could be a woman, she resolved to confront the man. It was a difficult thing for someone like Dorothy to do and she had to summon up all her courage. Eventually, she felt strong enough to take action. When she turned a corner, therefore, she didn’t continue her walk along the pavement. She stepped into the porch of a house and waited. Twenty seconds ticked past. As she heard footsteps approach, her heart began to pound. Someone eventually came around the corner and stopped as if wondering where she had disappeared. Making an effort to control her nerves, she stepped out to face him.
‘Are you following me?’ she asked in a querulous voice.
‘Good evening,’ he said, raising his hat in greeting. ‘There’s no need to be alarmed. It’s just that you remind me of a good friend of mine — Irene Bayard.’
‘I’m her sister.’
‘There — that explains it. I’m Ernie Gill, by the way.’
Dorothy relaxed. ‘Irene has spoken about you.’
‘I saw you yesterday and decided that I must be mistaken. So I came back for a second look today. You must be Dorothy Holdstock.’ She nodded. ‘There was just something about you that was so like Irene. I had to find out the truth. Did I upset you?’
‘It was rather troubling, Mr Gill.’
‘I’m sorry about that. Well,’ he said, looking her up and down, ‘it’s good to meet you at last. Irene’s told me a lot about you. What she didn’t mention was that her sister was such a handsome woman.’
She was flattered. ‘Oh, I’d never claim that.’
‘Don’t be so modest. I only speak as I find.’
‘Thank you.’
‘Irene and I worked together for many years.’
‘So I gather, Mr Gill.’
‘Call me Ernie — everyone else does.
‘Except my lodger, Miss James, that is — she prefers Ernest.’
‘She seemed a sweet old girl when I met her.’
‘She is, Mr Gill … oh, sorry — Ernie.’
‘How is Irene settling in?’
‘Very well,’ said Dorothy. ‘She told me that she wished she’d moved in with me years ago. She only took the job with Cunard to get over the loss of her husband.’
‘Yes,’ he sighed. ‘That really hurt her. I mean, he was so young.’
‘She still hasn’t fully recovered.’
Ernie Gill wasn’t at all as she’d imagined. He was taller, thinner and older than the portrait in her mind. He had a pleasant voice and an easy manner, though there was a faint hint in his eyes of the intensity that Irene had warned her about. Dorothy’s main emotion was relief that he had not been some anonymous stalker with designs on her handbag or, even worse, on her body. Gill was wearing a smart suit and was well groomed. He looked perfectly presentable and she could not understand why Irene had kept them apart.
‘Does your sister ever talk about me?’ he asked.
‘Oh, yes. She’s told me all about the rescue.’
‘I wasn’t going to let my favourite person drown. When I saw her flailing around in the water, I just had to go to her.’
‘Irene is eternally grateful.’
‘I simply acted on impulse, Miss Holdstock.’
‘You can call me Dorothy — or Dot, if you prefer.’
‘I’ll stick to Dorothy. It was my mother’s name.’
‘I inherited it from an aunt.’
Gill was slowly getting her measure. It was not difficult to see why she’d remained a spinster. She had none of Irene’s physical charms and was uneasy in the company of a man. Dorothy didn’t know how to cope with flattery because she was so unused to receiving it. Gill found her dull and fatally old-fashioned.
‘What else has Irene told you about me?’ he probed.
‘She said what a good friend you’d been to her.’
‘You need friends on board a ship. Otherwise, voyages can get very boring, even on a liner like the
‘It seems such a coincidence that both of you decided to leave Liverpool and move to London together.’
He chuckled. ‘Unfortunately, we moved here separately,’ he said. ‘If it was left to me, we
‘Yes, she mentioned that you were … an admirer of hers.’
‘I’m much more than that, Dorothy. You tell her. Oh, no,’ he corrected himself. ‘It might be safer if you didn’t mention that we bumped into each other like this. For some reason, Irene didn’t want me to meet you. Do you happen to know why?’
‘To be honest, I don’t.’
‘Then let’s keep this meeting as our little secret, shall we?’
Dorothy was uncertain. ‘I suppose that we could.’
‘At least you know who I am now.’
‘Yes, that’s true.’
‘So you won’t have to worry about your sister if she says that she’s meeting Ernie Gill.’ He flashed a smile. ‘As you can see, I’m quite harmless. I’m just a nice, respectable, hard-working barber.’
‘Irene said that you’ve already found a job.’
‘Yes, I work strange hours but I really like it. I’ve made some new friends as well. In fact,’ he went on, ‘the move to London has been a success in every possible way — especially now that I’ve met you.’
Dorothy emitted an almost girlish giggle.
Joe Keedy could not go in one of the suits he usually wore. The address on the leaflet was in a rough area of the city and he didn’t wish to look out of place. Returning to his flat, he changed into the tatty old clothing he kept by way of a disguise. With his flat cap on, he looked at himself in the mirror and decided that he could easily pass as a manual worker of some kind. When he set off, he had the leaflet from the True British League stuffed in his coat pocket.
It took him over half an hour to reach the Lord Nelson, a shabby pub with a fading image of the great naval hero on the sign that dangled outside. Keedy went in and showed the leaflet to the barman. After sizing him up, the man directed him to a door at the rear. Keedy knocked, opened the door and went into a rectangular room with beer crates stacked against one wall. Seated behind a bare table was a big brawny man in his forties with a gleaming bald head and a broken nose. Another man — younger, slimmer and whose wavy brown hair was parted in the centre — was reading a newspaper in the corner. He glanced up at Keedy then went back to his paper.
‘What d’you want?’ demanded the first man.
Keedy held up the leaflet. ‘I came about this.’
‘What about it?’
‘I liked what it said.’
The man was cautious. ‘Oh, yeah — why was that?’
‘I hate Yids,’ said Keedy with a snarl. ‘I used to work in a factory that was taken over by one. First thing the long-nosed bastard did was to lower our wages. When I tried to organise a protest, he booted me out.’
‘Where was this?’
‘It was in Ashford, down in Kent.’
‘What sort of factory?’
‘We made furniture. I was a storeman.’
‘What’s your name?’
‘What’s yours?’ asked Keedy, meeting his unfriendly gaze.
The man stopped to appraise him. His tone was hostile.
‘We get lots of people who say they support our aims,’ he said, ‘but they turn out to be shit-scared of doing anything about it. You look as if
‘Then you’d better ask Mr Liebermann.’
