Maisie leaned forward, not allowing herself to be intimidated by Yates, and this time casting several more cards on the table. “Here’s what it is to me, Mr. Yates. Joe Coombes was a happy-go-lucky lad—I’ve seen him grow from a young boy into a thoughtful young man. Still green, admittedly, but a diamond all the same. And doing this job changed him—and not simply because he’d had a taste of being one of the older lads. I know this work had a profound physical impact upon him—but I know something else, too. Joe was worried sick. He was fed up with doing what he was doing and I don’t think the painting was the ‘doing’ that he hated. There was something else, and I am bound and determined to find out what it was. If nothing else, so his parents can be at peace—if that’s possible.”
Yates stared at Maisie, then looked out of the window again. Seconds later, he turned back, taking his seat once more. He leaned forward, hands clasped on top of the sheaf of papers. “There’s nothing more to tell you, Miss Dobbs. What you’re saying doesn’t make sense to me—you might as well be talking Greek. I sent Joe Coombes off to work with a crew on a job a lot of lads his age would jump at the chance of doing, and he goes soft on me—talking his head off about what he’s doing when he was supposed to keep his trap shut, and then getting himself drunk enough to kill himself. There’s your truth, Miss Dobbs—and I’m sorry I can’t make it easier for you to swallow.”
Maisie came to her feet and held out her hand. “Thank you for your time, Mr. Yates. I am much obliged to you for your candor. I am sure Joe’s parents would love to hear from you—and for you to tell them what a wonderful young apprentice he was.”
Mike Yates ignored the outstretched hand and instead yelled past her. “Oi, Miss Not-So-Bright—if you could drag yourself away from your penny dreadful for a minute, would you see Miss Dobbs down to the yard.”
Maisie turned and left the small office and was joined by Bright, who put down a sheaf of papers and rose from her desk to escort her to the yard below. She did not speak until they were on the stairs.
“Don’t take any notice of him—crabby human being that he is. Cheek of it! I only pick up a book when he hasn’t anything for me to do, and I don’t read stupid stuff either. I’d argue back, but it’s not worth my breath. Him and his flash friends.”
“What flash friends,” asked Maisie. “He doesn’t look the type.”
“They never look the type, according to my mum—these crooks. I reckon it was one of his dodgy friends who got him that contract.”
“Does he mix with people like that?”
Bright shook her head. “He seems the type to me—if you come from where I come from, you know about that sort of thing.” She sighed. “Well, I don’t really know about that sort of thing personally, but my dad does.”
“What does your dad do, that he knows this ‘sort of thing’?” asked Maisie.
“He’s a copper. Sergeant at Carter Street police station.”
“That’s interesting,” said Maisie.
“It probably is, as long as you’re not related to him. Treats me like I’m a criminal half the time. What time are you going out? What time are you coming back? Which bus are you catching? Who are you going with? I like to go out to the dance halls with my friends—we don’t get up to anything wrong, just dancing to the swing bands playing the latest numbers, having a bit of fun. The way my dad talks, the musical world begins and ends with Gracie Fields singing about Walter taking her to the altar!” She sighed. “I know I’ve already told you this, but I can’t wait to get into the ATS, away from all of them.”
Maisie laughed. “Your dad’s like that because he loves you, Charlotte. In his job he’s seen too much, so he’s just worried about you—give him a chance, won’t you?”
“I s’pose you’re right, but it don’t half get on my nerves sometimes, all the questions. Anyway, nice to meet you, Miss Dobbs. And tell Joe’s people I was sorry to hear the news about him. I liked Joe. He was a good sort. Not like that brother of his—”
Maisie touched Charlotte Bright on the arm as she was about to turn away. “How do you know his brother?”
“Came round here once or twice, looking for Joe. Just before this job started, the big contract. I didn’t like the look of him—I mean, he was nice enough, but not like Joe—seemed a bit harder around the edges. Joe was sort of innocent, as if he would still be a bit of a boy when he was eighty. Anyway, I’ve got to rush—the guv’nor will be docking my pay if I’m out here any longer.”
Maisie glanced up at the office window. Mike Yates was looking down at them. She turned away and left the yard, just as a black and green Rover 10 swung through the gates.
“Where’s Martin today?” asked Maisie, a little disappointed to see Sandra at the office without her son.
“Lawrence’s aunt is staying with us, and said she would look after him today, so I’ve had some time to myself. I hate to say it, but it’s quite lovely—but just for a little while.” She laid a hand upon a pile of papers. “I’ve caught up with the letters, and there are three invoices for you to sign before I send them out. And the filing is done too—what does Billy do when I’m not here? There were pages everywhere.” She held up her finger, as if it were a reminder. “Oh, Mrs. Partridge telephoned. No news of Tim was her first comment. I wasn’t going to ask her what she was talking about, but she told me anyway. What does he think he’s doing? At his age? Going off in a boat, over there to where it’s terrible. We’ve been listening to the wireless, and—”
“What did she say?” asked Maisie.
“Just that a coastguard had told her the best thing she could do would be to go home and wait, and not get in the way. She sounded very angry, and very distraught—and who could blame her? So she said she’s coming back, and Billy’s driving them.” Sandra’s voice changed, a smile readily spreading where before there was consternation. “Isn’t it a miracle, about Billy’s son? Who would have imagined that could happen? Anyway, he’s with his mates now, on their way to their barracks, according to Mrs. Partridge, though she says he had some sort of shoulder wound. She told me that Billy had wanted his son to come home with them, but young Billy said he couldn’t. Well, obviously he had to go back to barracks—he’s a soldier, after all. But at least Billy had good news for Doreen.”
Maisie nodded and placed her bag on Billy’s desk as she pulled up a chair to sit down opposite Sandra. There was gentle warmth in their exchange, and Maisie felt a need for that cocoon of belonging, of being with someone she had known for a long time.
“Were there any other telephone calls, Sandra?”
“Just one. From Mr. Klein. Wants you to telephone him back ‘soonest,’” he said. “There’s a slight snag with the Ministry of Health that needs to be addressed. That’s all he said. Is it about—”
“Thank you,” Maisie interrupted. “I’ll telephone him now.” Maisie stood up, grabbed her bag and stepped into her office. “Excuse me, Sandra—just for a minute,” she added, as she closed the door separating her room from the outer office.
Maisie was put through to the solicitor with no delay.
“Slight problem, Maisie. Not a huge one, but . . . well, any snag at this point could become more serious if we don’t nip it in the bud.”
Chapter 11
Maisie was torn. Should she go to Hampshire again? Remain in London? Or should she follow her heart, which would be to drive down to Rye to see if Tim and his friend would return to the place where the vessel was usually moored. She looked at the clock and turned on the wireless in her office. Stepping toward the sliding doors again, she drew them back.
“I’m about to listen to the news on the wireless—come in if you want to, Sandra.”
British and French troops last night held Calais and Dunkirk. The French official communiqué stated that Boulogne had been taken by the Germans after fierce street fighting. German shock troops attacking on the outskirts of Boulogne were smashed by shells from British warships firing over the town. The battle for Calais is still south of the town. British soldiers fought magnificently with the French to repulse every enemy attack yesterday . . . and across the Atlantic, President Roosevelt told the USA to prepare for the “approaching storm.” Stressing the “futility, the impossibility” of the idea of isolation, he said, “Obviously a defense policy based on that is merely to invite future attack.”