The Light Over London(67)

“I see,” said Jock.

“There are the initials on the back of the photograph. ‘L.K.,’?” she said, thinking through everything they knew. “Do any of the women in the mixed batteries come from Haybourne and have those initials?”

Liam pulled a paper out of the back pocket of his jeans. “One step ahead of you.”

He handed the paper to her, and she opened it, fingers trembling. It was a printout of what looked like some kind of dossier. At the top was the name “Louise Keene” along with a date of birth, service number, battalion assignment, and date of demobilization.

After weeks of reading and wondering who their mysterious diarist was, it seemed almost surreal to finally have a name. To know what to call her.

“Louise Keene. You’re sure?” she asked.

“I had my friend at the National Archives cross-check everything. There was only one ATS member assigned to Ack-Ack Command from Haybourne. A Louise Keene.”

“It looks as though you’ve solved your mystery,” said Jock.

Liam and Cara shared a look. “Far from it,” she said. “I still want to know what happened to Louise Keene and Paul, the pilot.”

“What else was with the diary?” asked Jock. “I know you found it in a tin.”

“Here.” Liam pulled his phone from his pocket. “I took photographs of everything.”

Jock perched his reading glasses on his nose and bent a little to peer at the phone’s screen.

“The ticket is from a cinema in Cornwall where Paul and Louise went on one of their first dates,” said Cara.

“The monogrammed handkerchief must be his,” said Liam.

“What about the compass?” Jock asked.

“He told her that it had belonged to his uncle who died in the Royal Flying Corps during World War One. It was one of the things recovered with his body,” she said.

Jock squinted up at her and then looked down at the phone again. “No.”

“No?” she asked.

“I’d need to see it in person to be positive, but I’m certain that’s a British-made army-issue escape compass. From World War Two,” said her boss.

“How can you be sure?” she asked, her pulse ticking up another notch. Why would Paul have lied about something like that?

“When I was first starting out, I had a client come in with dozens of these. His father had been a collector,” said Jock.

“What exactly is an escape compass?” Liam asked.

“The RAF and the army issued them to pilots and soldiers who went on dangerous missions across enemy lines. They were often hidden in the backs of buttons so that a serviceman could use one to escape if he was captured, but this looks as though it’s just one of the tiny compasses that could’ve been tucked away anywhere,” said Jock.

“And you’re certain it’s not a World War One–era?” Liam asked.

Jock straightened and removed his glasses. “As Miss Hargraves will tell you, I never encourage guessing about the origins or provenance of an antique, but I’d be willing to bet my Montblanc on it.”

Liam raised a brow, and Cara nodded. Jock carried that pen everywhere, taking it out and polishing it from time to time.

“Now, Miss Hargraves, am I given to understand that you are finished with the Robinson inventory?” Jock asked.

“I’ve only just finished it. How did you know?”

“I’m not so ancient that I cannot use a computer. I was looking at our inventory when Mr. McGown arrived. And given the completion of the inventory and your recent discovery, I should think you’d like the rest of the afternoon off.”

“Really?” she asked in surprise.

“Do I ever jest?” Jock asked severely, but she could see the glint of amusement in her employer’s eye.

“Never,” she said gravely.

“Then I suggest you both decamp before I change my mind.”

“Thank you,” she said, grinning at Liam. They had a diary investigation to continue.



“Fancy a cup of tea?” Cara called to Liam as they climbed out of their cars in their respective driveways, rain pelting them. The skies had opened the moment they’d both pulled away from Wilson’s and showed no signs of letting up.

His grin widened. “Always. Is there any chance you have biscuits?”

“I’m English, aren’t I?”

He laughed and the pair of them sprinted through the driving rain to her front door. In the entryway, she shucked off her jacket and shook out her hair from the braid she’d tied it in to keep off the worst of the wet. When he saw her unzip her boots, he did the same and padded behind her to the kitchen.

“Can I do anything to help?” he asked, as she started pulling the tea things down.

“You could light the fire in the front room. I’m trying not to turn on the central heating until it gets really cold, and I like an excuse for a fire.”

He shuffled off while she put the water on and pulled out a package of biscuits. She was just arranging them on a plate when he called out, “Do you have matches?”

She opened the cabinet to her left and plucked the little Waitrose Essentials box off the shelf. He shuffled on his knees to meet her halfway across the kitchen, their fingers brushing when she handed the matches over. Her heart leaped in her throat, and Liam’s gaze flew up to hers. For a moment, they remained frozen, the tips of their fingers touching.