Authors: Merryn Allingham
He looked up with a set face. ‘I can’t do this any more, Mike. I’m part of a team and I’ve a job to finish. I’ve got to get on with that and forget her. I know I’ve tried to do it before. Several times, in fact. But this time I must mean it.’
His friend clasped him by the shoulder. ‘It’s lousy, I know, but you’ll get through. It might not seem so now, but it could turn out for the best.’
Grayson nodded reluctantly. ‘Maybe. And maybe she’s right and we’re not good for each other. There always seems trouble when we’re together, that’s for sure.’
‘Talking of trouble, any further news on the Indian front? I don’t suppose you’ve had time to follow up the info that’s come in.’
‘Not yet. But I did get something from Daisy. I would have passed it on to you, except we’ve been going in different directions these last few days, and I’m not sure it helps. It was something she told me that night at the Ritz. She witnessed the attempted kidnap.’
‘She actually saw it?’ Corrigan stared at him in surprise.
‘It was after she’d met me at Lyons,’ Grayson said a trifle sheepishly. ‘She was walking back to Barts and crossing into Kingsway when the kidnap car nearly mowed her down. She saw it blocked further up the road by the fire engine and police car and then reverse—violently, she said. It passed her again on the other side of the road, travelling very fast. She was certain there were two people in the car, and she had the feeling she’d seen one of them somewhere before.’
‘That’s pretty vague. She had no idea where she’d seen him?’
‘No. There’s something else though. She thinks she might have been followed these last few weeks. Ever since Gerald Mortimer raised his slimy head, and
he
was convinced he was being spied on by the men who live downstairs.’
Corrigan started to laugh.
‘No, listen, Mike. That was my first reaction. But remember I mentioned before that there were Indians living below Mortimer? Or at least one Indian; the other possibly Anglo. That could tally with our witness’s description. And if the man in the kidnap car
is
the man who’s been spying on Mortimer and following Daisy, then we should be able to get to him. All we need is to find where Mortimer lives.’
‘But
is
he the same person?’
‘That I don’t know. Daisy never managed to see the stalker properly, if in fact he exists. But it might be worth following up, and I’ve an idea where to start, a shop called
Rigby’s. There’s no real urgency—I doubt there’s anything in it—but when we’ve finished up here this morning …’
Michael Corrigan slapped his friend on the back. ‘Worth it, if only to keep your mind on other things. Will you go or shall I?’
‘Why don’t we go together?’
It was a raw morning, the weather in sympathy with the unhappy day that lay ahead. There were few mourners for Willa: a small band of nurses, Sister Phillips representing the management of St Barts and Willa’s mother, a shrivelled, battered-looking woman, who’d travelled alone from Cardiff. Mrs Jenkins was the sole member of her family and, from her few mumbled words, it seemed as though she’d had to fight hard to attend her eldest child’s funeral. The bleak service in an empty church was soon over and the small group of mourners wandered outside, past a screen of dark ilex, following a gravelled path towards the open grave. Scattered headstones on either side glistened in the cold drizzle. A spiteful gust of wind caught the walkers unaware, chilling their faces with the faintest breath of ice. A freak snowstorm had been forecast, Daisy remembered. No April warmth for Willa.
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw another group of mourners at another graveside. They must have attended the funeral immediately before. Willa’s service had been over so quickly that the two parties had almost coincided.
Such a brief commemoration of a young life, she thought, brief and ultimately meaningless. Was that all that Willa’s existence had amounted to? Was that all that any life amounted to? For days, she had been in a dark place, plagued by the notion that her own life had come to a dead end. It was wrong of her to succumb so easily to this black mood. She had everything to live for. She was doing a job she loved, Gerald was no longer a problem and Grayson no longer a difficulty. But he was, of course. Grayson haunted her every waking hour. She’d done the right thing, she kept telling herself. They were always destined to walk different paths and Willa’s death had only precipitated the inevitable. He would fare so much better without her. It hadn’t been his fault that she’d been distracted and thoughtless, and now felt so badly. It had been hers entirely. She’d allowed the girl’s tragedy to unfold beneath her eyes.
The coffin was lowered into the gaping hole and she felt Connie’s hand searching for hers. Nursing discipline prevailed and the two of them stood straight backed at the graveside though neither girl was able to suppress her tears. Several of the nurses threw flowers onto the coffin and Daisy bent and placed a fragrant red rose across its shining wood. It was probably the first beautiful thing, she thought, that Willa had ever been given. The boy she had mourned all those weeks ago, cut down before he was twenty, would have had little time to woo her with roses. She straightened up as the first shovels of earth were thrown into the grave.
‘We have entrusted our sister, Wilhemina, to God’s mercy, and we now commit her body to the ground,’ the vicar intoned.
‘It will soon be over,’ Connie whispered.
‘But not for Willa.’
Connie gripped her friend’s hand. ‘In a way, for Willa too. Look at her mother. What kind of life have they both had?’
Daisy could find no comfort in the thought.
‘Earth to earth, ashes to ashes, dust to dust: in sure and certain hope of the resurrection to eternal life …’
A strangled gasp among the small circle of nurses who stood across the open grave made Daisy look up. Lydia’s face, a white hollow of a face with huge, staring eyes, looked back at her. The girl seemed almost dead herself, slumped lifelessly against her colleagues while the vicar’s chant went remorselessly on.
‘… through our Lord Jesus Christ who will transform our frail bodies that they may be conformed to His glorious body …’
Daisy had heard enough. She tugged at Connie’s arm and, tears streaming, they turned to go. A stumbling Lydia had preceded them, supported on either side by a fellow nurse. Behind, the final shovels of earth fell with a dull thud and voices sounded the communal ‘Amen.’ For a moment they paused in their walk. The deed was done. Willa was buried. Connie blew her nose loudly, while Daisy dragged another handkerchief from her pocket and dabbed her face dry.
Blearily, she looked around. The mourners from the second funeral party had spread themselves across the graveyard and were making their individual ways back to the church’s lychgate. Except one, she noticed.
Connie blew her nose again. ‘Did I tell you that Colin’s parents are up in London tomorrow?’ She was trying for a veneer of normality.
Daisy shook her head. She had lost any interest in Connie’s love life.
‘They’re travelling up from Portsmouth for the day. Colin’s got a twenty-four hour pass. He wants me to meet them.’
‘How are you going to manage that?’ All the nurses’ free time had been cancelled that week. Despite her slowness, Willa would be missed on the ward.
‘Sister has given me special permission.’ And when Daisy seemed unlikely to respond, Connie held up her left hand and waved it in front of her friend. ‘Look.’
A small diamond sparkled out of the thin band of gold she wore on her fourth finger.
‘You’re engaged! And you never said.’ Daisy’s tears had dried and she couldn’t stop herself from sounding reproachful. ‘How long have you been engaged?’
‘Only a few days and I didn’t feel I could … you know,’ and she turned her head towards the grave they had just left. ‘It didn’t seem right to be celebrating.’
‘Not celebrating—but you could have told me.’
‘I couldn’t reach you,’ her friend said simply. ‘You’ve
been somewhere else since Willa died. It’s only now that the funeral is over, I thought you might want to know.’
It was true—she had been too self-absorbed to notice what was happening to her best friend. And what was happening would change Connie’s life.
‘Dear Connie, congratulations.’ She put her arms around the girl and hugged her fiercely. ‘I’m sure you and Colin will be very happy together. You were made for each other.’ It was trite but true.
‘Like you and Grayson.’
Daisy said nothing. There would be plenty of time to let her friend down gradually. In the meantime, she must snap out of the depression that had grown on her. She had a job to do and a war to win, along with everyone else.
They had reached the lychgate now and stood waiting for the remaining nurses to catch them up. The lone man Daisy had thought a mourner at the earlier funeral began to walk towards them. His solitude made him conspicuous. That, and his clothes. He was dressed completely in black. But then why wouldn’t he be, when he’d been attending a funeral? A black trilby was pulled down over much of his face. For a moment, he was outlined against the gunmetal sky and something about his figure tugged at her with its familiarity. He was walking very slowly as though hoping they might leave first, but when they made no move, he was forced to inch past them. As he did so, she looked him full in the face. Unwillingly, he caught her eye from beneath the brim of his trilby, and
she knew she’d been right. He
was
familiar. She had seen him before or at least the suggestion of him—Baker Street, the underground. He must be the man who had cannoned into her. The man who had pushed her dangerously close to the electrified rail line.
And a man she’d seen somewhere else. Her mind struggled to remember and then gave up. But what was he doing here? Was it a coincidence that they’d met today in this churchyard or was he here for another reason? It was conceivable that he’d buried someone he knew, but if he hadn’t, he must have come because she was here. He’d come to find her, to spy on her. So she
had
been followed these last few weeks. The shadowy figure she’d glimpsed hadn’t been imagination. Was he one of Gerald’s Indians, perhaps, as interested in her as her husband? If that were so, his being here made little sense. Why would the man continue to watch her when there was no longer a need? Whatever his suspicions of Gerald and herself, they were pointless. The bird had flown. Gerald would have left his rooms by now and jumped free of any danger this man could pose.
It was then for the first time that she wondered why she’d heard nothing from her husband. She’d been so caught up in grief that it hadn’t occurred to her there had been no word from him. No word of thanks, no word of goodbye. Would he really have gone without even a brief note to say he was leaving? She supposed it was possible, but it didn’t seem likely. He was about to travel thousands
of miles across the sea, never to return. And he was still her husband, whatever bad things had happened between them. There was something odd about Gerald’s silence. And suddenly she was filled with fear for him.
I
t was no use, she must find out what had happened. She had to go to Rigby’s. No doubt she was worrying over nothing: Gerald had simply collected the envelope from the shop and disappeared without a word. But then why was this man still following her? Surely he would know that his spying was useless now. There was only one way to settle her mind. She would go to Rigby’s and check on the papers. If they were still in the shop, she would know something was very wrong. And now was the time to do it. Every nurse at the funeral had been given an additional hour’s free time before they needed to be back on the ward. From St Anne’s Church she could reach Gower’s Walk in twenty minutes and be back at Barts on time.
‘I need to go on a small errand, Connie,’ she said, as they turned the corner into the main road.
‘What now? Don’t you want a cuppa before we’re on the go again? I could murder one.’
‘It’s something I must do.’ She was sounding annoyingly vague, she knew, but she didn’t want to spell out her fears,
just in case that made them real. ‘I won’t be long,’ she promised.
‘I’ll come with you then. I don’t trust you on your own, not in your present frame of mind.’
‘I’ll be fine, really.’ And to prove it, she gave an imitation of a smile. ‘Go and get your tea and I’ll be back at Barts before you’ve finished the first cup.’
Connie pulled a face. ‘Not with the thirst I’ve got! But if you’re sure …’
‘I’m sure,’ she said firmly. ‘If you run, you’ll catch the others up.’
Once she’d watched her friend disappear, she set out briskly in the opposite direction towards Gower’s Walk.
Mr Rigby was closing for lunch as she reached the shop. When he saw Daisy appear in the doorway, his face turned even sourer than on her previous visit.
‘I’m closed,’ he said, completely disregarding the ‘Open’ sign which still swung at the glass door.
‘This won’t take a minute, Mr Rigby.’ She was determined.
‘It better not.’ He came out from behind the counter and stood with one hand on the door, ready to slam it behind her.
‘Do you remember that I delivered an envelope here a few days ago? It was addressed to a Mr Jack Minns.’
The shopkeeper spat onto the pavement behind. ‘Oh, ‘im.’
‘Yes, him. Do you know if he collected it?’
‘No idea.’
‘But you would have served him?’ she persisted.
‘Maybe. Maybe not. I’m not chained to the counter, yer know. There’s others. I’m quite able to employ others.’ His mouth twisted into a sneer.
‘I’m sure you are.’ It went against the grain, but she needed to be conciliatory. If she upset him, he was quite capable of pushing her out of the door without the answers she needed. ‘But would you do me a great favour and check whether or not Mr Minns collected the envelope?’
‘Envelope,’ he sniffed, shuffling reluctantly away from the door. ‘He don’t need to collect no envelopes. White feathers is more his line. He should have quite a collection by now.’