On their way home, the plane had stopped in New York to leave Lucas and his work there. Once they were airborne again, she’d slept the entire journey.
Leaning forward, she checked her e-mail again, hoping one of the Ricker grandchildren might actually enjoy the warmth of the limelight, but none of them had responded to her request to meet. Her next step was to visit Mrs. McMann at her home in Breydon Court, but first she needed to arm herself with more information from the war files.
In the next folder, she found exactly what she was looking for—the transcript of an interview between Lady Ricker and an unnamed interrogator from an advisory committee. Quenby glanced over both shoulders as if someone might be trying to scoop her story, but the other dozen or so people in the room were equally intent on their own research. Still it made her feel better to know everyone around her was occupied.
The interviewer asked about Lady Ricker’s upbringing in Philadelphia and about her first husband, whom she’d married in Boston when she was nineteen. Then he began quizzing her about her involvement during World War II.
Q. You entertained many people at Breydon Court during the war.
A. (nod) I entertained people there before the war as well.
Q. Some of these people were known advocates of the Nazi party.
A. Known now, perhaps, but no one ever advocated for Hitler in my presence.
Q. You told a friend once that you despised Jews. A Mrs.— A. That doesn’t make me a Nazi.
Q. Why do you hate the Jewish people?
A. I don’t hate them. (fidgets with handkerchief) I was concerned about what was happening in Germany.
Q. Your aunt was German.
A. She immigrated to America when she was six.
Q. Still she would have been an influence.
A. She never spoke about her childhood.
Q. Did you visit Germany with her?
A. Once.
Q. Did you maintain contact with the people you met there?
A. Any contact I had stopped at the beginning of the war.
Q. Several German POWs were employed at Breydon Court.
A. Many of the prisoners from Tonbridge worked on local farms.
Q. Did you help these men?
A. Lord Ricker and I supplied all of our staff with food and shelter.
Q. Did you supply the German prisoners with information as well?
A. Our head gardener spoke directly with them, not me.
Q. Because he spoke German?
A. Yes, he was an asset.
Q. Until he died.
A. One tends to lose their significance after death.
Q. Your gardener had a German grandfather.
A. He couldn’t change his lineage, no matter how distasteful.
Q. How did your marriage to Lord Ricker work out?
A. My marriage is no concern of yours or this investigation.
Q. Your husband died in 1944.
A. (nods) Our flat was hit by a doodlebug.
Q. Why was Lord Ricker in London?
A. I can’t recall.
Q. You can’t recall what your husband was doing the night he died?
A. (No answer)
Q. Was Admiral Drague with you?
A. (stands up) Is the committee finished with their questioning?
Q. We can resume later if you’d prefer.
A. I have nothing more to add to your inquiry.
After the transcript was a handwritten letter from Lady Ricker to a woman named Olivia. The letter was brief and rather impersonal, talking about the weather, gardening, and the health of her baby, who apparently suffered from croup. Quenby took pictures of the interview and letter before turning to the next page.
A profile on Janice Ricker listed her description as five foot six in height with blue eyes and short black hair, curled in a fashionable style. She had been married twice. Her first marriage was to an American businessman who amassed a fortune before they divorced in 1928. As a wealthy socialite, Janice had relocated to England in the 1930s like many other American women who enjoyed London’s society. There she met and married Lord Ricker.
Her next of kin included a son born during her marriage to Lord Ricker. And Louise, who was born a few months after Lord Ricker died.
Quenby’s mobile phone blinked inside the plastic bag, and she glanced down at the text. It was from Lucas.
Do you have dinner plans?
She read his message twice and turned over the bag. Why was he bothering to be amiable now? She’d text him back later, after she made plans.
At a half past four, she left the study room to return her files. Along the wall were computers to search through the 32 million records available. Slipping into a seat, she decided to search for Brigitte Berthold. Nothing came up in the results, but that didn’t mean Brigitte’s name wasn’t included in another file. Only that there was no archived mention of Mr. Knight’s friend.
Someone stepped up beside her. A thin woman in a trouser suit, her hair twisted in a sock bun. “We’re closing in fifteen minutes.”