Dreaming Out Loud (20 page)

The girl had no family, which was just as well. Concerned parents might have asked awkward questions – might even have discovered that he was already married. His conscience was easy about that. He hadn’t seen Joan since before the war, not that she would care, and she might even have perished in a bombing raid. It was easy to forget that they had once been man and wife.

He often wondered why his new wife was so willing to adopt his dishonest way of life. He decided that it was partly because she loved him, but also, after years of boring work in the café, that she enjoyed the excitement of it. At heart she was as dishonest as he was.

He knew Kostas had been right to suggest that he dump her, and he hadn’t been altogether honest when he had let his old pal believe that he loved her. Perhaps he did. But not as much as wanting to save his own skin. He was stuck with her. She was growing more and more agitated, and in her present state there was no knowing what she might do. She had his phone number, and she might even help the cops to find him.

He had told her that if they were caught they would both hang. But this wouldn’t be the case if she turned King’s evidence. She could tell them everything they wanted to know in return for a lenient sentence. She could also claim that she only acted as she did because her husband had forced her to. He knew he only had to say the word and Kostas would ‘deal with her’. As yet it hadn’t come to that.

Chapter Eighteen

‘So you haven’t told her yet?’

Moira was filing some papers. She pushed the drawer shut and turned round, waiting for Shirley’s answer.

‘No. I thought we decided to leave well alone.’

‘Did we? I don’t think we decided anything. Or maybe I hoped that, since you are her friend, you would make the decision.’

‘And I hoped that since you were Lana’s friend and you’ve known the truth all along . . .’

They stared at each other for a moment and then Moira changed the subject abruptly. ‘Are you staying long enough for a cup of tea?’

‘I wouldn’t mind. Shall I fill the kettle?’

‘Not here. I’ve had enough of this place for today. I’ll lock up and we’ll go upstairs to my flat.’

Shirley was surprised. She had got into the habit of dropping in to the solicitor’s office to see Moira now and then, not just because they were worried about Kay, but also because a friendship had grown between them. Both of them were efficient secretaries, and even though Moira Davies was old enough to be Shirley’s mother, they got on well together. But she had never been invited up to Moira’s flat before.

She followed Moira up the lino-covered staircase, where the smell of polish mingled with the tempting aromas coming from the shop on the ground floor. Then she waited on the tiny landing while her hostess fished her keys out of her handbag.

‘I always lock up,’ Moira said over her shoulder. ‘It’s unlikely that anyone would venture up here, but there are some dubious characters around these days.’

Moira opened the door and Shirley followed her in, then stopped and looked around her. ‘This is lovely!’ she said.

There was no hallway. The door opened straight into the living-cum-dining room, which was a total contrast to the austere office below. The walls were a neutral beige, the curtains slightly darker; the rust-coloured sofa and armchairs were of the latest Danish design and were scattered with cushions in bright primary colours. A large rug had geometric patterns in the same colours. The whole effect was cheerfully fashionable.

Moira saw Shirley’s surprised expression and smiled at her. ‘What were you expecting? An old maid’s bower? All flowers and chintz?’

Shirley shook her head. ‘I’m not sure what I expected.’

‘Or perhaps stippled walls and utility furniture, suitable for the unremarkable life I lead?’

‘I imagined no such thing.’

‘Why don’t you sit down?’ Moira said. ‘And if you’re not in a hurry, I can do better than a cup of tea.’

Without waiting for an answer, she dumped her handbag on one of the chairs, opened a door and walked through into what looked like a kitchen.

‘Can I help?’ Shirley asked.

‘No, that’s all right.’

A moment later Moira reappeared, carrying a bottle of red wine and two glasses. ‘Are you expected home for an evening meal with Kay and Jane?’ she asked.

‘No. Kay is going out with Tom, and Jane has usually had something to eat by the time Kay and I get home.’

‘Why doesn’t she wait and eat with you?’

‘She used to, but she’s kept herself to herself lately. I can’t say exactly why, but she seems to be anxious about something.’

‘Perhaps she’s fretting. After all, she has a tragic past, hasn’t she?’

‘I suppose so,’ Shirley said, but she didn’t sound convinced.

‘So won’t you stay and eat with me?’

‘I’d love to. I shouldn’t say this, but being in the house with Jane at the moment makes me nervous. It’s as if she’s waiting for something to happen.’

‘What kind of thing?’

‘I have no idea, but whatever it is isn’t good.’

‘What does Kay think about it?’

‘I don’t think she’s noticed. I mean, she’s so taken up with her new job. And Tom, of course.’

‘Ah, Tom. Do you think that’s serious?’

‘On Kay’s part, yes.’

‘But not Tom’s?’

‘He seems keen, but sometimes I get the impression that he’s holding something back.’

‘Perhaps he’s just being cautious,’ Moira said. ‘After all, it happened very suddenly. One day he helps her home with the Christmas tree and the next day he becomes a regular caller. He’s older than Kay and he’s been through the war. He’ll want to be absolutely certain of the relationship.’

‘You’re probably right.’

‘I am. And now let’s eat.’

Moira vanished into the kitchen and soon the table was laid with a selection of cheeses, pâté and crusty rolls.

‘It’s handy having the shop downstairs,’ she said. ‘It means I’m never caught out if . . . if visitors call.’ Then, ‘Oh, the hell with it,’ she said suddenly. ‘You’ve probably guessed that the only visitor who’s likely to call after the day’s work is done is Charles.’

‘Charles?’

‘My boss. Charles Butler.’

‘No, I hadn’t guessed that,’ Shirley said. ‘In fact – please don’t laugh – Kay and I wondered if Mr Butler even existed. Whenever we call, the door to his office is shut, and so it remains.’

Moira laughed. ‘I can assure you he exists, but he comes to the office less and less these days. He’s taking on less work, and much of what he does take on he leaves to me. He wants to retire, you see.’ Moira’s smile vanished. ‘And when he does, God knows what I’ll do.’

‘Surely you’ll be able to find another job?’

‘I suppose so, but it’s not the job. Charles owns this building. If he sells the property rather than renting it out, I’ll probably have to leave.’

‘Is he likely to sell it?’

‘Mr Carter, who runs the shop, has let him know that they will make a good offer. With property prices the way they are at the moment, Charles would be able to have a very comfortable retirement.’

‘But surely they wouldn’t be allowed to put you out? I mean, the flat is furnished. You’re what’s called a sitting tenant, aren’t you?’

Moira shook her head. ‘That would only apply if I’d ever paid any rent.’

‘I don’t understand.’

‘You’ve surely guessed by now that Charles Butler is more than my boss.’

Shirley was discomfited. ‘I suppose I have.’

‘When I had to give up the stage because of my fall, I had no idea what I should do. My mother wanted me to go home, but I couldn’t bear the thought of leaving London. The trouble was I wasn’t trained to do anything except sing and dance.

‘Lana found fame and fortune very quickly. She was always generous. She saved my life. Or rather, she paid my rent, fed me and sent me to a secretarial school.’ Moira gave a tired smile. ‘I discovered I had a brain. I beat four other applicants to this job with Charles, and it didn’t stop there. The job became a learning process, and I probably know as much about the law as he does.’

She paused and sighed. ‘The trouble was, as you’ve no doubt guessed, I fell in love with him and he with me. Or that’s what I believed. He was already married, of course – that’s something Lana and I dealt with in different ways.’

‘I don’t understand.’

‘Lana knew from the start that Jack was married, but wisely she became completely independent of him, whereas I allowed Charles to set me up in this flat. Which suited him very well, by the way. Not just because we were lovers, but because, if we worked late, I could make him a nice meal. My only defence is that I was head-over-heels in love with him.’

Moira sighed again, then made an effort to rally round. ‘But forgive me. I’m embarrassing you. It’s at times like this that I miss Lana woefully. She was my best and only real friend, and we spent many a night comforting each other over a bottle of wine. Speaking of which, it’s time I filled our glasses up and we tucked in to the cheeses and this delicious pâté.’

The mood after that was subdued and the conversation desultory. When Shirley decided it was time to go, Moira asked her to stay a little longer and tell her about Lana’s collection of photographs. ‘I’ve hardly seen any of them, you know. Lana was my dearest friend. I would have liked some to keep.’

‘Perhaps you could ask Kay to let you have some. But I’m sad to say that most of the snaps are totally boring. I can’t imagine why Lana hung on to them.’

Moira smiled. ‘I can tell you why. She thought that one day someone would write her biography. She told me when I asked her why she was so obsessed with the camera.’

‘Do you think anyone will? Write her biography, I mean?’

Moira shook her head. ‘Lana stopped working sooner than she should have done. Memories are short, and it grieves me to think that she may already be forgotten. No one has ever shown any interest, but if I lose my job, I might have a go myself. I have enough savings to publish the book myself if none of the publishers want it. It would be something I could do for my old friend. One day I might ask Kay if I might have the albums, or at least borrow them.’

‘There are three of them, and remember, there’s one photograph that I didn’t mount – the one in the envelope. I slipped that inside one of the albums.’

‘You wanted Kay to find it?’

‘I’m sure that Lana wanted her to. And I think I know why. She wanted to lead Kay to the truth. But I don’t think Kay has even looked at any of the photographs. She was just grateful that I had tidied them up for her.’

‘I think she’s taken up with her new job. It must be pretty exciting suddenly finding a new career and being so successful.’

‘She takes it very calmly, you know,’ Shirley said. ‘She’s admitted to having nerves before a broadcast, but that’s normal; most of them do. But she hasn’t let any of this go to her head. I mean, who would have dreamed that her life would change so dramatically? From shop assistant in a tired seaside resort to successful radio actress living in London. It’s as if she was in limbo before this happened and now she’s found her proper place in the world.’ Shirley smiled. ‘Am I being fanciful?’

‘Perhaps, but I know what you mean.’

‘I can’t imagine what would have happened to her if Lana Fontaine hadn’t made her her heir,’ Shirley said.

‘There was no danger of that happening. But Kay might have decided not to come to London. She could have asked me to sort everything out for her,’ Moira said.

‘Well, thank goodness she did come.’

‘Now it’s my turn to be fanciful.’ Moira paused.

‘Go on.’

‘There was no danger of Kay not coming to London. Lana was determined that she would.’

Shirley’s eyes widened. ‘There’s something about the way you said that that makes me shiver.’

‘Thelma prevented Lana from seeing Kay when she was alive, so Lana was determined to claim her daughter when she was dead.’

‘What are you suggesting? That Lana’s ghost is still hovering around?’

‘Not exactly. It’s just that her yearning for her daughter became so strong that it lingers in her house, and Kay can’t help being influenced by it.’

Shirley stared at Moira for a moment and then laughed nervously. ‘Maybe you’re right, or maybe it’s the wine talking.’

‘Or maybe I just miss my old friend so much that some part of me wants to believe she’s still around.’

As Shirley opened the door and stepped into the hall she heard the click of the telephone receiver being put back on the cradle. Jane turned to face Shirley looking nervous and guilty.

‘Speaking clock,’ she said. ‘I phoned the speaking clock – my watch had stopped.’

Shirley shrugged. She didn’t point out that both the clock just a few feet away and the clock in the lounge were ticking away. Any further conversation was halted when the phone rang.

‘Go on, answer it,’ Shirley said as she turned to close the door.

Jane did so and Shirley heard her say, ‘I’m sorry, she isn’t in.’ Then she glanced round and asked Shirley, ‘Do you know what time Kay will be home? Her sister wants to speak to her.’

Shirley shook her head. ‘I don’t.’

‘I’ll tell her you called,’ Jane said into the phone, ‘but she might be late.’ She replaced the receiver and looked thoughtful. ‘She sounded upset. I hope there isn’t any trouble at home.’

‘You’d better leave a message for Kay,’ Shirley said.

‘She asked me to tell Kay to phone her no matter how late it was, but what if she doesn’t come home tonight? Sometimes she stays at Tom’s place.’

‘I don’t think she will, tonight. She’s got an early rehearsal in the morning. In any case there’s nothing we can do about it. No matter how late she is, her sister will just have to wait until she gets back.’

Shirley realised how unfeeling that sounded, but she couldn’t help being influenced by the little she had learned about Kay’s life before she came to London. Kay had never criticised either her sister or her mother, but the facts were enough to portray them as acquisitive and selfish.

Jane scribbled a note on the pad next to the phone then looked at Shirley questioningly. ‘Do you fancy a drink? I’ve got a nice new bottle of port wine.’

Shirley was surprised. It was so unlike Jane to ask for company. She glanced at her face, and despite the reservations she had about her fellow lodger, she actually felt sorry for her. There was definitely something worrying her. She would rather have gone straight to bed, but Jane looked so wretched that she summoned up a smile and said, ‘OK. But nothing alcoholic. Go and put the kettle on.’

Not long after the girl had gone into the house it began to rain. The man sitting in the car a few yards down the street cursed as his view became obstructed by the water flowing down the windscreen. He couldn’t turn on the windscreen wipers since he didn’t want to switch on the engine, so he sighed resignedly and wound down the side window. Luckily the wind wasn’t blowing his way.

Nevertheless, he pulled the brim of his hat down and turned up his coat collar. Then he lit a cigarette, flipped the dead match out of the window and leaned back. He could still see the front door. Two little chickens home to roost, he thought, and Tom would take care of the other one.

Not that Kay Lockwood was a suspect; she had only been the means of getting inside the house. The Christmas tree incident had been fortuitous. The girl who worked at the BBC wasn’t their target either. It was the girl who had signed herself into the guest house as Jane Mullen that they were interested in. She was the reason that he would have to sit here all night just in case she set off to make contact with her partner in crime.