by Jenny Holmes
‘Not at all. Most people would pass him in the street without a second glance. He wasn’t pleasant to Margaret, though – I did spot that.’
‘In what way?’ Cynthia had finished cleaning and was buttoning up her cardigan and reaching for her hat.
‘His tone of voice, the way he took hold of her hand, the way he smiled. Something was missing – I can’t put my finger on it.’
‘Respect?’ Cynthia suggested.
Millicent nodded. ‘Out of the mouths of babes,’ she remarked to Norma before turning back to Cynthia. ‘Are you on your way out?’
‘Yes, I’m meeting Wilf, if that’s all right.’
‘Of course, you go off and enjoy yourself. You’re only young once.’
Millicent’s dismissive tone made Norma frown.
‘What’s wrong?’ Millicent asked as an embarrassed Cynthia slid away.
‘That wasn’t very nice. You’re not blaming Cynthia for this morning, are you?’
Millicent let out a long sigh. ‘No. The truth is, I should have gone up to the office and done my own dirty work, not made her do it for me.’
‘So you’ll say sorry when she gets back?’
‘I will. I’ll remember in future that she’s not used to the rough and tumble of the big wide world.’
‘Good.’ Norma walked around the kitchen with her hands clasped behind her back. ‘So what do we do now that we’ve pinned down our man?’
‘We?’ Millicent echoed. ‘Aren’t you forgetting something?’
‘You mean Douglas?’
‘Yes. You have to heed his warning. I might not want to follow his orders, but it’s different for you. You’re wearing his ring.’
‘As if I needed reminding.’ Norma gave a shrug to acknowledge her difficult position. ‘I’m torn, I admit. On the one hand, I don’t want to go against Douglas, but on the other I’m not happy about you putting your own head on the block without any back-up.’
‘That’s all right. I can look after myself,’ Millicent assured her, though she was secretly touched by Norma’s loyalty. ‘I’ve had plenty of practice. Besides, I’ve known Clare for far longer than you and Cynthia.’
‘But that doesn’t mean you have to do it all by yourself. Listen, why don’t I have another go at persuading Douglas to investigate, now that we’ve found out more about Vincent Poole?’
‘I don’t think he’d listen. He’d see it as me stirring things up again. And he’d be right,’ Millicent added with a wink that vanished quickly and left her looking grave. ‘I did wonder if Clare would agree to see me.’
‘In prison?’ It was an avenue they hadn’t considered before. ‘She’d need to say yes and you’d have to get a visiting order. It might take a while.’
‘Is it worth a try?’
‘I’m not sure. We have to bear in mind that she hasn’t said a word so far.’
‘Yes and why not? That’s what worries me. If it was me, I’d be telling the police every last little detail – how Sidney Hall trapped me and forced me to go with men for money. I’d show them the bruises on my neck and shoulder. I’d be naming Phyllis Parr and telling them where to find Vincent Poole.’
‘So why isn’t Clare?’
‘I have no idea. But I have heard that sometimes a person who’s lived through dreadful things is too shocked to speak about it afterwards. It happened to men in the trenches in the war, when they saw comrades blown to smithereens.’
‘Yes, I’ve read about it. We should ask Cynthia – something like that happened to her dad. He came home in one piece but he wasn’t the same man ever again. Look at him now – how many years later is it?’
‘Coming up to twenty,’ Millicent murmured. ‘What if the same thing has happened to Clare? All that blood, the knife, the sight of Sidney dying.’
Grim memories of the scene silenced Millicent. Eventually she pulled herself together and aimed for a cheerfulness that was far from sincere. ‘Well, one thing is obvious – I’m a bad influence on you and Cynthia and I wouldn’t blame you for steering clear of me in future.’
‘Don’t be silly, Millicent.’ Norma, too, struggled for normality. ‘We’re all in this together.’
‘I mean it. You should try to push poor Clare to the back of your mind and concentrate on putting Douglas’s mind at rest instead.’
‘Easier said than done.’
‘But try,’ Millicent insisted. ‘This is a time for you to be happy. And to keep him happy, too. Otherwise you might regret it.’
Her comments rang true with Norma, who was already swaying in that direction. She glanced at her watch. ‘He’s coming to my house in half an hour. I’d better be off.’
‘Yes, do.’ First Cynthia and now Norma – gadding out and about with their young men. Millicent felt the usual pang of envy that she scarcely managed to conceal.
Norma hesitated by the door. ‘You won’t go putting your big foot in it without us?’
‘Who – me?’
‘Yes – you.’ Norma realized that Millicent had too much time on her hands since she’d sent Harold packing. ‘I mean it. Stay in and read a good book or listen to the wireless for a change.’
‘Oh yes and I’ll buy myself a pair of felt slippers while I’m at it – the type with the fluffy pom-poms on the front.’
They both laughed at the incongruous image. Norma stepped outside into a balmy evening while inside the house Millicent failed to settle to anything and brooded instead about the circumstances surrounding Clare’s upcoming trial. Then her thoughts wandered to Harold and how much she missed him. Dead loss or not, there was a big hole in her life now. And where was he, right this minute? What was he up to? Had he found a new job? If so, would Doris change her mind and bring the boys back from Saltburn? Then they would all live in a new little house made cosy with rugs, curtains and cushions. Their future would be back on track. The monster, jealousy, roared in Millicent’s bruised chest and would not be silenced by wireless or book.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
‘Suggest something better to do on a beautiful summer’s evening than spend it here with you and I’ll say you’re a fibber.’ Wilf turned on the charm. He felt that Cynthia needed cheering up and had brought her to Linton Park where the formal flowerbeds zinged with reds and yellows, purples and oranges. They’d walked past a bronze statue of the park’s Victorian benefactor, Sir Thomas Beeston. The moustachioed philanthropist was perched on a tall plinth, sightless master of all he surveyed. On they went, hand in hand, towards a playground where children soared high on swings and made themselves giddy on roundabouts.
Cynthia gave a small laugh at Wilf’s overblown compliment then stopped to take a deep breath. ‘Smell those roses.’
No sooner said than he jumped over a low ‘Keep off the Grass’ sign to pluck a pale pink rose from the nearest bed. He presented it to her with a flourish. ‘Go on – take it.’
‘What if someone saw you?’
‘Who cares?’ A perfect bloom for a girl whose skin was softer than rose petals, who made his heart sing whenever he saw her.
A stooped old man straining to push his wife in a cumbersome wheelchair looked askance as they passed. Wilf wrinkled his nose behind the old man’s back then pressed the rose into Cynthia’s hand. ‘It’s corny, I know.’
‘No – it’s lovely. You can carry on being as corny as you like.’
‘As long as the park keeper doesn’t catch me, eh?’ They walked on for a while, past the children’s playground and a miniature golf course, towards an ice-cream stall whose shutters were up for the evening. ‘We’ve got time to walk up through the pine woods if you like.’
Cynthia nodded her agreement. The wood fringed the top edge of the park and was a favourite spot for lovers. ‘Can I talk to you about something serious?’ she asked as they ventured into the murmuring silence of the evergreen trees.
‘Fire away.’
‘I’ve upset Millicent,’ she confessed. A sense of failure hung over her like a dark cloud an
d she hoped that Wilf would help her to find a way of making things right.
‘And she’s been having a go at you?’ Wilf knew Millicent of old – lovely enough to look at from a distance but her stem was covered in thorns. Even his sister Maude said so.
‘Not really. It just felt a bit awkward when we got home from work tonight.’ The straight trunks branched high over their heads and there was a carpet of needles and cones underfoot. ‘It was my fault – I made a mess of finding out Vincent Poole’s address.’
Mention of the name brought Wilf up short. ‘Come again?’
‘Vincent Poole – we’ve found out that he’s mixed up with Mrs Parr and Sidney Hall.’
‘Is that the same chap who drives a taxi? I know him. Or at least, I’ve heard Alf Middlemiss mention him once or twice.’
Cynthia grasped his hand tighter. ‘Really?’
‘Yes. I’ve gathered Alf’s not that keen on him.’
‘Do you know why not?’
‘No – I haven’t asked. Would you like me to find out?’
She nodded eagerly, imagining how pleased Millicent and Norma would be if Wilf were to discover something important. ‘We know that he’s been using his taxi to fetch and carry girls like Clare—’
‘Say no more,’ Wilf interrupted. ‘We don’t want to spoil our evening by thinking about that, do we? Just leave it to me.’
‘Thank you, Wilf.’ Happy to have shared the problem, she smiled and slipped an arm around his waist.
‘You’re welcome. Look – a squirrel, there straight ahead!’ Together they stood in the quiet shadows watching the small red creature twitch its bushy tail then shoot up the nearest tree trunk – up into the branches, an aerial acrobat of the woods.
‘It turns out that Wilf is fond of nature,’ Cynthia told Millicent and Norma the next day as they hung up their coats ready for work. ‘He knows the names of trees and wild animals.’
‘Does he now?’ Millicent took up the topic and ran with it. ‘How did you find this out, pray?’
Cynthia was in the middle of telling them about their walk in the wood when she picked up the knowing looks flashing between Norma and Millicent. ‘It’s not what you’re thinking!’
‘I’m sure it’s not.’ Millicent was hardly able to keep a straight face. Young men took their girls to the pine woods in Linton Park for one reason only. ‘What else does Wilf know about? Is he an expert on the birds and the bees as well?’
‘Millicent Jones – you’re as bad as my mother.’ Cynthia was determined to give as good as she got. ‘She was forever going on at me never to trust boys.’
‘Quite right too, eh, Norma?’
Norma was distracted by the sight of Ruth coming down the stairs from the general office. ‘Atten-shun!’ she muttered under her breath.
Millicent and Norma made themselves scarce, quick march, and were at their switchboards before Ruth could nab them. Cynthia, however, had to stay behind to search for a free coat hook.
‘Ah, just the person …’ Ruth began as Cynthia emerged from the cloakroom. She steered her into the restroom – the scene of yesterday’s warning.
Cynthia tried to steel herself against another possible reprimand. She set her shoulders back and made sure that her blouse was neatly tucked into the waistband of her skirt, aware that the supe was studying her closely.
‘Kathryn Verney tells me you seemed more interested in our subscribers’ lists than in routes and rates during your little expedition upstairs yesterday,’ Ruth began slowly. ‘I’m wondering why that might have been.’
‘I’m sorry, Miss Ridley – I didn’t know where anything was kept.’
‘So Kathryn and I decided to get out the list of all yesterday’s calls. We went through them with a fine-tooth comb and we didn’t see any requests for the Lerwick line – not one.’
Cynthia swallowed hard. ‘No. I fancied finding out just in case I ever needed it.’
Ruth didn’t try to disguise her disappointment at the feebleness of Cynthia’s excuse. ‘You’re not a very good liar, are you? I suppose that was one of the reasons I had high hopes for you when you started – your honesty, some might say your simplicity.’
‘It won’t happen—’
‘I know, I know. But that’s beside the point. Sit down, Cynthia. We need to have a proper talk.’
So Cynthia sat opposite Ruth at the low coffee table, taking in the supe’s ramrod-straight posture and the spotlessness of her royal blue dress with its white piping and turned-back cuffs.
‘Be honest with me. Were you up to something? And if so, what?’
Cynthia did her utmost to withstand the pressure of Ruth’s steely gaze, trying to find an answer that didn’t implicate Millicent and Norma but which didn’t plunge her into deeper trouble. ‘It’s true,’ she said. ‘I did want to look up the number of one of our subscribers.’
Ruth frowned and waited expectantly for more.
Cynthia floundered for an excuse that might ring true. ‘My Uncle William, out in Hadley … My cousin Bert told me that he’d switched from one party line to another. I wanted to find out if it was true.’
Ruth’s gaze hardened further.
‘I’m sorry.’
‘You will be, if I find out that it’s not true.’ Really, this was going from bad to worse. ‘What’s got into you, Cynthia? Why are you of all people lying to me?’ There was a pause for thought then, ‘Oh, wait a minute – is there someone else behind all this nonsense, egging you on?’
‘No, Miss Ridley.’
‘Of course, that’s it. I might have known you wouldn’t get up to no good all by yourself. This is something that Millicent and Norma asked you to do.’
Feeling as though someone had punched her in the stomach, Cynthia rocked forward, unable to frame an answer.
‘Now it makes sense.’ Ruth’s triumph rang out of the cramped restroom into the marble foyer. ‘Those two sent you upstairs on some trumped-up mission. What was it? If you tell me, it won’t be held against you, I promise.’
Cynthia shook her head and tried to catch her breath.
‘Very well, let me ask you about another matter. And this time I want you to tell me the truth.’ Now that she had Cynthia on the ropes, Ruth went at her hard with a flurry of punches, each one guaranteed to floor her. ‘Whose conversation was Millicent listening in to? And don’t tell me she wasn’t. Did you think I would be fooled by that little trick with the handkerchief? Come on, Cynthia, out with it.’
Cynthia’s mouth went dry. She couldn’t have spoken even if she’d wanted to. Instead, she looked out through the door as if working out her escape route.
‘She was listening in and both you and Norma were covering for her.’ Ruth’s certainty grew with every passing second. ‘Admit it.’
Cynthia’s head dropped forward and a small, coughing sound caught in her throat. She risked losing everything if she told on the others – not only her job here at the exchange but her friendship with Millicent and Norma. So she sat and shook her head.
‘I’ll ask you again – was Millicent Jones listening in to a call? And was Norma Haig a willing accomplice?’ Ruth’s patience, worn thin by Cynthia’s prevarication, finally snapped. Her neck was flushed with anger as she stood up and walked towards the door. ‘Very well – you’ve missed your last chance to save yourself.’
Pushed beyond endurance, Cynthia gasped and willed her legs to work as she ran after Ruth and blurted out her confession. ‘All right – yes, they were listening in.’
The supervisor stopped, turned and jerked her head like a bird pecking at its prey – stab, stab with a sharp, hooked beak. ‘Aha!’
‘But it was to help Clare – Clare Bell. They – we – know Clare didn’t murder Sidney Hall but the police think she did. And that’s not right.’
‘Stop.’ Ruth’s gimlet stare silenced Cynthia. ‘Save your breath. There is nothing you can say to defend them. Nothing.’
Panic shot through Cynthia as she realized what s
he’d done. Fixed to the spot, she watched Ruth turn and stalk across the foyer. There was a glimpse of switchboards and the usual cacophony of voices as she swung open the door into the workroom. Then time slowed. Seconds became minutes. The door opened again and Norma and Millicent emerged, white faced.
Cynthia took one step out into the foyer, her lips trembling, her throat constricted.
Norma saw her and gave a tight-lipped stare while Millicent refused even to look in her direction. They went straight to the cloakroom for their hats and coats and Cynthia was still standing in the same spot when they came out.
She watched them leave the exchange – Norma was first out through the glass door, head held high, Millicent following her with her coat over her arm, hat in hand.
The white and grey floor gleamed, the doors swished as they revolved. Norma and Millicent were gone. Cynthia’s stomach twisted with fear and regret. What have I done? she wondered. The world had turned on its head and she’d been helpless to stop it. Her job, her new home, her friendships with Millicent and Norma floated from her grasp and left her stranded on a sea of cold marble – drifting, rudderless and alone.
‘Not sacked – suspended,’ Norma told Douglas with a quavering voice. ‘It’s out of Ruth’s hands, thank heavens.’
‘But you could still lose your job?’ he asked. She’d come straight to his lodgings before he’d set off for a late shift and told him everything – how the three of them had devised a signal to fool the supes while they listened in to Mrs Parr and Vincent Poole but hadn’t managed to pull the wool over Ruth Ridley’s eyes, and afterwards Ruth had presumably put pressure on Cynthia to make her confess.
Douglas had come to the door dressed in collarless shirt and braces, his chin freshly shaven, and he’d seen straight away that a calamity had happened.
‘Yes, I could lose my job,’ Norma admitted. ‘Ruth’s report went upstairs to the general manager’s office.’ She struggled to stay calm. ‘He’ll read it then make a decision. Meanwhile, Millicent intends to get in touch with the union.’
‘Much good that will do.’ Douglas bit his tongue to stop himself from saying, I told you so. ‘A rule’s a rule and it’s pretty clear that you broke it.’