She blinked back tears as she placed the photographs and letters in a drawer. It had not slipped her notice that there was no address on Don’s letter. Was that because he would not be staying in one place for the next few months or did he mean he did not expect her to answer his letter. She picked up the postal order and knew that she must cash it and immediately write and thank Seb for his generosity and also ask after Alice and the children, especially Georgie. She found some comfort in the thought that most likely Don would still keep in touch with Seb and hopefully sooner or later she and Don would be in touch again.
After Tilly had written a letter of thanks and brought her family up to date with her search for a job and expressed concern about Georgie, she went downstairs, intending to visit the post office. She found Wendy in the shop talking to the man whom Tilly now recognised as Mr Simpson.
His voice trailed off and he stood waiting as if expecting Wendy to introduce them to each other. Tilly smiled and held out a hand to him.
‘I believe you’re the famous detective, Mr Simpson,’ she said.
His eyes gleamed as he took her hand. ‘I think you mock me, Miss Moran.’
‘You know my name! No wonder my ears were burning,’ said Tilly, freeing her hand. ‘I believe you’re on the Case of the Missing Dog.’
‘Not so missing now, Tilly,’ said Wendy, uncertainty in her eyes as she looked at the pair of them.
Tilly cocked her pretty head on one side. ‘Is that true, Mr Simpson?’
‘Certainly, it’s true,’ he said. ‘I’ve solved the case but sadly not to my client’s satisfaction.’
‘Why is that?’ enquired Tilly, ever curious about other people’s lives.
He hesitated.
‘Client confidentiality?’ she asked, having read enough detective stories to know of such things.
‘Yes,’ he said regretfully.
‘I hope she still paid you,’ said Tilly.
‘Fortunately I asked for some expenses up front and she was fair enough to cough up the rest of my fee.’
‘It would have been terrible if you’d been left out of pocket after all your hard work,’ said Wendy.
‘You can say that again,’ he murmured, glancing down at her.
‘Do you have another case to work on?’ asked Tilly.
He switched his attention to Tilly. ‘Not yet. But something is bound to turn up. At the moment I have some insurance claim investigation work.’
‘You can talk about that?’
‘Not specifically,’ he said firmly.
‘I understand,’ said Tilly. ‘It was nice talking to you, Mr Simpson.’
‘And you, Miss Moran.’
Tilly turned to Wendy. ‘I’m off to the post office. I’ll see you later.’
‘Yes. I’ll see you later,’ echoed Wendy.
The shop door had no sooner closed behind Tilly than Mr Simpson said, ‘I’d best go. I need to visit the bank and then the office to see if there’s any post or enquiries.’
‘I’ll see you tomorrow then, Mr Simpson,’ said Wendy in a small voice.
He nodded, and hurried from the shop.
Hearing footsteps behind her, Tilly turned and saw Mr Simpson. ‘I believe we’re going in the same direction, Miss Moran,’ he said.
‘You’re going to the post office, too, Mr Simpson?’ she asked, wondering if she could persuade him to tell her how he solved his last case.
‘No, but I need to catch the tram into town and will pass the post office.’ Tilly was silent, waiting to hear what he said next. She heard him take a deep breath. ‘You look very different from the last time I saw you, Miss Moran, and I wondered whether you’d like to visit the cinema with me one evening.’
Tilly stopped dead and stared up at him. ‘Why should I want to do that, Mr Simpson, when we’ve only just been introduced?’
‘But introduced we’ve been,’ he retorted swiftly. ‘I thought a visit to the Palladium?’
‘No, thank you, Mr Simpson. I scarcely know you.’ Tilly could hardly tell him that she avoided the Palladium like the plague, concerned in case the commissionaire should recognise her and embarrass her or even send for a bobby and have her arrested. ‘Good day,’ she said firmly, and hurried away.
Tilly cashed her one pound postal order and bought stamps and envelopes and then left the post office. There was no sign of Mr Simpson so she presumed he had caught the tram into town. After posting her letter, she decided that perhaps a treat for herself and the Wrights was called for, so she dropped into the bakery on the corner of Lombard Street and bought some currant buns. Then she returned to the shop, wondering if she could work a private detective into her novel.
Wendy looked up as she entered the shop. ‘So you went the post office?’
‘Yes,’ said Tilly, startled by the question. ‘That’s where I said I was going. Mr Simpson walked part of the way with me and then he went and caught the tram into town. I then went to the bakery and bought some buns for us to have with a cup of tea. My brother-in-law sent me a postal order, not that I’ve mentioned being hard up.’ She produced the bag with a flourish.
‘That’s nice.’ Wendy hesitated. ‘What did you talk about?’
‘Sorry?’
‘You and Mr Simpson.’
‘Nothing in particular. I was tempted to ask him about his cases as I thought it might be fun to have a private detective in my book but—’
Wendy interrupted her. ‘He wouldn’t tell you anything. Client confidentiality.’
‘That’s right. Anyway, his cases don’t sound very exciting.’
‘Bigamists and missing dogs,’ murmured Wendy.
The girls exchanged looks and laughed.
‘I’ll go and put the kettle on,’ said Tilly, and hurried into the back.
The following day dragged by because Tilly was impatient to get the interview the next day over with and know if she had got the job. She tried to write but could not settle and ripped up several sheets of precious paper. She talked to Mrs Wright about buying more books but she raised her eyebrows in horror and told her to forget the idea for the moment. Tilly decided if the worst came to the worst and she did not get the job, then she would try and get a job in a factory, or even as a housemaid. Both would surely be useful in gaining information and experience of the way other people lived. The downside was that she would have to work damned hard and would not have time for her writing.
The day of the interview arrived and Tilly decided to wear exactly what she had worn the last time she had visited the insurance office. As it was, she did not get to be interviewed by the manager, Mr Holmes, because he had been called away urgently and so Miss Langton asked her further questions and then seemingly distracted and bored by the whole situation, told Tilly she had the job and to report for work the following Monday.
Tilly could scarcely believe she had gainful employment at last and during the next few days was on pins, wondering if she would receive another letter saying that it had been a mistake. When Monday arrived and no such communication had arrived, she rose early and got ready for work.
‘Well, I hope everything goes well for you, Tilly,’ said Mrs Wright. ‘It’s always difficult starting something new but at least you seemed to have fitted in here well.’
Tilly agreed that on the whole she had fitted into the Wright household without too much upheaval on either side. Was that because they were prepared to accept her as a paying guest whilst at the same time treating her as one of the family? Having a decent room of her own certainly helped her to cope with them and although there were comforts she missed, she had adjusted to doing without them. Mrs Wright was the person whom Tilly found the most difficult in the family to feel at ease with and maybe that was because Tilly had never had a proper mother. How different would her life have been if her own mother had lived? She decided to think about that another time. Right now she had a job to go to and despite what she had been told about Mrs Langton, she was glad to have it.
* *
*
If Tilly had neither needed the money nor not been so interested in people, she might have been tempted to pack up the job within days. It held no challenge for her, consisting mainly of opening the mail and placing it on Miss Langton’s desk to sort out, filing, making tea, running errands, and, depending on their status, seeing callers in and out. Some of these were insurance collectors and the odd one could be amusing, telling her tales about some of the people he visited. But she told herself that it was a job and her meagre wage would pay the rent and her fares and the couple of shillings that remained she would save for essentials when the need arose.
So the weeks passed during which Tilly heard from Seb and Alice that Georgie was much better but sadly the measles had left him with weak eyes and he would need to wear spectacles. Fortunately the twins had managed to avoid catching the disease, which could only be a relief at their age.
Tilly answered their letter, saying how sorry she was to hear about Georgie’s eyesight, but she prayed that with the right treatment his eyesight would improve. She sent him a children’s book that she had found amongst the books upstairs for Alice to read to him and also asked Seb to let her know if he heard from Don. She determined to try and visit them but it was not easy due to her job, visiting her father, household chores and lack of money. Everything was so dear and there were even more food shortages, which some put down to the terrible weather during July and August.
At least Tilly was able to spend a few hours writing a week and even sent off a couple more short stories. Tilly took to scanning the newspapers even more than she had in the past for ideas. It amazed her just how much crime there was in Britain and how many murders took place. One in particular caught her eye. Perhaps because the girl was the same age as herself and a typist, as well. Her battered body had been found hidden beneath shingle on a beach and the police had put bloodhounds on the trail to try and catch the murderer. Why would anyone want to batter a seventeen-year-old typist to death? The thought caused a shiver to run down her spine. Had it been a crime of passion? Tilly determined to follow the story in the following days in the hope of finding out what had happened. She also noticed that trouble was brewing in the ship repair industry. As for the murdered girl, which the newspapers took to calling The Beach Mystery, it turned out that the girl had got friendly with a Frenchman and when her boyfriend had found out about it he had killed her in a jealous rage. Tilly decided that it was, perhaps, best to avoid falling in love at all costs.
The return of the honeymoon couple and the arrival of Robbie Bennett at the shop was to stir his sister into agreeing with Tilly’s plan for a library. It was Wendy who told him about it when he handed her some books that he and Eudora had read whilst on their honeymoon for anyone to read; they were almost brand new and best sellers. He thought it a good idea and said so.
‘But I’d have to fork out for shelves and other paraphernalia,’ his sister protested.
‘Oh, come on, Rita. You’ll be doing your customers a service and once it takes off, you’ll make money,’ said Robbie. ‘Winter’s coming and you’re closer than the public library and people read more during the long dark evenings.’
‘He’s right, Mam,’ said Wendy, feeling a stir of excitement. She was convinced that Mr Simpson was likely to borrow books, which meant more opportunity to talk to him.
‘I tell you what,’ said Robbie. ‘Me and Mal will make the shelves for you and I’ll even pay for the wood.’
‘OK! If you’re willing to do that then I’ll give it a go but if it doesn’t work out, then Tilly will have to find a dealer to take them away,’ said Mrs Wright. ‘I should have had her do that in the first place instead of humming and hahing about this library idea.’
‘I think it’s a bit much expecting her to do something with the books in the first place,’ said Robbie. ‘She’s your lodger, not your lackey ’
‘Yes, but,’ Rita’s mouth tightened. ‘I’ll say no more. If it brings in some money I suppose she’ll have proved herself.’
‘I suggest a joining fee of sixpence,’ said Robbie, rubbing his hands together and smiling. ‘That will bring you in some money straight away.’
Rita was pleased with that idea and so, having been given the go ahead, Robbie measured the wall, where it was decided the shelves would go, and left to visit the wood yard.
Tilly was pleased when she arrived home from work on an unexpectedly warm and sunny October day to be told that her library idea was to take fruit.
Mr Simpson was to be Wendy’s first customer, paying over his sixpence without complaint, as well as a penny to take out a book. She was surprised to see that he chose A Princess of Mars by Edgar Rice Burroughs.
‘I didn’t know you liked that kind of book,’ she said.
‘There’s lots you don’t know about me,’ said Mr Simpson cheerfully. ‘I’m interested in what lies out there in space.’
Wendy wasn’t. Her feet were firmly fixed on Earth, although she found the thought of dancing beneath the stars with Mr Simpson infinitely romantic. Whether he could dance or not was one of those things that she did not know about him and did not like to ask.
‘I thought you’d have gone for one of our mystery stories,’ she said.
‘Once upon a time I would have but now I want to escape work.’ He grimaced. ‘I’d best be on my way.’
‘And how is the detecting business?’ she asked hastily, in order to keep him there a bit longer.
‘I’ve another private case but at the moment, I’m busy with an insurance investigation.’
‘What’s it about?’
‘Now, Wendy, you should know better than to ask that.’ He shook his head at her.
‘Sorry,’ she said. ‘But is it exciting?’
Mr Simpson shrugged. ‘No more so than my last case. A lot of hanging around and following certain gents, using up my shoe leather. With a bit of luck I should have the case sewn up after the weekend.’ He tucked his newspaper and book under his arm and added casually, ‘How is your lodger, by the way? I haven’t seen her for a while.’
‘That’s because Miss Moran works full time in an office and in her spare time she has lots to do.’
‘I suppose she writes then?’
‘Yeah. She’s working on a novel and I think she might have a detective in it.’ Wendy hesitated before adding, ‘She doesn’t write by hand but has her own typewriter and allows me to practise typing on it. I don’t always want to work behind the counter of this shop, you know. I could do office work if I got really good at typing. Do you have a secretary, Mr Simpson?’
‘No.’ He cleared his throat. ‘I could help her with her research if she wanted, not tell her any secrets, just how I go about things. Perhaps you could mention it to her?’
‘Mmm! I suppose I could do that,’ said Wendy, lowering her eyes and fiddling with a corner of a newspaper as she wondered whether he had heard a word she had said about her own ambition. She decided there was no way she was going to encourage him and Tilly to spend time together.
‘Thanks. I’ll see you then.’ He walked out of the shop with a jaunty air, passing another customer coming in on the way.
The woman stopped in her tracks and stared at the shelves of books.
‘That’s new,’ she said.
Wendy sighed and gave the customer her full attention, explaining about the library. Immediately the woman went and studied the shelves, joined and left with an Ethel M Dell. Wendy was convinced that Tilly’s idea was going to be a success and almost envied her when several more people joined the library and said what a good idea it was.
When Tilly arrived home, she was delighted to be told the news and scanned the names and addresses and titles of books in the register. ‘I’m really pleased. I’m glad your Mr Simpson has joined. It’s interesting that he’s an Edgar Rice Burroughs’ admirer.’
‘I found it strange but that’s men for you. I suppose if they can’t find adventure here, then they will look for it in outer space in
fiction,’ said Wendy.
Tilly nodded. ‘At least you get the thrills without the danger in books and films.’ She remembered the last time she had been the cinema and was reminded of her father. ‘I must go and see Dad soon but not tonight. I’m tired.’
‘You go and put your feet up,’ said Wendy, salving her conscience about keeping quiet about Mr Simpson’s suggestion that he help Tilly with her research. After all, hadn’t somebody said that all was fair in love and war?
Chapter Ten
The wind was whipping the branches of the trees in Newsham Park and along the drive. It was really menacing with the wide expanse of the darkened park on one side. Leaves swirled through the air and the pavement was slippy with their dampness. The damp was penetrating the hole in the sole of her shoe and, despite having her hat pulled down over her ears and her coat collar up, Tilly felt chilled to her backbone, having forgotten to pack her winter coat when she had left Chester. She wished that she had gone straight to her digs but had told herself when she had left work that the weather could be worse tomorrow.
She kept her head down against the wind and so did not see the man coming towards her until they collided. She was sent flying by the force of his shoulder catching the side of her head and landed on her bottom. ‘Damn!’ she groaned through gritted teeth.
‘Are you all right? I didn’t see you there.’ A hand reached down and gripped her upper arm and he dragged her to her feet.
‘I’ll live,’ she gasped, clutching the sleeve of his tweed overcoat with one hand and rubbing her bottom with the other. She felt slightly sick and could do no more than lean against him for the moment.
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