‘The front of the house has two floors and these large rooms,’ said Lena. ‘It’s only the back of the house that’s low.’ She marched over to the window and gazed out. ‘The view from here is superb on a good day, but not today.’
Molly agreed. The mist hadn’t risen and it was difficult to see more than a foot out of the window. The room, however, was warm and a large polished desk stood in front of the window. It was extremely tidy with only a telephone and tray of pencils on its surface and Molly thought of her own desk at home, the top cluttered with paperwork.
Molly held up her bag. ‘I’ve brought my portable typewriter.’
Lena smiled. ‘Oh, we’ve got our own typewriter here.’ She moved towards a small cupboard, took out a valuable looking typewriter and carried it over to the desk. ‘Now if you sit at the desk, I’ll curl up on this chair and dictate my letters.’
Molly was amused to see that the chair was a chaise longue and rather than curling up on it, Lena stretched out and gave a contented sigh.
The next couple of hours passed quite quickly and Lena then suggested a break for more coffee and biscuits.
When they reached the cosy kitchen, Molly was surprised to see a man sitting at the table.
Lena said, ‘This is my husband Joe. Joe this is Miss McQueen from the agency.’
Joe stood up and shook her hand. Molly winced slightly as her hand felt as if it was gripped in a vice.
Lena was about five foot eight inches but Joe was a good three inches shorter than his wife. What he lacked in height however he made up for in breadth. He had a muscular frame with a plump face which seemed to rise out of his shoulders.
‘What are you doing today, Joe?’ Lena asked her husband.
‘We’re out in the sheds, sorting the furniture and the china. We’ve got to get things packed this week for that large order in America.’
Lena turned to Molly. ‘We keep a lot of our stuff in sheds in the grounds here, but we also have warehouses in Holland. We buy from all over Europe and some of the large houses that had rich owners before the war now need to sell some of their treasures, which is a great shame but good business for us. I was wondering if you would like a look around our sheds. It will give you an idea of the business.’
Molly followed her out, pleased to see the mist was rising slowly. It looked like it was going to be a sunny day after all.
The sheds, which lay beyond the courtyard, were built in green corrugated iron with sturdy metal roofs and looked like they would withstand a hurricane or earthquake.
The first shed had a large door which rolled upwards and had boxes stacked on metal shelves; hundreds of them.
Molly hadn’t given much thought to the antique business before but she reckoned it must be a very lucrative way to earn a living.
Two men were working inside the dim interior and as Lena walked towards them, they stopped stacking boxes and gave Molly a quizzical look. The taller one looked about twenty-five and the other one was a bit older, perhaps in his early thirties.
‘This is Mike and Christie. Come and meet Miss McQueen.’ She turned to Molly. ‘Do you mind if we use first name terms as it seems such a mouthful saying Miss McQueen?’
Molly nodded.
The younger man, Mike, came out first and gave her a wary look. ‘Hullo,’ he said and stood beside the door, wiping his hands on his green apron. ‘I’m Mike.’
Judging from his accent, Molly thought he was English. He was thin to the point of emaciation and his shirt and trousers seemed to hang from his body. His hair, however, was black, thick and luxuriantly waved. Molly would have paid good money for waves like that. He was also very good looking and the large mole on the side of his cheek didn’t detract from his looks.
The second man came over and there was no doubt about his nationality. ‘Hi, I’m Christie. Welcome to Cliff Top House.’
Canadian, thought Molly.
‘Are you from Canada, Christie?’
He smiled. ‘Yes, I am. Originally from Toronto but I’m over here on a working holiday.’
Lena led the way back into the house. ‘Well you’ve met our little work gang, except my brother, but he’ll be back soon.’
The afternoon went in quickly and Molly was entranced by the view from the window. The mist had cleared completely and the view overlooked the river towards Broughty Ferry. The sun shimmered on the river and the grassy lawn seemed to sweep towards it before curving downwards into space. The house was truly on a clifftop.
At three o’clock, Molly was finishing her typing when Lena’s brother appeared. Molly was surprised when she saw it was the elegant man from the shop.
‘Ah, here is Kenneth now,’ said Lena
Kenneth shook her hand and his eyes were amused.
‘It’s the girl looking for ships.’
Lena gave him a confused look but Molly explained.
‘I was in your shop on Saturday, looking for either a picture or model of a ship. My father worked all his life on the Tay Ferries, and now that he’s retired I thought I would get him a present.’
Kenneth held her hand a fraction longer than was polite and for an absurd moment Molly thought he was going to kiss it.
‘Well, I must look out for something for your father,’ he said.
As Molly drove away, the track didn’t seem as sinister as it had done in the early morning but as she turned out of the courtyard she noticed Mike watching her. His unwavering stare made Molly shiver.
It had been a strange sort of a day and she wondered a bit about Kenneth, this elegant man dressed in his grey cashmere jumper and cream woollen suit. Everything about this place reeked of money and Molly wondered if she was in the wrong business with her agency.
Marigold was working in the garden, digging up some weeds with a hoe and Molly smiled, aware that the poor weeds didn’t stand a chance. Sabby was lying on a sun-warmed bench and, as usual, she ignored Molly. Marigold came over the as soon as the car was parked in the garage.
‘How did it go, Molly? Did you find the house?’
Molly said she had. ‘Everything looks so expensive in the house, Marigold. There seems to be loads of money.’
She began to describe Lena, Joe and Kenneth plus the two workers.
‘Joe, the husband looks so ugly compared to her but her brother Kenneth is lovely and friendly. One of the workers is Canadian and the other one sounds English.
The mail was lying behind the door but there was nothing of importance except for the postcard. Her dad had written it and obviously posted it in some port. It was difficult to make out the postmark and she didn’t recognize the stamp.
Having a great trip so far. The ship is so different from the Abercraig and the B.L. Nairn as it’s huge. Lots of things to do and the food is great. Mum was seasick as we went through the Bay of Biscay but she’s much better now. She sends her love.
Dad
She showed Marigold the postcard and they sat in the sunny window, discussing Nancy’s seasickness and hoping the rest of the voyage would be in calmer waters.
7
Edna was running late. Billy had been ill through the night and she hadn’t wanted him to go to school. Her Mum thought otherwise and the discussion had taken up precious minutes from her tight timetable.
She ran down the stair and into the street. The mist was thick and she felt the droplets of water on her face. She hurried up Paradise Road, thankful that she had tied her headscarf around her hair.
It had taken her three quarters of an hour last night to put pincurls in her hair with Bobby Pins. However, the result this morning was pleasing. Now, as she faced this murky damp morning, she just knew her hair would be limp and flat by the time she reached John Knox’s house.
Perhaps she should follow Mary’s example and get a home perm.
She made her way up the brae towards Garland Place. It was difficult to see more than a foot in front of her with the fog. She was wary of crossing the road because she could hear the muffled s
ound of cars and the number 4 bus as it wound its way up towards the Royal Infirmary.
She gave herself a mental shake. All this extra time spent on her appearance and hair was out of character for her and she acknowledged the true reason for it. John Knox. She was passing the entrance to Dudhope Park when a dark shadow sprang out. Edna screamed, but even that seemed muffled by the mist. She hit her side on the stone pillar that stood at the entrance to the park and because there was nowhere to go, caught the full force of the fist that struck her face.
She screamed again and a voice called out, ‘Are you all right?’
The shadow darted away into the park and Edna was left crying with the shock and the pain in her face.
A man appeared beside her. ‘I heard you scream,’ he said. ‘Are you hurt?’
Edna tried to pull herself together, smoothing her jacket and skirt.
‘I’m fine thank you. I walked into the wall and gave myself a fright.’
The man said, ‘Do you want any help to get home?’
By now, Edna was mortified at all the fuss. ‘No, you’ve been very kind. Thank you.’ She turned and walked quickly back to the house, half running and stumbling on the wet pavement, thinking that the dark shadow was following her. She hurried up the stairs and almost fell into the house.
Her mother was astonished. ‘What on earth has happened, Edna?’ She scrutinised her face and gave a sharp gasp. ‘You’ve got a huge bruise on your cheek and I wouldn’t be surprised if you end up with a black eye.’ She took hold of her elbow and ushered her gently into the warm kitchen.
Edna sank down on the chair and tears rolled down her face. She looked for Billy but he wasn’t there.
‘I took him to school because he said he felt a lot better,’ her mother explained.
Edna stood up and looked in the mirror above the sideboard. She did look a real mess but she didn’t want to worry her mother about the man. She was sure it was a man, although she hadn’t been able to make out any features. She thought he had had a dark scarf over his face, but with the mist being so thick, he was only an indistinct shape. But yes, she thought, it was definitely a man.
‘I walked into a lamp post, Mum.’
Irene looked dubious. ‘A lamp post?’
By now, Edna had fished out her small make-up bag from the drawer and was applying a thick smear of Max Factor Pancake Stick to her bruise. It helped a little bit but didn’t cover it entirely. She didn’t know what to do. Should she sign off work today or go in as usual?
Irene said, ‘You can’t go into work looking like that, Edna. Do you want me to go to the agency?’
‘No, Mum, I’ll be all right.’
She brushed her skirt and jacket, then almost cried when she saw the ladder in her nylon stockings.
‘Oh no, and this is my only pair,’ she said.
‘Wait a minute and I’ll sort that out,’ said Irene.
She took the small bottle of pale pink nail varnish out of the make-up bag and placed two dots, one at the top of the ladder and one at the foot. ‘That’ll stop it running up the entire stocking.’
Edna gave another glance in the mirror and noticed that her curls had indeed gone limp. Sighing, she wrapped the scarf around her head and went back out into the street.
‘Do you want me to come with you?’
Edna wanted to say yes; that she was scared to go out into the fog, but she didn’t want to give her mother any more trouble. She had enough on her plate looking after Billy.
‘No, Mum, I’ll be fine. I’ll watch where I’m walking.’
Edna was dismayed to see the mist was still as thick and, instead of going past the park she decided to go up Constitution Road and reach John Knox’s house from another direction.
She half expected her assailant to leap out again but she reached the safety of the house.
John was looking out of the window as she made her way through the garden and he had the door opened by the time she reached it.
‘I was worried about you. I …’ he stopped when he saw her face.
She tried to smile. ‘I walked into a lamp post. Would you believe it?’
He ushered her into the kitchen and made her sit down. As he made a pot of tea and toast, he kept gazing at her, a worried frown on his face.
‘Maybe you should see a doctor.’
Edna tried to be light-hearted about the whole episode. ‘No, I’ll be fine.’
They sat by the fire and she was glad of the hot tea. She felt a bit calmer now but she was sure if someone measured her heart rate it would go off the scale.
She gazed morosely at the ruined stocking. Perhaps she could pay a visit to the Sixty-Minute Cleaners in the High Street. They advertised ‘Invisible Mending’ for hosiery.
John was talking and she hadn’t a clue what he said, she had been so fixated about her nylons. He refilled her cup.
‘I was saying that I don’t think we should do any work today. I’m sure you are still in shock over your accident.’
Edna thought of Molly and how she would view the whole episode. It was hardly a professional thing to do, to miss an entire day at work.
‘Honestly, I’m fine.’
To emphasise this feeling of being fine, she took her shorthand pad and pencil out of her bag.
John gave her another worried look but got up and reached for his notes. He had noticed the small dots of nail varnish and he thought she must have hit the lamp post with her entire body in order to bruise her face and also damage her stocking. And she was going to gave a real humdinger of a black eye by tomorrow.
However, he said nothing and they worked away until dinnertime when they stopped for some hot soup and cheese sandwiches.
The hot meal revived Edna’s spirits and she was conscious of a feeling of well being in this cosy house. Not to mention the attractiveness of her client.
They then worked on his book until the early afternoon and by the time she was ready to leave, the sun had come out.
As she put her jacket on, John surprised her by saying, ‘I feel like a walk in the sunshine. Do you mind if I come a little bit of the way with you?
‘No, Mr Knox, I don’t mind.’
‘I keep telling you to call me John,’ he smiled as he locked the door.
With the sun shining and everything looking green and fresh, Edna reviewed her terror following the morning’s incident. Perhaps the man had been running to catch the bus and collided with her accidentally. That would explain the collision … but not the fist aimed at her face.
John was chatting as they walked and she tried to put it out of her mind. It was so pleasant being with him and she was sorry his wife had died so young.
They reached the top of Paradise Road before she realised he had walked her home.
‘I’ll see you tomorrow,’ he said. ‘Do you want me to come for you in the car? It’s no bother.’
She felt her face go red. ‘Oh no, John. I like the walk.’
She watched as he strode away and wished she had taken up his offer. What if there were other foggy days? Was the unknown man watching her and waiting for another chance to strike her?
She was glad when she reached her front door. Billy would be doing his homework and mum would be making the tea and all would be right with the world.
Wouldn’t it?
8
Tam put Rover’s lead on him and walked the few yards to the shop. He needed bread and milk but in the passing, he picked up a newspaper.
He always made porridge for himself every morning, saving a small amount for the dog who lapped up the warm milk and oats. With them both fed he settled back in his armchair with a cup of tea and the Courier. There was still a lot of news about the Coronation and Hillary’s victory at Everest but he skimmed over most of it.
He liked to read the intimations column to see if anyone he knew had died but there were no names that rang a bell today.
He was folding the paper to put it away when he noticed the small news item tuc
ked away in the corner of the page.
BODY FOUND
The body of a man was found in the vicinity of Broughty Ferry yesterday. The man who was approximately forty years old was wearing a navy duffle jacket, blue shirt and black trousers.
Tam read the item again. It sounded like Harry he thought.
Then he left the flat quickly with Rover trotting at his side and made his way to the Police Station in Bell Street.
The constable on the reception desk looked up as the elderly man walked in.
‘I’ve come about the man found on the beach at Broughty Ferry,’ said Tam.
‘Can I have your name and address, Sir?’ asked the constable, pulling over a large pad and pen.
‘Tam … I mean Thomas Burns, 23 Gellatly Street.’
The constable wrote this down and then looked at Tam. ‘You say you’ve got information about the victim.’
‘Yes. I think it’s a man called Harry Hawkins who was a seaman on the ship, The Mary Anne.’
The constable looked up from his pad. ‘Are you a relative Mr Burns?’
‘No, I only met him the once, in the City Centre Bar on the corner of Dock Street.’
‘So why do you think it’s the same person?’
‘The description in the newspaper matches, and I know he was reported missing. He was leaving Dundee the next day, but he was on his way to meet someone when he said goodbye to me.
‘Did he say who this person was?’
‘No, but I got the impression he was nervous about it. I went to the docks the next morning to have another chat with him but he never showed up and The Mary Anne sailed without him. I was worried at the time but didn’t know what to do.’
‘Were you drinking with him, Sir?’
‘Yes, we had a couple of rums together but he wasn’t drunk if that’s what you’re thinking. He was fine when we parted company and, as I’ve told you, I’ve been worried about him ever since.’
McQueen's Agency Page 4
