To Die but Once (Maisie Dobbs #14)(34)

Billy did not speak until they reached the front door leading up to the office, whereupon he turned to look around at the square.

“What is it, Billy? What do you want to say?” asked Maisie.

“All right, it’s like this: the carpet is an inch thick on those stairs, and them cups and saucers—and the teapot, sugar bowl and jug—were bone china. Matching, at that. And did you see the watch on Phil’s wrist? All very nice.”

Maisie waited, for she knew Billy had more to get off his chest.

“I feel really, really bad for them, miss, because that Joe was a young diamond of a lad—and Viv is a good girl, even if she does have a bit of the Sarah Bernhardts about her. But I still think something’s not right, and I know where to start.”

“The older son?”

Billy nodded.

“Good—because I was going to ask you to make a point of going over to see him. He works in Sydenham—easy to get to on your way home, isn’t it?”

“Just a bit out of my way, but consider it as good as done,” said Billy.

“One thing though,” added Maisie. “Remember he’s grieving too—and I meant what I said—everyone’s different. We’ve both seen it before—when Brenda received bad news about her sister, she went out and cleaned all the windows like a demon. That could be Joe’s older brother—work could be balm for his aching soul. And it wouldn’t surprise me if his sister’s dramatic bent didn’t irritate him a bit.”

“Would me,” said Billy.

“So, go easy on him.”

“You still think something’s amiss though, don’t you?”

“I do,” said Maisie. “But I don’t want to scare anyone either. Now, I must be getting along or I’ll miss my train.”

“One more thing, miss—”

“Yes?”

“What shall we do about that bloke in the black motor car over there?”

Maisie reached into her handbag for her keys. “I thought I’d wait to see which one of us he follows—and if it’s you, Billy, I want you to go straight home. Your family has too much worry to risk any more problems at the moment.”



From the floor-to-ceiling windows at the front of the office, Maisie watched the vehicle on the other side of the square, and sighed. Yes, she was tempted to end her own speculation, walk across to Conway Street and rap on the window. But at the same time she too had much to lose. That thought reminded her of an overdue telephone call she had promised to make. She turned away from the window, and just as she was about to reach for the receiver, the telephone began to ring. She picked up the black Bakelite receiver and recited the number.

“Is that Miss Maisie Dobbs . . . um, is she there?” The voice on the line was that of a young woman, a voice lacking the tone of maturity, but with more resonance than that of a schoolgirl. Maisie would have put her at twenty-one or twenty-two years of age. “I’d like to speak to her, please.”

“Yes, this is Maisie Dobbs. Who’s speaking?”

“Oh at last! I’ve reached you—I thought it would go on ringing for ages, and I have so little time when I can get to the telephone box. My name’s Sylvia Preston. Leading Aircraftswoman Preston, WAAF. You should have received a message I’d called before.”

“Yes, I did, Miss Preston, but I thought it best not to call back as I have no idea of your shift times.”

“I’m glad you didn’t after that first telephone call—that nosey mare of a landlady can’t keep anything to herself, and she’s half cut most of the time. I’m happy to have moved out, though I sometimes wonder if I haven’t gone from the fat into the fire.”

“Oh dear—” said Maisie.

“It’s all right really, this one’s harmless—to a point. But about Joey Coombes—oh heck—” Maisie heard the woman exclaim when the pips sounded, though she was soon back on the line having inserted more coins to continue the call.

“I can telephone you back,” said Maisie. “Give me your number.”

Sylvia Preston read out the number and hung up. Maisie dialed, and heard one ring before the WAAF answered.

“Yes, thank you.” She sounded breathless.

“Are you all right?” asked Maisie. “You’re not in any danger?”

“I’m in danger every day—but not the sort you mean.” The young woman gave a half-laugh, almost a snort. “I ran to get to the telephone, and now I’m trying not to breathe in for the terrible smell in here. I don’t know why people have to do some of the things they do in a telephone box. Anyway, let me tell you what I think you should know.”

“Go on,” said Maisie.

“I heard you talking to the landlady when you came down. She didn’t quite tell you everything. There were two men came to see Joe—both of them turned out very well indeed, looking like they were in the pictures. Not in uniform—but not everyone is, though they both looked like they should be. One was about my age, I would imagine—twenty-one, twenty-two, something like that. And the other was older, thirties—he reminded me of my brother who’s thirty-six . . . I know, don’t ask about the age difference between us. I reckon my mum kept away from my dad for fifteen years after the terrible time she had when my brother was born!”