To Die but Once (Maisie Dobbs #14)(31)
Billy was about to speak—Maisie heard him start, “But Pete—” when Sands continued.
“They always say, though, to follow the money, don’t they? Which is why you’re asking me these questions about Yates. But there’s more to the money than where the boy worked.”
“What do you mean, mate?” asked Billy.
“Ever seen Phil Coombes when he gets a chance to go out? I mean, you think he doesn’t see the sky but for his walk down the road to the caff every morning, but I’ve seen him go out dressed up, suit and all—not all the time, but every now and again. And they’ve got the telephone—never known the brewery to do that for a publican, so he must be special.” He scratched his head and put his cap back on. “It’s not always the big things you notice—they don’t have a motor car, and Phil and Sally Coombes aren’t flash—but there are a lot of little things.”
“To be fair, Mr. Coombes works very hard and they’re very friendly, and that brings in a lot of custom,” offered Maisie.
“So do I work hard, and I’m friendly—got to be, haven’t you?” replied Sands. “But my daughter doesn’t have a new pair of shoes every couple of months, or my wife her hair done regular as clockwork. Sally Coombes might look a bit dowdy at times—but she can get dolled up when she wants to. Her handbags don’t come cheap and they buy quality. No, Phil is doing very well, and it’s coming from somewhere.”
Maisie came to her feet at the same time as Sands. Billy pushed back his chair and made his way to the door.
“Thank you, Mr. Sands.” She pressed five shillings into his palm with her handshake. “Your time is appreciated—I hope I didn’t drag you away from your work this morning.”
Sands touched the peak of his cap. “Much obliged, Miss Dobbs—and no, it’s all right. Like I said, I’m only over in Russell Square. Mind you, I hope my apprentice hasn’t painted the lamps by the time I get back.”
“I’ll see you out to the street, mate,” said Billy, holding open the door.
As the door closed behind the men, their voices muffled as they made their way downstairs to the front door, Maisie walked to the window overlooking Fitzroy Square. She watched as Billy shook hands with Pete Sands, and the painter and decorator walked away in the direction of Warren Street. As she was turning away from the window, Maisie glanced back. A black motor car parked on Conway Street. She moved to one side, so that she might see without being seen, for it was as if the driver, silhouetted against light filtering into the vehicle, were looking straight at her.
Chapter 7
Maisie and Billy sat in silence in front of the case map, looking at the highways and byways of color expressing each thought and idea that had come to them while considering the case of Joe Coombes—though the exercise seemed at that point to be getting them nowhere.
“So the air force girl didn’t call back, did she?”
“She might have, but I had to rush off yesterday evening—ambulance practice, and I was late because it had completely slipped my mind.”
“They won’t strike you off—you’re a volunteer. Apparently they’ve had to give quite a few of the employed ones their cards, and sent them back down to the labor exchange.”
“They’ll get their jobs back, and it won’t be long, I shouldn’t wonder.”
“I thought the same thing.” Billy looked down at his hands, rubbing the palm of the right up and down across the knuckles of the left.
“Everyone holding up at home?” asked Maisie.
“I’m amazed, really,” said Billy. “They’re keeping their chins up, especially Doreen. She said it won’t get our Billy back any sooner if we all sit around in a state. I don’t like what I’m reading in the papers though. They say there’s going to be a service at Westminster Abbey on Sunday—prayers for the safety of our boys over there. I’m not one for all that, but I reckon it won’t hurt, so we’ll probably come up for it and put our hands together with the rest of them. People say it will be packed.”
Maisie nodded, thoughtful as she picked up a thick red crayon from the table. “Money. Money and war. There’s Yates making money out of the war, and so many others who are doing well out of something terrible—though I don’t begrudge people the opportunity to put more cash in their pockets.”
“My mate who works over in Fleet Street reckons that crime has gone up, and everyone thought it would go down, what with us being at war. And it’s not only the criminals that are doing well. Look at the landlords who are putting up those workers from Yates—they’re raking it in. And then there’s the fact that prices have gone up on a lot of your basic foods,” added Billy. “Mind you, they went up when war was declared, then they came down when nothing much happened, and now they’re going up again. No wonder that new tenant down in the basement is growing tomatoes out the back! He’ll have a cow in there next, you watch—we can talk him up for a pint of milk!”
Maisie laughed, tapping the case map.
“You know, apparently there’s money in Hampshire,” said Maisie. “I’ve heard the Bank of England has moved its operations there for the duration. And it’s also where the paper supplier is located.”