Fifteen minutes later, Maisie had counted her petrol coupons and gave thanks that she had enough fuel in the tank to get to Ramsgate, though not enough for the return journey—and there was likely no petrol to be had on a Sunday. As she was loading a small overnight bag into the Alvis, Priscilla came running toward her along the street.
“Bea Sanderson telephoned. They’ve been in Reigate with friends for a Friday to Monday, but they’re on their way back now. They’ve checked with a friend who lives close to where their boats are docked, or kept, or slipped—or whatever it is they do with boats—and yes, it transpires that Gordon and a friend who happens to fit Tim’s description went out for a sail early this morning and have not come back. But here’s the thing—they took the larger of Jerry Sanderson’s boats, the one that Gordon is not allowed to take out. Apparently Gordon and Tim usually go out in the smaller sailing yacht, but this is the larger motor yacht. He assures me that the boys are quite capable of taking her into the open Channel, but she’s forty-five feet, and worth a fortune. He seemed more worried about the yacht, though Bea is beside herself—like me.”
“Priscilla—I think you and Douglas should go to Ramsgate. He shouldn’t be left here to feel he’s not playing a part while his son has put himself in the path of danger. You must be together.”
“But Douglas doesn’t drive, and if I get behind the wheel, I know I will kill us.”
Maisie shook her head and took a moment, stopping Priscilla from speaking by holding up a hand. “I have another idea. Though Billy doesn’t have a motor car, I know he can drive now, because he’s had a friend teach him. I’ll see if he’ll take you—in fact, I think he’ll jump at the chance because his son is with the expeditionary force and he will want to keep himself occupied, doing something useful. I’ll telephone him now.”
Priscilla nodded. “Right—and if he agrees, I can at least get us to his home in Eltham to pick him up without causing too much damage.” She turned to walk away, but stopped and looked back at Maisie. “And at least we’ll be doing something, not just sitting around waiting.”
Chapter 10
“Of course I can drive them to Ramsgate—I’ve been thinking of going down there anyway, to keep an eye out for our Billy. Fool’s errand really—I don’t stand a chance of seeing him. It’ll be like a three-ring circus, and they say not many are getting away, not set against the number over there. But at least I’d feel I was a bit closer. Mind you, I’ve got to tell you, miss, I’ve only been behind the wheel of my mate’s little Austin, and Mrs. Partridge drives one of them really big old continental motors doesn’t she? Got the steering wheel on the wrong side, hasn’t it? Isn’t it a Bugatti, or a Lagonda, something like that? You could probably get our entire front room in the back seat of her motor.”
“She has a new Bentley, and the steering wheel is on the right side. But don’t worry—she collides with something every day, so I am sure there are dents all over the coachwork. This is very good of you, Billy.”
“Nah, all part of the job—and a Bentley, well, I’ll never get that chance again, will I? Truth is, they must be worried sick—young Tim should have a hiding for his trouble, no two ways about it. These boys are all losing their minds.”
Maisie delivered the news to Priscilla, that they should depart now to meet Billy at his home, then placed another call to Billy.
“Right you are, miss,” said Billy. “I’ll be waiting for them, a bag packed just in case.”
“Before you go, Billy—tell me about Archie Coombes.”
“Blimey, nearly forgot, what with all the worry going on. And I’ve been dying to tell you about him.”
“Go on,” said Maisie, picking up a notebook and pencil.
“He’s a fitter at an engineering works in Sydenham, and has lodgings over a shop in Camberwell. One bus ride and he’s at his job, though I think he’s got a bike. I had a talk with him while he was on a morning break, standing outside having a smoke. It’s been a while since I saw him, but he’s the dead spitting image of his father, so it’s not as if I had to look hard. He seemed a bit shaky, but that’s to be expected, and I saw a couple of blokes walk past, stop and talk, put a hand on his shoulder, then move along to light up. Having worked with you for a few year now, I reckon it was the way he was standing—it told people he didn’t want company.”
“Yes, I can imagine that,” said Maisie.
“Anyway, I went over, introduced myself. He throws down the ciggie, holds out his hand and thanks me for looking after his mum and dad. Then he took out a packet of ciggies again, and lit up. That was my first little niggle about him.”
“Go on,” said Maisie.
“He threw down a half-smoked cigarette end that still had a lot of tobacco in it, and he was not smoking cheap Woodbines sold by the ones and twos either—he had a packet of twenty.” Billy cleared his throat. Maisie heard a page being turned, and knew Billy was referring to his notes. “I asked him about Joe, about his work down there in Hampshire, and if he’d been down to see him. He said no, he didn’t know much about the work—he hadn’t actually seen Joe for a while. And he didn’t know the area. I asked him about Teddy Wickham, and he said he didn’t know where he was stationed, exactly, but he knew he’d looked in on Joe and he’d said his brother seemed on top form.”
“And how did he know all this—did Teddy come back on leave?”
“Yes, that’s it exactly. He had a forty-eight-hour pass a few weeks ago. And he gets on the blower, apparently.”
“To whom? At the pub? How does Archie take the telephone call?”
“I’m almost there.” The rustle of another page turning, and then flipping back echoed as if there were interference on the line. “He didn’t have much to tell me, and he was getting choked up. He said he has a telephone at his digs, because he’s a supervisor and can be on call at any time. I tell you, miss, I don’t believe that for a start. I know men who are supervisors in factories, and they don’t all get a free dog and bone! Anyway, the horn went for the men to go back inside the works, and he had to go—pinched out another hardly smoked ciggie, threw it down and went back inside.”
“But you saw him again, didn’t you?” said Maisie.
“Followed him back to his lodgings, nice and easy, so he couldn’t see me. Saw him go in, then come out half an hour later dressed like two penn’orth of hambone done up for the butcher’s window. Good suit—well, a fifty-bob Burton’s special. He looked a bit flash, if you ask me—reckon he’s seen too many of those American pictures. Had shoes on you could see your face in. He waited on the street, and then along comes a motor car. Black with green down the sides, you know, the doors. Newish, I would say, with a driver in the front and someone else in the back—I could see him moving forward to open the door. Then Archie got in, and off they went.”
“Do you know the make of motor?”
“It looked like a Rover Ten—a coupe, I reckon, because the fellow in the back had to push the front passenger seat for Archie to get in with him. I reckon it was the same one that was parked across the street from the office—the driver must have gone straight over there to Archie’s job.”