by Dawn Harris
Oh, this is ridiculous, I told myself, I should do what the Inspector said. But on the rare occasions I’d had such instincts before, I’d always been thankful I’d followed that inner urge. Like last year when I’d had this sudden desire to go down to Devon to see my seemingly fit father. A week later he’d died of a heart attack. I was so thankful I’d gone.
Surely, I thought, I’d be safe at the picture house. After all I’d never been attacked in a crowded place. I really didn’t want to miss the film and it was only a couple of miles to the cinema, easy to park nearby, and it would still just be light when I came out. Besides the Greenes couldn’t possibly watch me twenty-four hours a day – not when there only two of them. I scoured the street, looking for anyone hanging about, and there wasn’t a soul in sight.
Cook was always willing to babysit if Connie was out, and soon she was ensconced in the nursery, next to Tim’s bedroom. The nursery had a comfortable armchair, a wireless and was always warm. She adored Tim and I always paid her extra.
Ten minutes later I drove off in my little Austin, parked close to the picture house, and felt perfectly safe with so many people about. The film was exactly the tonic I needed, and I came out feeling on top of the world. I had been right to follow my instinct, I thought, utterly unaware that missing the film wasn’t the thing I would have regretted by staying at home. As I was about to discover.
The weather hadn’t improved, in fact the clouds were so low and threatening it was already dark. There were half a dozen shops between me and the car park, and as I began to walk past them I was astonished to see Johnny in the corner of a deep and rather gloomy doorway. The street lighting was rather poor at this point and I peered at him. ‘Johnny?’
‘Liddy? Good God, what are you doing here?’
‘I was about to ask you the same thing.’
He glanced across the street at a restaurant, and said in his gentle manner, 'Please go home, Liddy. I can’t talk now.’
‘Why on earth not?’ I was so pleased to see him, and no matter how he felt about Monica, surely he could spare me a few minutes.
The door of the restaurant opened and I said, 'Oh look, there’s Arthur.’ He came out with a man I didn’t know, then they shook hands and parted company. Arthur’s friend walked away from us, but Arthur headed straight across the road in our direction.
'Damn it,’ muttered Johnny. Arthur clearly hadn’t seen us yet, and I was about to call out to him when Johnny pulled me into the darkest corner of the doorway. ‘Sorry, but I can’t let him see me.’ And he took me in his arms and kissed me.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
I had never been kissed in a doorway before, and Johnny made it an experience to remember. When he finally let me go, he held me inches away from him for a moment, then with a little groan, pulled me back into his arms, crushing me so tightly I could hardly breathe. ‘Liddy. Oh, Liddy,’ he whispered, his voice hoarse with deep longing, and he kissed me again.
It was the intensity of his kisses that took my breath away, and what he couldn’t keep out of his voice. I looked up into his eyes and, despite the darkness, I was left in no doubt as to his feelings for me. He tried to make light of it by saying, 'Well, that’s blown it, all right. Don’t worry, I know it’s not the same for you.’ Then he brushed his lips over the top of my head and pushed me away with a mixture of gentleness and firm resolve.
I was so stunned, I couldn’t think straight. Was this really happening, or was I dreaming? At the fashion show, shaken by the revelation of what Johnny really meant to me, I’d thought it was too late; convinced he loved Monica. To find I was wrong and it was me he cared for, was so unbelievably wonderful I couldn’t speak. And, for the first time in my life, I felt a little shy with him. When I didn’t answer he blurted out, ‘For heaven’s sake, say something.’
It still took me a few seconds to force words out of my mouth. Eventually, I asked what I most wanted to know in that moment. 'H-how .....how ....long?’
'Oh ---- always, I think.’
'Before Archie?’
‘Long before.’
'But you never said.........’
‘There was no point. You only ever thought of me as a friend. When I went to America for a year, I hoped that might do the trick. I reasoned that if you didn’t see me for a while, you might look at me in a different light when I came back. Then you got married and.....’
‘You didn’t come back when I told you I was marrying Archie.’
‘I wasn’t in Washington when your letter arrived, and by the time I did get back, it was too late. So when I was asked to stay on another two years, I did. I couldn’t bear to be in London with you being married to someone else. And when Archie was killed I wasn’t in a position to return.’
Not knowing what to say I murmured, 'What do we do now?’
'Well, we could get married.’ I desperately wanted to say ‘Yes,’ but the memory of what had happened with Archie held me back, and when I didn’t answer he hurried on, 'If that thought is too awful, I hope we can still be friends.’
I should have told him then that I couldn’t imagine life without him. But I didn’t. I was still in shock, and having rushed into marriage with Archie, I’d sworn never to let that happen again. Archie had made me lose faith in my own judgement where men were concerned. With Johnny, I knew it would be different. He’d never behave like Archie. Johnny was loyal through and through. I knew him inside out, knew he’d be the perfect husband. Yet I had to think things through properly, for Johnny’s sake as well as mine. Johnny deserved a wife who loved him with all her heart, and I had to be absolutely certain I wasn’t just taking the safe option.
I said, ‘I thought you and Monica.........’
'Oh, that was her idea. She hoped it would make you jealous. Wish it had,’ he whispered huskily.
I wanted to tell him that it had, and how miserable I’d been when I believed he and Monica were falling in love. But everything was happening too fast, and I was scared stiff of making another mistake. After all, until the day of the fashion show, I had only thought of Johnny as my dearest friend. To find it was me he loved, and not Monica, made me eager to grab this chance of happiness here and now, but I had to get it right this time. And, at that moment, I was too stunned to make a sensible decision. What I needed was time.
Whereas he, having already waited years, wanted desperately to know where he stood. ‘Liddy, if there isn’t any chance at all, tell me now.’ He turned me to face him. ‘Are you saying that?’
I looked at his dear face and longed to throw my arms round him, but that wouldn’t be fair. Not until I was sure I would be marrying him for all the right reasons. With Archie I had been bowled over by the charm he turned on like a tap; and what I’d felt for him bore no resemblance to my feelings for Johnny. I longed to tell him that, to explain about Archie and the need to be sure, but a shop doorway, with people walking past the whole time, wasn’t the right place. In the end I whispered, 'Don't rush me, Johnny.’
I heard his sharp intake of breath and saw his eyes light up with hope. He took my hands in his and said, ‘I know I’m not handsome or dashing, but I love you, Liddy. And I always will. You’re all I’ve ever wanted. But I can wait. As long as you want. For years-----’
That made me laugh and I teased, ‘I don’t think you’d like that.’ Seeing the gleam in his eyes I hurried on, 'Now, escort me back to my car and tell me why you were spying on Arthur.’ Reluctantly he did as I asked, and as we set off I asked him why he’d been skulking in that doorway.
'I’m still looking for the traitor in the secret service.’
‘You can’t believe it’s Arthur, surely?’
‘No, but I can’t rule anyone out, and I wouldn’t be much of an agent if I’d let him see me, would I? Finding this spy is proving much harder than I’d expected.’
His closeness affected me so much that I became flustered, and what I said next didn’t come out quite as I’d meant it to. ‘I know one way you might na
il the culprit.’
His eyes instantly gleamed with humour. 'Do you, Liddy? What way is that?’
'You're laughing at me.’
His lips twitched. 'I’m not really. What do you suggest? I’m always open to ideas.’ He couldn’t quite stop smiling though.
'Well, you must have thought of it. To give each one a piece of false information, I mean. And see which one reaches Berlin.’ His eyes took on a quizzical look, which made me say, 'You’ve tried that already?’
'Yes, we have. Only it’s not quite as easy as it sounds. False information still has to be credible, and the secret service doesn’t employ dimwits. Well, not as a rule.’
‘Has any of the information you planted reached Berlin?’
'I can’t say, you know that.’
Walking up to my car, he opened the door for me and shut it once I was in, and I said, ‘I’ll see you at Jean and Arthur’s party at the weekend.’
‘I can hardly wait,’ he murmured. I drove off and he stood watching me until I was out of sight.
Ten minutes later I was back home. Cook had fallen asleep in the chair with the wireless on, but woke when I gently touched her arm. She told me Tim had been as good as gold, and when she went off to her own room, I looked in on my son and stood smiling down at him. He slept in a bed now, having learnt how to climb out of his cot, and he looked very small and vulnerable. His teddy bear was safely in his arms as usual, and after kissing him gently, I went through the door that connected his bedroom to mine, leaving it open, as I always did, in case he woke up in the night.
Once in bed, I lay awake thinking about Johnny, revelling in all that had happened. The feel of his lips on mine, how I’d felt when he held me in his arms, all that he’d said, and the fact it was me he loved. Monica was right about making me jealous; when I saw Johnny kiss her, the pain had taken my breath away. And I’d finally realised what he really meant to me. I was so grateful to her, and greatly touched that she had thought of my happiness at such a terrible time in her own life. She was a truly wonderful friend and the only way I could repay her was to find the evidence that would see her father released from prison.
I fell asleep in a glow of happiness and when I woke my first thought was of Johnny, which instantly filled me with deep joy. It was only just after six and closing my eyes, I was drifting back to sleep when the face of the man I’d seen with Herr Muller on Tuesday came into my mind, and I suddenly remembered why he’d seemed familiar. I had seen him before. Just once. On the day Ginger collected Jean’s letter from the bench in Hyde Park.
Ginger had gone straight to the Lyons Corner House at Marble Arch, where he’d chosen a table, seemingly at random. Opposite him, also sitting alone at a table, had been another man. The man I’d seen with Muller.
I sat up in bed with a start, with alarm bells crashing and banging around in my head. Nevertheless, I took a long deep breath and tried to work out what it all meant, in a sensible and rational manner. If this man knew Muller, he might well be a Nazi too. But if he and Ginger had acknowledged each other, or spoken, I had not been aware of it. So perhaps their sitting near each other was just co-incidence.
Yet, still the alarm bells persisted, and besides, I wasn’t sure I believed in that much co-incidence. That’s when I asked myself what reason they could have for meeting on purpose, and as I went over everything I knew, a possibility came into my mind that left me trembling.
I was still thinking about it when Tim ran through the open communicating door and climbed onto my bed, as he had every morning since he’d stopped sleeping in his cot. But by then, I knew there was only one way I could get to the truth.
Tim snuggled up beside me, his teddy bear still in his arms, but he soon began bouncing on the bed, his little face beaming with glee. ‘Mummy, mummy, mummy. Play pat-a-cake.’ I played and laughed with him, and once we were both dressed, we had breakfast together. After which I handed him over to Connie, and rang Jean, arranging to join her in Hampshire today instead of tomorrow, explaining I needed to talk to her before the celebrations started. Tim was to stay with Uncle Freddie while I was at Jean and Arthur’s house, and that good-hearted gentleman was only too happy for Tim to arrive a day early.
‘He can come any time, Liddy. I love having him here.’
‘Are you quite sure? He’ll tire you out.’
'If he does, I’ll get old Barrington round to help. He has hoards of grandchildren. Besides, if Connie and Al are coming too, he’ll have plenty of people to look after him.’
We talked for a while and I put the receiver down with considerable relief. I wanted Tim somewhere safe, and Uncle Freddie’s house stood in substantial grounds, surrounded by a wall, with iron gates at the front.
I didn’t say much to Connie and Al as we drove out of London. If they thought that unusual, they didn’t say so, but as Connie was sitting beside Al, I reckoned they were too wrapped in their own world to notice. We dropped Tim and Connie off at Uncle Freddie’s first, as that was nearest.
I only stayed for a few minutes to thank Uncle Freddie for having Tim to stay, before heading off for Jean’s country house, some fifteen minutes away. I relaxed a little, grateful in the knowledge that Tim would be safe now. And once we arrived at Jean’s, Al took out my suitcase and immediately went back to Uncle Freddie’s.
Jean greeted me as if she didn’t have a care in the world. She showed me to my room and suggested I unpack first, as lunch would be ready in half an hour. With the butler in attendance over lunch, I wasn’t able to say what was on my mind until we went into the drawing room afterwards. Shutting the door behind us, Jean said, ‘Now, what’s this all about, Liddy?’
‘Well,’ I said, ‘there’s something I must ask you. But I need to explain a few things first.’
‘That sounds very intriguing,’ she said unconcerned. ‘Fire away then.’
I began by telling her how I became involved in looking for Peter’s killer. I explained about George Crawleigh, how he’d died, and the incredible co-incidence of his name and address being similar to Peter’s. I made it clear what had happened to Charlie Jones, and that evidence had been planted to frame Mr. Taverner. Then I told her about the scaffolding incident, the drowning man and the lorry driver who tried to force us off the road. She stared at me, her eyes wide with horror. 'You mean they’re trying to kill you too?’ I nodded. 'But.... that’s terrible,’ she gasped in understandable shock. ‘Who’s doing this? Do you know? Can’t the police catch this killer?’
'Well, it may not be just one man.’
‘Good God, Liddy, surely.........’
‘The thing is Jean, I need your help.’
‘I’ll do anything, Liddy. You know that. Just tell me what you want me to do.’
I took a very deep breath and said, 'Well, I was walking in Hyde Park one Tuesday when I saw you sitting on a bench with your dogs beside you. You had your back to me, and I was still about twenty yards away when you got up and walked off, leaving a letter on the seat. I was about to call after you when a ginger-haired man picked it up and ------’
'Oh, that,’ she muttered in a dismissive manner, and then remembering all that I’d just told her, she burst out, 'What the devil has that got to do with the murders?’
'The ginger-haired man may be involved.’
I saw the shock in her eyes, as she demanded, 'What makes you say that?’
I hesitated. I needed her to tell me what was in those letters, but I didn’t want to ruin their momentous, historic weekend of celebration. The King and Mrs. Simpson, and the cream of society would be there. 'It’s just a possibility, that’s all. Jean, would you mind telling me who your letters were addressed to?’
She frowned and then blurted out, ‘Oh, I suppose it doesn’t matter. If you must know, they were for Oswald Mosley.’ Words that sent great shuddering ice-cold shivers up and down my spine, and I closed my eyes for a second. ‘I won’t be doing it again,’ she went on. ‘Not after what happened to Emily. Oswald said his me
n weren’t responsible for the attack on her family, but I don’t believe him. Not now.’ She took a deep breath. ‘You see, I’ve known Oswald all my life. He was a friend of my parents, if you remember, and often dined with us. When that awful financial director ruined my father, and caused his death, Oswald was so kind to me. He said my father should never have trusted a Jew. That they were all like that and the sooner we got rid of them the better. I thought he meant letting them emigrate or something.’
I looked her straight in the eye. ‘Is that what you honestly thought, Jean?’
She gave a shrug. ‘Oh........I don’t know. I wanted to I suppose. But for that dreadful man my parents would still be alive.’ Her father had died of a stroke soon after hearing the news, and although her mother lived for another two years, she was never the same. ‘So when Oswald asked me to help him, I agreed. He said he’d find it useful to know how the government and secret service really viewed his organisation, what contingency plans they had in place regarding the British Union of Fascists, and what they actually thought about Hitler and Germany. He asked me to write down anything Arthur said about that, and he’d arrange for a messenger to collect it. We settled for Hyde Park on Tuesdays as I always walk the dogs there then, when I’m in town. And that’s what I did.’
She seemed totally unconcerned, as if she had just been passing on idle gossip. I tried to speak, but no words came out of my mouth, and Jean asked, ‘Are you all right, Liddy?’
Somehow I managed to assure her I was, and said, 'How long has it been going on?’
'About three months, I suppose. Whenever Arthur mentioned that kind of thing, I passed it on. After all, Oswald is as much a patriot as the rest of us. But, as I said, I won’t do it again.’
'Have you told him that?’
‘Not yet, but I will when I get back to London. I’ll tell him why too.’
‘Does Arthur know about the letters?’
‘Of course not. But I’m entitled to my views, the same as he is.’ She sat back in her chair and admitted, 'I've been very silly, I see that now. I thought all Jewish people were like that dreadful man who ruined my father. But no-one could be nicer than Emily, or her family. I was wrong, Liddy.’
