‘After that night, none of the dancers were allowed to go out of the theatre on their own. We went out in twos, even in the daytime. It was fine by me. After receiving those lilies, I was terrified to walk in the street in daylight, let alone at night in the blackout, until he was put in prison.’
‘Mr and Mrs Goldman, the owners of the theatre, were they here tonight?’ Sergeant McGann directed the question at Bess.
‘Yes,’ Bess said, ‘but I don’t think Sutherland would have seen them. They were in the ballroom, he was in the public bar.’ Unless he saw them when he came into the ballroom to terrorise me, Bess thought, but she wasn’t going to tell McGann that.
‘Then I don’t think I’ll need to speak to them. If I do, how long are they staying?’
‘They’re going back to London tomorrow.’
Sergeant McGann’s head wobbled from side to side. ‘They’re not important,’ he said, and dismissed them by closing his notebook. ‘Sir Gerald, the man with this Sutherland character is a wealthy land owner by the name of Hawksley. The girl, Katherine, is indeed his daughter. Apart from owning a riding stables and several hundred acres of land, we don’t know much about Sir Gerald. He keeps himself very much to himself.’
‘Some dubious characters visit that big house of his by all accounts,’ Constable Peg said. ‘Come and go at all hours, they do. My in-laws live at Kirby Marlow, where he lives, and--’
‘Rumours and speculation, Constable!’ McGann got to his feet and pulled himself up to his full height - which was on the short side of police requirements and several inches shorter than Frank and Bill - and puffed out his chest. ‘We’re dealing with facts tonight, lad, not village tittle-tattle.’
After putting on his helmet, the sergeant shook Bess’s hand and nodded to Margot, Frank and Bill. ‘We’ll speak to Sir Gerald and Mr Sutherland as soon as possible. ‘Do you want to press charges for any damage Mr Sutherland caused?’
Bess’s heart began to thump in her chest. She didn’t want her shameful secret to come out and if she pressed charges, David Sutherland was bound to make sure it did. She wanted to forget about Sutherland, what happened in London, and what happened tonight. She took a nervous breath and swallowed. In a voice, as normal as she was able, Bess looked across the room. ‘We don’t, do we, Frank?’
Her husband shook his head. ‘No, love.’ He moved to Bess and put a protective arm around her.
‘Then we’ll be on our way. Constable?’ McGann barked. The constable jumped up and followed his superior officer to the door. ‘I’ll let you know of any developments.’
Bess grabbed her coat, pushed her arms down the sleeves, and followed the policemen out.
It had stopped snowing, but was the colder for it. She watched the two men descend the semi-circle of stone steps leading down to the police car, and shivered. The constable took his place behind the steering wheel and the sergeant lifted his hand in a half-salute, half-wave, before opening the passenger door of the car and lowering himself onto the seat. A second later the constable gunned the powerful engine of the black Wolseley into life, pulled away from the verge, and cruised down the drive. The police car was soon out of sight.
Relieved that the police had left, Bess inhaled deeply. The freezing air nipped the back of her nose and throat and she coughed. She pulled her coat around her, holding it tightly across her chest, and took in the view. The ploughed fields of the war years had reverted to pastures and meadows. With an army of Land Girls, she had been responsible for turning the Foxden Estate into arable land during the war. The women she worked with, the farmers, and the staff at Foxden Hall had been like family to her. She thought of her late father who had recently died from injuries incurred during an accident at the foundry. She wondered if her mother would ever get over losing him. Bess knew that she and her sisters never would.
Beneath a layer of snow, Foxden looked much the same as it had done ten years earlier, on New Year’s Eve, 1938. Bess hadn’t thought about that night for a long time. She smiled remembering how she had fallen asleep in the library while studying for her teaching certificate, and how, sneaking out of the Hall during Lord and Lady Foxden’s party, she had literally fallen into the arms of their son, James. He didn’t recognise her at first. When he did, it was as his childhood chum Tom’s little sister.
Bess could smile about it now, but at the time she had been so embarrassed that she’d fled down the steps. When she stopped running and looked back at the Hall, the French windows were open and she could hear the orchestra playing a waltz. She hummed the tune, “The Blue Danube.” She had fallen in love with James Foxden that night and he had fallen in love with her, though at the time he didn’t know it. Then David Sutherland came into her life and she was duty-bound to turn her back on James, and on happiness.
Another New Year’s Eve, two years later, Bess and James had sipped brandy by the library fire and talked into the early hours. That night they declared their love for one another, made love, and made plans for their future. But fate had something different in store for James. For Bess too.
Bess lifted her right hand and looked at James’s ring, the ring that his parents had given him on his twenty-first birthday, which James had given to Bess when he asked her to marry him. A chill rippled down her spine and she cuffed a frozen tear from her cheek.
So much had happened since that night - some of it sad, but much of it happy. Hitler was finally defeated and many loved ones had survived and returned home, including her brother Tom and his old friend, Frank Donnelly. Frank had lost his left eye in Africa and Bess had helped to nurse him back to health. Frank was kind and considerate, and when he asked Bess to marry him, his proposal was followed with, “When you are ready.”
Bess didn’t think she would ever be ready. She worried that knowing about her first love, James Foxden, Frank would feel he wasn’t enough for her. But he was enough - Frank was everything she wanted in a husband.
Bess heard the hotel door open and Frank’s distinctive step. She waited for him to join her. When he did, he wrapped his strong arms around her and looked over her shoulder. Leaning back, Bess rested against her husband’s chest, her chin tilted upwards. The air sparkled with tiny particles of ice. There wasn’t a cloud in the blue-black sky. She could see every star.
‘It’s late, darling,’ Frank whispered. ‘And it’s too cold to be standing out here. I’m going up, are you coming?’
Bess turned, and, still in her husband’s arms, stood on tiptoe and looked up into his handsome face. ‘What would I do without you?’
Frank laughed. ‘You would manage, Bess, I have no doubt about that. But for my sake,’ he said, burying his face in her hair and kissing her neck, ‘I hope you never find out.’
‘Post come yet, Maeve?’
‘Ten minutes ago. Mr Donnelly has taken it through to the office.’
‘Thank you. And thank you for staying late on New Year’s Eve. It was kind of you. Make sure Frank pays you for the overtime. Tell him I said it’s double-time after midnight on New Year’s Eve,’ Bess whispered, laughing.
‘Thank you, Mrs Donnelly.’ Bess picked up three of the four copies of the Lowarth Advertiser from the reception desk and turned to go into the office. ‘Are you expecting the police to come back today?’ Maeve asked, reaching for the hotel’s reservations diary.
‘No, not today. Sergeant McGann said he was going to see Sir Gerald Hawksley, but he didn’t say when. He’s going to interview the hotel staff too, but again he didn’t say when that would be. I know he intends to ask Simon if he heard any of the conversation between Sir Gerald and Sutherland. But all he said when he left was, “I’ll be in touch.” I expect he’ll telephone first, in which case you’ll know before I do.’
‘I hope Sir Gerald Hawksley doesn’t blame anyone here at the hotel for the trouble that man Sutherland caused.’
Bess glanced across the marble hall to the door of the public bar and pondered the thought. ‘No, Sir Gerald was furious at the wa
y Sutherland treated his daughter. He won’t blame us, but I wouldn’t put it past Sutherland to try. That reminds me, Sir Gerald gave me his card. I can’t remember where I put it.’
‘I found it on the floor when they’d gone.’ Maeve took the small white card from the top drawer of the reception desk and gave it to Bess.
Bess laughed. ‘How did your last employers ever let you go?’ She turned the card over in her hand before giving it back to Maeve. ‘I don’t want it, but we’d better keep it in case we need it in the future.’
Instead of taking a newspaper up to the library and one to the smoking lounge, Bess took all three into the office. Frank had come down ten minutes earlier and was waiting with a breakfast tray.
Bess sat in the cottage armchair by the fire with the newspapers on her lap, while Frank poured two cups of tea. He left his cup on his desk and took Bess’s tea and toast to her on the tray, setting it down on a small occasional table at the side of the fireplace. ‘I’ll open the post,’ he said, going back to his desk.
‘There’s a lovely photograph of the hotel in the Advertiser.’ Bess took a bite of her toast. ‘There aren’t any cars about and the lawns are blanketed in snow.’ She lifted the paper so she could see the picture more clearly. ‘He must have taken this when he was leaving. I’ll ask him for a copy, and see if I can get it enlarged,’ she said, taking another bite of toast. ‘I’ll get it framed. It would look lovely in the marble hall.’ Bess took a sip of her tea. ‘Mmmm, thank you, darling,’
Frank looked up from the letter he was reading. ‘Don’t thank me, thank Maeve. She brought it in five minutes after I came down.’
‘I don’t know what we’ve done to deserve that woman. Oh, it’s a good headline too,’ Bess said, putting her cup down to give the newspaper her full attention. ‘“The opening of the Foxden Hotel on New Year’s Eve went with a bang!”’ She sighed, worried that “went with a bang” was a journalistic teaser before a graphic description of the fracas between Sutherland and Hawksley. Or worse still, between Sutherland and Frank. She glanced at her husband. He was reading a letter, his eyebrows knitted together in a frown of concentration.
Bess finished the slice of toast, washed it down with the last of her tea and sat back in the chair to read the review. She read the piece through, and then read it again. ‘Not a single mention of Sutherland, Sir Gerald Hawksley, or his daughter,’ she said, bemused. ‘Ah! Cont. Page 3.’
Bess turned to page three. There was no mention of Sir Gerald Hawksley or Sutherland on that page either. ‘Something isn’t right here, Frank. You’d think a Nazi and a Knight almost coming to blows over a young girl in a public place would be newsworthy, but there isn’t a single word about it in the Advertiser?’
‘You sound disappointed,’ Frank said, laughing.
‘I’m not. I’m pleased the trouble that monster caused hasn’t been reported. Being associated with a Blackshirt, however remotely, could have been the death knell for the hotel. It’s odd, though, that there’s no mention of Sir Gerald, or his daughter. His name and title might have been an endorsement,’ Bess said, as much to herself as to her husband. ‘There’s some really good photographs. One of a group of people with their glasses raised in a toast. A smasher of our Margot posing by the Christmas tree, and one of a middle-aged couple in mid flow on the dance floor in the ballroom.’ Bess skimmed the rest of the paper. There was no other news.
‘I’ll take a copy up to the library and the smoking lounge, and leave this one here for you.’ Bess folded the newspaper and dropped it on Frank’s desk. ‘Anything in the post?’
‘Nothing that can’t wait.’
‘That’s good. I’ll take the tray back to the kitchen as well, if you’ve finished?’ Frank drained his cup and put it on the tray next to Bess’s cup and plate. Papers in one hand and tray in the other, Bess bent down, kissed Frank on the cheek, and left.
Frank waited until Bess had closed the door before taking the envelope he hadn’t wanted her to see from beneath his leather ink blotter. It was addressed to him but there was no title. The writing was familiar, but there was something different about it; there was no postage stamp. Apart from that, the envelope looked the same as any other envelope. Frank took out the letter and read it again. There was no salutation, just the initial, D. One last payment. £50. Today. Usual place. 12 o’clock. And you won’t hear from me again. Tell the police or don’t pay up, and I shall tell the local newspaper about your sordid affair in London. DS.
‘Where the hell does the bloody man think I’m going to get £50 by twelve o’clock today?’ Frank got up and paced the floor. He had no money left of his own, Sutherland had blackmailed him out of every penny; only the hotel’s bank account was in funds - and that was for emergencies. Frank ran his fingers through his hair. This was an emergency.
Barclays bank in Lowarth opened at ten. There was time to get there and back by midday. But even if he went to the bank, the bank manager would no more let him take money out of the hotel’s account without Bess’s signature, than he would Bess, without his signature.
As he saw it, Frank had two options. He could say he was going into Lowarth for… He’d think of something… and although it was earlier in the week than planned, he would offer to deposit the takings from New Year at Barclays while he was there. If he did that, he could take £50 out for Sutherland and bank what was left. He shook his head. That would mean lying to Bess and stealing from the business. He couldn’t do it.
The other option was to tell Bess the truth. Tell her that Sutherland had been blackmailing him and if he paid him one last payment, the man would be out of their lives forever. Frank exhaled loudly. It would break her heart and he was not going to do that, he loved her too much. Besides if this payment was the last, he may never have to tell her. He reached across his desk, picked up the letter, folded it and put it back in the envelope.
Slipping the blackmail letter into the breast pocket of his jacket, Frank turned back to his desk and caught his breath. For some minutes he stared at the black cast iron safe with gold lettering in the corner of the room. There was another option, one that he hadn’t thought of until now. He could borrow the money. Take £50 from the safe and put an I.O.U in its place. That would give him time to put the money back before banking the takings on Friday. And if he wasn’t able to put the money back, it would at least give him time to think up a decent reason for borrowing it.
Frank went to the door and put his ear to the wood. He could hear voices, but none were Bess’s. No one except his wife walked into the office without knocking. Even his sisters-in-law knocked before entering. They didn’t always wait to be asked to come in, but they always knocked. Frank looked at his watch. Bess was dropping their breakfast tray off in the kitchen before going up to the library and the smoking lounge with copies of the Advertiser. Even if she changed her mind and called into the office before going upstairs, she would be at least five minutes. Time enough to take £50 and scribble a note.
Frank moved quickly to the safe. Opening it, he took out four five-pound notes and thirty one-pound notes from the blue hessian bag that Barclays provided. He then wrote the note saying that he had borrowed £50 and would replace it tomorrow. He added his signature to the note, but not the date. Tomorrow would be the day after whichever day it was that his wife noticed the money was missing.
Closing the safe, Frank put the wad of notes in an envelope, slipped it into his pocket next to the blackmail letter, and went out to reception. ‘There was a letter addressed to me personally in the post this morning, Maeve.’
The receptionist looked up at her boss. ‘Yes, Mr Donnelly.’
‘It didn’t have a stamp on it and I was wondering if it had been delivered by hand. And if it had, perhaps you saw who brought it.’
‘No. No one has delivered a letter while I’ve been here.’ Maeve looked into the mid-distance, thoughtfully. ‘There wasn’t anything on the desk when I got here this morning. If there had been,’ she explain
ed, ‘I’d have thought it strange and would have remembered. And it was only a few minutes after the post arrived that you came down, picked it up, and took it through to the office.’
‘And you’ve been on reception all the time?’ Frank asked. ‘You didn’t leave at all, not even to powder your nose?’
Maeve took a sharp breath. ‘Yes. I did leave the desk.’ She put her hands up to her mouth. ‘I’m sorry, Mr Donnelly, I forgot. I went to the toilet and when I got back the post was here. I wasn’t away for more than a couple of minutes, but I suppose it was long enough for someone to nip in and put a letter among the pile the postman had delivered. I can’t think who would do such a thing, or why. I think it’s more likely that the stamp just came off.’
‘Thank you, Maeve.’
‘I hope I haven’t caused you a problem by not being here when the post came?’
‘No, dear, not at all. I was just curious as to how an envelope without a stamp got past the postmen in the sorting office,’ Frank said, ‘and, if it did, why the postman hadn’t waited and asked you to pay the postage cost.’
‘He did once before, when there wasn’t a stamp.’
‘Well, there’s nothing we can do about it now,’ Frank said, with a smile. ‘I think I’ll go for a walk; get a breath of fresh air. If my wife comes looking for me, tell her I won’t be long.’
Foxden Hotel (The Dudley Sisters Saga Book 5) Page 3
