‘Seven o’clock on the dot.’
‘I’ll be here some time after that, Mrs Skene. That’s a promise.’
Gordon Leach was putting loaves of bread into the back of the cart when he felt a tap on his shoulder. He turned round to see Ruby Cosgrove standing there. He wasn’t sure whether he should be delighted or disturbed.
‘Why aren’t you at work, Ruby?’
‘I can be late for once. This is more important.’
‘What is?’
She put her hands on her hips. ‘Did you send Fred Hambridge round to me?’
Leach was stunned. ‘Would you say that again?’
‘He came to speak up for you,’ said Ruby.
‘Well, he had no right to do that,’ he said, fuming. ‘I’d never send anyone to speak on my behalf — least of all Fred. He’s hopeless when it comes to talking to women. That’s why he’s never had a girlfriend. What did the idiot say?’
‘He was only doing his best.’
‘I’ll give him a flea in his ear when I see him.’
‘Don’t be cross, Gordon,’ she said. ‘What he said made sense. I didn’t think so at the time because I was mad at him — and mad at you as well. I should have known that you wouldn’t trust Fred with a job like that.’
‘Are you
‘No — I’m just annoyed at myself for flying off the handle. Fred meant well. He showed me an article that Cyril had written. It was full of big words I didn’t understand but I remember one phrase — “instrument of slaughter”. The article said each man was a dangerous weapon. Put him in uniform and he becomes a killer.’ She grasped his arm. ‘I don’t want
‘There’s no chance of it ever happening.’
‘And I don’t want you to do anything that’s … wrong for you.’
‘I’m so pleased to hear you say that,’ he said, grinning with relief. ‘Joining a non-combatant corps would sicken me, Ruby. I just couldn’t do it.’
‘Then you don’t have to.’
‘But I thought …’
She beamed at him. ‘I’m here now, aren’t I?’
‘Does that mean we’re friends again?’
‘I never stopped being friends with you,’ she said, before correcting herself. ‘Well, I did for a while when I thought that you’d sent Fred Hambridge to see me. But it soon passed. And that article did make a difference so he did help.’
‘He’ll still get an earful from me,’ warned Leach.
She glanced at the cart. ‘Your round takes you near the factory, doesn’t it?’
‘I’ll drive you straight there.’
‘Then I might even arrive on time, after all.’ She giggled. ‘Well? Don’t just stand there goggling at me. Do something, Gordon.’ He grabbed her impulsively and planted a kiss on her cheek. She pulled back and saw the white marks on her coat. ‘You’ve got flour all over me!’
After her late night meeting, Alice Marmion nevertheless arrived at the depot full of vitality the next day. Vera Dowling was not the most perceptive of women but even she noticed the glow in her friend’s face and the sparkle in her eyes. Assuming that it had something to do with the visit to Hannah Billington’s house, she pressed for details. Alice described the house and the delicious tea with mingled awe and gratitude. What she didn’t even touch on was the invitation she’d been given in the main bedroom. The euphoria she felt in the wake of her conversation with Joe Keedy had expunged it from her mind. When Hannah came across to them, therefore, Alice was not in the least embarrassed.
‘I was just telling Vera what a wonderful time I had yesterday,’ she said. ‘Thank you once again.’
‘It was a pleasure to have you there,’ returned Hannah. ‘We spend so much of our time in these uniforms that it’s good to remind ourselves now and again that we’re still very feminine. Don’t you agree, Vera?’
‘Yes, yes, I do,’ replied Vera, nervously.
‘We mustn’t let this war turn us into honorary men. That will never do.’
She gave them a farewell nod and walked away. Alice was able to relax. It was all over. Whatever had happened between them at the house was forgotten. She wouldn’t be invited again and she was happy about that.
Alice banged the side of the lorry. ‘Come on, Vera,’ she said, making her friend jump in alarm. ‘We’ve got work to do. Let’s go.’
Caroline Skene was sorely tempted. When she saw her husband putting on his coat to go off to the social club, she had an urge to beg him to stay in for once so that she wouldn’t be left alone. It was an impulse she quickly mastered. To keep him there, she would have had to explain why and she couldn’t do that. Accordingly, she let him put on his cap, adjust it slightly in the mirror, then give her his usual peck on the cheek before he left the house. The moment the door closed behind him, the whole place felt cold, undefended and vulnerable. Marmion had promised to come but she sensed that he was not there yet. Caroline ran straight upstairs to the front bedroom and looked out through a chink in the curtains. She was able to watch her husband stroll along the pavement until he was swallowed by the darkness. The street looked completely empty but she was convinced that her stalker was there. Her heart pounded and a film of perspiration appeared on her brow. The man was out there and she was utterly alone.
For several minutes, she was paralysed. She stood there like a statue, unable to move or to think clearly. When she did regain some control over her limbs, she went to the cupboard where she kept a bottle of whisky hidden behind a pile of clothing. There was a small glass in there as well. Pouring herself a tot, she replaced the bottle and sat on the edge of the bed to sip the whisky. Sharp and reviving, it gave her a temporary courage. She told herself that she was not in danger. The front and back doors of the house were locked. If necessary, she could lock herself into the bedroom as well. Nobody could get in. The stalker would surely tire of standing out there in the cold before too long. She simply had to hold her nerve. A second sip of whisky gave her added strength. Caroline felt that she could, after all, cope with the situation.
A loud noise from downstairs shattered her confidence. What had she heard and was it any kind of threat to her? Could it be that her husband had returned? She went out onto the landing and called his name. There was no answer and the house still felt empty. Draining the glass, she left it on the dressing table and was emboldened enough to go downstairs. It was her home. She ought to feel safe. The living room was empty and there was nobody in the front room. Caroline then went into the kitchen and was startled to see that the door had been forced open. As she moved forward, someone who’d been flattened against the wall came up behind her and put an arm around her throat and a hand over her mouth.
‘Do as you’re told,’ warned a voice. ‘I don’t want to hurt you.’
Caroline almost fainted. He’d come for her at last.
Harvey Marmion asked the driver to pull up around the corner. He and Joe Keedy then got out and split up so that they could enter from either end of the street where the Skene house was located. Someone was loitering immediately opposite it. When Marmion got closer, he saw that a man had simply been waiting while his dog relieved itself against the wheel of a car. The two of them moved off. Having come into the street at the opposite end, Keedy beckoned the inspector over to look at a horse and cart that stood in the shadows. Marmion let his torch play on the painted board at the rear of the vehicle. He read out the bold lettering.
‘Jack Dalley. Blacksmith. Bethnal Green.’
They were in the main bedroom now. Caroline was too terrified either to speak or move. She sat perched on the edge of the bed and his eyes ran hungrily over her.
‘I first saw you at Nora’s wedding,’ he explained. ‘You hardly noticed me but I never let you out of my sight. I found out everything I could about you and I started to watch. I know you better than your husband does, Caroline,’ he said with a snigger. ‘I saw what you did when his back was turned. You let Cyril Ablatt in one night and I watched the light come on in this bedroom. Why
