Coombes nodded and held out his hand to Maisie. “Thank you, Miss Dobbs. I feel better, having got that off my chest. I’ll tell Sally to come round after closing time this afternoon—that all right?”
“Perfect. I’ll be here. And she’ll have a chance to see Sandra’s baby—she comes in one or two afternoons a week with him, to catch up with the paperwork. It’s a treat for all of us, seeing young Martin. Anna, our evacuee, loves it when he comes to the country.”
“How’s the little lady getting on?”
“Very well, Mr. Coombes—thank you for asking. We’ll see Sally at about three o’clock then.”
“Three o’clock it is.”
Billy was holding the office door open for Phil Coombes, when Maisie called out.
“Oh, just one more small thing—do you have the name of the lad who was in touch with Joe—his brother’s friend?”
“Teddy Wickham. Nice lad—known the family for years.”
Maisie thanked Coombes, and nodded to indicate that it was her final question.
Maisie was waiting, still sitting by the gas fire, staring into the flame, when Billy returned to the office and took his seat again.
“What do you think, miss?”
“I think he has cause for concern. I know it’s easy to say boys will be boys, that they don’t keep up with their parents when they’re away like Joe’s away, but he’s a lad who always struck me as someone who is respectful of his family. They’re a tight little unit—look at how he grew up, over the pub. In some respects, he probably was looking forward to getting away, setting out on a big adventure—but that aside, Phil’s description of the past weeks is a bit unsettling. Joe might not be well and his fellow workmates have failed to notice, so he’s soldiering on. Or he might have been ill and told his mates not to say anything to Yates—he might be fearful about losing his apprenticeship.”
“I can see that.”
“So can I—to a point. But there’s something that worries me far more.”
“Miss?”
“Think back to when Mr. Coombes first started telling us about his son, about his worries—not a few minutes into the conversation. He made a slip.”
“What sort of slip.”
“‘Very precise with his hands, he was. . . .’ He used the past tense, Billy. When he looked down at his own hands, and talked about his son, about his steady hands. Past tense.”
“You don’t think he’s got something to do with his son going quiet?”
“At this point . . . no, I don’t think so. But I believe Mr. Coombes has a greater sensitivity with regard to his children than he might give himself credit for. We must get to work without delay, Billy—I fear for Joe’s safety.”
“But if you look at it another way, he’s been working for the government.”
“We’re at war, Billy. There are thousands of sons—and daughters—working for the government. Army, air force, navy, and in jobs like Joe’s that no one knows about. They’re all government jobs. No one is guaranteeing their safety.”
“And don’t I know it.”
Chapter 2
“It’s so lovely how people stop to ask about Martin when I take him out in the pram—as if seeing a baby makes the sun shine a little brighter. But have you noticed, since just before Christmas there’s been more children around now who’ve been brought back from evacuation to London by their parents? After all, it’s not as if something really terrible has happened to us since war was declared. Though I think it will, what with what’s gone on in the Netherlands, and, well . . .” Sandra Pickering’s voice tapered off, giving the impression that she could not countenance the direction of her thoughts. She took the baby from his carrycot and handed him to Maisie. “He slept all the way here in the motor car.”
“The movement of the motor can soothe a baby.”
Sandra laughed. “Not when it’s me slamming on the brakes every two minutes!” She smiled as Maisie gently rocked the child in her arms. “I reckon we’ll all be stopping driving soon—not enough coupons for the petrol, and it’s not as if you can carry them over from month to month if you don’t go anywhere much. Anyway, I’ll get on with these letters—and you say you have someone coming in?”
“Yes, Mrs. Coombes—Sally, Phil Coombes’ wife from the Prince, around the corner.” Maisie glanced at the clock on the mantelpiece. “She should be here any minute—if she keeps to the arrangement I made with Phil this morning. Would it be all right if we hand Martin to her? I think having the babe in her arms will soothe her spirit. It’s about their son, Joe, you see. They haven’t heard from him for a few days, and to add to their concern, they say he hasn’t been himself of late. He’s on a special job for the government—he works for Yates and Sons, the painters and decorators, and they’ve a contract to paint all airfield buildings across the county with a type of fire retardant. It sounds as if the emulsion they’re using is causing Joe to have terrible headaches, and they’re worried he’s unwell and not telling anyone.”
“I bet young Joe jumped at the chance of a job away from home.”
“Have you noticed something I’ve missed?” asked Maisie.
“I’ve only been into the Prince on a couple of occasions—once with Billy after we’d left the office one evening, before I met Lawrence, and then another time when Lawrence met me from work and we went in for a drink before going home. But the first time, I remember the way Phil was talking and I thought he and Sally kept Archie, Vivian, and Joe on a very tight rein. He said, ‘You see it all, working in a pub.’ And then he went on to say that they’d brought up their three to know what’s right and what’s wrong and that there’s a good sort and a bad sort and they wouldn’t tolerate if one of them became a bad sort.” Sandra paused, watching as Maisie settled the baby, who had whimpered as he slept in her arms. “The second time, Vivian arrived back at the pub later than expected—she was about fourteen at the time and had only just started work. But on that evening—it must have been a Friday—instead of getting on the bus and coming straight home, she’d gone out to a caff with some of the girls she worked with. I suppose it was half past seven or eight o’clock when she walked in, but Phil tore her off a strip in front of everyone in the pub. Sally was working behind the bar as well, and after Phil had had a go, she said, ‘Upstairs right now, my girl—I’ve got some words for you too.’” Sandra shook her head. “I have no doubt they were worried, but I can see why Archie left home as soon as he could. Vivian is stuck there until she’s twenty-one—she’ll probably get married just to get away. It’s a shame—they love their children, but they’ve let what they’ve seen while working for the brewery get the better of them.” Sandra looked at her child in Maisie’s arms. “I hope I’m a good mother—I hope I don’t smother Martin with my worries.”
The doorbell sounded. Maisie held out Martin to his mother. “Sandra, that will be Sally Coombes. I’d like you to be present for this little meeting—take some notes for me. We’ll stay in here—and let’s get the chairs over by the window. It’s warmed up a bit now, and the sun is shining.”
Maisie ran downstairs to welcome her visitor. “Mrs. Coombes—I’m so glad you could come.” She opened the door wide. “The day’s brighter now, isn’t it? I don’t know if I like the mornings so chilly.”