Frances Flynn stared at her and held onto the handle of the door. For a brief moment, Molly thought she might faint. Then she stood aside and said, ‘Well, you better come in.’
She was ushered into a well-furnished living room. Everything looked brand new. Frances said, ‘We only got this house six months ago. We used to live in Carnegie Street, just off Ann Street. We got our house all newly furnished because our old stuff looked so shabby,’ she said proudly. ‘We’ve even left the plastic cover on the settee and chairs as we don’t want to get it dirty.’
‘Your house is lovely,’ said Molly, and she meant it.
‘Aye, it’s great to have a kitchen and bathroom, especially with the family. I’ve got my husband and two boys who are working while Maggie is still at school. She’s off sick today. Still, I miss the noise and neighbours from Carnegie Street. It’s like living in the country out here and it costs a fortune for buses into the town.’ She lit another cigarette and looked at Molly. ‘You said this was about Etta Barton? That’s going back in history. So what do you want to know? Oh and by the way, call me Frances.’
Molly explained her mission. ‘According to the newspaper, you were the last person to see her after work on the Saturday. Is that right?’
‘Yes, I think I was. But maybe she was seen on the Sunday but I don’t think anybody came forward at the time.’
‘How was she that night?’ asked Molly. ‘Did she seem happy or unhappy or worried about anything?’
Frances gave this a bit of thought and shook her head. ‘I think she looked just the same as usual. We weren’t really friends. It was just that we sometimes met on the Murraygate when we finished work – Etta worked in Markies and I was a junior saleswoman in Grafton’s clothes shop, which was directly across from Marks and Spencer.’ She glanced ruefully at Molly. ‘You wouldn’t think I was once a fashion lover, would you?’ she said, fingering the sloppy, worn-out looking cardigan and shabby skirt. ‘But I loved clothes away back then and I dressed really well. Not like Etta, she always looked old-fashioned. As I said, after work, if we met in the street, we would walk up the Hilltown together as she lived just a few yards away from me.’
‘Did she ever mention she had a boyfriend or someone she was fond of?’
‘I don’t remember a boyfriend but I do know she was very close to her father. She adored him. She once told me that her mother had said he was dead. That’s when he was in the army during the First World War. I believe he was missing but he turned up after the war was over and she said she never forgave her mother for telling her lies. I said, “But your poor mother was told he was missing presumed dead, so it wasn’t her fault.”’ Frances leant forward and looked at Molly. ‘Do you know what she said when I said that?’ Molly shook her head. Frances whispered, ‘She told me she wished it had been her mother who had been missing presumed dead and that she would never ever forgive her for lying to her. Aye, she was a queer lass now I come to think of it.’
‘Did you think her father tried to tell her the truth about the war and defend his wife?’
‘Yes, I know he did because I overheard him one day. He said, “It’s not your mum’s fault, because she couldn’t help it.”’
‘When was this?’
Frances rubbed her nose and lit another cigarette. ‘I think it was just before his accident and her disappearance. I think it was the week before. He came to meet her at work just as I arrived and she was angry about something and he said it wasn’t her mum’s fault. She never mentioned anything to me about it, not then and not on that last evening.’ She looked at Molly in despair. ‘I told the police all about it. They questioned me so much that my parents had to put a stop to it. They said I had told them all I knew but the police thought I might remember something, but I didn’t.’
‘And have you remembered anything, however small, after so long?’
Frances laughed. ‘Aye, just that Etta’s disappearance was a bloody nuisance. My manageress in the shop wasn’t very pleased with my involvement, so that’s why my parents had to put a stop to the questioning. They told the policeman that my job was at stake and that I was being treated as if I was some sort of criminal. Then, after a few weeks, everything died down. There must have been some other story for the papers to print and my life went on as usual. I sometimes wonder what did happen to her, whether she’s alive or dead, but to be honest, I don’t really care that much. I found her a strange girl with an intensity that I’d never seen in other pals of my age.’
Molly stood up and thanked the woman for her help.
‘So do you think you’ll find out what happened?’ asked Frances.
‘I don’t know,’ said Molly truthfully.
While she was sitting on the bus on her way back, Molly decided to go and see Mrs Jankowski again. When she was back in Gina’s house, she apologised for bothering her. ‘I wonder if you have the address for Anita Armstrong?’
Gina said she didn’t but she could give her Maria’s address and she would know where the woman stayed. ‘After all, she bring her here to play bridge so she must know where she stays.’
Maria Janetta lived in Hill Street, so Molly made her way there. Maria was surprised to see this stranger at her door but she knew Anita’s address. It was two closes down from hers. Molly hoped Anita would be at home and was relieved when the door was answered. ‘Can I have a word, Mrs Armstrong? It’s about Vera Barton.’
Anita almost fell over her feet to let Molly in. ‘Oh yes, come in, come in.’ She led the way through a long lobby to the living room. Molly noticed it was very comfortably furnished with thick velvet curtains at the window, comfy chairs and a sofa. There was also a small television on a table. Molly realised that money was no object in this household.
She declined a cup of tea, getting straight to the point, ‘You were a neighbour of the Barton’s in 1929, I believe.’
‘Oh yes, we were. Bill and I were just married and we managed to rent this small house at 96 Hilltown. Not in the same block as the Bartons but we knew them by sight.’ said Anita. ‘I remember Vera very well, as she was a beautiful woman. She must have been in her early thirties then because Etta would have been about fifteen. Poor Etta. She didn’t inherit her mother’s good looks. In fact, she was a very plain looking girl and always seemed to have a surly expression. Not like her mum.’
‘What about Dave Barton? What was your impression of him?’
Anita’s chatter seemed to dry up and she looked pensive. ‘I didn’t know him so well. He worked in a foundry somewhere but sometimes, on a Sunday, I would see him and Etta going for a walk. She adored him. I could tell by the way she looked at him. My elderly neighbour next door said she’d known him and his family for years and he was a very moody man. He hadn’t always been like that but the war changed him, she said, just like it changed hundreds of men who came home traumatised or injured. I felt sorry for them. Then after six months, Bill’s father opened another hardware shop in Glasgow and we went to live there. We’ve moved back here because Bill’s dad died this summer and Bill manages the shop here while our two sons run the branch in Glasgow.’
Molly put her notebook away and thanked Anita for her help. When they reached the door, Anita said, ‘Oh, I forgot to mention the lodgers.’
Molly said, ‘What lodgers?’
Anita became flustered. ‘Well, they weren’t really lodgers, but mainly young people who needed accommodation when they were at the Technical College in Bell Street or the university. When Vera’s husband was missing during the war, she registered with the education department and said she was willing to put up one person at a time in her house. It was to earn money for Etta and help her pay the bills. She didn’t have people all the time, just when someone needed accommodation, and she continued to put students up even after Dave returned.
‘When we were living in our house, I remember Dave and Vera had a young girl staying with them. She was a very pretty girl who was studying at the university. The rumour was that Dave
fancied this girl very much and that Etta didn’t like it one bit. My neighbour, the one I mentioned earlier, told me that Etta’s nose was put out of joint.’ Suddenly she laughed. ‘It was just a rumour put about by this neighbour, who was a terrible old gossip, and probably wasn’t true. Some of the stories she told me would make your hair curl.’
This was just the sort of person Molly needed. ‘I don’t suppose she’s still alive?’
Anita shook her head. ‘I don’t think so, she was about eighty years old away back then.’
‘What was her name?’
Anita had to think about this. ‘It was Mrs Pert. Nosey old besom if you ask me.’
‘Can you remember the name of the student?’
Anita looked doubtful. ‘It was such a long time ago and I don’t think she was there for very long.’
Molly was disappointed but she smiled and walked to the door.
‘Thank you so much for all your help and if you remember anything else, let me know.’ She handed Anita a card. ‘My telephone number is there or you can call at the agency.’
10
Molly went straight to the office. She had to sort out the jobs for Mary and Edna. This trouble with John Knox had thrown the work schedule into disarray. Mary was due to start at Keiller’s sweet factory on Monday, so maybe Edna could fill in the last week of Mary’s assignment at a city office and then, if this stalemate lasted any longer, then she would have to reorganise everything.
Molly felt tired. It was all this questioning and, although she was getting a better picture of Dave and Etta, she was no nearer to finding the girl. Jean was busy on the phone about a cleaning job that had come up. At least the cleaners were all kept busy and Mrs Jankowski had booked Maisie for the next few Monday mornings.
‘I like Maisie,’ she had said. ‘She do what I tell her and not stand around doing nothing. Not like the last young girl I had. She was lazy and hopeless.’
Molly was pleased at the praise and she hoped that Alice and Deanna were also making good impressions. It was almost four o’clock and Molly decided to go upstairs and check through all her statements. She would also look through the addresses from Vera’s book again. There were quite a few and she didn’t know which ones were relevant to Etta.
She had just gone upstairs when Jean called up. ‘Molly, there’s someone here to see you.’
Molly was surprised to see Anita. She was dressed in a cosy checked coat with a brown scarf, hat and gloves. She looked like she was going to a wedding or some other grand occasion but no, she had only popped down to Woolworths for a look around and the Home and Colonial shop in the Wellgate for her groceries. All this information tumbled out like bullets from a machine gun. Jean looked amused.
‘After you left, I thought so hard to remember the student’s name. Then it came to me. She was called Sasha but I can’t remember her second name. I think I recalled her first name because I always thought it was exotic.’
Molly could have kissed her. ‘Thank you, Anita. You’ve been a great help with your fantastic memory. I wish everyone could remember things from so long ago.’
Anita’s face went pink with pleasure. ‘Well, I was just married and interested in everybody who lived around me. And I had Mrs Pert. What she didn’t know wasn’t worth bothering about. I once said to my husband, “That woman would make a great blackmailer.”’ Jean gave a gasp and Anita looked guilty. ‘It’s just that I had been reading a great murder mystery and the victims were being blackmailed and then bumped off. But everybody knew about Mrs Pert and they used to laugh at her gossip.’
Molly managed to say ‘cheerio’ to Anita after half an hour and even then she stood at the window and waved. ‘For heaven’s sake,’ said Jean, ‘I thought she would be here all night.’ She became serious. ‘You don’t think there could have been any truth in her blackmail suggestion do you?’
Molly laughed. ‘Oh, I shouldn’t think so.’
Jean was quiet. ‘That Anita is a sharp little madam. She’s observant and she notices and listens to all sorts of stories.’
But Molly wasn’t listening. The name Sasha rang a bell and she hurried upstairs to look at the address book. Yes, there it was. Dr Sasha Lowson, Beach House, St Andrews. Vera had written a small note beside the name. ‘Sasha has sent a lovely letter about Dave and Etta. I heard from her last year, and she is still in St Andrews.’ Molly would go and see Dr Sasha Lowson on Monday. As she would be driving, she decided to spend Sunday night in Newport and she could make an early start the next morning. She was hoping to see Marigold and discuss the case with her. Maybe she would see something that Molly was missing.
When she arrived and stood in the living room of her parent’s house, a feeling of loneliness suddenly overwhelmed her – it was a true saying that it was the people who made a home and, if they weren’t there, then it was just a pile of bricks and mortar. She quickly went over to visit Marigold, who was delighted to see her and she insisted that Molly stay for her tea. This was an invitation that didn’t need issuing twice because Molly wasn’t in the mood to cook for one in her parents’ quiet, empty house.
After tea, Molly took out her notes and they both settled down beside the blazing fire. Marigold asked how the investigation was going. ‘I’m not sure,’ said Molly. ‘I’ve spoken to three people who knew the family but I’ve still no idea what happened to Etta. Vera was in hospital before and during the accident and she never saw Etta again. It’s a complete mystery. Still, I’m going to see someone who lodged with the family in 1929 and hopefully she can help me. She’s a doctor who lives in St Andrews.’
‘There’s one thing that bothers me,’ said Marigold. ‘Why was Dave Barton in Arbroath that Sunday, especially as his wife was in hospital? And where was Etta? Was she with him or did she stay at home or go out with a friend?’
Molly could have kicked herself for overlooking this important fact. It was easy to see that she wasn’t an investigator. ‘I’ve no idea, Marigold. I’ll go and see Vera tomorrow, after I’ve seen this Dr Lowson. I don’t know where Etta was but the newspaper cutting said the last known sighting of her was on the Saturday night after work.’
Marigold laughed. ‘Don’t believe everything that you read in the papers. They sometimes get it wrong.’
‘Well, I’ve taken the job on for one month and I’ve told Vera not to get her hopes raised as it’s been so long ago. I didn’t take the job under false pretences. Thank goodness, as I’m not getting anywhere fast.’
The two women settled down to listen to the radio while outside a storm had blown up. Rain rattled against the window and gusts of wind blew hot specks of ash into the hearth. Marigold looked out as she went to make cups of cocoa. ‘What a night! The rain is lashing down and that tree in the garden is almost bent double under the wind.’
As she handed a cup to Molly, she said, ‘Why don’t you stay here tonight? Your house will be cold.’ Molly was grateful for the offer and this was the second invitation she didn’t turn down.
Later, as she lay in bed and listened to the wind and rain, she tried to make sense of all the information she had so far and wondered if she had missed something. But tomorrow was another day and another interview, she thought, as she snuggled down in the warm bed. Within a few minutes, she was fast asleep.
The delicious smell of bacon woke her up. Marigold was busy in the kitchen, wearing an apron with large red roses splashed all over its surface. She looked like she had brought the garden indoors. Sabby was purring around her feet and Marigold was putting warm milk in her bowl. Molly didn’t say anything but she was amused by the wonderful life the cat led. No wonder she didn’t want to go home. The storm had abated slightly but the rain was still as heavy. Large black clouds made the morning murky and dark but Molly hoped the weather would improve as she set off in search of the good doctor.
An hour later, she was on her way. Marigold stood at the door as the car drove out of the drive. ‘Watch the road, Molly. There might be floods after last ni
ght.’
As she waved back, she thought that was all she needed, but thankfully, although there were lots of deep puddles at the side of the road, she managed to make good time and she drove into St Andrews at around 10:30 a.m. She found a car park just off the main street and hurried to the shops. She planned to find the post office and ask the way to Beach House. Presumably it overlooked the beach but it could be anywhere along the coastline.
The rain had stopped when she was halfway through her journey but it was still grey and dismal. She soon found the post office and she waited in the queue until she reached the counter. The assistant was very helpful but she probably thought Molly was in need of medical help. Fortunately, the house was near the town. ‘Doctor Lowson’s house? Yes, go to the end of the street and if you follow the road you’ll come to Beach House.’
Molly followed the directions but it took longer than she thought. When she came to the end of the street, she had to go along another couple of roads but when she turned the corner, the beach lay before her. On this dreary morning, the wet sand looked drab, with clumps of seaweed lying in a line at the high watermark, while the sea rushed to the shore in large waves. There was no sign of anyone on the wet, pristine stretch of sand and the beach looked forlorn and uninviting, like an alien patch of land from some uninhabited part of the world. Yet how different it would be in the height of the summer, she thought, with holidaymakers making patterns with their footprints.
Molly turned her attention to the row of villas that lined the road and she made her way along the pavement, searching for Beach House. It was situated half way along the street and had a sign outside that stated it was a doctor’s surgery. She walked up the brick drive to an extension on the side of the house, which had another sign saying ‘Surgery’. Inside was a small hall with two doors and Molly decided to open the one nearest to her. She found herself in a medium-sized room with chairs along three walls and a long coffee table that held glossy magazines. There were four people waiting and Molly sat down. A couple of the women gave her a scrutinising look. They were obviously long-term patients and they knew a stranger at a hundred yards. Molly gave them a smile and they returned to reading their magazines. Molly was hoping she wouldn’t have too long to wait as she wanted to visit Vera this afternoon. She had no sooner given this a thought when the door opened and one of the women went in, followed quickly by the other three patients.
Private Sorrow, A Page 5