Also by Maureen Reynolds
Voices in the Street
The Sunday Girls
Towards a Dark Horizon
The Sun Will Shine Tomorrow
Teatime Tales from Dundee
For Molly:
a Mum who loved her mystery stories
CONTENTS
Title
By the Same Author
Dedication
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Copyright
PROLOGUE
The gunfire was getting closer. A few minutes earlier, Colin had awoken to the sharp sound of a shell exploding and could hear the sporadic chatter of machine guns. He had no idea of the time. His watch said ten o’clock but whether it was morning or night he didn’t know. The window was boarded up with planks of wood and the room was dim with just a single light bulb hanging from the high ceiling.
He thought the room had been a child’s bedroom in a previous life because of the crayon marks on the walls, but now it was a dingy square box with a few items of furniture and a single iron-framed bed with a grubby pink candlewick cover. Everything had a dusty and neglected look about it, as if the former occupant had moved out years before.
He moved over to the window and tried again to cut away at the wood with a small penknife but the wood was too thick and the knife barely scratched the surface. Another shell whizzed by and his heart suddenly filled with hope. He had no idea why he was being held prisoner but surely he would be released from this locked room soon.
He moved over to the tiny bathroom with its rust-stained toilet and small washbasin and splashed water on his face. He hadn’t shaved in days.
Still, he had one secret his captors knew nothing about and he smiled to himself at the thought of it. Something he had found.
He lay down on the bed and wondered if it was time for a meal. His stomach certainly thought so. He was thankful that his captors hadn’t starved him and although the food was stodgy and the bread dry it was filling and the enamel mug of tea was hot and sugary, just the way he liked it.
Another shell exploded and the walls shook with the blast, Colin reckoned they must be within a mile of the house. Maybe the next shell would blow the window in and he could escape.
He heard the step on the stairs and the old door creaked open. He was going to ask about the gunfire but his captor didn’t carry a tray. Instead the figure was holding a pistol.
The dim light shone on the cold grey steel and Colin, taken aback, gazed open mouthed before realising his fate.
1
The entire city was in a festive mood. Banners and flags flew from every building and there was an air of joyful anticipation.
Molly McQueen was no exception. It was June 1953, and the coronation of the young Queen Elizabeth was tomorrow.
It was a new start for the country; a time of renewed hope after the restrictions of war and Molly was experiencing her own new beginnings. She gazed at the shop with pride. It wasn’t the largest business in the busy Wellgate … but it was hers.
The small shop was situated on the corner of the Wellgate and Baltic Street, smartened up with a coat of glossy brown paint, the sign painted in gold lettering. McQueens Agency.
The sign was the reason she was standing impatiently on the pavement. She was scanning the busy street for the young sign writer who had promised to call back first thing this morning.
Although the war had been over for eight years there were still signs of wartime ration restrictions in the clothes of people who hurried past in their thick serviceable woollen coats although a few young girls sauntered past in summer dresses that were unsuitable for the cool unseasonable weather with its threat of rain.
Molly sighed and wished the young painter would hurry up. She had two women to interview this morning and she was keen to have her agency up and running.
She gazed at the sign, still uncertain about the name. She had toyed with dozens of names, spending hours trying to compose a catchy name, until she realised her own surname was ideal. After all the new monarch was a queen and Molly was a McQueen.
Suddenly she spotted Ronnie making his way through the crowds of pedestrians, weaving his way towards her in his paint-streaked overalls that hung from his thin body like discarded skin. A victim of severe acne, his face was a mass of red spots but he was a cheerful lad with a lovely smile.
‘Morning, Miss McQueen,’ he said. ‘The boss said you wanted to see me.’
‘Yes I did, Ronnie.’ Molly gazed up at the sign. ‘You left out the apostrophe in McQueen’s.’
Ronnie also gazed at his handiwork. ‘An apostrophe?’
‘Yes,’ Molly was trying hard to be patient and polite. ‘It should read McQueen’s with an apostrophe between the n and the s. It’s only a small matter, but it is a secretarial agency and it wouldn’t look good if I couldn’t spell my shop title correctly, would it?’
Ronnie shook his head. ‘Right then, Miss McQueen. I’ll just go and get my ladder and paint pot and be back in a jiffy.’
Molly sighed. Why hadn’t he brought his paint pot and ladder with him?
However, this small nuisance disappeared when she saw the woman and girl approach the shop. This must be Mary Watt, and the older woman was obviously her mother. She had answered the advert in the Courier for an office receptionist.
Molly ushered them into the shop, which still had the smell of fresh paint. The reception area, painted in a pale blue was furnished with a desk with a black Imperial typewriter, a telephone, a large diary and three comfortable chairs for the clients. A small table held a collection of magazines.
Molly still got a small thrill of pride at her new venture. She hoped it wasn’t too noticeable as she sat behind the desk while the woman and girl sat on the chairs.
She glanced keenly at Mary Watt. The girl was fifteen years old and soon to leave school. Dressed in a navy gabardine coat, white ankle socks and black sensible school shoes, with her fair hair in two plaits tied with white ribbons, she didn’t look any older than twelve.
‘You know I’m looking for a young receptionist, Miss Watt. Someone to be behind this desk and deal with the telephone and take bookings. I need someone who can take messages correctly and has a pleasant manner, both here in the shop and on the telephone.’
Mary Watt nodded eagerly. ‘I’ve done a commercial course at Rockwell School and my marks were very good in shorthand, typing and bookkeeping.’
Mrs Watt leaned forward and said. ‘Mary will get her School Leaving Certificate in three weeks’ time and she’s also got the prize for commercial subjects.’
Molly smiled at the girl but addressed Mrs Watt. ‘At the moment the job will be in the office, but when Miss Watt is a bit older she can
join the agency staff if she wants to. The wage is twenty-five shillings a week but if the agency becomes successful then there will be a wage increase.’ Molly turned to Mary. ‘Can you sit here and pick up the telephone?’
Molly handed her a business card. ‘When you answer the telephone this is what you say. “McQueen’s Agency, 3435.” If the caller wants to make a booking you must write all the details in the diary and make sure the name, telephone number and address are written clearly, plus the dates the agent is required to work.’
Mary sat at the desk. Molly was surprised at her manner. She may have looked like a twelve-year-old child but her voice was strong and clear.
There was just one final thing. ‘Should you have two bookings for the same date and time, you must consult the diary and see if we have any spare agents. If in doubt just ask me. Now that is all I think except to say that the job is yours if you want it, but maybe you want to talk it over with your parents and let me know soon.’
Mary and her mother exchanged a look then Mary nodded. ‘I’d love to work here but I can’t start till the end of the month.’
‘Yes, I know and that will be fine. I can stay in the office myself or get a friend to stand in till then.’
What Molly didn’t say was that the diary was as pristine as the day she had bought it and no bookings had come in yet. It was early days.
Half an hour later the second applicant arrived.
She was tiny. Molly guessed she was an inch less than five feet but her height was raised by her high-heeled shoes. Edna McGill was dressed smartly in a navy blue suit and her dark hair was neatly cut. She wore little make-up apart from pale pink lipstick. So far so good.
The woman introduced herself. ‘I have a ten thirty appointment.’
Molly shook hands with the woman.
‘Mrs McGill, what I’m looking for is someone in the office to supplement a small list of names I already have. I’m hoping to supply secretarial staff to businesses that find themselves short of staff. This means you would have to go anywhere when needed and there may be times when I won’t have any work for you.’ She hurried on when she saw a flicker of worry cross the woman’s face. ‘Still, I have high hopes that when the agency gets off the ground that there will be loads of work.’
Edna McGill was candid and down to earth. ‘I do need the work. As I explained in my letter, I have a five-year-old son and agency work will suit me fine.’
Molly knew all this. ‘Who will look after your son if we have to call you out with short notice?’
‘I live with my mother and she will care for Billy when I’m working.’ She made no mention of a husband, but that didn’t bother Molly. People’s private lives were just that, private. As long as the work was done to a high standard that was all that mattered.
Edna handed over her references, which were excellent. ‘I worked in Smith & Horner’s office from leaving school in 1940 until Billy was born and although I was asked back, I can’t work full-time. That’s why I answered your advert. I thought agency work would maybe be a bit more flexible.’
Molly glanced at the references once more. She knew that Edna was twenty-seven years old, two years younger than herself. Her address was Paradise Road which was close to the Wellgate. Another plus in Edna’s favour.
‘The problem is this, Mrs McGill. If you are keen to start work right away then I can’t guarantee this as I have just opened for business. I’ve placed adverts in the Courier and Evening Telegraph, plus I’ve mailed out business cards to quite a few large companies, but until I hear from them, my diary is empty. I can employ you on a month’s trial with pay and see how it goes, but if you would rather look elsewhere for a job then I understand.’
Edna smiled and Molly suddenly realised she wanted this tiny woman to work in her agency. She held her breath.
‘You’ve been very honest with me, Miss McQueen and I would love to be on your books if you think I’m suitable.’
Molly nodded and stood up. ‘If you come in every morning at eight thirty I’ll let you know what work is available and, as I said, it will be full pay for a month. Now let me show you around.’
At the back of the reception office was a tiny back shop with a staircase leading up to a small apartment with two rooms, a tiny kitchen and toilet and washbasin. ‘I’m hoping to live here later but at the moment this will be a staff room,’ Molly explained.
Along with Mary and Edna, she had another six names on her register; six friends who were willing to do a few hours work when necessary.
Molly watched as Edna walked away towards Dudhope Street, marvelling how well she walked in her high heels.
Ronnie reappeared at twelve o’clock with his ladder and paint pot. It took a few minutes to paint in the apostrophe in gold paint.
Molly gazed with pride at the sign. McQueen’s Agency was ready for business but was business ready for McQueen’s Agency?
2
Molly walked through the streets bright with flags, bunting and banners, which made a bright splash of colour against the grey sky. Lots of activities were planned for the next day but Molly didn’t think she would see any of them. A fine drizzle soaked her hair and face and seeped through the fabric of her coat, making her blouse and skirt cold and damp. It was going to be an uncomfortable journey home.
Fortunately, when she reached Craig Pier, the ferry was just docking and she ran to catch it. The ‘Fifie’, as it was better known, was quiet at this time of the evening, with only three cars and one lorry making their way slowly up the ramp.
She lived with her parents in Newport and the ferry journey each day was a bit of a bind, but there was nothing she could do until she saved enough money to renovate the rooms above the shop. As she huddled on a seat on the lower deck, she thought of the Coronation the following day. According to the newspapers, London was full to bursting with people pouring in to witness the occasion, from foreign royalty and dignitaries to journalists and cameramen from the television; the new invention that had captured the interest of the nation. People were camping out overnight on the streets and, judging by the weather, they were in for a cold, wet night.
She was glad when the ferry docked and she hurried up the road to the warmth of the house. In spite of it being June, her mother had put the lights on.
The agency was worrying her. It had been open for a week but so far no work had materialised. Then there was her parents’ ‘holiday’. This was to be Archie and Nancy McQueen’s last night at home for the next six months.
Her mother’s voice called out from the kitchen as she hung her wet coat up on the back door hook. ‘The tea is almost ready. It’s macaroni cheese.’
Her father rose from his chair by the fire, putting his paper down and taking his off his glasses. ‘Well, how did your day go, Molly?’ he asked.
Molly didn’t answer right away. She didn’t want to worry her parents on the eve of their longed for holiday. ‘I’m putting another advert in the papers and I’ve got another list of businesses. I’m planning to post off my cards tomorrow.’
‘I wish you were coming with us to Australia to see your sister,’ said her mother, spooning large portions of hot food onto plates. ‘After all, this is her first baby and surely you want to be there when it’s born.’
‘I’m not long come back from Australia, Mum. I’ve only been back nine months and I was at Nell’s wedding. Nell has a new husband and will be a new mother in a couple of months so she has her own life now, which doesn’t include me.’
This seemed to satisfy them both because the conversation turned to the imminent Coronation.
‘Isn’t it lovely to have a young queen on the throne? Queen Elizabeth the second.’
‘Actually she’s Queen Elizabeth the first in Scotland,’ said Archie.
Nancy gave him an exasperated look. ‘Oh stop being political, Archie. You sound like some of those Republicans who are going on and on about her title. She’s a brand new Queen and hopefully the country will forget all
about the war and the rationing and let us all have a good life again.’
Molly smiled. Her mother had a good life. Archie had been a clerk in the offices at Craig Pier, from which passengers and motor vehicles bought their tickets for the paddle steamers that crossed the River Tay every day. His retirement two months ago had been a bittersweet moment for him. He loved his job and after they moved house a year ago, from Strathmartine Road to Newport, he missed the daily crossing of the river.
This long trip to the other side of the world was to celebrate his retirement. They would have a long cruise out, arrive in time for the birth of their grandchild, and spend time with Nell and Terry in sunny Queensland before sailing back again to a Scottish winter.
Later, in her bedroom, Molly took out the photographs from an old handbag and spread them on the bedcover. It was as if the hot sunshine shone out from them and Molly recalled the two years she had spent with Nell in Australia.
How exciting it had been in the beginning, going out as emigrants on the Government’s £10 scheme, the luxury of the outward boat journey with food that they hadn’t seen since childhood and all the fun on board ship.
In Sydney they had both worked as secretaries and shared a flat together. They had made loads of new friends, spent long hours on the beach and generally revelled in the warmth of this new country.
She had met Tom on the boat. He was another emigrant leaving Dundee, hoping for a new and better life. He was a bit older than Molly and Nell and his parents had died.
They had spent lots of time together on the journey. Then in Sydney, where he quickly found a job as an electrician with a large company, their friendship had blossomed into something more serious.
Then it had all gone wrong.
Nell had answered an advert for an office worker on a remote sheep farm in Queensland, met Terry and got married.
Molly had travelled up to the farm for the wedding. She smiled when she recalled the wedding clothes. Nell was dressed in faded jeans and a white halter-neck top, while she had worn a thin seersucker dress with pastel-coloured stripes, both of them wearing flat strappy sandals. She remembered how hot the sun had been and how vast the fields were. Under the wide, blue sky they seemed to stretch to the very ends of the earth.
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