Notwithstanding the house rules, she liked living there and woke up every morning with a sense of control that she’d never felt at home. It was empowering. Never lacking in confidence, Alice now had a greater self-belief and an increased readiness to take on responsibility. It had earned her respect in the WEC. Her friend, Vera Dowling, had marvelled at the changes in her.
‘It’s amazing, Alice,’ she said. ‘You can do anything you set your mind to.’
‘I never thought I’d drive a lorry, I must admit.’
‘You took to it like a duck to water — whereas I was hopeless.’
‘That’s not true, Vera.’
‘As soon as I get behind the driving wheel, I lose my nerve.’
‘It’s only a question of practice.’
‘I tried and tried again but I still made a mess of it. That’s why they’ll never let me take charge of any vehicle. I start to panic.’
Alice tried to reassure her but it was in vain. The two of them were sitting in the lorry, waiting for the delayed train from Folkestone. On her way to the railway station, Alice had picked up her friend from her digs. Much as she liked Vera, she’d baulked at the idea of actually sharing accommodation with her. It would impose too many constraints. Vera Dowling was a short, shapeless young woman in khaki uniform with a plain, uninteresting face that accentuated Alice’s loveliness. Diligent and trustworthy, Vera had thrown herself into her new job with more commitment than skill and, as a result, tended to be given only a supportive role. Unlike Alice, she was not relishing her freedom. Living in digs, she missed the comforts of home and the joy of her mother’s cooking. And she’d always had difficulty in making new friends, forcing her to rely even more on the few she already had. As her closest friend, Alice sometimes found that irksome.
‘Are you glad you joined the WEC?’ she asked.
‘You know I am, Alice. As soon as you did, I followed suit.’
‘Then why does your mother think that you might give it up?’
‘I’d never do that,’ said Vera, ‘not while you’re still in it, anyway.’
‘She told Mummy that you were finding it a bit of a trial.’
‘Well, that’s true — but it doesn’t mean that I’m going to pack it in. I just grit my teeth and get on with it. Giving up would be such a selfish thing to do when people depend on me.’ She managed a brave smile. ‘What are a few aches and pains compared to being driven out of your own home and chased out of your own country? Refugees come first, Alice,’ she said. ‘They need us.’
‘I knew that you felt the same as me.’
‘Whatever happens, I’ll stay in the WEC until the war is over.’
‘That’s what I told Mummy.’
She broke off as a fleet of trucks arrived and drew up beside each other. Troops clambered quickly out with their rifles and kit, falling into line when commands were barked at them. In their ill-fitting serge uniforms, they all looked so young and untried. Alice was reminded of her brother, who’d joined the army at the start of the war and whom they’d only seen once since then. He’d gone off with the same alacrity that these new recruits were showing but his letters from the front were hinting at disillusion. She wondered how long it would be before the brave smiles were wiped off the faces of the latest batch of infantry. As they were marched past the lorry in their hobnail boots, some of the men noticed them and waved cheerily. A few whistled in admiration. Alice waved back but Vera was too embarrassed to do so.
‘How many of them will come back alive?’ she asked, sadly.
Alice hid her pessimism. ‘We must pray that they all do.’
Vera waited until the last of them had gone past to join the others as they boarded the waiting train. They would soon be on their way to war in a country none of them had ever visited. In the minds of the recruits, there was a whiff of adventure about what they were doing. Having seen so many dead and wounded brought back from the trenches, the friends no longer believed that there was anything adventurous in the conflict. All that they saw were the accelerating losses and the sheer futility.
Vera’s question came out of the blue. ‘What do you make of Mrs Billington?’
‘Why do you ask?’
‘I just wondered, that’s all.’
‘Well,’ said Alice, ‘I admire her a lot. I know that some people find her too bossy but that’s what she has to be to get things done. Hannah is a nice woman and she was one of the very first to join the WEC.’
‘There you are,’ said Vera, wistfully. ‘You call her Hannah because you’re on first-name terms with her. She’s always Mrs Billington to me. I’d be afraid to call her anything else.’
‘She won’t bite, Vera.’
‘It’s the way she stares at me.’
‘Hannah does that to everyone,’ said Alice. ‘When you get to know her better, you’ll find out what a warm-hearted person she is.’
Vera frowned. ‘I’m not sure that I want to know her better.’
‘She’s the one who really helped me to develop my talents.’
‘I don’t have any talents to develop.’ Vera made an effort to brighten. ‘Did you say that you saw your mother this morning?’
‘Yes, I called in for a quick cup of tea.’
‘Is she still missing you?’
‘Mummy would have me back at the drop of a hat.’
‘It must be so lonely being there alone.’
‘It is, Vera — though she does get out a lot.’
‘Did you see your father as well?’
Alice gave a hollow laugh. ‘Fat chance of that!’
‘Had he already left for work?’
‘Daddy went off hours before breakfast. There was an emergency.
That always means another case of murder. Until it’s over, all that Mummy will get of him is an occasional glimpse.’
‘I’d hate that. I could never marry a policeman.’
‘There are compensations,’ said Alice, loyally.
‘Not enough of them for me.’
‘Wait until you meet Mr Right. You won’t care what he does for a living.’
‘I would if he was a policeman,’ said Vera. ‘What about you?’
Alice heard the sound of an approaching train and opened her door.
‘That’ll be them,’ she said, getting out of the lorry. ‘Come on, Vera — and don’t forget to speak in your very best French.’
When it was opened twenty years earlier, the main library in the Metropolitan Borough of Shoreditch had impressed everyone with its Victorian solidity and with the grandeur of its facade. It was less striking now, its novelty gone, its brickwork soiled and the early signs of wear and tear apparent. The first thing that Harvey Marmion noticed was that some slates were missing from the roof. He stood on the pavement opposite for some time, studying the building in which Cyril Ablatt had spent so much of his life. People were streaming in and out, mostly women or older men. The library was obviously popular and well used. Marmion crossed the road and went in through the main entrance. Shelves of books stood everywhere. He could see that it was the ideal habitat for Ablatt.
Having established who was in charge, Marmion introduced himself to Eric Fussell, an exceptionally tall, middle-aged man who kept his back straight and who peered down at people through wire-framed spectacles that seemed to double the size of his eyeballs. Fussell was quick to appreciate the need for privacy. He ushered the inspector into his office and closed the door. As they exchanged niceties, they sat down. Marmion glanced around the room. It was large, high-ceilinged, lined with books and spectacularly tidy. Everything on the desk was in neat piles, making him feel self-conscious about the clutter in his own office. Fussell exuded intelligence. His manner was polite and confiding.
‘What seems to be the problem, Inspector?’ he asked.
‘I believe that Cyril Ablatt works here.’
‘That’s correct. He’s not here at the moment, alas. If you wish to speak to him, you’ll have to go to his home.’ His eyelids narrowed. ‘Is Cyril in any kind of trouble? Is that the reason he didn’t turn up for work this morning?’