by Jan Jones
‘The divorce?’ said Penny sympathetically.
‘My accident. You’ll have noticed the limp.’
Penny had brought up three strong-minded children. She could deal with challenging statements with one hand tied behind her back. ‘Naturally I noticed, but I was being discreet,’ she said.
Leo reddened. ‘Sorry.’ His gaze rested on the Red Cross envelope.
Penny could take a hint. She undid it and pulled out a handful of wooden pieces. Her heart whooshed again. She’d been right! The cut was the same. Her fingers itched to assemble the jigsaw but the refreshment room was busy and their cake and cups were jostling for space on the table as it was. She looked up. Leo’s eyes were also fixed on the puzzle.
‘What does it tell you?’ she asked. She might as well find out something from him.
He picked up a tile. It had feathery leaves on it just as hers did. Had this photo also been taken at the Municipal Gardens? ‘Hand-cut,’ he said. ‘1930s, 1940s.’
Nothing she hadn’t already guessed. Penny put the pieces back, tipping the envelope casually to one side as she did to see if there was any writing inside. There was! Just like on the inside of her own envelope at home! And there was also what looked like a newspaper cutting wrapped in cellophane.
Leo was drinking his tea, pretending not to watch her. There was definitely more to him than met the eye. Could the puzzle be valuable? This was agony! She daren’t risk fishing the cutting out of the envelope with him watching. More than anything she wanted to finish her food quickly and get home. But one had to be mannerly. ‘Have you got many jigsaws?’ she said, and took a large bite of scone.
‘I’m sorry?’
Mrs Beattie’s scones, remembered Penny with mortification a split-second too late, should not be eaten incautiously. She fumbled for a tissue to wipe exploded crumbs, cream and jam away from her mouth. ‘Jigsaw puzzles. You said you collected them.’
‘Oh – used to. I, er, sold a lot. I’m still interested in them, though. You don’t want to do yours now, I suppose?’
Penny glanced at her sticky fingers and the crowded table. ‘Hardly.’
‘There’s a bench across the street.’
Drat. The problem with being properly brought up was that good manners continually got in the way. ‘OK, let me finish this and wash my hands.’
It was pleasant, outside in the autumn sunshine. Penny peered covertly at the inside of the envelope whilst getting the tiles out. The spidery fountain-pen words read Thanks for the loan. Hope you both like your new ‘form’.
They did the jigsaw together. For a collector, Leo didn’t seem to be very quick at solving it. Or maybe it was the strange cut and Penny had just had practice with the other one. This photo was of the same era as hers. A young man and a young woman this time, obviously ‘walking out’. The girl had her best hat on, and her gloved hand was resting on the young man’s arm. The chap wore a blazer and slacks and had his hair plastered flat against his head. No older than Noel is now, thought Penny with a pang, and wondered who they were. They looked so young, so proud of each other.
Leo stared at it, his face blank. ‘It’s just a photo,’ he said, sounding oddly baffled.
Just a photo? Had this man no eyes?
‘No, it’s much more than that,’ said Penny. ‘It’s a memory, don’t you see? It’s a memory of a nice day at the Municipal Gardens. You can tell exactly where it is by the edge of the bandstand on that side. It’s still like that today. Look at them. They’ve got all dressed up, they’ve been listening to a concert –’
‘Oh, come on! How can you tell that?’
Penny pointed. ‘You can see the chairs.’ Then she chuckled. ‘All right, that was a cheat. I know they used to have a brass band there every Sunday. Mum told me whole families would stroll up to listen when she was young. It was a nice safe place to meet your young man under the watchful eye of your parents. I expect there was an enterprising photographer on the prowl most weekends if the weather was fine.’
‘I suppose so,’ said Leo, but there was a trace of vexation about him as he watched her pack the puzzle away. Penny wasn’t entirely satisfied herself. This young couple were in love. This would have been a treasured photo. Why turn it into a jigsaw?
She held out her hand. ‘I’m glad I bought it. It’s a bit of history. Thanks for the coffee and the chat, but I’ve got to be going.’ She walked off briskly before he suggested exchanging contact details. It was nothing she could pin down, but she didn’t entirely trust Leo Williams.
She investigated the other item in the envelope as soon as she was out of sight, drawing it out with careful fingers. The cellophane packet was brittle and yellow with age. The cutting inside said: ‘Wanted – photographs or prints (10’x8’ for preference) to help with the war effort. Will be returned if at all possible. Send to the Salthaven Messenger Box 108’.
‘The war effort?’ exclaimed Penny aloud, thoroughly astonished. ‘How on earth could jigsaws help with the war effort?’
The next day, dressed in a smart skirt and jacket, with a briefcase swinging from her hand and a pleasant expression on her face, Penny walked boldly into the reception area of The Salthaven Messenger and asked to view the archives. The girl behind the counter blinked at her. Her gaze slid around the foyer as if seeking help. ‘Third floor,’ she said at last. ‘There’s CCTV.’
‘I’m glad to hear it.’ Penny clipped a visitor badge to her lapel and headed for the lift, wishing she knew what she was looking for.This is your fault, Aunt Bridget, she said silently. Going on at me to find out about the puzzle. Why not just phone me and tell me yourself? When she pushed open the door marked ARCHIVES, she grew even less confident. It was all stacks and filing cabinets and it smelt of very old dust. Oh, help. What on earth was she doing here? She didn’t even know where to start.
Then she heard someone in the next bay. That was a relief. She could ask how to look up newspapers for 1943. But rounding the corner, her question died on her lips. Sprawled in an office chair, legs stretched in front of him, was Leo!
‘You!’ she said.
He stood and gestured towards the newspaper spread out on the desk. ‘Hi there. I thought you might turn up. Is this what you’re looking for?’
Penny’s head whirled. She looked at the newspaper without really taking it in. The print was blocky. Old fashioned. Then her vision steadied. Two thirds of the way down a page for 14th March 1942 was the twin of the advert in her envelope. ‘Wanted – photographs or prints …’ She met his eyes, shaken. ‘How did you know?’
Suddenly he smiled. It made him younger, more approachable. ‘I snooped inside the jigsaw envelope while you were washing your hands at the Bring & Buy yesterday. Sorry.’
Penny was bewildered. ‘But why?’
He shrugged. ‘I’m a journalist. It’s an occupational hazard. Now – why would jigsaws help with war work?’
‘I don’t know. That’s why I wanted to look in the paper. I thought there might be a clue.’ He was a reporter? Why hadn’t he said so?
Leo shook his head, looking stimulated by the riddle rather than upset. ‘It doesn’t help,’ he said. ‘The advert ran every day for a fortnight, then stopped. Pity we can’t trace the original owner of the photo.’
‘Oh, that’s easy enough,’ said Penny. ‘I’ll ask the stallholder who it was that donated the jigsaw.’
It was Leo’s turn to look surprised. ‘Will she know?’
‘You really aren’t from around here, are you?’ said Penny, chuckling. ‘This is Salthaven. Somebody will know, even if Mrs Lane doesn’t. What I don’t understand is why you want to find out.’
He smiled at her disarmingly. ‘It would make a good story for the paper, don’t you think? ‘How Salthaven Won The War’. Come on. No time like the present. Have you got a car?’
Penny considered him as he hurried her out of the building. For a start, she didn’t trust that smile. Secondly, Leo was full of energy, something she didn’t normally as
sociate with the laconic local press. And she wasn’t quite sure how she’d got herself involved with him. ‘No need,’ she said as he turned towards Market Street car park. ‘Mrs Lane will be at the library. It’s the over-60s drop-in this morning.’
‘Local knowledge,’ he murmured reverently. ‘I love it.’
Despite her misgivings, Penny started to grin. She liked this version of Leo better than yesterday’s man of mystery. This Leo had vision and a purpose.
Mrs Lane, when consulted, said the jigsaw had belonged to old Mrs Parnell, God rest her soul. Her daughter had brought it in. Seemingly Mrs Parnell always used to say it went to war whole and came back in pieces.
‘That’s what I adore about this job,’ said Leo as they made their way out onto the street again. ‘Confirmation, closely followed by a dead end.’ He looked sideways at her. ‘Unless you’re holding out?’
‘Me?’
His eyes were bright and intelligent. ‘I saw your face when you opened the envelope yesterday. You were amazed – but not surprised – to see that jigsaw inside. I’d hazard a guess that you’ve got another one like it.’
It was a very unpleasant sensation, being read as easily as a book. Penny squirmed as if Leo had just sprayed strong cleaning fluid across her soul. ‘You’re right, but I only found the jigsaw recently amongst Mum’s things. And before you ask, she died six weeks ago.’
‘I’m sorry.’ There was a brief pause. ‘Can I look at it?’
Penny felt a wave of pure exasperation. ‘Why?’
Leo gazed up at the sky and spoke very fast. ‘Before my accident I was an investigative journalist on the Nationals. I’ve been told to recuperate, but what the doctors don’t understand is that I have to work or I’ll go mad. Council blunders, hidden gems of Salthaven, and the Fisheries Policy are all very well – but I need something I can get my teeth into. Something stretching. Something to solve.’ He met her eyes. ‘I need to prove I still can do it.’
‘I don’t see how my jigsaw will help you,’ said Penny feebly. ‘It’s a photo of Mum, Grandma Astley, and Aunt Bridget in the Municipal Gardens together with other people I don’t know.’
‘Your aunt?’
‘She’s back-packing over the Himalayas. Aged eighty, for goodness’ sake! Mum’s illness spurred her into doing the things she’s always meant to before she gets past it.’ In her head she heard Aunt Bridget say You should too, Penny. Comfortable ruts are still ruts.
Leo laughed. ‘They were a tough generation. My great-uncle was inventing well into his seventies. Now he funds the bar bill in his retirement home by concocting Sudoku grids and compiling crosswords. Why are you stopping here?’
Penny had paused with her hand on the door of the hospice shop. ‘I’ve got some sacks of Mum’s clothes in the car. I’m going to ask if they want them.’
As she waited for the manager, Leo headed for the shelf of puzzles. ‘You never know,’ he said cheerfully as she rolled her eyes at him. ‘I’m a great believer in coincidence.’ A few minutes later there was a crash and a muttered curse. Penny pretended she wasn’t with him.
He reappeared at the counter beside her, lifting the lid of an elderly box containing a set of wooden jigsaws made out of Art Deco style handbill adverts (‘Salthaven By The Sea’, ‘Visit Salthaven By Train’). ‘Those are nice,’ she said.
‘The cut,’ he hissed. ‘Look at the cut. It’s the same style.’
Penny looked. And looked again with disbelief and amazement.
They went to her house to study the jigsaws properly, Penny linking her arm in Leo’s and waving at the CCTV camera in the car park first.
Leo glanced down at her, startled.
‘In case Frances finds me murdered and robbed when she gets home,’ Penny explained with a smile.
‘Doesn’t it ever get boring, being sensible?’ he asked.
‘Oh, I’m not nearly as sensible as my oldest daughter,’ she reassured him. ‘Lucinda would have had you CRB checked before she’d even let you buy her a cup of tea.’
There were six advert-jigsaws, separated by sheets of thin paper. They lifted them out one by one. As Leo had said, all of them were cut in the same wiggly style. And these were the original adverts, not modern reproductions. At the bottom was a typed slip of paper: ‘To: Seaview Emporium, Cliff Road, Salthaven. Please find your order enclosed. We await your remittance and look forward to further commissions.’
Leo spread them out on the table and studied them, his eyes moving from one to the next and then back again for a closer look. ‘But they’re just jigsaws!’ he said in frustration.
‘What did you expect them to be? Have you thought that maybe they were simply giving work to prisoners of war or something?’ suggested Penny.
‘You are a terrible woman,’ said Leo, affronted. ‘What sort of insipid story would that be?’
She grinned and tipped her own jigsaw pieces in front of him. ‘Here’s mine.’
His attention was arrested at once. ‘That’s interesting – it’s the same sort of envelope as the one at the fete.’
‘That’s how I spotted it. I should think they must be original, wouldn’t you? Returned to the owners in them when the puzzles were finished with, and then just kept in them. Certainly Grandma Astley wouldn’t have wasted a perfectly good envelope by shifting the jigsaw pieces to a tin or a box instead.’ She paused. ‘If it was a local industry in Salthaven, there are probably lots more around. All being donated for jumble because the owners are passing away or down-sizing.’ She had a moment’s sadness thinking that there were other people in Salthaven going through what she had been through with Mum.
‘Then why would they have a foreign postmark?’ said Leo. He pulled a tiny camera out of his pocket and took photos of both labels. ‘Lots of lovely leads. Red Cross, Geneva, Salthaven Home Welfare and the Seaview Emporium. Much more like it.’
He’s bounced right back , thought Penny. As soon as a new avenue of investigation had popped up, he’d forgotten all about the previous one petering out. It was rather endearing in a way. ‘Do you want tea?’ she asked.
‘Yes, please.’ He looked at his watch. ‘Oops, no I can’t. I’m supposed to be covering the opening of a Thai restaurant down in the harbour. Would you like to come?’
Just like that? Penny panicked. ‘I … I can’t. I’ve got Frances’ dinner to make.’
He looked surprised. ‘I thought you said she was seventeen. Can’t she make her own dinner?’
‘Well, yes, but … that is, she might not have her front door key. She’ll be expecting me to let her in.’ Penny stopped talking before she tied herself up in any more knots. The truth was that she wasn’t a spur-of-the-moment person. Leo’s energy confused her. She showed him out and pointed him towards the bus stop, feeling flustered. When he’d gone she felt as if a whirlwind had just ripped a corridor through her life.
Aunt Bridget was still staring intently at her from the jigsaw when she sat down with a calming mug of tea. Triggered, Penny left a message on her voicemail – presumably even in Tibet there were occasional mobile signals – saying she hoped her aunt was having a fabulous time and that she’d found a jigsaw with her photo on. No sooner had she finished than a text arrived from Frances saying she was going to see a film with her friend Marissa and that they were having a pizza before it. Penny’s first thought was that she could have accepted Leo’s invitation to the restaurant after all. Her second was shock at herself for even considering the idea.
Not that she would have gone. She hardly knew him. She wasn’t entirely sure she trusted him either. There was still that faint tang of mystery to him. Suddenly she frowned, going back over their conversations.
Something didn’t add up. He most definitely wasn’t a jigsaw collector or he’d have shown much more interest in that box of Salthaven adverts. Also – the newspaper advert had only mentioned wanting photos or prints. And yet he’d been looking for puzzles right from the outset. So how had he known to?
The
phone rang ten minutes into Midsomer Murders. ‘Hope I’m not disturbing you,’ said Leo. He didn’t sound sorry – he sounded enthusiastic.
‘No – I’ve already worked out whodunit. How was the Thai restaurant?’
‘Excellent. They gave me a doggy bag and a bottle. Doing anything tomorrow? We need to work.’
Penny felt a tiny frisson of excitement. ‘I thought you had plenty to go on.’
‘Not any more. That’s why I’m ringing. They don’t exist. Neither the Salthaven Home Welfare section nor the Seaview Emporium.’
‘Well, of course they don’t,’ she said. ‘It was sixty years ago.’
Leo gave a jubilant laugh. ‘You don’t understand. They’ve never existed, Penny. Not ever. Good, isn’t it?’
Chapter Two
Leo arrived next morning at a time most people didn’t even know existed.
‘Don’t you sleep?’ demanded Penny as she answered the door, thanking whichever deity kept an eye on her these days that she’d got dressed before making breakfast.
‘Not when there’s a story to track down.’ he replied, following her into the kitchen. ‘Also, I’ve run out of tea bags. Hello, I’m Leo,’ he said to Frances.
Frances had been finishing her cereal with one hand and tracing dreamy patterns on the jigsaws – which were still spread out on the table from yesterday – with the other. She looked up with a startled squawk. Penny offered an equally fervent thank you that her daughter was also dressed.
Leo pulled out a chair. ‘So, what do you make of them?’ he asked Frances.
‘The jigsaws? They’re cool. Who are you?’
Penny sighed and flicked the kettle on. ‘He’s the reporter I met yesterday.’
‘In what way cool?’ asked Leo.
‘Unique,’ said Frances. ‘It’s really difficult to create random patterns because the mind wants to make things orderly by repeating them. But these cuts are random. Even when I find repeated clumps, they’re dotted about, not in a formal pattern. It’s awesome.’
Penny foresaw that the next batch of clothes to emerge from her daughter’s sewing machine would be jigsawed together.