“You’ve done well to secure a good position here, Vivian.”
“I had to work for it, Miss Dobbs. The civil service exams, memorizing exchanges, learning correct enunciation, all that sort of thing—and then you have to be tall. They only take you if you’re over five feet six, otherwise you wouldn’t be able to reach the top jacks on the board.” She looked at the top of Maisie’s head, as if to assess her height. “You’d be all right for this job, being as you’re tall too.”
Maisie smiled. “Perhaps we can talk again, Vivian—you probably know so much about Joe that would be helpful, and I know it’s difficult to discuss it because the shock of his death is still very raw.”
Coombes’ eyes filled with tears. “I just never thought it would come to this, that’s all.”
“What do you mean, Vivian? That it would never come to what?”
She shrugged, composing herself. “That it would never come to it that Joe would be the first of us to go. That’s all. Because he was the youngest. He shouldn’t have been first. Now then—I’ve got to get back to work. Bye.”
Maisie watched the telephonist vanish into a snake of young women making their way back through the sandbagged entrance to the Faraday Buildings. Returning to a place where they were sworn to keep all manner of secrets—between husbands and wives, between lovers, government departments, long-lost friends. And even, she thought, secrets concerning the movement of money.
It was as Maisie walked away, toward the underground station, that she realized she had forgotten to impart an important piece of information to Vivian Coombes. She would have liked to let her know that young Private Billy Beale was home safe from the shores of Dunkirk. But perhaps it was best she hadn’t. For as they’d walked away from the coffee house, along streets flanked by sandbagged buildings, Maisie had taken a moment to mirror the way Vivian Coombes carried herself. So much was revealed in the way a person walked—and it was a simple technique, a means of understanding something of a person without their knowledge. But it was important to be distinct in the interpretation. By the time she made her way through the turnstiles at the underground station, Maisie was wondering how best to describe the waves of fear and regret she felt emanating from Vivian Coombes as she walked alongside her.
“Billy, look at this,” said Maisie, pointing to the case map. She had been back in the office for only twenty minutes when Billy came in, his footfall heavy on the stairs before he entered.
“Aren’t you even going to ask where I’ve been?” said Billy. “Any other employer would.”
“I know where you’ve been, Billy—your son is at home now, probably on a few days’ leave before he has to report for duty again, and you wanted to see a bit more of him.”
“He says I’m the only one he can talk to, that he can’t talk to his mum about it, or his brother. And he definitely can’t talk to his little sister—won’t even let her near him when she wants to give him a cuddle to make it all better. That’s what she keeps saying. ‘Let’s make Billy all better, Daddy.’”
“Billy—you should be at home, really.”
“Nah, he was sleeping when I left. Like the dead. Got a nasty tear along the shoulder, where a bullet just skimmed along. Could have killed him, miss—could have killed my boy.”
“But it didn’t kill him. Someone was watching over him.”
“Our little Lizzie. That’s who.” Billy took out a handkerchief and blew his nose. “They patched him up at the military hospital and sent him home for a few days.”
Maisie pulled out a chair for Billy, and leaned back. “It must have brought back a lot of difficult memories for you, Billy—would you like to take the load off? And I don’t mean your feet.”
Billy gave a half-laugh, slumping into the chair. “I can’t let it take me down again, miss—I need the backbone for our Billy.” He looked at his hands, then back to Maisie. “But what he told me made me sick, miss. And he said, ‘Dad, I was lucky—I got away early. It’s bound to be worse now.’”
“Go on,” said Maisie.
“He told me all about it—and, miss, I don’t know if I can bear to think about what’s going on over there. Billy says the expeditionary force is being driven right back to the coast by the Germans. And I mean, right back. There’s men out there, our boys—and the French—holding the line so more can get to the coast, and when they get there, they’re lining up, masses of them, hoping to get onto a boat and sail for home. Some even tried to swim for it. And the blimmin’ Germans are coming down, flying above the beach and strafing the poor buggers. They’re bombing the navy ships and gunning them—coming in right overhead so the navy boys can’t get their big guns raised vertical enough to defend themselves. He saw one ship—a hospital ship, with a blimmin’ great red cross on it that you couldn’t miss from Mars—and the Luftwaffe came in for the attack and it sunk in seconds. There were doctors and nurses on board, wounded, and any other poor sods they could take. And Billy said he almost got on that one. The army’s having to leave everything—tanks, guns, motor cars. I tell you, miss, a miracle got hold of my son, pushed him to the front of the queue and brought him home.”
Maisie said nothing, allowing silence to wrap itself around Billy’s story. A minute passed before he looked up, pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed.
“Now then, what was it you wanted me to look at, miss?”
“The case map—here.” Maisie’s voice was little more than a whisper, as she pointed to a long red line between two names, then linking it to a third.
“I should’ve seen it coming—if anyone’s going to make money out of a war, it’d be that one.”
“I just don’t have the links in place, Billy—that’s the trouble. I have to find the links.”
“I’ll go over and—”
Maisie shook her head. “Not this time, Billy. Doreen’s coping very well, all things considered, and I don’t want her given cause to slip. Life is too fragile, isn’t it? In fact, considering the situation, I am wondering about the future of the business—for the duration of the war, anyway.”
“You’ll still be busy, mark my words.”
“That’s not it—though I can see that pile of inquiries Sandra has left for me on the desk.”
“And this one,” said Billy, tapping the case map. “Is one you’re doing for nothing, no payment from anyone.”
“That’s why there are some in that pile we have to start working on. There’s nothing big in there—I just glanced through them. But enough to keep us on our toes.” She reached for the sheaf of six or seven inquiry messages and placed them on the table. “I’ve just been considering how we should work—if the worst happens and there’s an invasion, or London is targeted by the Luftwaffe. It might be an idea to limit the time we spend here, don’t you think?”
Billy shook his head. “Everyone has to go to work, miss—you can’t let them win, not this easily.”
“I wasn’t planning to lose anything—especially not my employees.”
“And I’ll second what Billy said,” said Sandra. Maisie had not heard her enter the office. “Lawrence says life has to go on, so we’re staying.”
Maisie looked at Billy and Sandra. “All right—that subject is out of bounds for now, but I may come back to it. Your safety is paramount in my book.” She beckoned Sandra to a chair on the other side of the table bearing the case map. “Indeed, we’ll discuss it again when this case is closed. Right now, it seems to be splitting open wider every day.”
With Billy dispatched to call upon three of the prospective new clients, Maisie spent some time with Sandra going over the afternoon’s work, and then made her way downstairs to the front door—she had an appointment with her solicitor. As she closed the front door behind her, she heard someone calling after her.