‘Yes, several times. What happened to Dorothy?’
‘I never saw her again, after that afternoon in the air raid shelter.’ He pauses.
‘But the SOE flight into France? The Joe who turned up. You saw her then?’
‘That Joe wasn’t Dorothy. Much of what I told you about that time was true. I met Dorothy. I think I was in love with her for a short while. She was vivacious, impetuous, fun to be with; a spark of light in a time of darkness. She was a land girl, that part is true, but she never worked for the SOE, at least not that I know of.’
‘You did though, didn’t you?’
‘Yes, I flew some of the operatives into France, like I told you. The bombing raid happened, just like I said. But then, I didn’t hear from her. I was worried about her, so I visited the farm where she worked. They said she’d up and left. Hadn’t told anyone where she was going. I waited for a letter. I was sure she’d get in touch, but when she didn’t write, well, life is too short. I got chatting to Winifred at one of the village dances, I recognised her from that night of the bombing raid. We started seeing each other and I fell for her. I realised then that what I’d felt for Dorothy wasn’t true love.’
‘Winifred? She was the owner of the rose-coloured coat?’
He is gazing across the room now, unaware of his surroundings, as though he is reliving each precious moment of that early passion.
‘A few months after Winifred and I met I had to prepare to fly a Joe over to France.’
‘Yes, you told me about that.’
‘Well, it was Winifred who turned up that night.’
‘You let me believe it was Dorothy.’
‘I think you chose to believe that. I never said as much. It was a dark day for me. I had to leave the woman I loved in enemy territory and fly back to base, not knowing her fate. It nearly killed me, if I’m honest. It made me realise the strength of my feelings for Winnie and I promised myself there and then that if I ever saw her again I’d ask her to marry me.’
‘She returned safely from her mission?’
‘I didn’t hear from her for several months, I’d given her up for dead, but I thought about her every day. Then one day, there she was. Once she was back from France she came to the base to see me, to let me know she was safe. I knew enough about the importance of secrecy not to ask her where she’d been, or if her mission was successful.’
‘Did you ever speak about that time, later, once the war was over?’
‘In all our years of marriage we never once spoke about it.’
‘When did you marry?’
‘Straight after the war ended.’
‘Did you have any children?’
‘No, it was a dreadful sadness for Winnie, but it wasn’t to be.’
‘So now, after all these years, did you decide that you cared for Dorothy after all? Is that the real reason you’re here in Tamarisk Bay? To rekindle a lost love?’
‘Far from it. Dorothy took something that wasn’t hers.’ His face darkens and his fists clench.
‘Don’t upset yourself, Hugh, remember you need to stay calm. Rosetta will never forgive me if her favourite lodger has to return to hospital.’
‘That afternoon, in the air raid shelter. Dorothy stole something precious.’
‘Not the coat? You said she handed the coat back.’
‘Not the coat, no. But when she tried the coat on and twirled around in it, she must have put her hand in one of the pockets.’
‘What did she find? A purse? A wallet?’
‘A brooch.’
‘She stole a brooch? What makes you so sure?’
‘When I got to know Winifred she told me about a brooch she had been given by her grandmother. It was a family heirloom. She said how sad she was that she’d lost it. She felt she’d let her grandmother down. But I didn’t know then how or when she had lost it.’
‘And now you think Dorothy took it, that day of the air raid? But it could have been anyone in the air raid shelter. You said people put coats on the floor. It could have fallen out, or someone else could have taken it.’
‘Do you have the press cutting?’
‘Pardon?’
‘The press cutting from the left luggage depot?’
I take my notebook from my duffel bag and remove the photocopy of the article. ‘I’ve copied it, I thought it best to keep the original safe in my bedroom drawer at home.’
He smooths the sheet of paper out and points to one of the women in the crowd. ‘Dorothy,’ he says.
‘Yes, Freda Latimer pointed her out. That’s Freda there, right next to Dorothy.’
‘Do you see what she is wearing?’
‘Dorothy?’
‘Yes.’ Her coat looks shabby, although she is partly hidden by the rest of the group standing in front of her.
‘Look closely. What is on the collar?’
‘A brooch. Yes, I can see it quite plainly now you point it out.’
‘Winifred’s brooch. That’s how I know that Dorothy stole it. The shape is so distinctive, it’s unmistakeable. It was Victorian, very rare and very valuable.’
He is quiet, his eyes fixed on the photo.
‘The day of the air raid Winifred must have put it in her coat pocket. She said she lost it when she was on the way to the bank to put it in a safety deposit box. With all the bombings we were experiencing, she was afraid to leave it in her house. Homes were being flattened every week, people’s possessions destroyed.’
‘But wouldn’t she have had it in her handbag, wouldn’t that have been safer than putting it in a pocket?’
‘A handbag could be easily stolen, during air raids there was a fair amount of pilfering. She would have believed that having it in her pocket was the safest place.’
‘But this press cutting is twenty-four years old. If you have known about it all this time, why wait so long? Surely, once you realised you could have gone to the police.’
‘No, that’s just it. I didn’t know. I didn’t see this press cutting until my Winnie died. I was going through her papers. She kept diaries, one for every year we were together. I read a few, it was like listening to her voice again. Bittersweet.’
He pauses and I can see he is struggling with his memories.
‘Let’s take a break, Hugh, I’m worried that all this talking will start your coughing off again. Shall I ask Rosetta to make us a drink?’
‘I’m alright. I need to carry on now, now that I have started.’
‘Well, take it slowly. I’m not in a rush; besides, I don’t do shorthand, you know,’ I say and smile.
‘The cutting fell out of Winnie’s diary for 1946. She had known all that time and yet she never told me.’
‘Do you know why she kept quiet about it?’
‘Winnie was so gentle. Yes, she was courageous, prepared to risk her life for her country, but she was the kindest person I know. She knew it would hurt me to learn that Dorothy had stolen the brooch. I had trusted Dorothy, I thought we were friends.’
‘So now what? Do you think Dorothy still has the brooch? Is that what you’re hoping?’
‘No, I’m certain she won’t still have it. Once she found out what it was worth, she would have sold it. That kind of money would have changed her life.’
Some of the pieces of the jigsaw now neatly fit into place. Dorothy must have sold the brooch, transforming not just her life, but that of her brother too. No wonder Kenneth is so keen to keep Hugh and me at arm’s length.
It is also possible that Freda’s run in with Dorothy could have had something to do with the sudden change of fortune for the Elm family. Libby’s contact had also said something about ‘rumours’. When a family goes from poverty to affluence overnight there is always a chance that people expect ill-gotten gains to be at the heart of it.
‘Why did you say that Dorothy could be in danger?’
‘I thought it would help to energise your search for her,’ he says and smiles.
‘Mm, I’m not sure h
ow I feel about that, but what’s done is done. At least I know the truth now. I do know the truth now, don’t I, Hugh?’
He nods. ‘I’m tired now, Janie. Do you mind if we end our conversation and perhaps you could visit again tomorrow?’
‘Before I go, can you just tell me what the point of this search is? If you know that Dorothy took the brooch and you are certain she won’t have it anymore, why track her down? ‘
‘Retribution.’
‘That’s a strong word. What kind of retribution?’
‘A punishment that fits the crime,’ he says and closes his eyes, which is my cue to leave.
Having no knowledge of criminal law or police procedure is the reason I should take the advice of friends and family and stick with the day job. It appears that a crime has been committed, but there is little proof, barring a blurry photograph in a newspaper article, dated twenty-four years ago. What’s more, there is a strong likelihood that the item in question has been sold and could be in anyone’s hands now, in this country, or even abroad. If I visit DS Bright to ask his opinion I risk opening up lines of enquiry that could lead to more than one person getting into trouble, including me.
If I had a greater understanding of Hugh’s motivation it would help. Perhaps it is enough for him to confront Dorothy, let her know that Winifred knew the culprit all along. Hugh’s wife showed great generosity of spirit and love for her husband by taking the secret to her grave, or at least that must have been her plan.
Hugh has spoken of ‘retribution’, punishment for the crime. I’m wondering if it’s all too late for that.
Chapter 22
At the denouement of several of Agatha Christie’s books Poirot gathers all possible suspects together. He runs through the evidence in front of them and eventually reveals the culprit. Well, in this case, Hugh has told me who the culprit is. What I don’t know yet is where she is. It’s time to run through the possibilities with Libby and hope that between us we can find a solution.
We meet in Jefferson’s and as soon as we have drinks in front of us I present her with the facts as I understand them.
‘You’ve been busy,’ she says, having listened attentively, nodding her head at regular intervals. ‘So, let me get this straight. The real reason Hugh wants to find Dorothy is because she stole a valuable brooch from the woman who Hugh eventually married.’
‘That’s about the size of it.’
‘But Hugh guesses that Dorothy would have sold the brooch by now and spent the proceeds. And that would fit with the various rumours that were kicking about and maybe the reason why Freda got herself slapped. Perhaps she had her suspicions and accused Dorothy to her face?’
‘Yes, that’s a definite possibility.’
‘I still don’t get why Hugh is bothered, after all these years.’
‘Well, I suppose he feels he owes it to his wife. She protected his feelings for all that time.’
‘Mm,’ Libby says, using the straw to stir her milkshake, concentration on her face.
‘I’m thinking that if there’s any way we can get Hugh, Dorothy and Kenneth into a room together, we could force a confession from the Elms,’ I say. ‘It would also mean we would be on hand to make sure Hugh doesn’t get distressed.’
‘You’re right there, I don’t fancy seeing him carted off in an ambulance at this stage of the game.’
‘It’s not a game, Libby,’ attempting a stern voice and failing miserably.
‘Sorry, just a figure of speech. Anyway, this is all fanciful. Kenneth is hardly going to agree to it and he’s the only one who can tell us where his sister lives.’
‘All we can do is revert to my original idea. Stake out Kenneth, follow him and hopefully find this blessed woman. Then we can all relax and return to normality.’
‘Is that a touch of impatience I hear in your voice, Mrs Amateur Sleuth? Didn’t your dad warn you that being a detective is all about legwork? Look at it this way, you might finally get to use your camera,’ she says, winking.
Libby’s Mini has seen better days. The rust at the bottom of the doors means the heater has to work overtime to warm the freezing air that blasts in around our feet. Before heading off, I tell Greg our plan.
‘You’re going to do a stake-out? Crikey, questions like “How was your day today, darling?” will never be the same again,’ he says, his face breaking into a grin. ‘Seriously though, you will be…’
‘Careful, yes. And Libby will be there to keep an eye on me.’
‘I’m not sure if that makes me feel better or worse.’
‘Off you go and concentrate on Brighton winning. Really, we will be fine.’
Having checked the surgery times we know that Kenneth should emerge from the vets shortly after 2pm, but beyond that it’s a case of wait and see.
‘Does your car have fourth gear?’ I say, hoping she’ll get the point I’m trying to make.
‘Very funny. I don’t like driving fast. Anyway, there’s no rush. All we’re going to do is drive to the vets and sit outside for who knows how long. Did you bring any sweets?’
‘Humbugs,’ I say, grinning.
‘Same to you,’ she says, with her hands clenched around the steering wheel and her focus on the road ahead. Her meandering pace is at odds with her usual mile-a-minute demeanour. Seeing her behind the wheel it’s as though she has taken on a new persona. No long is she Libby, the go-getter, the lively chick aiming to make her mark in the male-dominated world of journalism. Instead, this Libby is cautious, timid, as she negotiates her way past buses and vans, her hands gripping the wheel in a classic ten to two position.
‘Do you mind me asking why you bought a car if you hate driving so much?’
‘A reporter needs a car. I never know where I might need to be to catch the next big story.’
‘Mm, we are talking Tamarisk Bay and Tidehaven remember, not a huge metropolis.’
Before she can respond, I spot a Morris Clubman, parked in front of the surgery. ‘Look, I’m certain that’s his car. Pull over here.’
Libby parks about fifty yards back from the surgery entrance, where we have a clear view of the front door to the vets.
‘Humbug?’ I say, offering her the bag of sweets.
‘Perfect, thanks,’ she says, taking one. She unwraps it and throws the wrapper on the floor by her feet.
‘What are you doing? No wonder your desk is such a tip. Ever heard of the phrase ‘litter lout’?’
‘This is my own personal space. If I choose to pollute it, that is my choice,’ she says, sucking on her sweet and looking pleased with herself.
‘Your poor mum. I can just imagine what your bedroom is like.’
‘Mum is delighted to have her only daughter back in the nest. Plus, she never enters the inner sanctum.’
‘Afraid she’ll catch something?’
‘Cheeky,’ she says, grinning.
A movement ahead catches my eye. I glance up to see Kenneth leaving the vets and getting into his car.
‘Game on,’ Libby says, starting the car and gradually easing forward as Kenneth pulls away.
‘Good job we’re not planning a car chase,’ I say, as we slowly make our way down the hill from the surgery in the direction of the seafront. ‘And good job most people are at home in front of the telly and not on the road.’
‘Stop moaning, he’s only three cars in front of us.’
We continue along the seafront in the direction of Tidehaven.
‘If we’ve struck lucky first time, then I retract all my moaning,’ I say.
‘Don’t count your chickens. Maybe he’s heading into town to do a spot of shopping?’
As Libby stops speaking the Morris Clubman slows down, indicates left and pulls up in front of a newspaper shop.
‘Pull over, quickly, look he’s getting out.’
We watch as Kenneth gets out of the car and goes into the shop. Moments later he emerges with a bag in his hand, gets back into his car and prepares to pull away.
<
br /> ‘Do you want a bet?’ Libby says. ‘Are we on a wild goose chase, or not? Winner buys the next lot of milkshakes.’
Five minutes later we are following Kenneth up Ludlow Road, which runs inland from the seafront up towards the top of the town. The roads in this part of Tidehaven are steep and most of the houses are several storeys high, with deep stone steps leading up to them. Kenneth parks in front of a red brick, Victorian terraced house. The paintwork on the front door and windows is chipped and yellowed and there is nothing cheery about the drab plant pots that sit either side of the front door.
‘Well, if this is Dorothy’s place, then she is certainly no gardener,’ Libby says. We are parked opposite the house, maybe at a slight risk of being seen by Kenneth, should he decide to turn in our direction. We watch in silence as Kenneth mounts the steps and knocks on the front door. I realise how apprehensive I must be when my hiccups suddenly decide to kick in.
‘Ssh,’ Libby says, while I try to control my breath.
‘He’s not going to hear my hiccups from the other side of the road, is he?’ I whisper.
‘Why are you whispering then?’
Seconds later the front door opens and a young man appears. He shakes Kenneth’s hand and the two of them go inside, closing the door behind him.
‘Oh, jeepers,’ Libby says, ‘milkshakes on you, I think.’
‘Hang on a minute, I didn’t take you up on the bet.’
‘It’s not a complete waste of an afternoon though.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Well, wasn’t he the same dishy bloke who served us in Jefferson’s the other day?’
‘Do you think?’
‘I never forget a potential heart-throb,’ she says, winking at me. ‘At least now I know where he lives, maybe I’ll turn up one day, pretending I’m a door-to-door sales lady selling encyclopaedias.’
‘I think you’re forgetting the reason we’re here. We’re looking for Dorothy, remember?’
‘Sorry, but you can’t blame me for getting sidetracked.’
‘It’s okay, it would have been too much luck to find Dorothy on our first stake-out. Bean, you will have to manage with the budget quality pram, after all,’ I say, rubbing my hand on my midriff. ‘I think I’ll give Hugh his money back and tell him we’re off the case.’
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