Maisie could see the woman’s eyes smarting with unshed tears, and was about to offer her plan regarding Joe, when Sally Coombes resumed speaking. “You know, Miss Dobbs, I have worried that we’ve been too hard on them. That we’ve sort of kept them too coddled so they would be, like I said, innocent. I wonder if we didn’t give them enough—you know, enough, well tough—to look after themselves. Especially Joe. Mind you, our Archie knows a thing or two, and Vivian isn’t a stupid girl. You expect growing up in London to give them some backbone. But I still wonder if it’s not all down to us, and that Joe, more than the other two, could have done with more elbow, so he could nudge back when the world nudged him.”
“I’m sure there’s nothing here that’s your fault, Mrs. Coombes,” said Maisie. “Now, I can see you’re tired, and I know you need to get back to the pub and have some rest before opening time. Let me tell you what we’re going to do—because we will find out what’s ailing Joe and we will do what we can to put things right with him. Billy is at Yates’ yard this afternoon. He’s talking to people there, to find out exactly where Joe is, and whether they’ve heard from the crew he’s with.” She paused to make sure Sally Coombes was absorbing her words. “And Billy will be in Hampshire this coming Saturday, visiting his family. I thought I might take him down there in the motor—our evacuee, Anna, is very fond of his daughter, so it might make a nice excursion for her. We can go over to Whitchurch to see if we can find Joe—unless the crew has moved on. If we locate him and he’s not well, we’ll make sure he sees a doctor. If he’s covering up these headaches during working hours, there is no reason why any of his workmates would think to help him.”
“That sounds like Joe—I’m sure he would never let on. He wants to be seen as one of the men, not just the boy apprentice.”
Coombes handed the baby back to Sandra, who set aside her notebook and took her son, placing him with care in his carrycot. Coombes pulled her coat around her, and took up her handbag again.
“I feel for poor Mr. Beale, you know. What with his son being over there in France, and the way things are going.”
Maisie inclined her head, and was about to inquire further.
Coombes put her hand to her mouth. “Oh dear—oh dear, I shouldn’t have said anything. Oh dear, I could get our Viv put in prison for that.”
“I’m not following you, Mrs. Coombes,” said Maisie.
Sandra stepped closer. “Your Vivian works on the government telephone exchange, doesn’t she? What has she heard, Mrs. Coombes? What has she heard that hasn’t been announced?”
“Oh dear, I shouldn’t have said anything. But I reckon they’ll sort it out, Mr. Churchill and all those army and navy men—and especially now Mr. Churchill’s prime minister and that Chamberlain has gone. That stupid man and his bits of paper signed by Adolf Hitler—so much for his peace in our time. And we believed him!” She put her hand to her forehead, then took it away to grasp her bag again. “Viv was so upset yesterday when she came home—she’d been working an early shift. She wasn’t supposed to say anything to us, on account of her signing the Official Secrets Act forms, but she couldn’t keep it to herself. You see, our boys are stuck over there. The Germans have already gone into Holland and Belgium, and now they’re moving in to trap our soldiers. And once they’ve done that, you know Hitler will come over here to get us. Our boys have got a terrible job on their hands. Vivian heard it all, on the line—orders going out to prepare for a possible evacuation of our expeditionary force from France. They’re already bringing home what they call non-essential staff. Viv heard that there’s more calling themselves non-essential just to get away. And there’s French and Belgian boys stuck too. The government’s trying to plan an evacuation of as many soldiers as they can, only they’ve kept it quiet for morale reasons—apparently the army are trying to fight the Germans on the one hand and move toward the coast at the same time. If it gets any worse, the government won’t manage to keep it a secret for much longer.” She straightened her shoulders. “I suppose you could say it won’t stay secret if my girl tells anyone else, but she was fair shaken about it all. Tell you the truth, I think she’s been a bit sweet on Mr. Beale’s eldest, ever since he brought him in for a half-pint before he went off to join the army. Mr. Beale probably doesn’t know this, but young Billy came back of his own accord a couple of times when he came home on leave, just to see our Viv before he went over there. Phil frowned on it a bit, but as he said, at least he knows Mr. Beale’s lads are good boys.”
An image of Billy’s son came into Maisie’s mind’s eye, a boy of eight or nine when she first met him, with wheaten hair like his father, and a swagger to his step. Young Billy, always with a cheeky grin, taking on the job of helping his father keep the family morale high, even through the worst of times. She remembered him coming into the office before leaving for France, filled with that confidence and proud in his new uniform, talking about how long it took him to get his boots to a spit-and-polish shine. And when Maisie had said, “Take care, young Billy,” and had pressed four half-crowns into his hand, he had blushed and said, “Fanks, Miss Dobbs—this’ll buy me and the boys a few pints before we go.” His father had walked to the door with him, and had returned to the office, his head low.
Maisie could feel Sandra’s eyes upon her. They both understood what the news meant for Billy and his family. The question now was whether she should tell Billy what she knew, or leave it to Pathé News to inform him. After all, perhaps his son might not be at risk.
“You won’t say anything to anyone, will you, Miss Dobbs? Mrs. Pickering? I should have kept my mouth shut, after all, it’s not as if I should know anything—but our Viv was so upset, she just had to get it off her chest.”
“We’ll both keep it to ourselves, Mrs. Coombes,” said Maisie. “I’m sure that, if the BEF are indeed stranded, it will be in the newspapers at some point during the next few days. And I’d already heard something along those lines from another source.”
“Our boys are fighting for their lives and ours, over there. And if they lose, if Hitler gets closer, it’ll only be a question of time before invasion, that’s what worries me. People will lose their sons, and then we’ll lose our country—and let’s face it, it won’t be the first time. As Phil says, look at the Romans, and the Normans, and the Saxons before them—and those Saxons were German, after all. Little island like this—we’re sitting ducks. I don’t know what will come of us, truly I don’t. At least mine are in reserved occupations, that’s all I can say—but no one will be protected, come the invasion.”
Maisie escorted Sally Coombes downstairs to the front door, opening it wide to a shaft of sunlight. Before bidding her goodbye, she reassured the woman. “I will keep in touch, Mrs. Coombes, and I daresay I will have something to report next Monday, if not before.”
“Who knows what might have happened by then,” said Coombes as she stepped out into Fitzroy Square.
As Maisie collected the afternoon’s post from the table, she heard a key in the lock, the door opened again, and Billy crossed the threshold.
“Lovely afternoon, miss. Really feels like spring has sprung—and there’s Sally Coombes walking down the road bundled up for a blizzard.” They began walking up the stairs together, Maisie listening while Billy talked about who he’d seen on the walk from the underground station. “Now I could do with a cuppa.” He continued his chatter before Maisie could respond. “Sandra here? Lovely—can’t wait to see the little fella again. I bet he’s a bonny boy. I remember when my young Billy was that age—I tell you, when my first boy was born, I felt like everything was getting better. I mean, I’d married my best girl, and now I had a boy.”
Sandra came to her feet to greet Billy as they entered the office. But before she could speak, Billy looked from Sandra, to Maisie.