Unintended Consequences (Jack Turner Suspense Series Book 3)

by Dan Walsh

  23

  After staying a few more days at The Savoy, Renée had persuaded Elliot to help her find a less-expensive place to live. For her safety, and so they could spend more of their time actually being together (rather than on buses, trolleys and cabs), he’d suggested she live fairly close to where he worked on Baker Street. She was fine with that, but it meant she’d still be living in an upscale part of town.

  This was the Mayfair District, an area she could not afford without his help. The Ritz was a five-minute walk. Claridge’s store less than ten. The shops at Savile Row were three blocks away. Buckingham Palace was less than a mile.

  But tucked away in the midst of all this finery was the Brown’s Hotel on Albemarle Street. That’s where she had been living the last three weeks. It wasn’t as fancy as The Savoy but fancy enough for Elliot. And not too fancy for Renée. She still had two rooms, though smaller than her full-size suite at The Savoy, and she had a more modest bathroom.

  He still had to pay for most of her rent, but from the money she made from her new job, she could pay part of it. She also paid for her groceries, except the times Elliot took her out on a date, which hadn’t been very often the last ten days. In fact, she’d only seen him once.

  Right now, she was about to finish her fifteen-minute walk to work. Selfridge’s block-long department store was right up the street. She had gotten the job in the perfume department just over a week ago, all by herself. For a reason she didn’t understand at first, Elliot didn’t want her to work there. He had arranged for her to become a clerk in a military office, transcribing shorthand on a typewriter. Basically, sitting at a desk all day in a large room with no windows surrounded by a dozen other young women all banging away at the keys, and all wearing these dingy brown uniforms.

  While it was true, the building was only a few blocks away from where he worked on Baker Street. It was also true that doing something like that all day for five or six days a week would drive her absolutely insane. How could he complain about her working at Selfridge’s? It, too, was very near where he worked. Really, almost halfway between her hotel and his office.

  She had gotten the job quite by accident. One day she had walked into the store hoping to find a certain shade of lipstick. Until she found a job, Elliot had given her a small cash allowance. He had wanted to give her much more, but she’d refused. Because of this, she was pretty sure going into the store, that even if she did find a lipstick she liked, she’d never be able to afford it at a place like this. But she had heard so much about Selfridge’s over the years, she was still dying to see what it looked like inside.

  She was shocked to find that one entire brand of lipstick had been marked down by fifty percent, which put it just within her reach. As she was chatting with the salesclerk, the woman said, “You have such a lovely French accent. And your English seems quite good.”

  “Why thank you,” Renée replied. But it seemed like an odd thing for the woman to say. A moment later, she cleared up Renée’s confusion.

  “Would you, by any chance, be looking for a job?”

  “A job? Actually, yes, I am.”

  “Would you have to travel far to get here from where you live?”

  “Not far at all. I walked here from the Brown’s Hotel.”

  “The Brown’s Hotel?” the woman repeated. “You do understand the position I’m referring to is for a sales clerk.”

  Renée had understood. The woman must have wondered how someone like her could afford to stay at such a nice place, fearing she’d not earn enough if she had accepted the position. “I understand. That is not a problem for me. The pay, I mean. Is it a full-time position?”

  The woman said it was and that she’d be working at the perfume counter. Many of their perfume brands came from France. She’d thought Renée’s accent might be an advantage. Whether that was true or not, she was glad the woman had thought so. The woman she’d talked with turned out to be in charge of Cosmetics and Perfume.

  Renée crossed Duke Street. She was now walking beside the mammoth department store. Fortunately, the world famous ground floor display windows had not been covered up by sandbags, like so many other stores had done in the downtown area. She still enjoyed looking through them every day as she walked by. But she wondered if the store management wasn’t taking a great risk.

  The things she heard on the radio or read in the newspapers made it clear: everyone in London expected German bombers to start attacking any day now. Elliot believed this. It was the primary reason he’d given for being so unavailable lately. The Germans were going to attack very soon, and his orders kept changing. Their plans kept getting canceled, because he had to do this thing or that to get ready.

  But he’d promised her, tomorrow they would have lunch together at a little restaurant and pub they had gone to several times the first week she’d arrived, right off St. James Square. She was so looking forward to it, and she had the day off.

  She walked through the front doors, smiling at all the beauty, brightness and colors that greeted her every time she came here. What a wonderful contrast to the scene she’d have faced if she had taken the typing job Elliot had in mind.

  Her only regret, which never completely left her mind, was that her mother was not here to see this. She would have loved it. Renée still had not heard a word about her and Philippe’s welfare. Elliot had said the Germans must have certainly taken over their town by now, and indeed all of northern France. But he didn’t think they were in any particular danger, as long as they cooperated with the German authorities. The only people in any immediate danger were the Jews.

  Renée walked over to the perfume section, went behind the counter and set her things in a little cubbyhole. Her coworker, Rose, whose shift today had begun when the store opened was finishing up with a customer. Renée looked around. Only a few shoppers meandered through the aisles nearby. According to Rose, who had worked there for six months, business was slower than it used to be, for several weeks now. She was sure it had to do with the atmosphere created by the impending invasion.

  In one of their earlier conversations, shortly after Elliot had come in to see her for the first time, Rose had noticed his uniform and asked Renée what kind of work he did for the war effort. Renée had done her best to explain what she’d understood, but also said plainly his work was mostly classified, and that they couldn’t talk about it. Mainly because Elliot could not talk about it with her.

  But that had done little to curb Rose’s curiosity. She regularly asked Renée for information about things she had read or heard on the radio, as if Renée could provide her with detailed, inside information.

  She looked over at Rose who was giving the customer change. The woman walked away, obviously pleased by whatever she’d put in her bag.

  Rose came over. “So how did your dinner date go with your boyfriend last night? Where did you go? What did you ‘ave? What did you wear? I want to hear it all.”

  “Unfortunately, I must disappoint you. Elliot had to cancel again. Wherever he was, something had come up, and he knew he wouldn’t get back into London until late.”

  “Aww, I’m sorry. For you and for me. I was looking forward to hearing something romantic, since I’ve got nothing ‘appening in my own life at the moment. But I think I can say with certainty, you ‘ave nothing to worry about with that one.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Nothing. I just mean I think you can believe him when he says something came up and he has to cancel your date.”

  Renée wasn’t sure what she was getting at. She never had any trouble believing Elliot’s explanations.

  “I’ve seen the way he looks at you whenever he’s come into the store. He’s pretty keen on you. Don’t ever see ‘im looking at other girls.”

  That was nice to hear.

  “That one’s a keeper, he is. If I had a man like that, I’d be a right ‘appy girl. And you can bet, I wouldn’t let ‘im get away. He’s nobility, did he tell you that? I �
�eard one of the shift supervisors talking about him the last time he was here. His father is the Earl of Bainbridge. It’s someplace well north of here. One of those monstrous estate homes on hundreds of acres. I ‘aven’t seen it myself, but that’s what that means, if he’s an Earl. So I’d latch onto that one, if I were you, and not let go. The day he puts a ring on your finger, you can walk right out of ‘ere and never look back.”

  24

  The next day, Renée had slept in a little since she had the day off. Then she took her time ambling through the morning, getting cleaned up and ready for her lunch date. Thanks to her shopping trip with Elliot a few days after she’d arrived, her wardrobe now contained a handful of outfits she was proud to wear. After several minutes of deliberation, she settled on one.

  She hadn’t been able to reach Elliot to confirm their lunch date was still on, and she was a little nervous about walking all the way to St. James Square without gaining that assurance. Then she decided, either way, it wasn’t such a bad walk. She was a big girl. She had enough money in her purse to pay for her own lunch. And she could bring along a book to read in the restaurant and then after, sit on a bench in the square.

  Just when she had resolved to make the trip, she learned that Elliot had sent a message to the front desk clerk. The clerk called her over when she’d gone down to the lobby for a cup of tea. The message simply said that he had tried to call her several times but kept missing her. He wanted her to know that things still looked good for their lunch date today at the Cross and Shield. That was the name of the pub-restaurant where they were supposed to meet.

  Still looked good.

  He probably had meant this message to sound reassuring. And he probably had no idea that the inclusion of these three words created the opposite effect. Like, a definite maybe. Or saying, I certainly hope so. Based on his track record over the last two weeks, it lowered the chances of them actually seeing each other to fifty-fifty.

  Either way, she was determined to enjoy this little excursion. She did a quick check of her face, hair, makeup and dress in the mirror, picked up her sweater, purse, and government-issued gas mask and headed out the front door down the hall to the elevator.

  It was a fairly pleasant summer’s day. Although mostly overcast, the sun kept trying to make an appearance. The streets and sidewalks were as busy as ever. For the majority of Londoners, it was a typical workday. She was only off because she worked in retail.

  Walking leisurely down Albemarle Street, she strolled past a squad of middle-aged men in Home Guard outfits marching the other way. Some carried rifles, some broomsticks. Then she crossed a big intersection at Piccadilly and headed for the other side of the street to see some shop windows. Of course, now that she worked at Selfridge’s she rarely saw anything in store windows that surpassed the inventory on display there.

  When she reached King St. she turned left. Already the bright green foliage of St. James Square was visible at the end between the buildings.

  When she reached the square, she glanced at her watch. Still ten minutes to spare. She decided to walk through and around the square before taking the adjoining road to Pall Mall, where the pub was. It felt rejuvenating just to be in the presence of trees again, if only for a little while. She had taken them for granted back home. Here they were a treat, like ice cream or a pastry.

  Walking through the park also gave her a respite from all the reminders of the impending invasion. For once, there were no Home Guard troops doing drills. These days, they seemed to occupy every park, square and field. The trees in St. James, now full of summer leaves, blocked much of the outside world. She was surrounded by green. Blue had always been her favorite color, but feeling the effects of all the trees, grass and foliage…maybe it was time to switch to green.

  After spending all her remaining time enjoying the square, Renée hurried out and down the road that connected to Pall Mall. A quick right, and she was at the front door of the Cross and Shield.

  It wasn’t crowded. Her eyes instantly went to the table in the back on the left that they normally sat in. It was empty. Her heart sank just a little. She didn’t really expect Elliot to beat her here, but it would have been a nice surprise.

  The waitress came up and asked if she had a seating preference. It’s not like she could answer, “our usual table.” They’d only been there three times before. She pointed to the table and asked if it would be okay to sit there.

  “By all means,” the woman said. “As you can see, you can ‘ave your pick of the tables in that section. Will you be eating alone today?”

  “No, my…friend should be joining me any minute.” She described him to the waitress and wondered why she didn’t call him boyfriend. Wasn’t that what he was at this point?

  “We get anyone looks like that,” the woman said, “I’ll send ‘im right back. If he’s the wrong one, I’ll keep ‘im for meself.”

  Renée laughed.

  Renée sat facing the front door and set her things beside her. The woman asked what she’d like to drink and did she want a menu? “Some tea would be nice, and a glass of water. I think I already know what I’d like to order. But I can’t remember what it’s called. It’s some kind of pie. I’ve had it twice before.”

  “What’s in it? Tell me that, and I’ll probably know what it is.”

  “The main thing is pork with lots of cheddar cheese and a number of chopped up vegetables. I don’t know them all, but one is rutabaga. And there’s a pickle and it.”

  “That’s our Ploughman’s Pork Pie. One of our regulars’ favorites.”

  “Do you have any left?”

  “We do.”

  “I’d like some of that, please. But can you wait till my friend gets here?”

  “Sure we can. Know what he’ll want?”

  “I don’t. He’s gotten something different every time.”

  “Very good then. I’ll be right back with your tea and water, and I’ll keep an eye out for your officer friend and send ‘im right back the minute he arrives.”

  “Thank you.”

  Renée watched the woman walk off then set her eyes on the front door. “Please, Lord. Let him come this time. Keep the war away for just a little while.”

  Fifteen minutes later, Renée still sat there all alone. A number of people had come in. In fact, the pub was half full. But no Elliot.

  The waitress walked up. “You want to keep waiting, Miss? Perhaps your friend’s been detained.”

  What should she do? “Could we just wait five more minutes? If he’s not here by then, I’ll just order that Ploughman’s Pie.”

  “Very good, Miss. Be back in five minutes.”

  Obviously, with that answer, it was clear the waitress had already given up on him.

  25

  Jack was beginning to see cross-eyed. Maybe he should ask the librarian if she had a magnifying glass. This was now his second day of leave. Just as Joe had guessed, the Group Captain had no objections to them switching places. Joe’s plane had been grounded, not Joe. So, he let Jack take off for London. Joe was happy as a clam. Although the captain had also said there was a 50/50 chance the squadron wouldn’t fly any more missions until Jack got back. Joe didn’t care. He’d still wanted to trade places with Jack. A 50/50 chance was better than no chance at all.

  Jack leaned back in his chair at the London Library and looked up at the high ceiling. Between yesterday and this morning, he’d spent well over ten hours in this spot. The main floor of the library, the part you saw as you came through the front door from Saint James Square, was lined with rows of thick wood tables. Only a few people sat at them, spaced as far from each other as possible. Tall bookshelves lined the outer walls, extending all the way to the second floor, divided by a thin walkway around the perimeter.

  Jack was sure the library was much bigger than what he’d seen, but he had no interest in exploring its many chambers. He was there for just one book, and it sat spread out before him on the table. It was big and thick and stru
ctured something like the telephone books they had back home. Only to get your name in this directory you had to be somebody. Somebody important. Somebody rich and important, with noble blood running through your veins, whatever that meant. He supposed if his grandfather were in this book and the long-lost brother he had never met, then that same noble blood flowed inside of him.

  Joe had said it once after they talked about his family connections. “You know what that means, don’t you? You’re a blue blood, Jack.”

  Jack thought about all the hoity-toity hotels he had walked past on his way here. Those seemed more fitting for someone of his stature than the hole-in-the-wall dump he had rented last night. He yawned, stretched, rubbed his temples then his eyes. Time to stop these fantasies and get back to the task at hand; which was trying to find the name Elliot Turner somewhere in this book.

  He was close to the halfway point and wondered if he’d be finished by the time he had to head back to the airfield. He got up and walked toward the restroom. The loo, as the Brits called it. Mainly to wash his face with cold water, see if that helped revive him. When he returned to his chair he stood for a moment and stared down at the book.

  An involuntary sigh. Washing his face didn’t help. He needed something stronger. Maybe a stiff cup of coffee, if he could find one. Tea abounded here. Everybody served it. What he wouldn’t give for a nice cup of java. He glanced at his watch. Already well past noon. Maybe he should take a break. He looked over at the librarian standing behind the main counter. Maybe she knew a place nearby where he could grab a nice sandwich and coffee.

  It was worth a try. He got up to ask her.

  “You can’t miss it,” the librarian said. “It’s called the Cross and Sword. Right around the corner, on that road just off the square.” She pointed out the front window.

  “And they serve coffee there?”