‘What are you going to do about it, though?’ Rosemary asked, helpless to prevent a grimace at whatever was in her mouth. ‘That’s the bit we don’t know.’
‘I’m going to have it adopted,’ Elsie revealed.
‘Probably for the best,’ Betty agreed.
‘Anyone want some carrot fudge to take the awful taste of the pudding away?’ Rosemary asked with a laugh.
And that was it. The revelation that Elsie had been putting off for several weeks had been said and the earth hadn’t stopped turning.
‘Oh, Violet, switch off the gramophone—Round the Empire will be on the wireless any moment. And the King’s speech.’
‘I don’t think I much care what he’s got to say about anything,’ Violet murmured as she left the table.
Rosemary fetched the carrot fudge and returned with a small pile of envelopes.
‘What’s all that?’ Betty asked.
‘Christmas cards,’ she answered. ‘I’ve been snatching them from the postman and hiding them from you. I thought it would make today a bit more special if we waited and opened them all together.’ She began to hand them out, as Violet switched on the wireless.
The women began tearing into their cards, smiling and passing comments to the others. ‘Oh, look what dear Bertie has sent!’ ‘Mother sends her regards to you all.’ ‘I daren’t read you what Dickie said!’
Elsie tore into her final envelope, listening as she did to the wireless.
‘…Destiny has given England the torch of liberty to hold and she has not dropped it; she has not allowed the stormy waves of terrorism to let that bright light even flicker. She is thankful that when the test came, she had the high courage to meet it. Today, England stands unbeaten, unconquered, unafraid…’
She pulled out the card and discovered that it wasn’t a Christmas card at all. It was a note from Agnes.
Elsie, word has reached me that you are several months in the family way. I suggest that for your sake and for that of my son, you return without delay to Cliff House. Regards, Agnes.
Elsie re-read the letter, staggered that Agnes had discovered her secret. Her plan to have the baby adopted before anyone could find out was crushed.
She felt that her future was once again shrouded in doubt and uncertainty.
Chapter Sixteen
Morton didn’t have a clue where he was. The man sitting behind him in the car had just told him to drive, barking instructions until they had reached some kind of deserted woodland car park. They were surrounded on all sides by walls of black, silhouetted trees.
‘Switch off the engine,’ the man instructed. ‘Then put your hands on the steering wheel.’
Morton obeyed, trying to get a good look at the man in the rear-view mirror. It was now totally dark, but earlier, when they had passed underneath a streetlamp, Morton had caught a brief view of him. He was of Asian appearance, in his late forties or early fifties with light hair—possibly grey or white. His eyes, Morton thought, had looked dark. He was guessing that this was Shaohao Chen—the man who had emailed Tamara Forsdyke telling her to destroy The Spyglass File.
‘What do you want?’ Morton asked calmly.
‘I want you to be quiet,’ he replied.
Morton held his tongue and gripped the steering wheel.
The silence sat heavily in the car, making Morton all the more tense. He supposed that was the idea.
Minutes passed.
‘Tell me what you were just doing in the office at Cliff House,’ the man said finally. His voice was soft, almost pleasant.
‘I was searching for information on The Spyglass File,’ Morton answered truthfully.
‘And what did you find?’
‘Lots of empty folders.’
‘And?’
‘And nothing else—the folders were empty.’
The man grunted.
More silence.
‘Why are you so interested in this Spyglass File, exactly?’
‘I believe it may have something to do with a genealogical case that I’m working on at the moment.’
‘Why?’
‘A baby that I’m interested in was born in 1941—I think The Spyglass File might have held information on her.’
‘What sort of information?’
‘I don’t know.’
More silence.
‘Can I give you some advice, please?’ the man asked.
Morton nodded. ‘Yes.’
The man cleared his throat. ‘Steer clear of anything to do with The Spyglass File; your searches will be in vain, and it may end up being very dangerous for you. I can assure you that if this person you say you are interested in was ever mentioned in the file, then that information is now gone. Forever.’
‘Right, okay,’ Morton murmured.
Silence.
‘So I can assume that you’re going to take that advice?’ the man asked.
‘Yes.’
The man let out a grunt, opened the back door to the car and sprinted into the woods. Morton turned to the side, scouring the black line of trees, but could see nothing. He was gone. Morton quickly leant behind him, pulled the door closed and sped from the car park.
The following morning, Morton awoke to see Juliette changing into her police uniform.
‘You were late last night,’ she commented.
‘I took a trip to the woods,’ Morton mumbled. He’d arrived home to find Juliette asleep and hadn’t liked to wake her. She would only have gone into full police mode and spent the night interrogating him at great length about his ordeal. Waiting until now, when she was half-way out the door, was infinitely more preferable.
‘Trip to the woods?’ she repeated, eying him suspiciously.
Morton sat up, waiting for his addled brain to begin functioning fully. It took a while. ‘Would you believe me if I said I’d been threatened again?’ Morton asked her.
Juliette shut her eyes and drew in a preparatory long, deep breath then blew out the air. ‘Give me strength,’ she groaned. ‘What now?’
Morton explained.
‘Your job’s more dangerous than mine!’ she exclaimed when he
