“You be careful, then,” said Bridget.
“I will.”
As Alice turned to leave, Ursula stopped her with a hand on her arm. “Remember, you need to look him in the eye and make sure your body language isn’t defensive.”
“How do I do that?”
“Accept your fear, don’t fight it. Don’t forget that anxiety is there for a reason, so let it work for you, protect you.” Her lips quirked. “I should know. I’m good at pretending.”
The band had come back on, and Bridget stood watching them, her body moving gently to the music. Ursula glanced over at her and smiled, radiant and happy in a way she could only be in private or here at the Gates.
“Are you as good an actor as Katharine Hepburn?” Alice asked.
Ursula kissed her on both cheeks and whispered, “Nearly.”
Thirty-six
London, May 7, 1943
“Thank you,” Alice said, forcing a smile as Joe opened the car door for her to slip into the passenger seat.
When she’d arrived ten minutes early for their midday rendezvous, he’d already been waiting in the green Austin 8 two-seat tourer, yet he seemed preoccupied. Was he was having second thoughts?
“It looks like it might rain,” she said, looking up at the leaden sky as her fingers toyed with the buckle on her bag—then she realized her fidgeting made her look agitated.
“Don’t worry, the roof can go up if it does,” he said, glancing at her clothes.
They headed west, picking up the A4 as they wound through Hammersmith and out toward Chiswick in a tense silence. The denser housing soon gave way to tree-lined streets and larger detached homes, and he stole another glance.
“What is it?” she asked.
“Well . . . I think you might have overdone it with the outfit,” he said, eyes roaming over her navy polka-dot dress.
“What do you mean?”
It had taken her ages to get ready as she’d barely been able to close the zipper, her hands had been shaking so hard.
“You’re just a bit . . . overdressed, that’s all.”
Alice turned away and caught her reflection in the window, her red lips gleaming. In her mind the image was replaced by Ursula’s face, before it morphed into her mother’s, and she abruptly looked away. “What shall I do?” She had taken a handkerchief from her bag, ready to wipe her lipstick off, when Joe’s words made her freeze.
“I don’t know, Alice Cotton. Why don’t you tell me?”
She looked sideways and caught his eye. “How do you know my name?”
“Elizabeth called me . . . she mentioned you might come looking for some help.”
He turned his attention back to the road, and she carried on watching his profile.
“Does Olive know?”
“Not yet.”
The traffic was dwindling, the pavements becoming less populated as they headed into the suburbs. She had no idea where they were going, and Ursula was the only person she’d confided in this time and who knew what Alice was doing.
“What else did she say?”
“She told me that you’re a good ’un.”
Alice wondered if there might be something between Joe and Elizabeth, or even between him and Olive, or if there was another reason for the apparent bond between the three of them.
“What’s he like, your boss?” she asked, her voice apprehensive as she considered the man she was about to meet.
“He’s as slippery as they come,” Joe replied, unsmiling. “But he’ll be charming. Just tell him what you told me about your friends. Don’t think about it too much or it won’t come out as natural. And the less you say the better; then there’s not so much to remember that might trip you up. He’ll ask lots of questions.”
“Will there be any children there?”
“No, of course not,” he said, looking at her as they pulled up at a traffic light. “I wouldn’t take you there.”
She thought of the newspaper descriptions of the homes with dirt and maggots, and of Eadie lying in a similarly infested crib, and her skin prickled and grew cold.
“But you know where they are . . . the houses where they keep the children before the handovers?” she said, swallowing away her emotion.
“Yes.”
The lights changed, and Joe crunched the gears before the Austin accelerated away in a cloud of exhaust, a horn blaring behind them.
“So,” Alice said, “what do you know?”
“Not much. She told me about your cousin’s baby, and that you might try to contact me.”
“You could have said so to begin with.”
“It was after we first met; besides, I’m just getting my own back,” he said and smiled.
She relaxed into the leather seat, relieved to have one less pretense. “I appreciate your help.”
“I figure if you’re prepared to show up like this, well . . . then you must be desperate.”
“If you’ve spoken to Elizabeth, then you’d know that I am. But not as much as my cousin.” Olive still didn’t know that it was her baby they were searching for, and there wasn’t any reason to change that now.
Joe’s thumbs drummed on the steering wheel as he drove, and she wondered if he too felt nervous. “I told her I don’t know where your cousin’s baby is. That’s got nothing to do with my line of work.”
They drove for another few minutes in a thoughtful silence, and Alice considered why Joe was prepared to take the risk to help.
“What exactly do you do for them?” she asked, noticing how tight his grip was on the steering wheel.
“I’m a driver, but never for the kids.”
“Why haven’t you gone to the police yet, with everything you know?”
“I have. But when you’ve done time, they’re not inclined to believe you. And I figured I’m more useful to Olive this way. I’ve been giving her enough information to help, but not enough to make her an accessory,” he said solemnly. “Besides, these people are cleverer than that—it will take more than me and a journalist to shut them down.”
“But you’ve given her enough to get the law changed . . .”
“Yes, enough to do that,” he said and sighed heavily.
She was still staring, thinking about her own experiences with the police, when he turned and caught her eye. A look passed between them, and she questioned again who Joe Stevenson really was: hero or villain, or something in between?
He slowed down and turned into a road where tall fences and overgrown hedges shielded the buildings behind, and only a few cars were parked in driveways. He pulled to a stop halfway down and turned the engine off, then leaned over the dashboard to survey the street.
Alice asked, “What now?”
“We go in, and I introduce you as Sarah Jones. Just stick to what we discussed.”
“Do you think they’ll believe me?”
“Let’s hope so. For both our sakes.”
“And you can’t just find out where she is?”
“No, I can’t. I’ve never asked about anyone before, and it will seem strange if I do it now. At least you have a reason for asking. I’ll vouch for you, but that’s all I can do.”
“And what will happen if they find out that it was you who helped me?”
His hands traced around the edge of the steering wheel, fingers running back and forth along the leather seams. “They won’t.”
“But if they do . . .”
He held her gaze. “Then it could be time to move on.” His expression didn’t give anything away, and he made to get out of the car.
“Why are you helping me?”
“You need to ask Olive that.”
“And what would she say?”
“She’d say that most children belong with their mother.”
“I agree, but what do you
mean?”
“I mean that Olive has more reason than most for wanting these baby farmers behind bars.” His expression darkened. “She was a victim too as a child.”
* * *
The housing block was set among overgrown gardens, and it seemed as if the building was deserted, the majority of its windows and doors boarded up—until they drew closer. A group of women were hanging washing as children played in the dirt, but they barely took any notice as Alice and Joe wandered past. Washing lines stretched across corridors on the upper floors of the tenements, like bunting from a forgotten party, and Alice’s stomach twisted at the squalor she saw through the open doorways.
She glanced ahead at Joe as they climbed, relieved that he was now an ally and not another enemy who needed to be fooled. This was her last chance to run through her story, although she’d rehearsed until she was confident it was believable and not a work of fiction woven from truth and all her research. She paused on the landing to even out her ragged breath, realizing too late that there were blocked drains as her lungs filled with the overpowering stench.
Joe was ahead of her on the open corridor. A gust of wind drove leaves and litter swirling along the concrete floor, and he turned and motioned for her to follow. There were cracked windows and peeling doorways along one side, and with no walls the building was wide open to the elements on the other. Halfway along, a group of men in little more than trousers and undershirts stood smoking rolled-up cigarettes and fell silent as she approached. They continued watching until she and Joe reached a door that was in good condition except its wooden frame was scored with dozens of marks, as if someone had tried to hammer it down.
Joe locked eyes with her, and she couldn’t see any of her own fear mirrored back.
“Ready?” he asked.
She was torn between bursting with expectation and bolting like a frightened horse, but she took a deep breath and nodded.
“Remember, just stick to what we discussed. You don’t want to find out how unscrupulous they are.”
Alice already knew exactly how unscrupulous they were, and what value they placed on human life.
Then he whispered, “And they can smell fear.” His lips tightened, then he raised a hand and knocked.
It was opened quickly, and the man’s stern expression broke into a smile. “Joe, what a surprise. I didn’t know we had a meeting.”
Alice tried to move her mouth into a placid smile, but her facial muscles wouldn’t respond. It was only Joe’s arm ushering her through the doorway that helped her move at all.
“I’m sorry to drop by unannounced, Sidney. I should have called first, but Miss Jones is only here for the day and, well, I didn’t want either of you to miss the opportunity to meet.”
Sidney’s eyes flicked over to her, and she fought hard not to look away. She could hear Ursula’s voice reminding her to maintain eye contact, that it would gain his trust, but looking this man in the eye took all her nerve. He was Sidney Jardine, the man Rex had identified and whom they’d tried to find.
Joe introduced her, and as they followed him along a hallway lined with oil paintings and shopping bags, she listened as Joe did all the talking. Where she’d expected a filthy sitting room, there were clean floors and a tidy array of furniture and ornaments. Striped walls were hung with landscapes: snowy mountain peaks, tropical paradises and seaside rivieras, all places she imagined Sidney pretended that he’d been. He wore his dark hair long and slicked behind his ears, and dressed like someone who imagined a different life for himself, clothes worn like a costume rather than for function or practicality. Sidney Jardine was a wolf in suburban clothing, white eyes glaring from a weatherworn face.
“Please have a seat,” he told them.
She sat next to Joe on the sofa, gas mask case on her lap, trying to remember not to hold on to the straps too tightly or look at the floor. She was Sarah Jones, a secretary from Ilford who had friends that needed help.
“Yes, I’m sorry to just turn up like this,” she said, “but Mr. Stevenson knows there might be a business opportunity, one that’s mutually beneficial, and he was kind enough to recommend you.”
Sidney’s eyes slid between them. “What sort of business?”
“It’s all rather unfortunate, really—young women in my neighborhood who have become victims of this war,” she said. “Under normal circumstances their babies would probably be looked after by the family or one of the adoption agencies, but everything’s different now, with so many war orphans.”
“And how do you think I can help?” he asked, narrowing his eyes.
“These women would happily present the gift of motherhood to someone else, if there was a reward for their sacrifice,” she said, holding Sidney’s gaze.
Here she was, a mother now, her life so immeasurably altered from a year ago, most likely face-to-face with one of the engineers of her suffering. Her throat tightened as she thought about where Eadie might be, and her fingers closed around the case that no longer contained her gas mask but her father’s gun.
“Well, aren’t you a one?” Sidney said, and burst out laughing.
Joe laughed too, and Alice shifted uncomfortably in her seat. A fear of failure, not of harm, suddenly overwhelmed her, but Sidney just offered them a drink and invited her to go into more detail. She told him how many girls she knew as well as when the babies were due, all the while trying to banish thoughts of maggot-infested houses. When she thought she’d shared enough, she picked up her teacup and took a sip.
“And they’re all from decent families? I don’t want any dummies or cripples—my customers wouldn’t be happy about that.”
It was all Alice could do to keep the tea in her mouth. “No, Mr. Jardine. They are strong healthy women.” She forced a smile. “From what age do you take the children?”
“Any age—babies, toddlers, even newborns. Mothers who lose a baby are grateful for one they can have straightaway, takes away the pain . . . although it’s not always a good idea.”
She looked at him with a placid expression, hoping her contempt didn’t show. “Why?”
“Some of them can be poorly.”
“And what happens to them?”
“We had one on the south coast recently, only a few days old, and she got quick sick,” he said offhandedly.
Alice grew cold as his words registered, and she had to stop herself from flying across the room at him.
“We’ve only ever had a couple that haven’t made it, though.” He frowned. “Here, you’ve gone quite pale, Miss Jones. Are you all right?”
“I’m fine. It’s just . . . one of the babies,” she said, swallowing a mouthful of bile, “the mother is family. My cousin, actually—it just brings it home, that’s all,” and she looked beseechingly at Joe.
“I’m sure that little blighter pulled through, Sarah,” he said, focusing his attention on Sidney. “Mr. Jardine knows how to look after them.”
“Not me, the carers. They’re as good as gold. And yes, that little blighter pulled through. Don’t you worry, we sent her to a safe place in north London. She’s almost well enough to leave. Almost.” He smiled.
It took all Alice’s will not to swallow again or look away; instead, she forced herself to congratulate him on his good work, since flattery seemed to help loosen his tongue.
“That’s marvelous, Mr. Jardine. You’re doing a stellar wartime service, if you don’t mind me saying,” she said, smiling at him and then across at Joe.
“See, I told you,” Joe said, his eyes crinkling as he smiled back, and she knew why he’d managed to be so successful at playing his role.
“Well,” Sidney said as he glanced at his watch, “it was a pleasure to meet you, Miss Jones, and please give Joe your number. I’ll be in touch—I think we can help that cousin of yours, for starters. Then let’s see how we go.”
Visualizing Ursula stand
ing next to her was the only thing that stopped her legs from buckling as she shook Sidney’s hand and said good-bye.
Neither she nor Joe spoke as they descended the stairs, and she floated like a phantom across the gardens to the car. It was only once the car door was shut that she finally broke down, sobbing uncontrollably as fear and disgust collided, and the stress and hopelessness of the past few months were finally released.
Joe slid his arms around her, pulling her closer in a comforting embrace. Her first reaction was that she wished he was Theo, and she felt ashamed of herself.
“It’s all right. I think I know where she might be. Did you hear me, Alice?”
She opened her eyes. “Where?”
“There’s only one handling house in north London, the rest are south or in the counties.”
“What sort of godforsaken place is it?” she asked, wiping her face with the back of her hand.
“I don’t know that, but at least I know where it is.”
Thirty-seven
“The bloody printers burned down,” George said grimly, after he welcomed Theo into his office.
It wasn’t the reception that Theo had expected. Rupert had been killed in action, and Theo had thought George would raise that straightaway, but he hadn’t mentioned the tragic news yet. Instead, he ranted on about the fire as he explained how one of their publications had been there for typesetting—on hot metal, as was the usual method—and the press had caught on fire; it had nothing to do with the Luftwaffe.
“At least it wasn’t Alice’s book,” Theo replied, imagining how distraught she would have been, and how much he would have wanted to be there to comfort her.
“It’s still a big setback, Theo. One we can’t afford. At least no one was injured.”
From his visit with Alice, Theo knew the printers hadn’t been able to maintain the equipment properly, but it was a blow to lose another printing facility.
George sank down heavily onto a sofa and looked at Theo wearily. “You don’t need to tell Walter about this, though, not just yet.”
When We Meet Again Page 25
