by Anna Jacobs
‘Well now, if that isn’t a strange coincidence. My father lives with us and he used to mend the family’s shoes. He ent a cobbler, but he’s clever with his hands. We’ll ask him if he can help, but he won’t be able to do anything till the morning. He’s eighty now and he gets terrible tired by this time of day, because he insists on helping out here and there.’
‘You’re being very kind to two strangers.’
‘We should all help those who’ve been hurt fighting for our country like your husband has. My brother’s son was killed at Ypres, poor lad. Never mind that old limp; you’ve got your husband back an’ that’s what counts.’
She patted Georgie’s shoulder, dabbed at her own eyes, then became brisk again. ‘I’ll get us all something to eat and you go out to the barn and help Minnie to make up the beds.’
It was a big barn with three horses housed to one side, partitioned off from the rest, which was partly filled with hay and a jumble of farm implements. The two men were there and Mr Needham was just finishing putting a harness on the largest animal, a Shire horse. Patrick was standing to one side looking helpless.
Instinctively, Georgie went across to join them and make the acquaintance of the mare. ‘She’s a fine lady, isn’t she? What’s her name, Mr Needham?’
‘Queenie. I can see you’ve been around horses, Mrs Farrell,’ the farmer said. ‘Might be better if you come with me to get the car. Your husband is no doubt better than me at looking after motor cars, but he don’t know much about horses, do he? You’ll know what I’m talking about if I need help with her.’
Patrick opened his mouth to protest and Minnie Needham said quickly, ‘I need to move some bales of hay, so you can help me with them, if you don’t mind, Mr Farrell. It’s not as if anyone needs you to drive your car, if it’s broken.’
Georgie could see the moment when Patrick accepted the arrangements, because his shoulders sagged for a moment, then straightened again.
‘My wife could drive the car, if she had to. That’s what she’s been doing during the war while I was over in France, driving injured soldiers round London.’ He smiled ruefully at her.
‘Just think of that, then,’ Minnie said. ‘Is it hard to drive a car, Mrs Farrell?’
‘No. Well, I didn’t find it hard. It just needs a bit of common sense and not to rush at things till you’re used to handling the car on the road. I love driving.’
‘There. I’m going to have a try one day, whatever anyone says.’ She said this with a pointed look at her father-in-law, then turned back to Patrick. ‘You get on your way, Pa. Me and Mr Farrell can rearrange the hay bales.’
Georgie walked back along the lane beside the farmer and the big, gentle mare ambled calmly along behind them. There was enough moonlight to see their way, though her companion was carrying a lantern. Mr Needham had tied a canvas bag to the mare’s back, with what he called ‘this ’n’ that’ in it.
When they came to the car, she thought the poor thing looked forlorn, standing on its own.
He studied it, head on one side. ‘Small one, ent it? Shouldn’t be much trouble for my Queenie to pull it, as long as we can attach ropes to it. Does it have a name?’
‘It’s called a Swift light car. And you can attach the ropes to the chassis underneath at the front. I’ll show you.’
They crouched to look under the car and he nodded as she pointed out where she thought the ropes might go. ‘Hmm. That should do it. I’ll tell you what, though: your car might move more swiftly, but give me a horse any day. They can get back home under their own steam, horses can. Nor they don’t go rusty on you or need filling up with that nasty smelly stuff!’
She didn’t contradict him, watching as he pulled ropes and straps out of his bag and set about finding a way to fix them to the car’s chassis, so that the vehicle could be pulled along the road.
‘We’ll go slowly, but I think this’ll hold,’ he said when he stepped back.
‘I need to take the brake off the car first,’ she said.
‘You do that, Mrs Farrell, and then you get in and steer her, so we can head back without running into the ditch. I’m ready for my tea now, by heck I am. My wife’s been to the monthly meeting of the church ladies’ committee and tea’s always late when them women get nattering.’
He fell silent till the horse had got the car moving, then carried on talking more loudly as they went back along the lane. ‘It’s good that the war is over, ent it? They’re talking of setting up a war memorial for our three villages now, because we’ve lost a few lads from round here. It’d be nice to have something to remember them by. We didn’t even get the bodies back for most of them, so there are no graves to put flowers on. There were too many being killed, I suppose.’
‘My brother was killed in France.’
‘Ah. I’m sorry about that. But at least we beat them rascals, didn’t we, so it wasn’t all in vain?’
‘We did indeed.’ People said that sort of thing, trying to comfort you, but it still hurt every time she thought of her twin. Always would, she supposed.
The car bumped along slowly. Mr Needham stopped the mare once to adjust her makeshift harness, then set her off again. It seemed to take a long time to get back to the farm and Georgie was feeling exhausted and chilled through by then.
Patrick came out to help push the car under a lean-to, then the farmer patted it as if it was one of his animals. ‘There you are, little Swift. It’s going to rain before morning, but you’re out of the weather now, so don’t try to go rusty on us.’
When Patrick thanked him, he clapped the younger man on the shoulder in a fatherly gesture. ‘It’d be a poor lookout if we couldn’t help the stranger at the gate. We’ll fetch Eddie from down the road to look at your car tomorrow. He’s as near as we’ve got to a mechanic round here. He’d be no use to you tonight, I’m afraid. It’s his birthday and he allus has a drink or two extra when he can find something to celebrate, old Eddie does.’
Mrs Needham came to the door of the farm to shout across the yard, ‘Dinner in fifteen minutes. I left a bowl of water in the barn for you to wash your hands in, Mrs Farrell. Be careful with that oil lamp. We don’t want the place setting on fire.’
‘We’ll be very careful, Mrs Needham,’ Patrick called, then led the way back inside the barn. ‘No trouble with the horse pulling the car, Georgie?’
‘None at all. Aren’t they a nice family?’
‘Very nice.’
She stood for a moment in the doorway, looking round. The lamp was hanging on a hook near the door, making a circle of bright light, but the far corners of the barn were still in shadow. In the other half of the building, Mr Needham was rubbing Queenie’s muddy legs down and talking to the mare in a low, fond voice.
When Georgie turned back to Patrick, he was looking at her anxiously so she tried to keep her voice cheerful. ‘I think we’ll do fine here. I’m so tired I could sleep standing up.’
‘No need to do that, though I’ve dozed on my feet before now. You get your wash first, Georgie. There’s a privy through that side door. Take the lamp with you. I’ve already used it.’
She attended to her needs, then brought back the lamp and quickly washed her hands and face in the bowl of now tepid water.
Patrick used the bowl of water after her. ‘I think we’ll ask the Needhams and their neighbours not to mention that we’ve been here if anyone asks after us. I’m sure we can trust them. And actually, this incident might have a good side to it. No one will know where to find you, since you’ve no connection whatsoever with this farm. There isn’t a telephone anywhere nearby, so we couldn’t get in touch with anyone if we wanted to.’
‘Well, I shall regard it as a chance to get a good night’s sleep. And I bet your leg will be better for a rest, too. You’re favouring it more than you were before.’
‘It is hurting a bit. I’ve not walked that far for a while, though we didn’t get much choice about it today, did we? It turns out Mrs Needham’s father does
the family’s cobbling and he’s going to look at my shoe and perhaps make me a leather wedge to put inside it in the morning.’
‘There you are. It’s an ill wind, isn’t it?’
He hesitated, then asked, ‘You’re sure you’re not worried about spending the night here with me, are you, Georgie?’
‘Of course not. It’s you who’s doing all the worrying.’
‘You’re a wonderful woman to be in trouble with.’
She chuckled. ‘Thanks for the compliment. Well, I think it’s a compliment.’
‘It is. And a very sincere one, too. The only other woman I’ve met with your fortitude was my mother, who would have soldiered on today without complaining, just as you have.’
‘That really is a compliment, then. Your voice grows softer whenever you speak of her. You must have loved her very much.’
‘I did.’
‘But at least you have a brother still.’
‘Half-brother. And unfortunately, we don’t get on.’
‘That’s sad. My twin and I were the best of pals. Most of the time, anyway, and we never fell out for long.’
‘You’ll have some golden memories of him, then.’
‘Yes. Wonderful memories.’ Something in her eased just a little. Patrick seemed to have a knack of saying exactly the thing she needed to hear whenever she got upset.
He finished drying his hands on the rough piece of towel hanging on a hook, then gestured to the door. ‘Shall we join our kind hosts? Mrs Needham was saying how hungry her husband would be so we don’t want to keep the poor man waiting.’
After he’d turned the lamp down low, they walked together across the moonlit yard towards the welcoming display of lights in the farmhouse.
‘It’s like a small kingdom here,’ she said.
‘Yes. They’re lucky people. I don’t know where I’ll settle down now that Ma’s not there in Rochdale. And to tell you the truth, I don’t really consider anywhere home after so many years away. I was in the Army right from the start.’
‘You’ll find yourself a kingdom of your own one day, Patrick. You’re too intelligent not to make a go of your new life.’ She knocked on the kitchen door and followed the shouted instructions to ‘Come on in, do, an’ close that door quick’.
‘Ah, Mrs Needham. Something smells wonderful …’
That same night three men met in London, each making his way to the rendezvous on foot. They exchanged what information they had, sharing worries about a traitor at the bureau or one of its related centres of activity.
‘I can’t think how we missed it,’ Cotterell said.
‘Easy to miss small details when you’re working on major life-or-death projects. Anyway, I think the fellow was being held in reserve. But I think we’re on the right track about him now.’
‘Yes. But I’m afraid you’re going to have to assume that no news is good news where your daughter is concerned.’
‘We’ll see about that. I have a couple of ideas to pursue.’
‘Be very careful, Gerald. Our chappie isn’t a fool and he won’t hesitate to kill people to save his own skin.’
‘I’m not a fool either. And I hope I get a chance to kill him first. I shan’t hesitate. Hard times need hard measures.’
As he walked home through the darkness he thought grimly that if anyone hurt Georgie, he’d kill them if it was the last thing he did.
Chapter Eleven
Aaron Tesworth, better known to his friends as Tez, had business in London, so he drove from Honeyfield to Malmesbury and left his motor car there, taking an early train to the capital. He visited his lawyer, then took a taxi across town, expecting to have lunch with Mr Cotterell at his club.
He had a new photo of his adopted son to share with the man whose own son had been killed in the war. But Philip had fathered a son and Tez felt honoured to be bringing up his best friend’s child. He’d fallen in love with the boy’s mother almost on sight, but it was only after Philip’s death that she’d turned to him.
He walked into the club, nodding to the concierge at the door, whom he’d known for years. ‘Mr Cotterell in yet?’
‘No, sir. Haven’t seen him for a day or two.’
‘Oh? He invited me to have lunch with him today.’
‘If you’d like to sit and read the newspaper in the foyer, sir, I’m sure he’ll soon turn up.’
But half an hour passed and there was no sign of Mr Cotterell. This was so unlike his friend that Tez asked to see the head porter. If anyone would know what was going on, Jonnby would.
The dignified old man came out of his little office at the side of the foyer and beckoned to Tez. ‘I gather you’re looking for Mr Cotterell? Could we speak about it in private, sir?’
He took Tez into the office and explained that he’d had a phone call only an hour ago to say that Mr Cotterell had gone missing. ‘I’ve been asked to report to the military police if anyone comes here asking for him. I wonder if you’d mind speaking to the captain in charge now?’
‘Happy to. I hope Cotterell’s all right.’
‘I hope so too. I’ll telephone the number I was given.’
After a brief explanation, Jonnby handed the earpiece of the phone to Tez.
A man’s voice boomed out. ‘Tesworth? Ralph Jordan here. We’ve met a couple of times.’
Tez leant forward to speak into the mouthpiece. ‘Yes. I remember.’ He hadn’t taken to Jordan, who was rather given to barking orders at people, whether he had authority over them or not.
‘About Cotterell, I wonder if you’d mind coming to the bureau and speaking to me? I’m at a bit of a loss about where to look for him.’
‘Happy to help in any way I can, though I doubt I know anything pertinent.’
‘Nonetheless, one would be grateful for your help.’
It sounded more a command than a request, however politely phrased, so Tez took a taxi to the building that looked more like an elegant private residence than a government bureau. He gave his name to the man stationed just inside the entrance and was quickly escorted up to a comfortable office by a young lieutenant who didn’t attempt to make conversation.
A man rose to greet them. ‘Ah, Tesworth. Thank you for coming. Please sit down.’
Tez recognised Captain Jordan, took the chair indicated and waited.
‘Were you aware that Mr Cotterell was missing?’
‘No, of course not, or I’d not have come up to London. We had an appointment to have lunch together today, only he didn’t turn up at his club, which is unlike him.’
‘He’s been missing for a couple of days now and no one knows where he is.’
‘That’s strange.’
‘Yes, very much out of character.’ Jordan hesitated then added, ‘Are you sure you haven’t heard anything from or of him?’
Tez was dumbfounded at the persistence of the questioning. ‘I’m certain. I only wish I could help you.’
‘As Cotterell has been involved in some highly confidential matters, the bigwigs are rather concerned.’
‘Well, yes. One would be concerned. Did you speak to his daughter? What does Georgie think?’
‘I did speak to her. She said she knew nothing.’
‘You’d think he’d at least have told her that he was going to be away. Perhaps I could have a word with her?’
‘That’s not possible. The day after he disappeared someone tried to kidnap her. I’d hired some former soldiers to keep watch over her, but now they’ve vanished, and her with them, so we’re not sure where she is or whether she’s safe.’
Tez could only gape at him. It sounded like one of those moving pictures about gangsters and he almost expected to see captions appear in mid-air, as they did on the cinema screen. ‘Did you trust the men you hired?’
‘Of course I did. They had impeccable Army records and had been wounded in the service of their country.’
‘Then perhaps they took her into hiding.’
‘We hope so, but why didn�
��t she tell us she was going away? Are you sure you haven’t any idea where she might be? She hasn’t contacted your wife, for instance? We know the two of them are particularly good friends.’
‘No. Bella would have told me if Georgie had been in touch with her or was in trouble.’
‘Since we’re not sure whether Cotterell has been taken prisoner or not, what would your guess be about where either he or his daughter could have taken refuge?’
Tez frowned down at his hands, puzzled that the captain would ask him so many questions when he had nothing to do with Cotterell’s work. The more he considered it, the more it seemed strange that he was being grilled like this.
‘Well, Tesworth?’
He took a quick decision not to make any guesses. ‘Sorry. Haven’t the faintest idea where they might have gone, I’m afraid.’
‘What did you say your current connection with Cotterell was?’
‘It’s purely social. He’s the father of my best friend, who was killed in ’16. Mr Cotterell and I keep in touch and we have lunch together sometimes when I come up to town, that’s all.’
‘What does he talk to you about?’
Why the hell was Jordan questioning him like this? ‘Cotterell talks about the war in general, who’s been killed recently, that sort of thing. He never talks about his work, if that’s what you’re getting at.’
‘I see. Well, I won’t deny this is disappointing. I won’t take up any more of your time, but I must emphasise that if you hear anything or find out even the smallest piece of information, about either Cotterell or his daughter, you are to let me know, but no one else, for security reasons.’
‘Yes. Right.’
Tez left the building but to his surprise, quickly realised he was being followed. He strolled on towards his mother’s comfortable London home, giving no sign that he’d noticed. The man tailing him was good, with nothing about his appearance to draw attention, but Tez had learnt in France to notice every single detail of what was going on nearby. It had saved his life more than once.
