Текст книги "Without a Trace"

Автор книги: Lesley Pearse

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Molly rushed up the stairs, hoping Mr Weston hadn’t seen her from a window. She didn’t want him informing her father about this either.

‘Molly!’ Simon exclaimed as he opened the door. ‘What a delightful surprise. Come on in. I was getting very bored writing and was just going to make some tea. Nice to have you to share it with.’

Molly handed him the buns and the honey. ‘A little present in return for some advice,’ she said.

She loved Simon’s posh voice, and he looked lovely, in a creased, open-necked shirt and grey flannel trousers, with his feet bare and his hair all tousled.

His flat was just a bedroom, a living room, a kitchen and a bathroom, all rather shabby and untidy. She glanced through the open door to his bedroom and, seeing the unmade bed, guessed he never made it.

‘Yes, I know I live in squalor!’ He laughed, guessing this was what she was thinking. ‘I really ought to get a housekeeper; I’m quite useless at the domestic stuff.’

‘I’d offer to come and do it for you,’ Molly said, ‘but I doubt my father would approve of that.’

‘Did he do that?’ Simon indicated her black eye.

Molly hesitated; she might have known the make-up wouldn’t fool anyone. She wanted to deny her father had done it, but she guessed that Simon had already heard that her father was a bully. ‘Yes, and that’s why I need some advice. I want to leave home.’

‘Well, I don’t know if I’m the best person to give advice, but I’ll do my best,’ he said.

‘Obviously, I can’t go right away, I’ve got to wait, as I’ll be called as a witness at Cassie’s inquest. Mind you, if they are as slow at organizing that as they are at finding out what happened to Petal, I might still be here at Christmas.’

They sat at the kitchen table, which Simon hastily cleared of books and dirty tea cups, then, over tea and the buns, discussed the lack of effort the police had put into finding Petal. Like Molly, he didn’t think the police had been very thorough.

She told him her idea about posters with a picture of Petal on them being printed, stuck up in post offices, railway stations and other public places.

‘I agree,’ Simon said. ‘A six-year-old isn’t that easy to hide. Someone must have seen her – unless, of course, she was killed and buried very soon after Cassie was killed.’

‘If the murderer was going to kill her, surely they would’ve done it at the same time as killing Cassie? It makes no sense to risk taking a child somewhere else,’ Molly said. ‘That’s why I think she’s alive.’

‘Then, logically, Cassie’s killer has to be someone who would care about Petal, like her father. If only we knew about him, and what happened between him and Cassie. It must have been something seriously bad for her to come and live in Sawbridge like a hermit,’ Simon said.

Molly nodded in agreement. ‘Have the police tried to find her diary? Or who Cassie worked for on Thursdays? As I see it, there are many things they could follow up, but they haven’t bothered. I bet if Petal was the child of a policeman or a schoolteacher they wouldn’t have given up so quickly.’

‘What does your policeman friend say on the subject?’

‘I haven’t really had any opportunity to talk to him and, anyway, I think he’d tell me that was police business. But he did intervene the other day when my dad did this.’ She pointed to her face. ‘He warned Dad he was going to report him, and I think he scared him a bit, as Dad hasn’t been so nasty since. But then that’s what I came for advice on. I know it’s time for me to leave.’

‘You must,’ Simon said, nodding his head. ‘There’s a big, wonderful world out there waiting for you. Sawbridge is fine for a writer like me who wants quiet, but not for a pretty girl in her prime.’

‘I’m not pretty,’ she said.

‘I think, then, you must have a distorted mirror,’ he retorted, leaning forward and touching her cheeks lightly. ‘You are also bright, kind and adaptable. I know girls are conditioned into thinking that getting married and having babies is the be all and end all. But that isn’t so. Since the war ended there are so many opportunities arising for women. Everyone knows how well women coped when all the men were off in the army, and I don’t think any right-minded person would want to push you all back into the kitchen.’

‘You sound like Cassie,’ Molly said.

‘She made me aware of things I’d never considered before,’ he admitted. ‘I hadn’t ever noticed that women got a different deal to men, not until I met her. I suppose I was like every other male, brought up to think women were there purely to serve us.’

‘Yes, Cassie was quite militant. She raged on about women getting a lower wage than men when they did the same job. That was something I hadn’t even thought was unfair – I just accepted it.’

‘I got the impression she’d been pushed around, and that was why she was the way she was. Maybe she’d had a tough childhood, or it could’ve been her experiences since she had Petal. Mind you, she always evaded questions about her past. I’d have given anything to have got her full story. Did she tell you much about it?’

Molly shook her head. ‘No, she could never be drawn on it. I asked her once where she’d met Petal’s father and she told me very bluntly that it wasn’t something she wanted to talk about.’

Simon chuckled. ‘She could crush you with a couple of words, couldn’t she? But then she must’ve taken an awful lot of stick for having a mixed race baby. I don’t know why that should horrify people so much. I think I’d prefer a black one – they’re very cute, with a better finish than white babies.’

Molly laughed at that. She’d always thought Petal was far more attractive than any other child of the same age she knew. ‘People seem to be scared of anything or anyone that’s a bit different. I heard a couple of women talking in the shop a while ago about someone they knew who was going to Italy for a holiday. “I wouldn’t want to eat any of that foreign muck,” one said. The other one said she’d be afraid she’d catch something nasty. You could go to Weston-super-Mare and catch something nasty, couldn’t you?’

Simon smiled. ‘During my stint in the army, lots of the other chaps had a real phobia about trying any food different to what they’d had at home.’

‘I can’t imagine you in the army,’ said Molly with a smile. ‘You just don’t seem the type.’

‘You mean I look like a milk-sop?’

‘No, of course not,’ she insisted. ‘It’s the guns thing, and needing to be very fit.’

He laughed. ‘I’m stronger than I look and, for your information, I learned to use a shotgun at eleven and used to shoot rabbits and ducks. But if you’d seen the lads who were called up at the same time as me, you’d have thought none of us would make soldiers. But then it was the same in the First War – farm lads, bank clerks, carpenters and plumbers, not fighters. Few of us welcomed call-up, but we had no choice so we buckled down and made the best of it.’

‘It must have been scary thinking you might be killed.’

‘I never allowed myself to dwell on that. The army was the making of me. It made me more self-sufficient, I learned to value what it is to be English, and to be grateful to my parents for giving me such a good start in life. If you’d seen the plight of all the refugees in Germany at the end of the war! They’d lost everything – their homes, families, their health – they were hanging on by a thread. I tell you, Molly, it made me realize how lucky I was that England was safe and I had a home and family to go back to.’

She was touched by his sincerity. ‘I can imagine. Cassie often talked about articles she’d read about how it was in Europe – all those displaced people, cities smashed to pieces. Did you talk to her about it?’

‘Yes, I told her about seeing survivors of the concentration camps and all the horrors that went with that. It was good to get it off my chest, as it had preyed on my mind. She was incredibly well informed. Goodness knows how she became so.’

‘She used to go into the library and read the newspapers after she’d taken Petal to school. I asked her once why she hadn’t gone to university, because it was obvious she was bright enough to go. But she just laughed.’

‘I suspect she came from the kind of middle-class background where women don’t have work,’ he said. ‘She never spoke about it, but she had that sort of genteel manner, didn’t she?’

Molly thought about this for a moment. ‘You might be right about that, but I’d say she went out of her way to hide it. She was such a mystery.’

Simon smiled at her. ‘You’re a mystery, too. I can’t imagine why you haven’t been snapped up by someone and got a brood of little ones.’

‘My dad puts off any potential suitors.’ Molly laughed. ‘That’s yet another reason to leave home and why I needed advice.’

‘Is that about what to do, or where to go?’ he questioned.

‘Both, I think,’ said Molly, blushing, because she knew she sounded a bit drippy. ‘I’ve never done anything but work in the shop, and how do I find a place to stay and a job all at once?’

‘First, you get the job,’ he said. ‘Seeing as you know shop work, you could apply to Selfridges, Harrods – or even Fortnum & Mason, the posh grocery shop. Once you’ve been offered a job you could get a place in a girls’ hostel.

‘You make it sound so easy,’ she said.

He smiled. ‘The only tough part is making the decision to go and sticking to it. It will all fall into place once you know that’s what you really want.’

She got to her feet, suddenly aware she’d been there for over an hour. ‘I must go now, Simon, but thank you for the chat and the advice. Once the inquest is over, I’ll do it.’

‘You can come and talk to me any time, if it helps,’ he said.

As Molly walked home, she realized that talking to Simon had had an effect similar to that talking to Cassie had always made on her. Both gave her the ability to see her life and the path ahead a little more clearly. He was such a nice man; a bit too posh and sophisticated for her – but a girl could dream.

The inquest was held in Bristol a week later. Molly had to be there to give evidence about finding Cassie’s body. George took her in a police car because, although he didn’t have to give any evidence, he had to drop off some papers at Bristol’s Bridewell police station.

At the inquest, the pathologist who performed the post-mortem confirmed that Cassie had died of a fractured skull, the result of her head being hit against the stone hearth several times with considerable force. He said that there were bruises on her neck, arms and a blow to her cheek consistent with a violent tussle prior to her being knocked down on to the hearth and the final blows which killed her.

Molly had to confirm the date and time when she found Cassie’s body, and she was asked a few questions about Cassie’s private life. As Molly had never met any of Cassie’s other friends, she could offer no information about them. All she could give were her views on her friend’s character.

As a result of the findings, the coroner recorded the death as Murder by a Person Unknown.

Molly was glad of the verdict, as she thought it would force the police to renew the investigation, but when she met up with George afterwards for a cup of tea in a café near the Coroners Court, he sounded doubtful.

‘There’s a possibility that, if the killer is still holding Petal, it might make him panic and release her so he can get away,’ he said. ‘But it’s just as likely he’ll feel he must kill her, too.’

‘Don’t say that!’ Molly exclaimed.

‘I certainly hope it won’t come to that,’ George said. ‘Everything about Cassie and this case is so mysterious. I know you think the police have done nothing at all, but that’s not true. We can’t find a record of her birth, trace her parents, find out where Petal was born – nothing. We don’t think Cassandra March was her real name but, normally, when we make an appeal for information in the press with a photograph, someone comes forward. But no one has – well, except the four men who had got to know Cassie since she moved to Sawbridge.’

‘Were they the ones I told you about? Her lovers?’ Molly asked.

‘Yes. They’d all had a relationship with her, but they knew precious little about her. They came forward voluntarily, and they all had firm alibis for the time of her death, so we could rule them all out. From what we’ve gathered from them, Cassie wasn’t one for talking about herself and her past. She certainly didn’t tell any of them who Petal’s father was or why they weren’t together. Each one of the men said she was fun to be with, didn’t take life too seriously, that she was warm and amusing. I think we can assume that meant she was sexy, too.’

Molly blushed. She had a feeling these men in Cassie’s life had cared more about the sex than anything else. ‘We all – you, me, the whole village – assume it’s Petal’s father who took her. But what if we’re all barking up the wrong tree?’

‘We’re assuming that because he’s the most likely candidate. For one thing, he must have been a bad lot for Cassie to be hiding away from him in Stone Cottage.’

‘But we don’t know that is who she was hiding from. Petal’s father could be just a man she slept with once and never saw again! Maybe the killer had some entirely different grievance with her? She’d run out on him, stolen his money, told his wife he’d been a naughty boy? Anything.’

‘Yes, that’s a good point. But can you tell me, Molly, if the murderer wasn’t Petal’s father, why would they take her with them? She would only make the culprit’s escape harder and, like you said earlier, it would be far less risky to kill her there in Stone Cottage.’

‘Okay, so if it was Petal’s dad, what do you think his plan was?’

‘I don’t think he had one. I suspect it was just instinct to flee with her.’

‘He was organized enough to take some clothes and her toy with him.’

‘Yes, well, maybe he stopped for long enough to think that through. And there are places that a black man could be invisible – an area like St Pauls, for instance,’ George said. ‘She’d be just another child of an immigrant. He could always say her mother had died or run off. So many people come and go there, no one would think anything of it. And they aren’t likely to tell tales on anyone either.’

St Pauls was an area of Bristol quite close to the Coroners Court. With its elegant, large Georgian houses and close proximity to the city centre and the docks, it had once been a very desirable place to live. But back in the thirties the owners found their property too expensive to maintain and many sold it on to people who turned the houses into flats or lodgings. As there had always been a sizable proportion of black people in Bristol because of the docks, many of them gravitated towards St Pauls and its cheap rooms.

Bristol had suffered a great deal of bomb damage during the war and this had made housing very scarce. The local council had concentrated its efforts on building new homes in the suburbs of Bristol, ignoring inner-city areas like St Pauls. At the same time, immigrants from the West Indies were flooding into England, too, lured by the prospect of work as nurses, as bus and train drivers, and in factories. Unable to find homes in the better parts of Bristol, they, too, made for St Pauls, and unscrupulous landlords were quick to exploit the situation.

St Pauls was now a ghetto. The poorer tenants had no choice but to share their accommodation to pay their rent, and the ensuing overcrowding and unsanitary conditions were shameful.

‘And I suppose there is no accurate record of everyone living there either?’ Molly said.

George shrugged. ‘It’s impossible to keep tabs on everyone,’ he said. ‘We think there must be many babies born after the parents arrived in England that were never registered, purely out of ignorance. People come to join relatives, then move on to other cities. The children might be in school for a year, then they’re gone. It’s just not possible to check up on them all. I just hope that whoever it is that’s got Petal – if someone has got her – he’s taking good care of her. Of course, he could’ve taken her to London, Birmingham, or Cardiff – anywhere with a sizable immigrant community – and finding her will be like looking for a needle in a haystack.’

‘But Petal was a very bright little girl. I couldn’t imagine her not telling someone about her mother. And if she saw what happened to Cassie, she’s likely to be distraught,’ Molly said.

‘That has occurred to me,’ George said. He looked hard at her face, as if taking in the fading but still visible black eye. ‘It also occurs to me that you are avoiding discussing what you’re going to do about your violent dad!’

Molly was embarrassed. ‘I’m planning to leave home as soon as I can get a job. I’d put off applying for any until after the inquest, and now there will be the funeral. As soon as that’s over, I’m going. But don’t tell anyone, because if it gets back to Dad, he’ll go mad.’

‘I thought perhaps you were waiting for the posh writer chap to sweep you off your feet.’

Molly looked at him. Had someone seen her go into Simon’s flat? She couldn’t think of any other reason for him saying such a thing. ‘Simon’s just a friend,’ she said indignantly. ‘I’m surprised at you. I never had you down as a nosy parker.’

‘I’m not, but I have to confess I’ve been keeping an extra sharp eye on you, what with the murder, and your dad.’

‘That’s very kind, but unnecessary now. Thanks to you, Dad has calmed down. I like Simon, and it’s good to talk to him, because he’s the only other person in the village who liked Cassie. But if you want to keep your eye on someone after I’ve gone, I’d appreciate it if it was my mum. Could you do that?’

George put his hand over hers. ‘Of course I will, and if you send me your address when you’re settled, I’ll write and tell you all the gossip. I think it’s the best thing for you, Molly, but I’m going to miss you, all the same. Have you decided where you’ll go?’

Molly looked at his big hand over hers and thought how nice it felt. ‘London seems the best bet,’ she said. ‘Maybe I could get a job in one of the big shops? I believe Selfridges and Harrods are both very special.’

‘You’ve always been a bit special to me,’ George suddenly blurted out, his face flushing a bright pink.

Molly was surprised at him saying such a thing, but touched, too. ‘What brought that confession on?’ she asked.

He shrugged. ‘I was just suddenly aware that I’ll really miss you. But if you do go and you want to come back and see your mum sometimes, without having to face your dad, you can come and stay with my folks. They would love to have you.’

‘That’s such a kind thought,’ said Molly, moved to find George so empathetic. She’d already wondered how she could see her mother away from her father. ‘I might very well take you up on that.’

George smiled. ‘I’ll be hoping!’

‘Not many people here are there?’ George said in a whisper as he and Molly took a pew in the church for Cassie’s funeral.

Molly glanced round and saw there were around twelve mourners in all, including Simon and Enoch Flowers, Cassie’s landlord.

‘I’m relieved to see this many,’ she whispered back. ‘I thought it might be just you, me and Simon, especially as it’s raining so hard.’

It had been warm and dry for several days, but at seven this morning the heavens had opened and the rain hadn’t let up since.

Molly’s mind had been all over the place since her long chat with Simon. One minute she could think of nothing but moving to London and working in a smart department store, the next she was plunged back into mourning for Cassie and feeling desperately afraid for Petal. She was finding it hard to dance attendance on the customers in the shop the way she used to, and she often forgot to order items they were low on. On top of this she kept slipping into little romantic fantasies about Simon.

He was so much more mature and articulate than the boys she’d grown up with. Most of them could barely string a sentence together, let alone talk coherently about the situation in Europe or equality for women. She knew, of course, that the attention he paid her was just his gentlemanly way, but she couldn’t help but wish it was more.

Looking across the nave at him now, he looked so handsome in his dark, well-cut suit. She wondered what a kiss from him would be like, or even to be naked beneath the sheets with him, his slim body pressed against hers.

She pulled herself back from that titillating thought. It was entirely inappropriate in a church. She glanced sideways at George beside her, almost afraid he’d read her mind, but he was looking off into space. She wondered if he ever had such thoughts about her.

The organ wheezed and sighed before one of the Bach Preludes began. Reverend Masters has asked Molly what music Cassie would like, but that was just another thing Molly didn’t know about her friend. Cassie hadn’t even had a wireless, so the subject had never come up. But Molly had chosen ‘All Things Bright and Beautiful’ as the hymn, because she’d heard Petal singing it once, and, even though Cassie had claimed to be an agnostic, she would like that, just because of her daughter.

The responses to the prayers were muted, the hymn was sung only marginally louder, and Reverend Masters’ eulogy could have fitted almost any average housewife. He mentioned Cassie’s love of books and gardening, but not her indomitable spirit, her sense of humour or her intelligence – all things Molly thought she had impressed on him. He mentioned Petal being missing still almost as an afterthought, and didn’t even speak out to tell the congregation that, if they knew anything at all about where she was, they should go straight to the police.

It was exactly the kind of funeral Molly had expected, yet she had hoped she would be pleasantly surprised and uplifted. As it was, she felt that, once again, she’d been slapped in the face with the knowledge that no one apart from her and Simon had liked Cassie. Even George hardly knew her. She guessed the other people here, with the exception of Enoch Flowers, had only come to the funeral to make themselves look good.

The second Cassie’s coffin was in the grave and the last prayer intoned, they all scuttled off. Even Simon went, though, to be fair to him, as he’d seen her and George arrive together, perhaps he thought it inappropriate to hang around when no one else was.

Molly stood silently in the rain, looking down at the casket, which she knew had been paid for from church funds, and cried. It wasn’t right that such a memorable, bright and fascinating woman should have such a weak and meaningless send-off.

George let her cry for a few minutes, holding his umbrella over her without saying a word. Finally, he touched her shoulder. ‘Let’s go and have a drink. Not here, where people will talk, but in Midsomer Norton.’

Molly smiled weakly at him, touched that he’d sensed that she really needed someone, or something, to delay her return home. It was bad enough having to say her last farewell to Cassie, but she was also anticipating a great deal of ridicule and sarcasm from her father when she got back.

There had been an atmosphere ever since he’d hit her. He hadn’t apologized, not even when her eye was black and swollen and she had weals on her cheek and neck, but he had let her stay upstairs until the swelling went down without saying anything nasty again. It was tempting to think he felt bad about attacking her as, even when she went back to work, he restocked the shelves in the shop, a job he normally left to her, and unpacked several deliveries, too – he hadn’t even admonished her when she’d forgotten some orders, but she thought it was more likely he was just brooding and waiting for an excuse to pounce again.

‘I’ve borrowed Dad’s car,’ George said, pointing out the green Austin A40 Devon which was parked by the churchyard gates. ‘He said if I scratch it he’ll wring my neck.’

Molly smiled. Very few ordinary people in the village had cars yet, and she’d often seen people admiring Mr Walsh’s when he parked it outside the pub or the post office. She felt quite honoured to be getting a ride in it.

‘We’ll have lunch at the pub I’m taking you to,’ George said as he drove away from the high street. ‘I always think that after something distressing you need food to lift your spirits.’

Molly half smiled. George was always making rather odd remarks and she rarely knew how to respond to them. ‘Did you find the funeral distressing, then?’ she asked.

‘In as much as there were no family there to mourn Cassie,’ he said. ‘I hardly knew her, unlike you, but it is tragic for someone so young, with so much to live for, to lose their life in such an awful way. As for all the sadness and mystery about Petal, that’s really getting to me. I know you don’t believe we’re doing anything about it down the nick, but I promise you I’ll be keeping it in the forefront of everyone’s mind.’

‘So what would be your plan?’

‘Well, it seems to me that one thing I could do is to try and find out what Cassie’s real name was. I’ve already spoken to Miss Goddard, the headmistress, and asked her if she saw Petal’s birth certificate when she enrolled her at the school. But she didn’t. Miss Goddard said she asked Cassie to bring it in, but she said she had mislaid it. Unfortunately, Miss Goddard didn’t chase it up. I’d say Cassie had made up both their names, and she’d only do that if she was running from something or someone.’

‘What do you mean, “from something”? Something illegal?’

‘Possibly, or maybe she got involved with villains and found out stuff they didn’t want her to know. But I have other questions, too. What did she live on? Do you know?’

‘No, I don’t. She might have got some national assistance, I suppose, but she always struck me as too proud for that, and as the kind of person who manages on very little.’

George glanced round at her. ‘However careful she was, she’d still need some money. I think she got it on her weekly trip to Bristol.’

‘Out of a bank, you mean?’

‘No, Molly, from some kind of work. But what kind of job only requires you to be there one day a week?’

‘She did cleaning.’

‘I don’t think that would pay enough to keep herself and Petal.’

‘So how do you think she got by?’

‘Prostitution?’

Molly was shocked and surprised by him. ‘No, she wouldn’t do that,’ she said indignantly.

‘You’re being a bit illogical, not to say naïve,’ he said with a shrug. ‘You told me about Cassie’s lovers, and that she had very liberal ideas, compared with most women. You even said she had sex with a man she’d just met in the library.’

‘Yes, but she wouldn’t do it for money.’

‘Why wouldn’t she?’

Molly thought about that for a little while. She had never seen a prostitute, but she had always imagined them as raddled-looking women with tight clothes and too much make-up standing on street corners in slum areas of the cities.

‘Cassie just wasn’t the type to do that,’ she said at length.

George chuckled. ‘Molly, all kinds of women over the years have turned to it when they have no money and children to feed,’ he said. ‘It’s the oldest profession, as I’m sure you know. But maybe Cassie had just one man who paid her and that’s where she went every Thursday. Is that any different, really, to having a lover who is a married man and buys you a dress or gives you jewellery?’

‘Put like that, I suppose it isn’t,’ Molly said reluctantly. ‘But Cassie was so independent.’

‘It is very hard for any woman to be truly independent,’ George said reprovingly. ‘They don’t get paid the same as men, most have problems getting childcare, and there’s very little sympathy for an unmarried mother.’

‘That’s very modern of you,’ said Molly with a touch of sarcasm. ‘I never expected a boy I went to school with in Sawbridge to have sympathies with women’s problems.’

He smirked. ‘I’m not brave enough to voice them in the pub, though, so that makes me look like a knight in rusty armour.’

After the sadness of the funeral and the bad feeling at home, Molly was glad to put it all aside and just enjoy being with George. Despite knowing him all her life, she hadn’t realized that he’d seen action in Germany after he was called up in 1944. She remembered, of course, him leaving the village, bound for an army camp to train, along with a couple of other local boys who were eighteen, too, and all called up together. For some reason she’d imagined he spent his time working in stores or something, because he never said a word about his experiences when he returned after the war was over. It pleased her that he was so modest, never seeking glory or feeling the need to boast. She realized she had underestimated her old schoolfriend.

‘Then I joined the police force after I was demobbed,’ he said. ‘That snotty friend of yours, Simon, said it was because I needed to follow orders, like I was some half-wit, but at least I’m doing something worthwhile, not just sitting at a desk scribbling like him.’

‘He’s rubbed you up the wrong way,’ Molly said with a smile. ‘Don’t tell me you’ve become, like so many around here, suspicious of strangers?’

‘I’ve got nothing against strangers, or even writers. I just don’t like the way he brags,’ George said. ‘He was holding forth in the pub about how he got wounded in Normandy, then when he recovered he went out to India to teach English. He spoke as if none of us had done anything and never been anywhere.’

‘I haven’t found him like that,’ she said, but, in truth, Simon had been a bit dismissive of some of the locals. ‘But you kept it very quiet about being in Germany. I didn’t know that.’

‘Everyone was doing something during the war,’ he said. ‘I don’t think many of us knew what our old friends were up to.’

‘I’d have written to you if I’d known,’ she said. ‘I suppose I thought you were stuck out at Aldershot or somewhere.’

George grinned. ‘The night before I left there was a dance in the village. You were with John Partridge all evening – I couldn’t even get one dance with you. I expected you to be married to him by the time I got home again.’

‘John Partridge!’ Molly exclaimed. ‘He had goofy teeth and sticking-out ears! I only danced with him that night because I felt sorry for him. And I’m glad I did, because the poor man was killed by a V2 in early 1945. He was only in London for an interview.’