CHAPTER TWO

As a rule, whether Maisie was expected at the Fitzroy Square office or not, if she were in London, she would take the opportunity to drop in to see Billy Beale, but following the visit to Ebury Place, she decided against the stop. Billy, once her long-time assistant and now a partner in the business, was responsible for his own cases, for the most part involving security appraisals for property owners. He had surprised Maisie, forging valuable alliances with insurance agents and building firms – and if there was one element of life predicted to boom as Britain found its feet in the post-war years, it was in the construction of new homes. Indeed, whole new towns at strategic locations across the United Kingdom were in the midst of being planned. Rows and rows of houses with indoor bathrooms and flushing toilets, accommodation for a bombed-out and distressed population of homeless, from Crawley and Harlow in the south of England, to East Kilbride and Livingston in Scotland. Now, however, 38given Billy's excitement about the revenue he was bringing in and his enjoyment in his work, Maisie knew she had to protect him – she understood only too well that those lingering wounds from the Great War could rise to the surface in an instant.

Stopping at Victoria Station, she approached a telephone kiosk, stepped in and drew the concertina doors. Lifting the receiver, she placed the requisite coins in the slot and dialled a number she knew by heart, one that would have never been listed in a London telephone directory.

‘MacFarlane!'

Maisie pressed button A to release the coins, and the call connected. ‘Robbie – it's Maisie.'

‘Might have guessed. And I do hope this isn't trouble – you know I've only a couple of months to go before my desk is cleared and my life will be free of Scotland Yard, the Special Operations Executive, the Secret bloody Service and any other department standing between me, a fishing rod and a flask of single malt by my side. All I've got to do is give a bit of evidence at Nuremberg, and I'm off to find a quiet loch as far north in my bonnie Scotland as I can venture and still land a fish for my supper.'

‘In the freezing cold of a Scottish winter? Even on my most grey days, Robbie, you never fail to amuse me.'

‘Glad to be of service, hen. Now then, spill the beans while I still have a few brain cells left. Is this about Beale the younger again?'

‘Yes, it is, and—'

‘Before you go on, the news is exactly the same as it was a week ago. He's back on home soil and has been for some time. He turned up for his army pay and his demob suit. Then he left the face of the earth.'

Maisie heard paper rustle and an expletive from the man she had 39first crossed paths with when he was a senior detective with Scotland Yard's Special Branch. Later, even before the war, Robert MacFarlane was assigned to an elite role, becoming the vital linchpin between the Yard and the Secret Service. He was yet another high-ranking official with a ‘finger in a lot of pies.' And though there was often banter amid the odd row between Maisie and MacFarlane when they worked together, there was also a deep respect and affection.

‘I assigned someone to search for him, Maisie, but to all intents and purposes, Will Beale has vanished into thin air – and remember, it was a few years ago that one of his mates attested to the fact he wanted to be known as ‘Will' and not ‘Billy' because he was fed up with being seen as a chip off the old block.' MacFarlane paused, and Maisie heard more rustling of paper. ‘Now, the medics who examined him upon his release from Japanese captivity and again when he landed here wrote in their reports that he was suffering from extreme malnutrition and would need a slow introduction of solid foods. Apparently, a good number of those lads got stuck into the first big nosh that was put in front of them and lost the whole lot in short order. The poor buggers working on that bloody Burma railway were given only half a cupful of rice per day, and little water. Will's kidneys were all but packing up due to dehydration, and he's had every bloody Asian illness in the book. It's a miracle he survived and – hate to say this, Maisie – he might not be now. He wouldn't be the first returning soldier who has gone through hell and decided to throw in the towel on life in the hope of finding something akin to heaven.'

The line was silent.

‘Maisie?'

‘Robbie – Robbie, I know where he is. At least I think I do. And I'm not sure quite what to do next, because I … I must protect Billy 40and Doreen. They are aching to see him, just beside themselves, but I don't think he wants to go home.'

‘Just as well I'm talking to a lady, because the air would be blue if I wasn't. Those stinking, bloody … I'd better stop now. But you should have seen the state those boys have come home in. Some of them went out and got themselves drunk at every port of call on the return to Southampton, and the strain was more than they could manage – you can't pour beer into a bag of bones and expect a shrunken, ulcerated gut to absorb it. And the stories, Maisie – I mean, there's war and there's the sort of brutality we've never seen before, as if we've not enough on our hands with the bloody Nazi camps and the poor bastards we found inside. And right now that's another problem – we expected thousands of displaced persons, but we didn't expect genocide. New word on me, that, but I was sent over to Germany and Poland to bring back a report after V-E Day. I've seen what that word means, and on a sickening scale … It's … it's …'

As MacFarlane issued a deep sigh, Maisie felt as if a cold breeze had found its way along the telephone line.

‘Maisie.' MacFarlane was calmer, his tone matter-of-fact, as if he had galvanised himself and by force dragged his mind into the present. ‘There are a few different choices here. First, you can see if he'll speak to you. I think you're better at all that business of getting people to talk when they don't want to. Second, we can go together – he knows me, but not well. I remember him as a nipper when he came with his dad to your office and we had a bit of a laugh together. Good lad, he was. I was a soldier in the last war, so I've an idea how it's been for him – though look where he's seen a fair few horrors: Dunkirk, Singapore, Changi and then Burma. He's no one's "boy" any more. Third, you can either send his dad round, or you can both go, or—' 41

‘Or what, Robbie?'

‘Or you can send his mum.'

Maisie was silent.

‘Yes, his mum. If the man wants to cry – and I would bet he wants to weep for every mate lost and for the life he's frightened to live – my best guess is he'll hold it back with his dad.'

‘But he knows his father loves him beyond measure – you should have seen Billy when his son came off that boat from Dunkirk.'

‘Yes, I understand all that, Maisie, but the lad also knows that his dad's shell-shock – and let's call it what it is – has never been far from the surface. I am not in your league when it comes to knowing what goes on in the human mind, Maisie, but after all these years, I've cottoned on to a little bit of knowledge about the spirit. I reckon that lad saw some things when he was growing up – and what with his mother being in an asylum for a while, then everything that happened when they lost their little girl, well, say no more.'

Maisie was thoughtful for a moment. ‘You're right, Robbie. But here's another spanner in the works. He's among company. There's about four others, all about fifteen or sixteen years of age I would imagine, and they're trying to look after him. Every day they're scared he'll be dead when they go in with a cup of tea.' She sighed. ‘But I can say this for them – because I witnessed it – those youngsters can take care of themselves.' She described watching Mary dispatch the lad named Jim to the ground.

MacFarlane did not respond, though Maisie thought she could hear a pencil being tap-tap-tapped on the desk. Another second or two passed.

‘Robbie? Are you still there?'

‘Oh just distracted by some papers. Anyway, more bloody 42squatters – it's not getting any better, is it? In that case, why don't you have a word with his mum and see what you both think might be best.'

‘Thank you, Robbie. I just had to talk to you about this one.'

‘One more thing – over the past three weeks, your Billy has telephoned me almost every day or so to ask if I can pull strings to find out anything about his son. I've conveniently been "out of the office" a lot lately – usually just down the corridor – because I don't know what to say to the poor man any more. But I want to remind you about something you probably don't need reminding about.'

‘Yes?'

‘There should be no secrets between man and wife.'

‘I know, Robbie. Billy will be in the office today. I'll telephone Doreen to talk about it. She's been remarkably strong, you know – you'd never believe she'd had that horrible time after Lizzie died.'

‘I would believe it, Maisie. And I'll tell you this – in two wars I've seen more backbone in women than in a lot of our bloody politicians, and that's a fact.' He laughed. ‘But don't tell anyone I said that. And let me know what happens.'

‘Of course, Robbie.'

‘Don't forget to drop in for a wee dram before I officially retire. We can have a chat about something that isn't war, eh?'

Maisie smiled. ‘I remember what happened the last time you offered me a dram or two.'

‘My mistake, wasn't it? You went off sloshed and said "yes" to the Yank!'

They both laughed, before MacFarlane spoke again.

‘Just a minute, Maisie – you didn't give me the address, you know, where those lads and lasses are holed up … the squatters.' 43

Maisie hesitated. ‘Robbie? Robbie, are you there? Oh dear – that's the pips and I've no more change. Sorry, Robbie … I'm being cut off.'

‘Maisie …'

She set the black Bakelite receiver down on the cradle, and remained in the telephone kiosk, her hand still on the telephone for a moment before opening the concertina doors and making her way through the busy station, now filled with as many returning soldiers as civilians. She wanted to think, to consider her own actions. She had placed sufficient coins in the slot for a lengthy call and there were more in her purse, yet in an instant she avoided giving MacFarlane the address of the property occupied by the squatters. Might he guess? MacFarlane was no fool and would know soon enough – but would he suspect that a change of tone in his voice had alerted in Maisie a feeling she could not yet put her finger on?

She needed fresh air. Maurice had taught her: ‘If you move the body, you move the mind.' So she walked and soon admitted that it was a matter of trust. MacFarlane's query was not an idle afterthought on his part. It was a question presented as a simple passing curiosity, but Maisie recognised it for what it was: an investigative technique she had used many a time. The second the person being interrogated saw her turn, they began relinquishing vigilance, letting go of attention to every word spoken in response to her questioning. MacFarlane had just tried the same trick on her as she was coming to the end of the call. She was sure he wanted to know where the young people were located because he was interested in them. Recounting the conversation in her mind, she knew his curiosity had been sparked when she described those skills in the art of self-defence demonstrated by a girl who called herself Mary – if indeed Mary was her name. In that moment, Maisie concluded that for the time being, protecting 44four young squatters might be just as important as doing all she could to make sure Billy Beale's son had not survived the extreme cruelty of his Japanese captors only to die in London.

By the time Maisie reached her flat in Holland Park, she had decided to return to Ebury Place alone. MacFarlane was right. If she was correct and the ailing man was indeed Will Beale, telling Doreen her firstborn was in trouble and expecting her not to tell her husband was futile. The Beales loved their children, though she also knew ‘young Billy' – a name conferred on him from the time he could walk – might not want to see his father. She also understood that the reticence was in all likelihood borne of a desire to protect his family, as well as wanting to keep a distance from Billy in particular, because he feared the reunion would reignite his father's shell-shock.

Later, while Maisie packed a box with foodstuffs to take to Ebury Place the following day, she spoke of her concern for the man she believed to be Will Beale.

‘This is none of my business, Maisie,' said Mark Scott, as he poured two glasses of wine. ‘I only know the Beales from the lunches and dinners we've had at the Dower House, and a few conversations at your office.'

‘But?' She turned around to look at her husband. ‘I can hear a "but" coming.'

‘But what if he dies without seeing them, or more to the point, without Billy and Doreen being with their son one last time? You can't take that responsibility.' He passed a glass of wine to Maisie. ‘I think this is a case of protecting one person yet, at the same time, not respecting the others involved. And those kids – Maisie, those squatters can't stay there at Ebury Place. They told you they weren't 45real family, so where are their parents?'

‘Mark, if they're over fourteen, they are all of working age. They're considered adults, though without the right to vote or marry.'

‘That's all very well, but I'm interested in what's happened to them – or what they've done to make them want to stick together and not go home. They're a little gang, and like horses in a field, it sounds as if they've become herd-bound.'

Maisie was thoughtful.

‘Maisie? I know that face.'

She looked up at her husband. ‘Or something has pushed them to become like family.'

‘I'd concentrate on the soldier first, if I were you,' said Mark. ‘He needs help and I don't think these kids, however well intentioned – or not – can look after him, and they certainly can't bring him back to health.' He took a sip of his wine. ‘Do you want me to come over there with you? I have some time.'

‘I think I should go alone, not least because you've a lot to do before you leave. But I'll let you know if I need your help.'

‘You come first, my love. You and Anna. You should get back to her as soon as you can, because I'm going away.'

‘You're right, of course. I'll sort all this out and try to get down to Chelstone later tomorrow morning. And you're planning to leave tomorrow night.'

Mark set down his glass and put his arms around his wife. ‘I never thought I'd get married and I never thought I'd have a child,' he said. ‘I wasn't settled in myself enough – but here I am, besotted with my womenfolk.'

‘Womenfolk? You sound like my father.' Maisie laughed.

‘I'll take sounding like Frankie Dobbs to be a compliment.' Mark 46released his hold and opened a cupboard. ‘Here, three bars of our best American chocolate.'

‘To go with the tinned food – excellent. That might be the thing that gets me in the door, along with this very important loaf of bread I brought back from Chelstone.'

‘You're giving them our one good loaf of home-baked bread?'

‘'Fraid so, Mark. We're both leaving soon anyway.'

‘You might as well take the rest of the butter.'

‘I've already packed it.'

The following morning, Maisie stood at the top of the flight of steps leading down to the kitchens at Fifteen Ebury Place, but before descending, she took account of her surroundings. Although she had hailed a taxi to bring her to Ebury Place, there was one point when she suspected the vehicle was being followed, so she instructed the taxi-cab driver to take evasive action. ‘I've been bothered by a man knocking on my front door at all hours, and I think that might be him behind us.'

‘Don't worry, madam – I delivered my fares to safety during the Blitz. I can get you to Belgravia.'

‘Thank you – but just the nearest Underground station, please.'

‘Right you are, madam.'

The driver was as good as his word, in short order losing the motor car that appeared to be following the taxi, before Maisie asked him to pull over to the curb. She stepped out, but instead of descending into the Underground station, she caught two buses, then walked a short distance to Ebury Place. She made one stop at a telephone kiosk, where she placed a call to her friend Priscilla, who agreed to her request without a second's hesitation. She placed one more call, to a man who had become 47a dear friend. Though they had once been lovers, Andrew Dene was now married with three children. Maisie had met Dene when he was working at a specialist hospital for soldiers suffering physical wounds and the lingering effects of shell-shock from the Great War. He, too, had once been mentored by Maurice Blanche, and later treated both Billy Beale and Frankie Dobbs, the latter after a fall. He was the first person Maisie had called when Priscilla's son returned wounded from his quest to join the flotilla of ‘little ships' in a bid to save soldiers desperate to evacuate the beaches of Dunkirk. Without hesitation, Dene agreed to meet her at Priscilla's house in just over an hour.

Maisie stepped out of the kiosk, and as she cast her gaze along the road around the square, she realised she was looking for MacFarlane's motor car.

Maisie rapped on the kitchen door.

‘Hello – I'm here! I've brought some food for you!'

She knocked again and was about to knock once more, when she was aware of a face at the window set into the door.

‘You on your own?' It was Mary.

‘Yes. There's only me, and I've a box of food for you – and a few bars of chocolate too. Please open up, because I've been carrying this for quite a while.'

Seconds passed, the girl continuing to stare at Maisie before she moved and began drawing back iron bolts securing the door.

‘I'll take the box, and you can go.'

Maisie put her foot across the threshold. ‘I want to see the man.'

‘Don't think that foot of yours will stop me shutting this door – I could cripple you if I wanted.'

‘But you won't, Mary, because I believe you need my help with 48that man – I'm a trained nurse. And I think you need help to get out of this situation where you have no real home to go to.'

Maisie saw tears well in the girl's eyes, which she wiped away with the back of her hand.

‘Don't you go thinking I'm soft, Mrs Scott – and is that your real name?'

‘Yes, it is.' Maisie paused, then added, ‘But I sometimes go by another name.'

‘What's that then?'

‘Maisie Dobbs. I worked here a long time ago. I was a maid.'

The girl laughed, looking her up and down. ‘Yeah, I bet you were.'

‘Let me in to examine the man. I want to see if anything can be done for him.'

Mary twitched her lips from side to side. Maisie pushed her foot farther across the threshold.

‘Alright. But just so you know, I will knock you down if you try anything – you won't get the better of me.'

‘No, I don't think I could,' said Maisie, entering the kitchen. ‘Though I've had a few lessons in the martial arts myself, when I was about your age.' She set the box of groceries onto the kitchen table. ‘I'll leave everything in the box, because I doubt you'll be here much longer.'

‘Why wouldn't we be?'

‘I'm going to stick my neck out here – I think you are on the run, and if I'm right, you can't afford to stay in one place for long.' She allowed her words to hang in the air. ‘Now then, let's go up to see the man.' She reached for the door leading to the back stairs. 49

‘If you know about that door, I reckon you're telling the truth about working in this gaff.'

‘No one would lie about being a maid in a house like this,' said Maisie. ‘You go first.'

Maisie could have identified the exact room where the very ill man was bedded down, for the stench of sickness had wafted along the narrow corridor.

‘We've helped him along to the toilet, but he's been sick a lot. Can't keep down his soup. We had to leave a bucket in there.' Mary stopped at the door, while Maisie entered. She did not put a hand across her nose and mouth – she wanted the man to see her. When she was little older than Mary, having lied about her age to serve as a nurse on the Western Front, she had been trained never to look away from a wounded man and never to let her emotions show. In an instant, she knew the man was indeed Billy's eldest son, the one who never wanted to be called ‘young Billy' and who had rechristened himself ‘Will.' She turned to Mary.

‘Mary, I want you to go downstairs, make up the fire in the stove and bring a couple of kettles of water to boil. I felt the warmth when I walked into the kitchen, so I know you've managed to get the fire going. Put some more fuel on, and it shouldn't take long to heat up the water. There's salt in the pantry, so pour the water into two sturdy enamel bowls – you'll find a couple in the cupboards next to the sink – and add a goodly measure of salt, a couple of handfuls to each bowl. Go to the laundry cupboard – along the corridor on the right, past the kitchen – and bring me four towels and some face flannels. Where are your friends? Get them to help you. And, Mary – for heaven's sake don't linger to natter.' 50

Mary left without speaking, her eyes wide. Maisie heard her run along the upper corridor, knocking on a door as she went. A brief argument ensued, but Mary could be heard telling her companions to shut up and help her. The footsteps of four young people clattered down the back stairs.

Maisie moved the bucket and knelt down alongside an emaciated Will Beale.

‘Will – Will, wake up. Can you hear me?'

Maisie began to rub her hands together, and closed her eyes until she felt heat in her palms. When she was even younger than the group in the kitchen who were now trying to make up a fire to boil water, a man named Khan had taught Maisie that her hands could be used to heal, that human touch could cure many ills. All she wanted now was Will Beale's attention, and not in a half-stupor. She laid her left palm on his shoulder, and with care brought her right hand to rest across his forehead.

‘Lizzie, are you there – have you come to take me with you, Lizzie?'

‘Wake up, Will. You're safe now. Open your eyes.'

Maisie could see the man's eyes moving behind swollen eyelids, as if he were struggling to lift them.

‘Just a bit more effort, Will, and you'll be able to see me.'

His eyes opened, and Maisie lifted her left hand from his shoulder and took Will's right hand in hers.

‘Is that you … Miss Dobbs? Is that you?'

Maisie recognised the moment of panic as Will glared around the room. She knew he expected his father to be with her.

‘I'm alone, Will. I know what happened to you, but you can't stay here. I'm taking you with me. Alright? You can come with me.' 51

‘I can't see them. I can't see my mum and dad. It'll destroy them – they'll die.'

‘You don't have to yet, but we must get you to a place where you can be cared for.' She took a deep breath. ‘And when you're ready to see them, then they will come.'

Will began to shake his head, then winced as if the effort had caused a bolt of pain. ‘You don't know what happened to me, Miss Dobbs. You don't know what happened to our boys, to my mates.'

‘I know a little, Will – enough to believe that you have the strength to survive.'

‘What if I don't want to, what if I'm like my dad and keep remembering the terrible things?'

‘Your father's demons have softened over the years, Will,' said Maisie, her voice little more than a whisper as she spoke. ‘They may have tormented him throughout your childhood, but those dragons rarely come for him any more.'

Will moved as if to shake his head but, remembering the discomfort, became still. ‘Oh, I bet they do. I bet they still come.'

A sound in the corridor marked the return of Mary, who gave a light knock at the door before she and the boy Maisie had seen dispatched to the floor during her earlier visit entered with two large bowls of piping hot water. Another girl brought towels and a second boy brought a jug of cold water and a glass.

‘Right, set the bowls on the marble-topped dresser there, and let's get started.' She slipped her hands away from Will, removed her jacket and rolled up her sleeves. ‘Mary, you and your friend – sorry, my dear, I don't know your name—'

The girl, not as tall as Mary and with short dark-blonde hair growing in a mass of curls, was dressed in the same ill-fitting schoolgirl 52uniform. She hesitated before speaking. ‘I'm Grace.'

‘Right you are, Grace.' Maisie gave a brief smile before issuing an instruction. ‘Mary and Grace, you should leave now. Jim – I take it you're Jim – you can stay and assist me. This is Mr Beale and we must do all we can for him.' She looked at the other boy. ‘You must be Archie.'

‘That's me, miss.' Archie stepped forward, causing Maisie to stifle her amusement. He reminded her of an engraving of the Artful Dodger she had once seen in an old copy of Oliver Twist.

‘I will need your help in a little while, Archie, so wait outside.' Turning, she called to Mary as the girl reached the door. ‘Mary, go down to the floor below where there are four large bedrooms. In one you will find a row of men's suits and other items of clothing. Look for a nice pair of trousers and a tweed jacket, and in a chest of drawers you'll find men's shirts and underwear. Oh, and a pullover – it's chilly outside. And bring me a pair of shoes – I think they'll fit Mr Beale. Don't forget socks.'

‘Miss Dobbs, you can't—'

‘Just close your eyes again, Will – forget I'm a woman you know and just think of me as your army nurse.'

Maisie scrubbed her hands and began to remove the soiled and sweat-soaked clothing from Will Beale's wounded body. She passed each item to Jim, along with bloodstained dressings lifted from festering wounds, while signalling for assistance as needed. The appearance of infection was a cause for concern, bolstering her desire to remove both the squatters and Will Beale from the house. Only once did she look up at the lad, and could see tears in his eyes as he stared at Will's prominent ribs and the many lacerations across his almost transparent flesh. The boy's emotional reaction made her heart ache; for whatever they had 53endured, as Mark said, they were just kids. While she knew little of their circumstances, they, too, had seen more than enough of war.

Some forty-five minutes later, after Will had been washed from head to toe, after he had been towel-dried and dressed in good clothing, a shirt that smelt of lavender, and clean socks, she helped him to stand.

‘I've asked Mary to heat some soup I made last night – can you manage a little? There's bread from Chelstone.'

‘I'll try.'

‘Jim and Archie – help me now.'

Descending the stairs was not without a worrisome moment or two, but in time Will Beale was seated at the kitchen table with Jim and Archie on either side, solid beams making sure he did not fall.

‘Right, now I just have to sort out our transportation. I'll be a little while, as I've to make a few telephone calls.'

‘Where are you taking me?' asked Will. ‘I can't go back to Mum and Dad.'

‘For now you're going to the home of Mr and Mrs Partridge. They already know you're coming and they have a room ready for you. There's a doctor meeting us there – an old friend of mine, Dr Andrew Dene. He's one of the best, Will. He treated your father, years ago.'

Will Beale looked down at his soup, pushing the spoon back and forth. ‘I'm scared, Miss Dobbs. I'm a soldier, and I don't mind saying that.'

‘I know you are, Will.' She looked at each of the young people in the kitchen, all of whom were staring at Will Beale. ‘You're not the only one – there's four others in this kitchen who have reason to fear.'

‘We're not scared,' said Jim, his manner haughty as he pressed his shoulders back.

Recalling how she had felt compelled to end the telephone 54conversation with MacFarlane, cutting off the call with a lie, she added, ‘Then you should be, Jim, and not only because you have moved into someone else's property and are squatting here, but because I have a feeling you might be in the crosshairs of something bigger than you understand. To be clear, I don't understand it either. But give me time, and I will.'

Mary stepped towards Maisie. ‘Where else can we go?'

Maisie looked up at the kitchen clock. ‘Oh don't worry, I have plans for you. As I said, I just have to place a call or two from the telephone here – I know it's still connected. If I manage to reach the people who can help us, and all goes to plan, within an hour or so, an American man will arrive at this door. He'll take you to a motor car and you'll go with him.'

Maisie studied Will, made sure he was steady, and left the kitchen to walk towards the telephone situated on an ornate sideboard in the main entrance hall. As she ended each call, she sighed and took a deep breath before dialling the next. Having made arrangements for Will and the four young people, Maisie returned to the kitchen, just a little lighter for having each request met with the words ‘Of course – I'll get everything ready now,' followed by ‘Yes, I'll be there' and ‘You can count on me, honey.'

‘How do we know we can trust you?' said Mary, as soon as Maisie entered the kitchen.

Maisie was about to answer, when Will Beale spoke up, his voice stronger than she had heard since entering the room where he had lingered for so many days and – she thought from the faces of those gathered around her – more resolute than they expected from the man they envisioned finding dead when they checked on him every morning.

‘You can trust Miss Dobbs with your life. You could ask my dad, 55if he was standing in this room. And my mum. There's a lot of people she's helped. And the Yank is her husband, and he even knows the president of America.'

Maisie smiled. ‘Let's not over-egg the pudding, Will. Now, come on, we should be getting a move on. I'm going to walk to the end of the street to hail a taxi.'

‘I'll go.' Archie moved towards the door.

‘No you won't.' She looked around the room. ‘Not one of you is to leave this house until Mr Scott gets here. Is that understood?' She waited. ‘Good. Keep quiet and the door closed to anyone else, no matter who they claim to be and even if they say they know me. Is that clear? I'll be talking to you later.'

‘But where are we going – where will your husband take us?'

‘Pimlico, to a flat. It's recently been vacated and is just waiting for some good tenants. For now.'

‘What will we do there?'

‘For a start, when I get there in a few hours, you're going to tell me what the hell you've been up to. In the meantime, settle in. There's two bedrooms, so boys in one, girls in the other. You can take the groceries with you, and keep the flat tidy – Mary, you're in charge.'

‘She always is,' said Jim.