Wives at War (15 page)

‘An
explosion
!' Once more, piercing and outraged: ‘
Archie!
'

‘Putting out the fire in the emergency fuel depository is their responsibility,' Archie said. ‘Protecting the files in the Recruitment and Welfare Centre is ours. Are you with me on that, Mrs Hallop?'

‘Oh God!' Babs thumped her brow against his chest. ‘What kind of an idiot do you take me for?'

‘One very much like myself, I imagine,' said Archie.

‘Oh, God!' said Babs again. ‘Oh, God!'

Then, without quite knowing why, she let young Archie Harding steer her over the hoses and round the pumps into the office in Cyprus Street.

*   *   *

Polly was glad that Fin had insisted on giving her driving lessons. She suspected that Fin had it in mind that if the Germans did invade then he and she would motor to one of the distant North Sea fishing ports and sail off to a safe haven in neutral Sweden.

The threat of invasion had receded these past few months, though, the lessons had tailed off, and Polly had only an imperfect knowledge of what to do once she'd hauled off the dustsheet, filled the tank with petrol from a two-gallon can and checked the oil and water levels. She opened the garage doors as wide as they would go, climbed into the driving seat, settled the folds of her coat around her and switched on the engine.

She had watched Fin, and Babs too, do this often enough and wished she'd been as bold and far-sighted as her sister and had taken proper driving lessons while the going was good. She drew a deep breath, tapped the clutch, manipulated the gearshift and released the handbrake.

Rather to her surprise the Wolseley rolled sweetly down the driveway and bumped out into the avenue. She glanced back at the open doors of the garage – an invitation to looters and thieves Fin would have told her – decided to heck with them and, gripping the steering wheel, set off on the circuit of suburban roads that ringed the park.

She could readily understand why Fin was so addicted to motoring, why he loved lean, fast open-top sports cars. If she had any money left after the war ended, she promised herself she'd take proper professional instruction and buy a Morgan or a Riley Sprite – or let Dominic buy it for her.

She didn't know if she'd ever see her husband again, of course, or if by settling in New York Dominic intended to end their marriage. She could hardly blame him for wanting to be rid of her. She had been deceitful and disloyal, had betrayed Dom's trust by embarking on an affair with Tony Lombard. She had thought herself in love with Tony, but it hadn't been love at all, only wilful self-indulgence, made all the more lurid by being conducted under Dominic's nose.

There was no sign of the bomb that had blown out her front-room window, no crater, no smoke and all the trees in the park were still upright as far as she could make out. There were queues at bus stops and children wending off to school and women out with shopping bags, scavenging for off-ration foodstuffs and extra little luxuries to salt away for Christmas; all quite normal for a weekday morning. She drove past the telephone box on the corner of Raines Drive, glanced at it out of the corner of her eye, hastily applied the foot brake and brought the Wolseley to a halt.

She opened the passenger door and, leaning across the seat, looked back.

Christy Cameron emerged from the telephone box and, pausing, lit a cigarette. He looked smaller in daylight, and shabbier. Even as she watched, he hunched his shoulders, stuck his hands in his pockets and, head down, trudged towards her motorcar, quite oblivious to her presence.

If he is a spy, Polly thought, he's a very careless one.

She nudged the horn with her elbow.

He looked up and, to Polly's astonishment, backed away. For a moment she thought he might even take to his heels but then, collecting himself, he came grudgingly up to the car and leaned down to talk to her.

‘Hey,' he said. ‘Surprise.'

‘That much is obvious,' Polly said.

‘What do you mean?'

She patted the leather seat. ‘Get in.'

He drew the jacket around him and slid into the car. She reached across and closed the door. He glanced down at the handle as if it were still in his mind to make a break for it.

‘Phoning home, were you?' Polly said.

‘No.' The irony was lost on him, apparently. ‘It was just – just business.'

‘How's my sister? Did she survive the night?'

He said again, ‘What do you mean?'

‘Well, I thought the question was clear enough,' said Polly. ‘As you seem to be a bit dithery this morning, Mr Cameron, I'll put it another way: was the bungalow damaged in the air raid and did my sister and my niece escape unscathed?'

‘Yeah, we – she – we're all okay.'

‘Good,' said Polly, flatly.

‘She's gone off to the office.'

‘And April?'

‘School, nursery, whatever.'

‘It's business as usual then?' said Polly.

He was sullen and unsettled. She wondered whom he had been phoning and why her appearance had upset him.

‘Brockway's,' he said, as if he'd read her mind. ‘I was calling Brockway's.'

‘Ah yes, you're “served” by Brockway's, aren't you?' Polly said. ‘What sort of instructions did you receive? Are you going to come at me with a gun, or just wheedle away until I give in?'

‘Jesus, Mrs Manone, you are some piece of work.'

‘I've never been called that before. Is it a compliment?'

He settled back in the seat and took the cigarette from his mouth. ‘I guess you've every right to be cagey.'

‘Cagey is putting it mildly,' said Polly.

He smoked again, peered at the smoke. ‘All right, I'll tell you the truth. I've a photographic spread due out, one I think Babs will like.'

‘Photographs? Don't tell me you've photographed Babs?'

‘Yeah.'

‘In – I mean, she's actually
in
the magazine?'

‘Yeah.'

‘Glamour girl stuff?'

‘Hardly.'

‘Your reticence is breathtaking,' Polly said.

‘Most girls would die for a chance to appear in
Brockway's
.'

‘My sister isn't “most girls”,' said Polly. ‘She has a husband, in case you've forgotten, and Jackie certainly isn't going to be overwhelmed with delight when his wife turns up in a widely circulated magazine famous for its – shall we say? – candour.' She hesitated, then asked, ‘When did you photograph Babs?'

‘Day we first met.'

‘How romantic.'

‘That's cheap.'

‘Yes,' Polly said. ‘Yes, I suppose it is.'

‘Don't tell me
you're
gonna make waves about my living with Babs?' Christy said. ‘I thought you were a woman of the world.'

‘And I thought you were engaged on a mission of national importance,' Polly said. ‘Perhaps we're each deceiving the other. Be that as it may, if you've nothing better to do on Thursday I'll take you out to lunch at Blackstone Farm.'

‘Why?'

‘Do bring your camera,' Polly said. ‘There's a very nice pig there.'

Christy was clearly in no frame of mind to be teased. ‘You don't just want to show me round some crummy farm, do you?'

‘I want to get to know you better,' Polly said. ‘After all, if you have been dispatched to Scotland to size me up I don't see why I shouldn't do a bit of sizing up too. I'll pick you up at half-past ten.'

‘Can I tell Babs what we're up to?' Christy said.

‘Up to? We're not “up to” anything,' Polly said crisply. ‘By all means tell Babs where we're going.'

Polly started the car, drove round the long curve of Raines Drive and stopped before the gate of the bungalow.

‘What are you going to do now?' she asked.

‘Make breakfast,' Christy said. ‘Want some?'

‘I'd better not,' said Polly. ‘I have too much to do today.'

‘Like what?'

‘Tending my husband's money,' Polly said. ‘Thursday: ten thirty?'

‘I'll be waiting,' Christy said, and loped off up the steps of the Hallops' bungalow as if, Polly thought, he already owned the place.

*   *   *

Polly had never been to Rosie's flat before and had a little trouble locating it, for the tenement looked much the same as all the other tall tenements clustered on the hill. Eventually she found it and parked in the almost empty street outside. An old woman in a canvas apron was sweeping out the communal air-raid shelter and two council workmen with a handcart were clearing debris from the pavement, but the building itself appeared to be undamaged.

Polly climbed the stairs and knocked on the MacGregors' door.

She didn't really expect anyone to be home. Rosie would probably be at work, Kenny on duty. Polly was just on the point of turning away when her brother-in-law, whey-faced, opened the door an inch or two and peered blearily out at her.

‘Polly?'

‘Oh, I'm sorry. Did I get you out of bed?'

‘What time is it?'

‘Almost eleven.'

He clutched the collar of the dressing gown to his chest.

‘Rosie isn't here,' he said. ‘She's gone back to work today.'

‘It isn't Rosie I came to see.'

He nodded sleepily, stifled a yawn, admitted her into the hallway and led her directly into the kitchen. He tugged open the blackout curtains, filled a kettle and placed it on the stove.

He looked terrible, Polly thought, a far cry from the dashing young bridegroom of eighteen months ago. He had probably been on night duty and she had wakened him before he'd caught up on his sleep. She didn't feel guilty, though. She regarded policemen, even her brother-in-law, as a breed undeserving of sympathy.

‘How large is the flat?' she asked.

‘Four rooms. Two bedrooms, kitchen and drawing room. We seldom use the drawing room. We live in the kitchen pretty much.' He leaned over the sink, ran water from the tap, splashed his face and dried it on a hand towel. ‘Haven't you been here before?'

‘No.'

‘I suppose you dropped in to ask about Rosie?'

‘Did I?' said Polly. ‘What about Rosie?'

‘She's all right again. I didn't realise she would get over it so quickly.'

‘Get over what?' said Polly.

‘The miscarriage.'

‘Miscarriage!' Polly exclaimed. ‘Our Rosie had a miscarriage?'

‘Didn't Lizzie tell you?'

‘No one told me,' said Polly. ‘When did this happen?'

‘Monday. They whipped her into Redlands, kept her overnight and released her early next morning. The baby wasn't very old. Seven weeks, that's all. It just – I really don't quite know what happened – it just came, I suppose, when she was at work and that – well, that was that.'

‘Did you know she was expecting?'

‘She hardly knew herself,' said Kenny; an answer, Polly realised, that was both ambiguous and defensive. ‘She's all right, though. She was keen to get back to work and I couldn't— I saw no reason to stop her.'

‘You couldn't have stopped her even if you'd wanted to,' Polly said with a rueful shake of the head. ‘Our Rosie has a mind of her own.'

‘It's true,' Kenny agreed. ‘I've been in the doghouse because I wasn't here at the time. I was working on a case in Greenock and couldn't be reached. Rosie feels I let her down.'

He shrugged, spooned tea leaves into a teapot and added boiling water. He was unkempt and hollow-eyed and seemed to emanate an air of resignation that was close to defeat. Though she had always loved and protected her little sister, Polly was well aware that Rosie, deaf or not, was a good deal tougher than any of them ever gave her credit for.

Kenny pulled out a chair at the table.

Polly seated herself, took out her cigarettes and lit one.

She watched Kenny produce two cups and saucers from the cupboard and fill each cup with tea. He seated himself at the table and lifted a cup to his lips. ‘If you didn't know about Rosie,' he said, ‘what brings you here?'

‘I believe you went to see Babs?'

‘I did.'

‘And her lodger?'

‘You know fine well I did.'

‘What did you make of him?'

Kenny let out breath. ‘Don't tell me
you're
going to start—'

‘Come off it, Kenny,' Polly said. ‘You've used your professional connections to check on him, haven't you?'

‘What makes you think I'd do that?'

‘Because you're a naturally nosy copper.'

He grunted, amused. ‘Cameron's just what he says he is. His folks did come from Clydeside. Parish records are available if you're interested.'

‘What else?'

‘I can't divulge official information, Polly.'

‘Nonsense!'

‘He does have a contract with Brockway's. Brockway's will vouch for him right down the line.'

‘Of course they will,' said Polly. ‘What about the brother, James or Jamie, back in the United States?'

‘I didn't pursue things that far,' Kenny said. ‘I'm not working up a case against Mr Cameron. As far as I can make out his one and only “crime” is landing himself on your sister.'

‘Didn't it cross your mind that he might be one of Dominic's associates?'

‘Of course it did.'

‘Well,' said Polly, ‘that question remains unresolved.'

Kenny put down the cup and rested his chin on his hands. ‘I can't have Cameron arrested just on your say-so, Polly.'

She laughed. ‘I don't want him arrested, for heaven's sake.'

‘What do you want?'

‘I'm just making you aware of the situation.'

‘
Is
there a situation?' Kenny said.

‘There may be,' Polly said. ‘I need to be sure I can count on your support if and when required.'