Read Online England Expects by Sara Sheridan - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Sara Sheridan
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he stay?’ Mirabelle cut in.
‘What?’
‘When Joey Gillingham came to Brighton where did he stay? Did he ever board somewhere?’
McGregor conceded it wasn’t a bad idea. ‘All right. I’ll have someone look into it. But I’m not convinced, Mirabelle. And,in the meantime, you two need to let me do my job. If you could just remain in Brills Lane and collect a few outstanding debts it would be tremendous. You stick to your patch and I’ll stick to mine.’
‘Will you keep me informed?’
‘This is police business,’ McGregor objected. ‘You can’t go poking your nose in. It’s not for busybodies or amateurs. Sorry, but it isn’t.’
Mirabelle flashed her most charming smile. He remembered her using this technique the night before at the Crown and Anchor when she wanted information from unsuspecting men. Well, if that was how she wanted it, he’d play along. He might as well get something out of this apart from a half-baked conspiracy theory. A vision of Mirabelle dressed for dinner flitted across his mind’s eye.
‘All right,’ the Superintendent changed tack, ‘I can’t say you’re not helpful. Thanks for tipping me the wink. How about I keep you informed and you promise to keep out of the investigation? Why don’t you let me take you for a drink this weekend? I can fill you in over a whisky or two and perhaps dinner?’
Vesta looked on incredulous as Mirabelle paused and then unexpectedly succumbed to the request. ‘You know where I am,’ she said. ‘May we go now?’
Five minutes later the women were heading back towards the seashore. The sun was at its height and the hot dusty air from the traffic made the heat almost unbearable.
Vesta fanned herself furiously. ‘You know where I am,’ she mimicked Mirabelle’s simper. ‘That man is creepy, Belle. Busybody, indeed, and amateur. Hardly! Where would he be without you? He hasn’t got a clue. Next thing you know, he’ll want you to look after him. You’ll see, he’ll get his legs under the table and that’ll be it. You’ll be cooking him breakfast, lunch and dinner, and ironing his shirts, too.’
Mirabelle wished fervently that Vesta would sort out her diffculties with Charlie. It would make life, if not less complicated, then certainly less accusatory.
The girl continued, scarcely drawing breath. ‘He tells you to go back to the office and you act like a puppy that’s been told off. Do you remember when Panther first arrived and Bill used to give him a row? That’s you – creeping back to Brills Lane. What’s wrong with you, woman?’
Mirabelle pushed her sunglasses to the end of her nose and scrutinised Vesta. ‘Who says we’re going back to the office?’
A smile spread across Vesta’s face. ‘You don’t fancy him then?’
‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ Mirabelle scolded. ‘I feel terribly sorry for the chap. Poor Superintendent McGregor had a dreadful time during the war. He’ll probably never get over what happened to him.’
Vesta froze. ‘Gosh. What was it?’
Mirabelle’s wartime tales left Vesta breathless. Occasionally over tea and a biscuit they would get on to the subject of wartime heroism – the men who broke out of Nazi internment camps to join their compatriots or the bravery of those fighting in the field. Mirabelle looked on it as an education for the girl. Vesta had been too young during the fighting to realise what her hodge-podge of childhood memories actually meant.
‘This is your history. Your generation’s freedom is what we were defending,’ she would say. Vesta had cried over some of the stories Mirabelle told her about women who had won posthumous medals. She seemed to have an endless supply of heroic tales of extraordinary derring-do, though none detailed her own wartime experience, over which she continued to draw an impenetrable veil. Vesta had given up asking anything personal. Mirabelle had signed the Official Secrets Act and that was that. She wouldn’t talk about
‘What?’
‘When Joey Gillingham came to Brighton where did he stay? Did he ever board somewhere?’
McGregor conceded it wasn’t a bad idea. ‘All right. I’ll have someone look into it. But I’m not convinced, Mirabelle. And,in the meantime, you two need to let me do my job. If you could just remain in Brills Lane and collect a few outstanding debts it would be tremendous. You stick to your patch and I’ll stick to mine.’
‘Will you keep me informed?’
‘This is police business,’ McGregor objected. ‘You can’t go poking your nose in. It’s not for busybodies or amateurs. Sorry, but it isn’t.’
Mirabelle flashed her most charming smile. He remembered her using this technique the night before at the Crown and Anchor when she wanted information from unsuspecting men. Well, if that was how she wanted it, he’d play along. He might as well get something out of this apart from a half-baked conspiracy theory. A vision of Mirabelle dressed for dinner flitted across his mind’s eye.
‘All right,’ the Superintendent changed tack, ‘I can’t say you’re not helpful. Thanks for tipping me the wink. How about I keep you informed and you promise to keep out of the investigation? Why don’t you let me take you for a drink this weekend? I can fill you in over a whisky or two and perhaps dinner?’
Vesta looked on incredulous as Mirabelle paused and then unexpectedly succumbed to the request. ‘You know where I am,’ she said. ‘May we go now?’
Five minutes later the women were heading back towards the seashore. The sun was at its height and the hot dusty air from the traffic made the heat almost unbearable.
Vesta fanned herself furiously. ‘You know where I am,’ she mimicked Mirabelle’s simper. ‘That man is creepy, Belle. Busybody, indeed, and amateur. Hardly! Where would he be without you? He hasn’t got a clue. Next thing you know, he’ll want you to look after him. You’ll see, he’ll get his legs under the table and that’ll be it. You’ll be cooking him breakfast, lunch and dinner, and ironing his shirts, too.’
Mirabelle wished fervently that Vesta would sort out her diffculties with Charlie. It would make life, if not less complicated, then certainly less accusatory.
The girl continued, scarcely drawing breath. ‘He tells you to go back to the office and you act like a puppy that’s been told off. Do you remember when Panther first arrived and Bill used to give him a row? That’s you – creeping back to Brills Lane. What’s wrong with you, woman?’
Mirabelle pushed her sunglasses to the end of her nose and scrutinised Vesta. ‘Who says we’re going back to the office?’
A smile spread across Vesta’s face. ‘You don’t fancy him then?’
‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ Mirabelle scolded. ‘I feel terribly sorry for the chap. Poor Superintendent McGregor had a dreadful time during the war. He’ll probably never get over what happened to him.’
Vesta froze. ‘Gosh. What was it?’
Mirabelle’s wartime tales left Vesta breathless. Occasionally over tea and a biscuit they would get on to the subject of wartime heroism – the men who broke out of Nazi internment camps to join their compatriots or the bravery of those fighting in the field. Mirabelle looked on it as an education for the girl. Vesta had been too young during the fighting to realise what her hodge-podge of childhood memories actually meant.
‘This is your history. Your generation’s freedom is what we were defending,’ she would say. Vesta had cried over some of the stories Mirabelle told her about women who had won posthumous medals. She seemed to have an endless supply of heroic tales of extraordinary derring-do, though none detailed her own wartime experience, over which she continued to draw an impenetrable veil. Vesta had given up asking anything personal. Mirabelle had signed the Official Secrets Act and that was that. She wouldn’t talk about
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