“Trust in Tim, Priscilla. Trust in him. He will be home. I know it.” She took a breath and exhaled, reaching for Priscilla’s hand. “And anyway, Anna said so.”
“Oh, I would trust that girl of yours before I would put my faith in anyone else I’ve met, and that’s no exaggeration.” She looked at her now empty glass, then at Maisie. “I’m going to telephone the coastguard again and get on their nerves. I’ve sent Tarquin off to stay with a school friend to take his mind off his brother and his mother, and Douglas is up to his eyes with work at the ministry, which is good for him—if he’s writing about this bloody disaster making it seem all very under control, then it gives him hope.” She sighed. “When shall we go to Rye, Maisie?”
“Not yet. But I think soon. Perhaps you’d all like to come to Chelstone at the end of the week—get away from London.”
“Might be a good idea,” said Priscilla. “By the way, forgive me, I should have asked—any news from the inimitable Mr. Klein?”
“A few stumbling blocks.”
“Like life. One bloody stumbling block after the other,” said Priscilla. “Oh hell, I’m having another drink.”
The following day Maisie stood outside Faraday House in the City at a quarter to twelve, and waited. The Faraday Buildings housed not only the General Post Office headquarters, as well as international and government telephone exchanges, but was also known to be an alternative fortification for the government, should Whitehall come under attack. The outside was packed with sandbags several layers deep, and it seemed to Maisie that it was almost as if she were waiting for insects to start leaving their nest, ants running out of the mound.
She checked her watch. At noon a stream of women began emerging from the building, some in groups, others on their own. It was lunchtime, a break in a long day spent staring at a switchboard, connecting people across the country, the world, across London and—for Vivian Coombes—from one highly confidential government office to another.
Half-past twelve. No Vivian, but it seemed to Maisie that the women took staggered breaks, and there were also shift changes. Quarter to one. One o’clock. At two minutes past one, Vivian Coombes emerged from beyond the wall of sandbags, and looked up at the sky. As she walked toward her, Maisie noticed how well she was dressed—a powder blue skirt, white blouse, navy-blue jacket and matching navy-blue shoes and bag. She carried her gas mask over the same shoulder as the bag, and her hat was a pale blue with navy band. She called out to her as she came closer.
“Hello Vivian—what a coincidence! I just left a meeting and was passing when I saw you.”
“Oh, Miss Dobbs—I almost didn’t recognize you.”
“That happens when you see someone away from the place where you usually expect to see them. Takes you aback. Are you on your lunch hour?”
“Lunch half hour if I’m lucky, you mean!” said Coombes. “There’s a big cafeteria at the top of the building, but it’s nice to get a bit of fresh air, so I come out for a walk sometimes—bring a sandwich from home, or just have a cup of tea somewhere.”
“There’s a Kardomah not far from here—may I buy you a sandwich and cup of tea?”
The young woman consulted her watch. “All right then. But I’ve to be back by half-past.”
The entrance to the Kardomah coffee house was packed with sandbags from top to bottom, with the word KARDOMAH the only indication that the narrow doorway led through to the café. It was busy, but they found two seats together. Vivian checked her watch again. Maisie ordered tea and sandwiches for two.
“What I’d really like, to tell you the truth, is a bacon sandwich—makes me wonder when it’s all going to come off ration,” said Coombes. She looked around the café, and raised a hand to acknowledge a couple of fellow telephonists.
Maisie knew she had not much time, so she broached the subject sooner than she might otherwise have done.
“Vivian, it’s fortuitous I saw you—I’d like to ask a couple of questions about Joe.”
The young woman looked at Maisie. “I hope you’re not going to make me cry—I can’t go back in there with big red eyes. The supervisor takes a dim view of a poor appearance.”
“I don’t think so, Vivian—but I’m trying to get to the truth about Joe’s death, and I believe you want me to find out, don’t you?”
Maisie noticed the slight delay in Coombes’ reply, as if she were weighing the meaning of Maisie’s words.
“Yes, we’re all wanting to know, my family and me.”
“Good. First of all, did you know Joe wanted to leave his apprenticeship? He had a very specific job in mind that he wanted to take up instead.”
“Dad said he had a stupid idea about becoming a shepherd, if that’s what you mean. My brothers can come up with cockeyed ideas at times.”
“Joe was quite serious. He had a pup ready to train—did you know that?”
Vivian Coombes rolled her eyes. “No, I didn’t, but it wouldn’t surprise me.”
“Your other brother, Archie—he looks after the family to some extent, doesn’t he?”
“What do you mean? Looks after?” Coombes straightened her shoulders. She folded her arms, and leaned back, taking herself out of the sphere of her interrogator’s influence—Maisie knew this was the first move of the defensive person. She pulled her chair closer to Coombes.
“I meant that he seems to be a good lad—he works away from home, but he clearly earns a fair wage, and I understand he makes sure his family benefit from it too.”
“We all look after one other. Archie and me, we were always close—Joe was our little brother.”
“Then you must know Teddy Wickham.”
There was a slight hesitation before Coombes responded. “Of course I do—he was always over at the pub, when we were younger. Him and Archie are good mates.”
Maisie held Vivian’s gaze. “They still keep in touch then—has Archie visited Teddy?”
The young woman shrugged. “I dunno.” Another glance at her watch. Another sip of tea and bite of the sandwich.
“What do you know about a man named Jimmy Robertson.”
Her color heightened, Joe Coombes’ sister picked up her cup again, and took another sip. She lifted her wrist to look at her watch.
“I only know what’s in the papers—if that’s the Jimmy Robertson you mean. From the Robertson family.” She set down the cup. “I’ve got to get back now—my supervisor will be after me if I’m late.”
“I’ll walk with you. I’ve a couple more things you can help me with.”
“All right. If you want.”
They emerged from the coffee shop and, almost by instinct, both looked up at the barrage balloon floating above their heads.
“I don’t think them things are going to stop old Hitler, do you?” said Coombes.
“Fortunately, there’s the air force, the army and the navy between him and us,” said Maisie.
“Not much army and they’re keeping back the air force because they’ll need every man they’ve got up there when the invasion starts—you should have my job, you’d know what’s going on.”
“Yes, I suppose I would.” The two women fell into step toward the Faraday Buildings. Maisie took the opportunity to ask another question. “You must hear quite a lot, and you have a weight of information on your shoulders that you have to keep secret. It can’t be easy, can it?”
“You just have to forget it and connect the next call. I’m on the government exchanges, and I’m younger than others in my room, so I have to do as well or better than them. Or I’ll be back connecting women crying about their husbands to their sisters.”
“I’m sure you must be privy to some quite emotional revelations. Oh, and of course here you’re not far from the Bank of England too—I expect those calls come through your exchange, money being so important to the country, to the government.”
“We get all sorts of calls, like I said.”
They had reached the entrance to the Faraday Buildings. Maisie looked up at the structure, and then at Vivian Coombes.