‘I knew you’d want an early start,’ she said.
‘You should have had a lie-in, Ellen. I could have made the tea.’
‘What time did you get home last night?’
‘It was late.’
‘I didn’t hear you come in.’
‘That was deliberate,’ he said. ‘If I wasn’t a policeman, I reckon that I’d make a very good burglar.’
‘There’s no such thing. Burglars are all very bad.’
Dying to tackle him about her dilemma, Ellen knew that it wasn’t the right moment. He needed time to drink a reviving cup of tea, visit the bathroom and get dressed. Postponing the discussion, she went off to prepare breakfast so that he had a good meal inside him as he set off on what would be another punishing day.
They were eating the last of the toast when she finally spoke up.
‘Harvey …’
‘Yes, love.’
‘There’s something I’ve been meaning to ask you.’
‘If it’s about the wedding, I’d rather hear it another time. I really am in a rush now.’
‘Rene Bridger wants me to go to a lecture with her,’ she said, adjusting the facts slightly. ‘It’s about the threat of German spies.’
‘There isn’t one.’
‘This man claims that there is.’
‘What’s his name? It’s not Quentin Dacey, is it?’
She was surprised. ‘Why – do you know him?’
‘I know of him, Ellen. He’s a scaremonger, trying to spread fear among us. He’s been to Scotland Yard quite a few times, demanding police protection.’
‘Does he need it?’
‘Dacey thinks so, but the commissioner doesn’t. Besides, he can’t spare men to go on protection duty. Our manpower is at full stretch. We’ve had to recall retired officers to increase our numbers.’
‘So it’s a waste of time me going to the lecture, is it?’
‘Go along, if you fancy,’ said Marmion, ‘but make sure you ask him where his evidence is. German spies have not infiltrated this country. They’re all behind barbed wire on the Isle of Man. I know, I went there with Joe. That’s why I think Quentin Dacey is a fake.’
Ellen sighed. She was more confused than ever now.
Alice’s concern for Jennifer Jerrold had grown. Something had happened to make the latter tell her an obvious lie. It was very unusual for someone like Jennifer to deceive anyone. She was known for being honest and straightforward. Only something serious would make her act so uncharacteristically. Since she knew which bus the other policewoman would take to work, Alice made sure that she was at the stop to meet it. Jennifer was the last of a dozen people who got off the bus. When Alice fell in beside her, she was taken aback.
‘Good morning,’ she said.
‘I won’t pretend that I’m here by accident,’ said Alice. ‘I’ve been thinking about what you told me yesterday.’
‘Oh, I see …’
‘We both know that you’re not really planning to resign because your parents are forcing you to do it. Had that been the case, you’d have left long ago. Am I right Jenny?’
‘Why are you so bothered about it?’
‘You’re my friend. Caring about someone is what friends do. Also, you’re a very good policewoman – better than me, in fact.’
‘Oh, I don’t know about that. It’s in your blood, Alice.’
‘Forget about me. Let’s talk about you.’
‘I’ve decided it might be time to leave, that’s all.’
‘No, it’s not. A big decision like that needs a big reason. I’d like to know what it is.’
‘Look,’ said Jennifer, ‘it’s very kind of you to take an interest in me but there’s no need. You’ve got much more important things to worry about than me – your wedding, for instance. I heard about that.’
Alice put a hand on her arm to stop her. ‘What is it, Jennifer?’
‘I’m within my rights to resign, aren’t I?’
‘This is nothing to do with your rights, is it?’
Alice looked deep into her eyes and saw mingled pain and anxiety. Jennifer was suffering yet reluctant to confide in anyone. She shifted her feet uneasily. Wanting to turn away, she was held captive by the intensity of Alice’s gaze. At length, tears began to form.
‘There is something,’ she admitted.
‘Is somebody bullying you at work?’
‘No, no, it’s nothing like that. I get on well with everybody.’
‘Then what’s the problem?’
‘It’s a man.’
‘Who is he?’
‘That’s the trouble. I don’t know.’
‘Is he bothering you?’
‘He keeps following me,’ said Jennifer, voice quavering. ‘It’s been going on for months. I just don’t know how to cope with it, Alice. That’s the real reason I’m leaving. This man is making my life a misery.’
As a rule, Harold Fleetwood returned to his house in St Albans at the end of each day but the crisis relating to the Lotus Hotel kept him overnight in London at his club. When he got to his office that morning, he found his wife waiting for him. The moment he walked into his office, she was ready to fire the first question at him.
‘Have you seen the newspapers?’ she asked.
‘Not yet, Griselda.’
‘The police have identified our missing guest.’
‘Who is she?’
‘Her name is Vesta Lyle and she’s an artist of sorts who lives in France. What is she doing in England? Why did she pick on the Lotus? And why use a false name?’
‘You should be asking the police.’
‘I would’ve done that if they’d had the courtesy to tell me what was going on. But they didn’t. Nobody from Scotland Yard bothered to tell me about this latest development. If I hadn’t opened a newspaper this morning, I’d still be unaware of it.’
‘That’s totally unacceptable,’ he said, angrily. ‘You should have been the first to know.’
‘It’s the way that the news has been presented that annoys me, Harold. The reports seem to imply that the Lotus is at fault. They show the hotel in a very poor light.’
‘Editors need their heads banging together.’
‘You have more influence with the press than I do,’ she said. ‘Most of them find the concept of a successful businesswoman hard to stomach. That’s why there’s been that campaign of innuendo against me.’
‘Yes, and we know who orchestrated that.’
‘Buchanan.’
‘He’s always had some tame reporters in his pocket.’
‘Leave it to me, my love,’ he said, taking her by the shoulders. ‘I’ll cancel the morning’s appointments and get across to Fleet Street at once. By the time I’ve been through it like a whirlwind, they’ll have to name it Fleetwood Street.’ They shared a laugh. ‘When I’ve dealt with them, I’ll have another crack at Buchanan.’
‘No, no,’ she said in alarm. ‘Leave him be. The police are looking into his involvement. You made your feelings known to him and that will be enough. He’s probably shaking in his shoes already.’
Fraser Buchanan stood at the counter and scrutinised the proof copy with great care. Only two slight emendations were necessary. He handed the sheet back to the printer.
‘I’ll need four hundred of them,’ he said with a broad grin.
Marmion and Keedy climbed into the back of the police car and settled down. The vehicle moved off through the thickening traffic.
‘It’s the third visit to Berkshire for you,’ observed Keedy. ‘You’ll soon know your way around blindfolded.’
‘We may come again before we’re finished, Joe.’
‘That suits me. Putting distance between us and Chat is always a pleasure. What are we hoping to find out today?’
‘We need as much detail about Vesta Lyle’s private life as the Farriers can dredge up. Now that they’ve had time to go through old letters and cards from her, they should be able to tell us a lot more.’
‘Why did she stay at an expensive hotel in London when she could have had free accommodation in Berkshire?’
‘That’s one thing they can’t tell us.’
‘Pity.’
‘The Farriers didn’t even know that she was in this country.’
‘Yet the strange thing is that they weren’t upset,’ said Keedy. ‘If I had a cousin in France who came to this country, the least I’d expect was a warning of her visit.’
‘As we found out, they just accept her weird behaviour.’
‘It’s not weird, Harv – it’s downright rude.’
‘There is something we ought to remember.’
‘What’s that?’
‘She wasn’t here as Vesta Lyle,’ said Marmion, ‘but as Lady Diana Brice-Cadmore.’
‘Maybe she felt she needed a title if she was staying at the Lotus. She wanted to be on equal terms with the aristocracy.’
The car suddenly came to a juddering halt as a horse-drawn cart swerved into its path. They took time to manoeuvre their way past it, then pressed on.
‘Have you seen any of the papers this morning?’ asked Marmion.
‘I had a glance at one of them.’
‘Mrs Fleetwood will be hopping mad.’
‘That’s nothing new.’
‘When I offered to contact her yesterday evening, Chat said that he’d take care of it, but he was hauled off to a long press conference then had a couple of hours with the commissioner.’
‘Do you think he had time to send word to her?’
‘I doubt it.’
‘But he’s so efficient, as a rule.’
‘Even the best horse stumbles.’
‘That means he’ll get another visit from Mrs Fleetwood.’ They traded a knowing glance. ‘By the way, Alice called in to see her mother yesterday. Because you’re tied up with this case, she was at a loose end.’
‘Don’t rub it in.’
‘Ellen was fast asleep when I got back but we did have a proper conversation this morning. She surprised me.’
‘Why?’
‘She wants to hear a lecture by Quentin Dacey.’
Keedy laughed. ‘Was she serious?’
‘Oh, yes – a friend of hers asked Ellen to go.’
‘Does either of them know what a fraud Dacey is?’
‘Obviously, they don’t.’
‘That man will do anything to get publicity.’
‘He has a following, Joe.’
‘Is Ellen going to listen to him?’
‘My advice was to stay well clear of him,’ said Marmion, ‘but I can’t stop her and Rene Bridger going, if they really want to. I did remind Ellen what we saw on the Isle of Man.’
‘That’s the only place you’ll find any German spies.’
‘I suggested that she told that to Dacey.’
Ellen Marmion had decided to take her husband’s advice. He had reinforced what Alice had told her mother. Both of them had been strongly against her interest in attending a lecture by a man with such a questionable agenda. Of the two, Alice had been the more forceful, fearing that someone as suggestible as her mother would come away from the lecture with notions that would only cause unnecessary disquiet. At a time when Britain and her allies were suffering reverses on the battlefield, people on the Home Front needed something to soothe them. Quentin Dacey would never deliver it. He was bent on sowing fear and panic.
When her friend called for her, Ellen had her excuse ready.
‘I’m not feeling well, Rene,’ she said.
‘What’s the matter with you?’
‘I feel a bit off colour, that’s all.’
‘It didn’t stop you brushing the front path a short while ago,’ said Rene Bridger, suspiciously. ‘I watched you.’
‘Why don’t you go on your own?’
‘It’s because I prefer company. I’ve never been to a lecture before and, to be honest, I feel a bit nervous about it. Having you beside me would settle me – and I’d do the same for you.’
‘That’s true,’ admitted Ellen.
‘Your husband told you not to go, is that it?’
‘No, it isn’t. Well, that’s not exactly what happened, anyway.’
‘Bert tried to stop me,’ said the other. ‘He said that only morons would listen to a man like Mr Dacey. So I told him that he was married to a moron and walked out.’ Rene cackled. ‘That shut him up.’
‘Harvey said that Mr Dacey was a terrible nuisance to the police. He claims that, because he speaks the truth about Germans, they’re out to kill him.’
‘That shows you how brave he must be.’
‘If he was that brave, he wouldn’t keep begging for protection.’
‘All right,’ said Rene, resignedly. ‘I can see what you’re trying to tell me. You’re scared to hear the truth.’
‘I just don’t believe that’s what we’d hear.’
‘How do you know if you’re stuck at home, pretending to be ill?’
‘I’m sorry I said that. It was a silly excuse. But I feel so uneasy about the whole thing, Rene.’
‘So do I, but it doesn’t put me off going. I’m just glad of an excuse to go into the West End. If I get bored with Mr Dacey, I can go and look at the shops instead. You’d enjoy doing that, wouldn’t you?’
‘Yes, I suppose I would.’
‘When did you last see what the big stores have got to sell?’
‘It must be months ago.’
‘Then give yourself a treat and come with me.’
‘I don’t know, Rene …’
‘Yesterday, you were keen to go. Today, you’ve lost your nerve. Don’t you want to know what’s really going on in this war?’
‘In one way, I do.’
‘Then stop shilly-shallying,’ said Rene, brusquely. ‘Put on your hat and coat and come with me. Why not go as far as Leicester Square before you finally decide? If you’re still afraid to listen to the lecture, I’ll go in there alone.’ She smiled. ‘But I fancy that you’ll stay with me somehow.’
‘I might …’
With a long list of things to do that morning, the last person that Claude Chatfield wanted to see was the owner of the Lotus Hotel. When she was shown into his office, she was obviously primed for attack. He could almost see steam rising from her. Jumping up behind his desk, he came across to her and gestured towards a chair, manufacturing a pale imitation of a smile as he did so.
‘How nice to see you again, Mrs Fleetwood,’ he lied.
‘Inspector Marmion ought to be here as well.’
‘That’s out of the question, alas.’
‘Why?’
‘He and the sergeant are busy gathering information.’
‘Is it the kind of information that I might get told about?’ she asked, pointedly. ‘Or will I have to wait until it appears in the press?’
He cleared his throat. ‘I owe you an apology, Mrs Fleetwood,’ he said, penitently. ‘There’s been an unfortunate oversight on my part.’
The journey to Berkshire seemed quicker than on the previous day and it was also far less contentious. There was an unspoken agreement between the two of them to refrain from any mention of additional jobs or union activity. Once Keedy had confessed that he’d been thinking about work as a nightwatchman, he saw how unrealistic the idea was. Since he already had a taxing job, he’d have little energy left for secondary employment. More importantly, he might imperil his career in the Metropolitan Police. Marmion might have won the argument on that score, but he knew that he’d failed to stamp out Keedy’s interest in NUPPO. He was also aware of growing unrest among the rank and file, leading to an increase in the numbers joining the union. His future son-in-law was not the only police officer with serious complaints about the pay structure and the terms of employment. One day – Marmion knew – it would come to a head. All that he could do was to hope that it didn’t happen until the war was finally over.
Since they’d been warned that the detectives might return, Ma
urice and Gwendolyn Farrier had prepared some refreshments. All four of them sat around the table, drinking tea.
‘As requested,’ said Gwendolyn, ‘I’ve had a good search up in the attic.’
‘What did you find?’ asked Marmion.
‘As I warned you,’ she continued, ‘letters from Vesta were rare events, cards even more so. I could only find these.’ She handed him a small pile, tied up in blue ribbon. ‘Some of them have little drawings that Vesta added to amuse us.’
‘Thank you, Mrs Farrier. I’ll enjoy looking through them.’
‘What sort of drawings are they?’ asked Keedy.
‘They’re just squiggles, really,’ she explained.
‘If she’s that good as an artist, they might be worth something. I read somewhere that even signatures of famous people can be bought and sold for lots of money.’
‘I’ve been thinking about her wedding,’ said Marmion. ‘Was your cousin a Catholic?’
‘No – but she converted to Catholicism.’
‘Was that a necessary condition?’
‘No, I don’t think so. Alphonse was not the sort of man to force her into any commitment as serious as that. Vesta acted out of a sincere belief in the precepts of the Roman Catholic Church. Notwithstanding her liberal inclinations,’ she went on, ‘Vesta had a spiritual side to her as well. Indeed, I think that part of Alphonse’s appeal for her was that he loved church architecture.’
‘Was he a devout man?’
‘He was too good-looking for that,’ said Farrier.
‘Maurice!’ chided his wife.
‘It’s true, Gwen. He was almost devilishly handsome and he knew it. Mind you, pride was the only one of the seven deadly sins of which you could accuse him – and it was a very subdued pride, at that. All in all, he was an unusually reserved man. He let his wife monopolise the limelight.’
‘I don’t suppose you have a photograph of him, do you?’ asked Marmion.
‘As a matter of fact, I have,’ replied Gwendolyn, undoing the ribbon and extracting an envelope. ‘This is a picture taken at their wedding. Needless to say, we weren’t invited – very few people were.’
The Unseen Hand Page 17