'Mum, this is Janie. Do you remember, we told you she'd be visiting? Janie runs the mobile library here in Tamarisk Bay.'
Freda looks at me. 'So sad about your father,' she says.
'Do you know my dad?' I'm annoyed with myself for not realising. This is Tamarisk Bay, of course, she would know him. He's lived in the town all his life, as has Freda, I'm guessing.
'He's doing incredibly well,' I say. 'He's a brilliant physiotherapist, a real natural.'
She smiles and nods her head. 'He was a bright lad, could have done anything he put his mind to. If the blessed war hadn't come along...' She pauses and closes her eyes for a moment, as if lost in a private reverie.
Freda's daughter-in-law glances across at me, then points to my duffel bag.
'Mum,' she says, 'Janie has something to show you. I bet you'll be surprised when you see it.'
Freda opens her eyes and watches me as I retrieve my notebook and remove the press article. Taking one of the books from the bedside table I lay the article on top, flatten it out and hand it to Freda.
'What's this?' she says. 'Ethel, get my spectacles, will you?'
Putting the spectacles on, she peers at the sheet of paper. 'We need more light. Why is it always so dull in here?' she says, a touch of irritation in her voice.
Ethel turns the bedside lamp on and angles it towards the bed. It casts a yellow light over the paper, making the photo appear more faded than ever.
'Your daughter-in-law thought she recognised you in the photo,' I say. 'It was twenty-five years ago, so you might not remember it after all this time.'
Freda looks up at me and then back down at the article. She shifts herself slightly so that she is sitting more upright. 'Of course,' she says. 'The photo. I'd forgotten the chess match.'
'It must have been a big occasion.'
'You were involved in all sorts of groups and committees back then, weren't you mum?' Ethel says. 'I remember you telling me about a group who organised the twinning of Tidehaven with Dordrecht back in the fifties.'
Ethel turns to me to explain, 'Twinning of towns was a big thing, people saw it as a way to bring countries together after the war had divided so much of Europe.'
Freda nods her head slowly, her eyes now much brighter, a pink glow coming into her cheeks to lighten the pallor of her skin.
'You must have had the chance to meet some interesting people,' I say, 'I'm guessing there were foreign visitors, dignitaries? Everyone is dressed so smartly. You look so glamorous, I love that hat of yours.'
Then she smiles. 'Yes, my dear. Everyone was dressed smartly, but here's a lesson for you, don't always believe what you see.'
She lays her head back against the pillow and closes her eyes. Ethel looks at me and I am wondering if that is all Freda plans to share with us. I throw a questioning glance at Ethel and turn towards the door, wondering if this is when I should leave, but then I hear Freda's voice.
'The chess match was overshadowed by the other event that took place that day,' she says.
'Another event?' I ask her.
'Yes, my dear,' she says. 'I remember it well. It was the one and only time I've ever been slapped.'
Ethel and I glance at each other and then at Freda, who now has her eyes open and a mischievous smile on her face.
'What do you mean, mum? Are you getting your words mixed up?'
'I'm not getting anything mixed up,' her voice is strong now, almost indignant. 'I might have forgotten the chess match, but my memory of everything that happened afterwards is as sharp as though it was yesterday. Not surprising, is it?'
'But you've never mentioned it before, mum. Edgar's never said.'
'That's because he doesn't know. No-one knew, except my Arthur. I told him as soon as I got home that day and he went straight round to the house. There was a terrible row, by all accounts. The neighbours came out onto the street to see what was going on.'
'Was there a fight? Did Arthur end up getting hurt?' Ethel asks.
'No, not a bit of it. All Arthur could do was shout. After all, he would never have lifted his hand to a woman.'
'A woman?' Ethel's voice is raised in disbelief.
'That's right. The woman who hit me, she's standing there right next to me in the photo. Her name is Dorothy. Dorothy Elm.'
Chapter 17
At last I have positive news of sorts to report to Libby when we meet at Jefferson's, as arranged. With coffees ordered we sit at our favourite table, away from the juke box. Before I can open my mouth, she waves her hand at me.
'No, me first,' she says. 'I've been busy. I've interviewed five people and not a single one of them remembers the chess event. So, that's all quite hopeless. But...' she pauses for effect.
'But what?' I say, impatiently.
'One of the chaps I interviewed knows Kenneth Elm. Went to school with him, in fact.'
'Oh right. So how did that crop up? The Kenneth Elm connection?'
She wriggles in her seat. 'Well,' she says, biting her bottom lip, 'I happened to mention that we were trying to pin down the names of the people in the photo and we thought one of them might have been called Dorothy Elm. And that's when he told me about Kenneth.'
'I think that's what they call 'leading the witness'.
She smiles and continues. 'It's fascinating because this chap said that when they were at school together Kenneth regularly came to school with holes in his shoes, or worse. He wore wellingtons in summer. Basically, the family were really poor.'
'Well, we know that from what Phyllis told us. The father lost his job and the mother was cleaning and taking in laundry. It must have been so hard for them all. But how is that relevant?'
'It's what happened after that is relevant, or could be. The chap told me that Dorothy left Tamarisk Bay during the war and Kenneth stayed behind.
'Yes, we know that too. Kenneth would have been too young to fight and Dorothy became a land girl. That's when she met Hugh.'
'Yes, but when she came back, everything changed.'
'Changed? In what way? Did he say?'
'He just said there were rumours. I pushed him as hard as I could, but he wouldn't say another word. He completely clammed up on me.'
'So, not exactly a help,' I say, failing to disguise my irritability.
'Don't get mad at me. I've done you a favour. At least I've found out something.'
'Sorry, I'm not mad at you. It's great, really it is. It's just that we get close to a useful clue and then come up against a blank wall again.'
'What about you?' she says. 'Did you find out anything from your customers?'
'Let's have another coffee and I'll tell you.'
By the time we have finished our drinks I have told her about Freda and her memorable encounter with Dorothy Elm.
'Did she explain why Dorothy slapped her?'
'It was difficult. She's such a sweet lady, I felt bad asking her about it. She started to get quite distressed.'
'I bet she did. Being reminded that someone hit you would be incredibly upsetting.'
'She wasn't teary or anything like that, just the opposite. She was indignant, saying the thought of "that woman" made her want to jump out of bed and track her down. In fact, it was inspiring to see her so full of attitude. That's how I want to be when I'm old.'
'Poor Greg if he's got that to look forward to,' Libby says, grinning.
'Ah, yes, well maybe we'll have attitude together.'
'Then poor Bean. Maybe he or she will take a ten-pound passage to Australia to get away from you both. But let's not drift off the subject, what else did Freda say?'
'Not a lot more. Her daughter-in-law, Ethel, was concerned we'd disturbed her. It's not good for her to get upset. Ever since Freda had a stroke, well, you can imagine.'
'Ah, so not a good plan then.'
'Exactly.'
'Did you find out anything else?'
'I asked her if Dorothy still lived in Tidehaven, which is where she was when Freda had her run in with he
r.'
'Tidehaven is a big place and 1946 was a long time ago.'
'It's all we have to go on right now. We know Kenneth is still in touch with Dorothy and he is our only lead. He's bound to visit her at some point. How about we follow him?'
'You make it sound so simple. You've forgotten two small things. First up we both have jobs, which means we can't go off at a moment's notice. Secondly, you have been warned to stay away from Kenneth by the police.'
'Ah, yes,' I say, nodding.
'That's quite serious, Janie. You don't want to have your baby in prison.'
I smile as I think back to a similar conversation I had with Greg during my search for Zara. 'We will be really careful. We don't need to get too close. We only need to see the house he goes into from a distance. I might finally get to use my camera.'
'And then what?'
'Then we wait until he leaves and knock on the door.'
'So, you plan to sit outside the vets every evening, in the hope he decides to visit his sister? I'm sure Greg would love that. I have a feeling you would run out of excuses pretty soon.'
I take my notebook out of my duffel bag, for the want of something to do, while I mull over the problem.
'Here's a thing,' I say, as I flick through my most recent pages of notes. 'Let's consider Hugh and Dorothy. Hugh was a war hero of sorts, a pilot, prepared to undertake dangerous missions. But Kenneth says he's a liar. Dorothy must have been courageous too, taking on tough farm work and then risking her life trying to help the French resistance. And yet, from what Freda says, Dorothy is not a` very nice person. You don't go around hitting people if you're a nice person, do you?'
The images that poor Freda has conjured up in my mind remind me of Owen's revelations during my search for Zara. The more I learn about people, the more complex they appear. I guess some people manage to keep their anger in check and others have no compunction about letting loose. Then there are others who appear not to have an angry bone in their body, like my dad, for example. But who knows what deep thoughts may lie festering, until one day the cap of the volcano bursts open and they all come tumbling out.
'We also have the chap I spoke to,' Libby says, bringing me back to the present. 'Mr Task his name is. He suggested there were rumours about the Elm family.'
'The crux of the problem is that both the people we are dealing with - Hugh and Dorothy - have things to hide. Plus, if they both worked with the SOE they will be experts at keeping secrets.'
Libby fidgets on her seat, taking the sugar bowl from the centre of the table and moving it from side to side.
'Playing chess?' I say.
'It is a bit like chess, isn't it? Trying to second guess the other person's next move. Freda says Dorothy was there in Tidehaven for the chess match, but we still don't know if Dorothy stayed in Tidehaven. She could have moved away by now. I hate to say this, Janie, but I think we're wasting our time. I suggest you tell Hugh what you've found out so far and let him do what he will with it.'
'You keep telling me to drop it, but like I said before, Hugh is too ill to do anything.'
'Well, that's not really your problem, is it?'
Libby is right, there are too many questions left unanswered in my notebook. Hugh hasn't told me the whole truth about Dorothy, I'm sure of it.
On my next day with dad I talk it through with him.
'You like to make life difficult for yourself, don't you?' he says.
'Any ideas about what I could do next? Other than abandoning the whole thing?'
We are in the kitchen, Charlie is sitting beside dad, with his head on dad's knee.
'It's a shame you're not a sniffer dog, Charlie,' I say, rubbing his head.
'What would you want him to sniff?'
'The truth of the situation. Right now, it feels as though I'm trying to knit a complicated Arran sweater without a pattern, using the wrong sized needles.'
'You've never knitted in your life,' dad says and smiles. 'Do what you did with Zara, go back to basics.'
'I thought we'd done that with Libby's nostalgia article. I thought looking into the past would help to make the present day a bit clearer.'
'Do you think Freda will say any more about the slapping incident?'
'I can't push her on it, she's very frail. It's not fair to ask her to remember such an upsetting event.'
'And you say Freda was involved at the school? Is that your old school? Grosvenor Grammar, where Phyllis taught?'
As I jump up, Charlie lifts his head from dad's knee and looks at me.
'You are an absolute marvel,' I say, as I bend down to give dad a hug.
'Am I?' he says, smiling. Charlie stands beside us, looking expectantly.
'No, Charlie,' I say, 'this does not mean an early walk. It means that your master here has once again guided this rookie detective down the correct path.'
'Pleased to be of service,' dad says, putting his hand out to rest on Charlie's head. 'Keep me posted?'
'Of course. I'll go and see her right now, if that's okay with you boss?'
'Done all your jobs for the day?'
'Yep.'
'Off you go then. I hope Phyllis can help. But Janie, if she can't, you might need to think seriously about letting this one go.'
Now that the afternoons are getting shorter and the evenings longer, I'm certain I'll find Phyllis at home, either baking in a warm kitchen, or reading in front of the fire. She takes a few moments to answer the door and when she does, she looks a little flustered.
'Ah, it's you,' she says. 'Come in, come in.'
I follow her through to the kitchen and notice she is limping slightly.
'Everything okay?' I ask her.
She sits down on one of the kitchen chairs and sighs.
'Hey, that's not like you. What's the problem?'
'Just a stupid moment. I was down the bottom of the garden, moving a few of the pots around. It's way past the time when I should have got my bulbs in. I must have twisted awkwardly and I felt my ankle give way.'
'Ouch,' I say, putting my hand on her shoulder. 'Have you tried a cold compress? Or soaking in vinegar? That's supposed to help. Do you want me to take a look?'
'I should be offering you a cup of something,' she says, lifting her leg up a little, revealing a swollen ankle.
'Don't even think about it. Let me make you a drink. Tell you what, why not go and put your leg up on the settee to rest it and I'll fix us something hot to drink.'
She nods, gets up and slowly makes her way through to the sitting room. A while later, once the kettle has boiled, I go through to join her, taking a tray with drinks, together with the biscuit barrel.
'I've taken the liberty,' I say, offering her a biscuit. 'Something sweet to help with the shock, or the pain, or both.'
I sit in the armchair beside her and for a while we sip our drinks in silence.
'Tell me something interesting to take my mind off this wretched ankle,' she says. 'How is your case going?'
'Well, funny you should ask,' I say, smirking.
'Have you come to quiz me again? I'm not sure what else I can tell you about the Elm boy.'
'It's someone else this time. Do you remember Freda Latimer?'
'Remember her? We're still friends. Such a lovely lady, it's a real shame she's become so frail. She was a veritable powerhouse when she was younger.'
'She mentioned that she helped out at the school. I don't remember her, so it wasn't during my time at Grosvenor?'
'No, it was much earlier. Back in the fifties. She was a school governor. I don't know how she found time to do all that she did. You think of a committee back then and Freda Latimer was involved in one way or another. Like I say, a veritable powerhouse.'
'She's told me about a run-in with Dorothy Elm.'
'A run-in? Can you be a bit more specific?'
'Well, she's alleging that Dorothy slapped her.'
'Are you sure? Freda was a fiery sort in her heyday, I can't imagine anyone getting one
over on her.'
'So, she's never mentioned the incident to you? It's not something you remember?'
I take my notebook out and remove the press cutting, passing it over to Phyllis to look at. 'It happened the day this photo was taken. At least that's Freda's memory of it.'
Phyllis examines the newspaper cutting, reading through the short article. 'It certainly looks like Freda there, although the photo is very faded. And you say that's Dorothy standing next to her? '
'Well, it's possible Freda is confused. It was a long time ago, after all.'
'Do you want me to see what I can find out? I could drop in on Freda and talk to her about it?'
'I don't think you should be going anywhere with that dodgy ankle. R and R is what I am prescribing.'
'And when have you known me to put my feet up? You've got me intrigued now. I see what Libby means about this amateur sleuthing lark, it's quite addictive, isn't it?'
'Leave it with me, I'm the one being paid, after all.'
Chapter 18
Hugh is to be discharged from hospital on Thursday.
'The doctor says he is a little better,' Mrs Summer says when she calls into the library to let me know. 'No oxygen now. That is good. Very good.'
'I'm so pleased to hear it. Will he be able to manage the stairs alright?' Hugh's room at number 22 is up two flights of steep stairs of the Victorian terraced property.
'Yes, slowly, slowly,' she says. 'He rings me from the hospital. "Mrs Summer," he says, "may I come back?" Of course, I say, your room is waiting for you.'
'Well, I'm sure he'll be relieved. I'll call in if that's alright. Later in the afternoon, let him settle first.'
'Yes, we can all have tea together,' she says, looking delighted with the thought of an impromptu tea party.
Hugh's lodgings are at the far end of First Avenue. Each of the houses have small front gardens, and even smaller walled courtyards at the rear. But as they border the edge of Alexandra Gardens they benefit from a charming outlook. Even though the trees are almost bare now, there is a beauty in their starkness and today the sky is clear and the sun is warm, despite an early morning frost. Thinking about the cold months ahead, my mind turns to Greg. This will be his first winter with the building firm. The weather won't bother him, after all, before joining Mowbray's he was a window cleaner, where our British climate presented its own problems. But as a brickie, or at least a bricklayer's apprentice, I wonder what happens when it's too cold to lay bricks. Will he still get paid? Maybe any money I get from Hugh should be ferreted away into a snowy day fund, just in case.
Lost Property: A shocking tale of wartime secrets and romance (A Janie Juke mystery Book 2) Page 12