London Calling (32 page)

‘Nonsense, Mirabelle! Don’t be silly. What an imagination you have.’ Eddie downed the last of his drink.

Mirabelle smiled. ‘We secretaries have little else to which to turn our minds,’ she said. ‘I can see why you can’t have a leak of that nature. Gosh, how dreadfully embarrassing.’ She let the statement hang in the air. ‘Still, I understand why the Duke might have encouraged Blyth. It’s not exactly treason, is it? Tricky. There’s life in the old dog yet, eh? You chaps must have been walking on eggshells. Windsor feels he’s a right to know – family business. But you couldn’t have that, could you? Blyth’s not a traitor. Not exactly. That’s what you said. And he told you to piss off, didn’t he, when you asked him to stop? So you had to do something. I’m right, aren’t I?’

She knew Eddie had two options. Either he had to shoot her or he had to up the game. Jack had always respected Eddie. It takes a lot to fly crooked, he had said. She mustn’t under-estimate him. Still, she wasn’t entirely sure which way he would go, so she felt a huge weight lifting from her pain-racked body when Eddie didn’t smile and nodded slowly.

‘Mirabelle, I think we ought to do something better for Mr Claremont and his family. It’s only fair. And if you don’t mind I think it would be best if we put you up here, at our expense, until things are sorted out. I’ll arrange a room upstairs and a nurse, shall I? You’re injured, after all.’

‘What a good idea,’ Mirabelle said. Checkmate. ‘Why don’t I go and give my statement to the police and you see what you can come up with for the Claremonts? And I’ll need something to wear, Eddie. This jacket has a bullet hole.’

Chapter 30 

From infancy on we are all spies.

Vesta had tidied the office. It had been a frantic couple of days and she didn’t know what she would have done without Bill. Each day he’d come back with his calls fully completed. He even dropped off the money at the bank on the way. He’d posted her letters to Charlie and looked after Panther. She had simply kept the office ticking over, filling up the daily ledger and trying to avoid looking at Lindon’s battered sax case. It’s worse than a corpse, she thought to herself, stomach lurching. A constant reminder. Seeing Mirabelle shot had shocked her. The revelations in the newspapers had given plenty of food for thought. The inquest was coming up and she had no idea what was going to happen. The only good thing was that she was in love.

It was Charlie she was thinking about when the telephone cut through the tranquillity. She’d been thinking about him a lot and had turned down a date with one of her gentleman callers the day before. He’d been most put out. She checked the clock on the wall – half past four – and considered leaving the phone to ring. It was almost time to close after all, but the shrill tone was annoying so she picked up the receiver.

‘McGuigan & McGuigan Debt Recovery.’

‘Vesta, you’re there. Is anyone else with you?’

‘Mirabelle! You’re awake! Are you allowed visitors? How are you feeling?’

‘I’m fine. I’ve left the hospital, actually. I’ve got a room at Duke’s – a suite, in fact. Are you coming to the inquest tomorrow?’

‘Yeah, of course.’

‘Well, get the train as soon as you can and stay here. There are two bedrooms and it’s all been paid for. Shame to waste it, eh? How’s the office?’

‘Mr Turpin is marvellous. He’s sorting everything out wonderfully. I’ve given him a key. Mirabelle, you know they’ve arrested Paul Blyth on indecency charges?’

‘I know. The police interviewed me this afternoon. They haven’t joined the dots at all, though, so well done, Vesta. You managed it perfectly.’

Vesta glowed with pride. ‘Thanks,’ she said, chucking the files on her desktop into the cabinet and grabbing her coat.

‘I’ll get the train straight after work.’

The suite at Duke’s was beautiful. The door to the bathroom opened onto an enormous tub with a shower over it – a feature that made the hotel popular with Americans.

Mirabelle was sitting on the sofa when Vesta arrived. The nurse had just finished changing her dressing and was giving her some painkillers before she left for the evening. Some instruments lay disinfecting in an enamel bowl.

Vesta smiled and closed the door. It was raining outside and her coat was drenched. ‘Wow,’ she said. ‘I’ve never stayed anywhere as swanky as this before. It’s much nicer than the last room I had.’

She noticed that Mirabelle looked thinner. Her face looked drawn, but she wasn’t too pale.

‘You need to sleep tonight, Miss Bevan,’ the nurse scolded as she packed up her things and made to leave. ‘Rest is very important. Goodnight.’

‘Yes, I think I shall. I’m very tired now. Goodnight.’

Vesta wanted to Sing her arms around Mirabelle but she knew it would be too painful.

Mirabelle’s eyes sparkled as she gestured towards a decanter on a side table. ‘Would you?’ she asked. ‘A whisky with a little water?’

Vesta grinned. She took off her coat and hung it up to dry. Then she got to work. ‘How does it feel?’ she asked as she handed over the tumbler.

‘Well, I’m exhausted, to be honest,’ Mirabelle said flatly.

‘And my shoulder’s painful. But the tablets will help.’

‘Will you come to the inquest tomorrow?’

‘Yes, of course. I’d like to be there.’ She paused a moment and then said what she had to say, or at least as much as she could. ‘I’ve taken some advice, Vesta. On what’s likely to happen.’

Vesta considered a whisky but poured herself a brandy and soda instead and Sopped into a chair. ‘What do you mean?’

‘The inquest. I dug around to see what we can expect.’

‘Well, they can’t say anything other than he’s innocent, can they? I mean, Rose has cleared his name.’

‘Yes. And they’ll rule death by misadventure. There’s a case for suicide but his innocence will call that into question.’

Vesta looked serious. ‘Lindon wouldn’t have killed himself. You know he didn’t.’

‘No. And death by misadventure means there was no negligence or crime. They simply don’t know what happened, Vesta. There can be no blame. I wanted to warn you. I thought you’d be relieved that they’re unlikely to say it’s suicide.’

Vesta nodded. ‘I see. But who killed him, Mirabelle? I assumed you knew.’

Mirabelle had been dreading this question all afternoon. She told herself it was better if Vesta didn’t know what had happened quite apart from the information being embargoed under the Official Secrets Act. She had got the best she could negotiate and this was the price. Still, she’d promised the girl not to hold anything back and now she had to.

‘I don’t know who did it. I don’t think we’ll ever know.’ She let the statement sink in. ‘Sometimes there just isn’t anything to go on. I’m sorry. We don’t get back the people we lose, Vesta. And the truth isn’t a jigsaw – sometimes too many pieces are missing and there’s no way to find out what actually happened. But this afternoon I heard something wonderful – good news, really. People have been terribly shocked by Lindon’s death and there’s a foundation which wants to commemorate him.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘They’re going to endow music scholarships for kids from the East End.’

Vesta looked at her questioningly.

‘It’ll be called the Lindon Claremont Trust. For music lessons. Not only jazz. Any kind of music. It’s for disadvantaged children – any kid with talent will be eligible. They’re going to set up practice rooms in a primary school in Bermondsey. They’ll teach from there and the kids can put on concerts.’

‘In Southwark? Near us?’

‘Yes. Just off Jamaica Road. In memoriam.’

An image of Lindon flitted across Vesta’s mind – as a skinny kid, on a sunny summer evening, kicking around a bombsite because he wasn’t allowed to practise his sax at home.

‘He’d love that,’ she said and her eyes filled with tears. ‘Oh, and his mama will love that, too.’

‘They haven’t told her yet. They’re going to announce it tomorrow after the inquest.’

Vesta took a handkerchief from her bag. ‘But I wish none of this had happened.’

‘I know. But life goes on, Vesta. Truly, that’s the main thing. Life goes on.’

The women ordered dinner in the room, and after they’d eaten Vesta helped Mirabelle into bed. It wasn’t even nine o’clock, but the pain was exhausting. Alone, Vesta sat on the sofa. There were some books and magazines on a table. It was dark outside. There was nothing much to see. Mirabelle was such a mystery, but she trusted her. Life had to go on. Vesta slowly picked up the phone and dialled.

‘Is Charlie there, please?’ She waited. ‘Charlie? Is that you? … I’m over at Duke’s …’

Chapter 31 

You can do a lot if you’re properly trained.

Wednesday, 6 February 1952

At least it wasn’t raining. Vesta and Mirabelle had taken a cab to the Coroner’s Court on Horseferry Road. The ornate Victorian brick building stood out on the street – one of the few unaffected by bomb damage. The hearing was due to start at nine in a gloomy meeting room overlooking a yard. Mirabelle shooed Vesta to sit with Mr and Mrs Claremont at the front. She wondered if the other woman Vesta kissed on the cheek was Mrs Churchill. It seemed likely. For herself, Mirabelle took a place at the back. When you sit at the back of a room you can keep a check on everything that’s going on. Eddie slipped into the end of the row at the last minute and whispered in Mirabelle’s ear, ‘Sorry. It’s been a busy morning.’

Mirabelle pretended to ignore the comment but kept an eye on him. She was pleased he’d agreed to the idea of the Lindon Claremont Trust. Granted, he’d had little choice.

The judge didn’t take long. Two policemen and a pathologist gave evidence, and the minister from the First Evangelical Church delivered a character reference. Then Detective Inspector Green took the stand. He confirmed Lindon’s innocence in the Bellamy Gore abduction and said that since this had become apparent his team had made an arrest for the submission of false evidence that had led to Lindon’s being taken into custody. Barney, Mirabelle thought.

‘It’s most regrettable that we didn’t realise Mr Claremont’s innocence earlier. Had we done so, this tragedy might have been avoided. The police were grievously and maliciously misled,’ he said, ‘which is not to belittle our duty of care.’

The verdict a foregone conclusion, Mirabelle watched the reactions in the courtroom as it was read out. There were no journalists, she noticed. Eddie must have seen to that. The Bellamy Gores were also absent, though that was definitely for the best. The judge pronounced death by misadventure. There was a murmur. Mrs Claremont burst into tears and Mrs Churchill put an arm around her friend’s shoulders. Then the judge announced the news about the Lindon Claremont Trust. There was a smattering of applause and more crying. Several people in the front rows hugged each other. Eddie nodded at Mirabelle. She nodded back. He placed a small brown paper package on her lap, and then, without saying a word, got up and slipped out of the courtroom. It was, Mirabelle thought, the best to be made out of a bad lot.

Outside, Mirabelle lingered as the crowd dispersed. Vesta introduced her mother and Mrs Claremont.

Mirabelle extended her condolences, gazing straight into Mrs Claremont’s eyes. At least, she thought, she got something good out of this terrible mess.

In the silence Vesta’s mother regarded Mirabelle. This well-dressed lady was not what she had had in mind after all the trouble Vesta had landed in last year. She’d envisaged someone far more racy.

‘Come back with us,’ Vesta insisted.

Mirabelle shook her head. ‘I need to lie down. Why don’t you stay on for the weekend, Vesta? I’ll look after the office tomorrow. You take some time off.’

Vesta managed a smile. She looked a little tired, Mirabelle thought. Perhaps she hadn’t slept well.

‘Yes, stay, Vesta,’ Mrs Churchill boomed, liking Mirabelle more every second.

‘Perhaps just for the weekend,’ Vesta agreed. ‘I’d like to hang out with some of Lindon’s friends.’

Mirabelle gave the girl a hug. ‘It was lovely to meet you all,’ she said.

As she walked up Horseferry Road, Mirabelle took Eddie’s package from her handbag and tore a corner of the brown paper. Inside, there was a set of lock picks. Cheeky bugger. She slipped them into her bag.

‘Mirabelle!’ a voice called.

She turned. Detective Superintendent McGregor was jogging towards her.

‘Oh, were you inside? I didn’t see you.’ Mirabelle realised suddenly that she was glad he’d been there.

‘I stayed at the door, but I wanted to see everything,’ he admitted. ‘Nasty business. Wanted to come and pay my respects, I suppose. We turned him over, after all, and I knew it would mean a lot to you, and to Vesta, of course. Are you all right, Mirabelle?’

‘I got into a scrape and injured my collarbone,’ she said.

‘Yes, Green told me. You really ought to be more careful. Clerkenwell in the middle of the night! What were you thinking? Are you going back down to Brighton?’

Mirabelle felt her heart sink. She didn’t have anywhere else to go. ‘Yes. Later.’

‘I don’t suppose you fancy some lunch? We could catch the train together afterwards. It’s a treat to be up in the big city. We could make a day of it – go to the Savoy – if you’re up for it.’