My Name is Eva(16)

I’d better keep news of my little shopping trip from Mama next time I visit, as she will be rather miffed that I didn’t buy any delights for her from Fortnum’s. She still seems to think having me in central London is for her benefit and is always thinking I can run her errands. Poor Mama. She can’t quite fathom the mysteries of rationing and leaves it all to Mrs Glazier, who seems to manage awfully well. Perhaps they are both in cahoots with a local black-marketeer? I find the idea of the two of them dealing surreptitiously in illegal goods frightfully amusing! I shall definitely feel the need to check their stockings next time I am there!



With love, Evie xxxx

Ps I love you





17





Mrs T-C, 11 November 2016





A Few More Questions





‘Her memory isn’t too good these days, I’m afraid,’ Pat is saying to the suited man who follows her into the morning room. He’s not Humphrey, Pat’s husband, and he’s surely too old to be one of her two sons. He has brought a large file with him and a sweet smell of aftershave.

‘Auntie,’ Pat says, ‘this nice man is Inspector Williams. He just wants to ask you a few questions. It won’t take very long.’

Evelyn gives him her best smile. She has been expecting such a visit ever since Pat left the other day in a flurry of dishevelled impatience, after that little policewoman had been. Bad Nenndorf. It’s a link I can’t avoid. Once I’m placed there, the connection is obvious, but then anyone digging into service records could easily find out where I had been stationed during those years.

Evelyn shakes the Inspector’s hand. ‘How nice to meet one of Pat’s young men. Would you like to stay for coffee?’ She presses the buzzer hanging on a long ribbon round her neck and Mary immediately appears in the doorway, looking very concerned, as if it’s an emergency.

‘Mary, dear, we have visitors today. Can we have coffee in here this morning?’ Evelyn waves her out, then calls out after her, ‘And bring a nice selection of biscuits for the young man too, won’t you?’

‘Really, Aunt,’ Pat says, ‘you treat everyone just as if this was a hotel.’

‘Don’t be silly, Pat, of course I know my home’s not a hotel.’ Evelyn looks around the bright morning room, with gold brocade curtains and a Regency stripe of burgundy and cream on the walls. ‘Do you like the way I’ve had this room decorated? I chose the wallpaper myself.’

Pat leans across to the Inspector and whispers, ‘Don’t take any notice of her. She does this sometimes. She forgets where she is and starts thinking it’s her own house. I don’t know whether you’re going to get anything useful out of her today.’

‘Don’t worry, it’s just a formality,’ he says. ‘For the record.’ Then he turns to Evelyn. ‘Mrs Taylor-Clarke, I’d like to ask you a few questions about the weapons that were found at your previous address, Kingsley Manor. Firstly, can I confirm that you are the legal owner of the property and were the sole resident there until you came to live here, at Forest Lawns?’

‘My parents lived at Kingsley,’ Evelyn says. ‘Such beautiful gardens. Have you been there? Did you go to see the snowdrops?’

‘They aren’t out now,’ Pat says. ‘It’s the wrong time of year. It’s November, not spring.’

‘What a pity,’ Evelyn says. ‘Then you simply must go back in January or February. The snowdrops are wonderful at that time of year.’ She waves her hand in a sweeping gesture. ‘Great carpets of them. The Kingsley gardens are quite famous for their snowdrops.’

‘I may well do that,’ says the Inspector. ‘But what I want to know now is this – did you pack items into these suitcases that were found in one of the bedrooms? There was one on the floor and another on top of the wardrobe.’ He holds out a photograph of the two cases.

Evelyn stares at the picture. ‘Those cases look awfully heavy. You must be very careful lifting heavy cases, young man.’

‘Of course, madam, I’ll bear that in mind. But do you recognise these suitcases?’

She glances at the picture again and shrugs. ‘Should I?’ Then, at the sound of the tea trolley, she looks towards the door. ‘Oh goodie, coffee’s on its way.’ Mary enters, bearing a tray, and Evelyn peers at the plate of assorted biscuits. ‘Aren’t there any Bourbons today, Mary? I do rather like Bourbons. I’m not too keen on these Garibaldi – the currants stick in one’s teeth awfully.’

‘I’ll see what I can find,’ Mary says. ‘And if we’re in luck, I’ll be back in just a tick.’

The three of them stir their cups and Inspector Williams dunks a digestive biscuit in his coffee. He leaves it rather too long and a sodden segment plops into the cup with a little splash that spatters his shirt. Evelyn doesn’t approve of dunking and nibbles a custard cream. ‘Can you tell me what was stored in these suitcases?’ he says, brushing at his shirt with a crumpled handkerchief he has found in his pocket.

Evelyn pauses in her nibbling, then says, ‘Oh, I don’t know. Could it be clothes? Old clothes? Mama never threw anything away. She always said good-quality clothes should never be wasted, they can always be remodelled. She had some lovely dresses and coats and a marvellous dressmaker. I must give you her address, Pat. You could do with some good outfits.’