She took a sip of the drink and stared at him, not speaking.
‘You’re not funny. Just tell me.’
Juliette laughed. ‘Right. Shaohao Chen. He did come up on the Police National Computer,’ she began. ‘He’s a Chinese national, but gave a UK address. In 2012 he was arrested and charged with Actual Bodily Harm.’
‘Well, that doesn’t surprise me too much,’ Morton muttered.
‘It was against a guy called Liu Chai—a journalist.’
‘Oh, right,’ Morton said. He wasn’t sure why the man’s occupation intrigued him, but it did. ‘And what happened?’
‘Shaohao was given a fine,’ Juliette answered.
‘And not deported?’
Juliette shook her head. ‘No, it would need to be a more serious offence to include a deportation order. We seem to let all the Eastern European shoplifters stay, so what’s another foreigner causing ABH?’
Morton laughed. ‘Anything else?’
‘Only his description. He was five seven, of Asian origin, white hair and brown eyes. Last known address was 62 Hanover Square in London. And that’s that.’
Morton leant over and kissed her. ‘Thank you.’
Juliette sighed. ‘You can take me out to dinner now for that little misconduct that could get me into serious trouble.’
‘Now?’ Morton asked.
‘Now.’
‘Can I go in my pyjamas?’
‘Yes, you go in your pyjamas and I’ll go in my uniform,’ Juliette answered. ‘That way people will think I’m carting you off to the asylum.’
Tamara Forsdyke was sitting in her office at Cliff House, sorting through a pile of paperwork pertaining to her latest case. Her neck and back ached like she’d spent the day carrying a heavy backpack on her shoulders. She removed her glasses and rolled her head around her neck. It was time for a break, she reasoned, closing the folder. She stood and made for the door. The ringing of her mobile phone from the desk made her stop, turn around and pick it up.
‘Hello?’ she answered brusquely.
‘It’s Rachel,’ a hushed voice said.
‘Go on,’ Tamara encouraged. Rachel phoning her could mean only one thing: trouble.
‘You remember that I said a Juliette Meade was insured to drive the car that you asked me to look up?’ she whispered.
‘Yes.’
‘She’s police. And this afternoon she accessed PNC. She found Shaohao’s conviction.’
Tamara paused, her mind beginning to race. ‘Okay. Thank you.’
She ended the call, then dialled Shaohao’s direct number. He answered with a deliberate sigh. Tamara briefly explained what had happened.
‘I think I need to pay him another visit,’ Shaohao muttered.
Chapter Eighteen
10th May 1941, Capel-le-Ferne, Kent
‘God!’ Elsie cried, shoving her old postman’s bicycle to the ground. Why she had even brought it when she clearly could no longer fit on it, was a mystery. Stupidity, that was why. She was standing at the top of the drive to Cliff House and was struggling. Struggling to push the bicycle with two heavy cases. Struggling with the oppressive heat. Struggling with finding any wisdom in returning here. Maybe she had delayed her arrival too long; she was due to give birth next week but she simply couldn’t bear the idea of arriving here any earlier. Agnes had wanted her here six weeks before her due date, but that idea had been unthinkable.
Hot and prickly, Elsie grappled with her breath. She felt the same sinking feeling that she had felt every time that she had come to Cliff House. She was certain that, if she lived here for the remainder of her life, she would always feel that same unpleasant turning and grating in her stomach each time she returned. But, like it or not, this was where she was going to be living for the next few weeks. It had all been arranged shortly after last Christmas. Elsie had visited the house and Agnes had set out her plan: Elsie would have the baby there and Kath would formally adopt it, having lost her own. If Elsie agreed, then nobody—including Laurie—would ever learn the truth.
And here she was, ready to begin her confinement.
Defying the reluctance groaning from within, Elsie stooped awkwardly to pick up the tatty old bicycle. She took a deep breath and continued towards the house, hoping that her display had not been noticed from anyone inside. She wanted to feel calm and confidently in control. She reached the door, rang the bell and began to unstrap her cases.
Agnes appeared in a flowery dress and something resembling a smile. ‘Here, let me take those,’ she offered, reaching out for Elsie’s suitcases.
Elsie was slightly taken aback but handed them over regardless. She was so monstrously huge that any offers of assistance were gratefully received, even those from her ghastly mother-in-law.
‘You’re positively glowing,’ Agnes commented.
‘That’s one way of describing me, I suppose,’ Elsie replied, following Agnes inside. ‘I think hot elephant on its last legs might be more appropriate, though.’
Agnes laughed, taking Elsie by surprise. ‘You’re back in your old room. We had to make some adjustments, move some people around, but I think you’ll find it how you left it.’
Elsie was about to ask to which people Agnes was referring, but she stopped herself upon entering the hallway and glancing into the sitting room; her question answered itself.
‘Other fallen women,’ Agnes whispered, seeing Elsie’s shock at the other three obviously pregnant girls sitting and laughing in the room.
The girls looked up warily, half-smiled then continued their conversation. Elsie noted the looks on their faces—she wasn’t just another fallen woman—she was worse; she was a married fallen woman—the worst kind. She smiled politely and continued to the stairs, heading up to her old bedroom.
‘Here we are,’ Agnes said brightly. ‘All ready for you. I’ll leave you to settle in again. Come down when you’re ready.’
Elsie thanked her, still uneasy about how to take her mother-in-law’s apparent complete shift in personality.
