She went back to the station. She was exhausted, freezing cold. It was starting to get properly dark, the streetlights coming on. Next to the station she saw a cafe, yellow light visible through the steamed-up window. She walked in, desperate to get warm. It was what they called a greasy spoon, tired-looking old men in caps sitting at tables covered with black-and-white oilcloth reading the Mail or Express, a couple of bored-looking boys in their teens with quiffed greasy hair. The air was thick with steam and cigarette smoke. A big old-fashioned radio played music from the Light Programme. She went to the counter where a fat man in an apron stood under a framed portrait of the Queen, and ordered a cup of tea and a bun. The man looked at her curiously, as this wasn’t the sort of place a woman of her class came to; but Sarah didn’t care, it was any port in a storm. She took her tea and found an empty table. The boys stared rudely at her. She looked away.
She sat for nearly two hours, drinking several cups of the strong, sweet tea. Nobody spoke to her, and the boys went after a time. She felt oddly relieved to be in a place where no-one knew her. She thought about the mad old woman and found herself actually pitying Carol, who must have to deal with her day in, day out. On the other side of the steamed-up window it was quite dark now, passers-by vague shadows in the gloom. She looked at her watch. It was a quarter to seven; David would be on his way home now, he would return to an empty house. It was a strange thought. She could telephone and say she had gone into town, been held up somewhere. But the obstinacy that had come over her that morning still gripped her.
She left the cafe. It was even colder and there was a faint sulphurous tang in the air now, though no fog. She walked slowly back to Lovelock Road: Carol might be home by now. She stood in front of the house; the curtains were drawn but she could see several lights on. She shrank from the thought of going and ringing the doorbell, maybe finding herself face to face with the mad old woman again. But she made herself walk up the path and, with a deep breath, pulled the old-fashioned bell cord.
It was Carol who came to the door. Sarah recognized her at once. She wore a roll-neck sweater and baggy slacks. She looked red-eyed, as though she had been crying. She stared blankly at Sarah for a second, then a look of alarm crossed her face. ‘Mrs Fitzgerald?’
Sarah felt the blood pounding in her ears, but forced herself to speak firmly and calmly. ‘Yes. Miss Bennett, I’m very sorry, but I need to speak to you urgently.’
She thought there might be some sort of argument on the doorstep but Carol just quietly said, ‘Come in,’ and stood aside to let her enter. Sarah saw her look quickly up and down the road before she closed the door. Inside, the hallway was full of heavy old-fashioned furniture. A voice called out from behind a closed door, ‘Who is it, Carol? What do they want?’
‘It’s all right, Mother. Stay there, I’ll bring your dinner in a minute.’
‘What’s happening?’ The elderly voice quavered. ‘Something’s happened, Carol, I saw from your face when you came in!’
Carol shouted, ‘Mother! Just wait!’ Sarah was frightened the door would open and the old woman would come out raving again but she didn’t. Red-faced now, Carol opened another door and ushered Sarah into a cold front room.
‘Please, have a seat,’ Carol said quietly. ‘Can I offer you a sherry?’
Sarah sat in a big armchair with white crocheted antimacassars. She said, with cold formality, ‘No, thank you.’ On a big table in the window, next to an aspidistra, stood several framed photographs, the largest showing a young officer in naval uniform.
Carol sat on a settee opposite her. ‘What’s happened?’ Her voice was sharp with anxiety.
‘I beg your pardon?’ Sarah stared at her.
‘To David – Mr Fitzgerald – please, what happened to him?’
Sarah frowned. ‘Nothing, so far as I know he’s home by now. What on earth do you mean?’ Her own voice was rising now. She began to feel uneasy. Something was going on here she didn’t understand.
Carol asked abruptly, ‘Then why have you come?’
‘Why did you telephone my house last night? I was by the phone, I heard what you said. Why did you want to meet my husband today?’
Carol looked down. Sarah could see the woman was fighting for control. She took a deep breath. ‘I need to know what is going on between you and my husband.’
Carol raised her head. She looked embarrassed, her face flushed. ‘What do you mean?’
‘I’ve known something was going on for a while. I found a concert ticket with your name in his pocket. Then you rang last night. Was it because I answered that you said there was a problem at work?’
Carol clasped her hands in her lap, looked down at the floor for a long moment. Then she looked at Sarah and said, slowly, ‘Mrs Fitzgerald, there is nothing going on between me and David. I’ll be honest, I do have – feelings – for him, I have for a long time. He doesn’t return them, but I’ve been fooling myself for quite a while.’ She gave a quick whinny of a laugh. ‘Isn’t it strange, here we are sitting talking about it. I’ve often wished you didn’t exist, you know, or even that you’d die.’ Her look was so intense Sarah wondered if Carol might be a little unhinged, too, like her mother.
‘At least that’s honest,’ she said flatly.
‘David’s a good man. Believe me, I’ve met plenty who aren’t.’ She frowned. ‘Did you come round here earlier this afternoon? My mother said a woman was watching the house.’
‘Yes. Yes, that was me.’
Carol said, ‘When she told me that, I was frightened. So it was because of the phone call you decided to come round. Was that the only reason?’
‘Yes. What other reason could there be? Miss Bennett, why did you ask whether something had happened to David?’
Carol stood and walked over to the table. She ran her hand along the top of the naval officer’s photograph and Sarah wondered if he was her father; there was a resemblance. Carol turned and looked at Sarah. ‘Something happened at the office today. I’m in charge of the room where the confidential files are kept, secret files. A few days ago a document turned up in one of our files that shouldn’t have been there. Today I was questioned about it by the police.’ She looked away. ‘You see, they all know David and I are friends at the office, they laugh about it. And today I was called in to be interviewed by these two policemen. They asked whether we –’ her voice stumbled – ‘whether David and I – well, I told them I hadn’t, which is true.’
‘Policemen?’ Sarah asked, aghast.
‘They said they were from Special Branch. But one of them was German. They asked whether I’d given David access to my files, though I didn’t do that, I wouldn’t. I may be – what do they call it – a lovelorn old spinster but I’m not that lovelorn.’ A thought seemed to strike Carol and she frowned. ‘But maybe David thought I was, maybe that’s why he became friendly with me.’
Fear washed through Sarah then, from her head to her feet, like cold water. A German. ‘Are you saying that you – that they – think he’s some sort of spy?’
‘They had his personnel file on the desk. After they let me go I phoned David, I had to warn him. They don’t send Germans along just for nothing, do they? I didn’t ask him if he’d done anything, I didn’t want to know. But he didn’t deny it.’ She shook her head sadly. ‘He didn’t really say anything.’
Sarah asked, quietly, ‘Did you and my husband ever meet in the evenings?’