a bright, clear blue reflected in the still waters of the estuary. Birds flew overhead, dark against the sun. Were they coming home for summer? Emma wasn’t sure although she remembered being taken to this very spot for a biology field trip when she was at Roedean. There were no school parties today, only a few other couples walking in companionable silence. You couldn’t see the sea until you reached the dunes but you could hear it, hissing against the stones.
‘The girls would love it here,’ said Emma.
‘Johnno too. Although he’d be sure to fall in the water.’
‘He does have an uncanny ability to get wet.’
They sat on the grass by the sand dunes and ate their sandwiches. The tide was coming in, racing to join the river mouth, creating runnels and rivulets through the pebbles. The Seven Sisters were on their left, whiter by far than the cliffs of Dover. There’ll be bluebirds over the white cliffs of Dover. But bluebirds, Emma had read somewhere, were native only to America. Typical wartime propaganda.
‘Ed,’ she said. ‘I want to talk.’
‘Yes?’ He turned to her but she thought that he sounded wary.
‘I love being your wife,’ said Emma, ‘and I love being a mother. I love the kids. And you.’
‘I sound like a bit of an afterthought there.’
‘You’re not,’ said Emma. ‘I’ve loved you since I first saw you. But it’s not enough. My life isn’t enough. I can’t bear just being your wife and the children’s mother. I want to do something else.’
‘Like what?’
‘I want to go into business with Sam and become a private detective.’
‘What?’ Edgar raised his hand to shield his eyes from the sun but it felt as if he was warding her off somehow.
‘We’ve thought it all through. I know how to investigate a case and Sam knows how to get information. Sam’s fed up with the paper. They never give her any good stories and they keep asking her to make the tea. Harry Payne was the final straw. She’d liked him, trusted him. She wants a change and so do I. We’re going to set up a company. Holmes and Collins. Sam’s even offered to change her name to Watson.’
‘Holmes and Collins,’ said Edgar.
‘Well, I couldn’t use your name, could I?’
‘No, I suppose not. It’ll look odd, though, a superintendent’s wife becoming a private investigator.’
‘Well, I don’t mind if you don’t.’
‘I don’t mind,’ said Edgar. ‘But I haven’t got much choice, have I?’
‘No,’ agreed Emma. They sat in silence for a moment watching the sea advancing, turning the beach into a bay.
‘Just be careful,’ said Edgar at last. ‘It’s a dangerous world out there.’
But it didn’t seem dangerous today, it seemed golden and full of possibilities. Emma laughed and leant against her husband. He kissed her while the seabirds called wildly from the waves.
Acknowledgements
This book describes some real events, including the battle between the mods and rockers in Brighton on 17th and 18th May 1964, but I have changed some details and invented others in order to fit the plot. I’m very grateful to Peter Conroy for sharing his experiences of being a teenage mod. I hope that I have done Peter and his Lambretta justice. Thanks to Graham Bartlett, ex-chief superintendent of Brighton Police, for showing me round the old police cells where you can still see graffiti from the mods and rockers. Thanks also to Marjorie Scott-Robinson, my aunt in Seaford, for her memories of being a student in 1960s Brighton and frequenting the town’s coffee shops and cider bars.
I pass Roedean School almost every day but had never been inside. I approached Grace Cather, the Alumnae Relations Manager, to ask if I could visit and was amazed at her generosity and helpfulness. Thanks to Grace for showing me round Roedean and to Jackie Sullivan for taking the time to show me the school’s archives. Jackie also lent me a wonderful book entitled Memories of Roedean: the first 100 years compiled by Judy Moore. Many of Emma’s memories come from this book and I’m most grateful to the Roedean staff for being so generous with their time and resources. I need hardly say that all the events in this book are fictional and that I have invented a whole new school personnel. The tunnel is real though. Many thanks to Ivy Robin for the initial contact.
Rottingdean was once famous both for smuggling and for being the home of Rudyard Kipling. There are meant to be many tunnels under the village but The Smugglers’ Cave and its secrets are purely imaginary.
Thanks as ever to my wonderful editor, Jane Wood, and to all at Quercus, especially Therese Keating, Hannah Robinson, Bethan Ferguson, Laura McKerrell, Katie Sadler, Ella Patel and David Murphy. Thanks also to Chris Shamwana from Ghost Design for a really beautiful cover. Thanks to my fantastic agent, Rebecca Carter, and all at Janklow and Nesbit UK. Thanks to Kirby Kim at Janklow in the US and to my American publisher, Naomi Gibbs, and all at HMH.
Love and thanks always to my husband Andrew and to our children, Alex and Juliet.
This book is for Lesley Thomson, my dear friend and sister in crime.
Elly Griffiths
2019
About the Author
© Sara Reeve
Elly Griffiths is the author of the Ruth Galloway and Magic Men mystery series and the standalone novel The Stranger Diaries. She is a recipient of the Mary Higgins Clark Award and the CWA Dagger in the Library Award. She lives in Brighton, England.
Connect with HMH on Social Media
Follow us for book news, reviews, author updates, exclusive content, giveaways, and more.
Now You See Them Page 26
