“I didn’t want it to be a reason for you to hire me, not that you would have necessarily. I didn’t want you to think that I expected it would help me, particularly considering...” He looked down at his gloved hand with its wooden prosthetics hidden beneath the leather. “And after you hired me, when I thought I might mention it in passing, well, by then I knew how much you missed your father, and I guess I didn’t want to...”
“Upset me?”
“I guess. It just never felt like the right moment.” His eyebrows pulled together a touch, his blue eyes large.
“It takes a fair bit to upset me, Sam, but I understand what you mean. Thanks for telling me.” It seemed he’d been holding on to that one for a while. “How is your father now?”
His face dropped. “He died during the war. An accident.”
“Oh, how awful. I am so sorry to hear that. My condolences.”She took a breath. A lump had formed in her throat. Discussing her late father still had that effect on her. “Well, there is another thing we have in common.” She raised her glass. “To our fathers, taken from us too soon.”
“To our fathers,” Sam said, clinking his glass with hers.
The waiter returned with their scones and cream, and Sam dug in somewhat inelegantly, like a ravenous sportsman after a grueling day of training. Billie watched him for a minute, amused, before partaking herself. He did try to fit in, to behave with decorum, and for the most part he succeeded, but in moments like this, with his guard down, she saw the boy he had once been in rural New South Wales. She wondered whether he and his siblings had fought over helpings of food in his household. Hunger and rationing would do that. Sam finished his scones, dabbed his mouth, and took another sip of champagne, possibly unaware of how furiously he’d eaten everything up, while Billie was still working through her serving with delicate bites, her lipstick unsmudged.
“Things didn’t go so well with Eunice last night,” Sam let slip, and then looked like he regretted it.
Billie cocked her head, one brow arched. Her assistant had a lot to share this afternoon.
Sam seemed a bit unsure of himself, romantically speaking. To add insult to his war injuries, his girlfriend of some years’ standing had jilted him while he was fighting overseas, her head turned by a handsome American GI, from what Billie had gathered. She’d only caught the story in bits and pieces, not wishing to pry. With their dashing uniforms and Hollywood accents, nylon stockings and greenbacks, the Americans had cut quite a swathe through thelocals. But Sam was young enough to get over any lingering heartache once he found his footing again. She knew that Eunice was a newish girlfriend for him. Was it a good match? It was hard to tell, as Billie hadn’t met her and he didn’t talk about her much.
“We had a... quarrel,” he admitted.
“Is that so? What about?”
He seemed about to answer, then reconsidered.
“Oh dear, it’s not something to do with me, with our work, is it?” Billie hoped not. His silence announced that indeed it was. “You didn’t tell her about...” She tried again. “Sam, you didn’t tell her about the trunk, did you?” she asked in a hushed voice.
At this Sam shook his head adamantly, putting his champagne glass down. “Heavens no, Ms. Walker. I’m sworn to confidentiality in all of my work with you.” He sounded sober now, despite the flushed cheeks. “I wouldn’t break that trust for anyone. No, it was nothing like that.”
Billie relaxed and leaned back in her seat, then sat upright as she thought of something else. “Eunice doesn’t think...?” It had occurred to her that Sam’s girlfriend might wonder about Billie telephoning him at all hours. She awkwardly pointed a finger at her chest and then his and he got her meaning.
“No, it’s not that, either,” he said, shaking his head. “She says you’re not...”
“Do go on,” she prompted him, when he seemed to think better of whatever he’d been about to say.
“Errr...proper.”
She restrained herself from laughing out loud. Not proper? Well, she has an argument there, Billie thought. The usually reticentSamuel Baker seemed to have taken to champagne like some kind of truth serum, the poor fellow.
Billie considered for a moment whether it was best to press for further details and found she couldn’t help herself. “In what way am I not proper, dare I ask?” she inquired. There were so many reasons to choose from. Which would it be? The hours she kept? The places she frequented? The company she kept? The clothes she wore? Her swearing or smoking or the fact that she seemed to have misplaced a husband?
“She said...” This looked almost painful for him now. “She said that ladies ought not to be in your line of work. They ought to leave the work for men who need it.”
Billie blinked. “I see. And what of women who need work, too? Where are they to get their money? Did she have views on that?”
He swallowed. “She didn’t say.” He was blushing vigorously now and had trouble meeting her eyes. She felt perhaps she’d gone too far, but Billie did genuinely wonder if Eunice gave thought to where Sam got the money he used to take her out. The stuff did not grow on trees, as they say.
They fell silent as Billie finished her last scone with a lovely berry jam that seemed a perfect complement to the bubbles on her tongue. Nothing was going to turn that to acid. She’d been judged before and she would be again.
“I’m sorry, I’m not sure why I told you that,” Sam said. “It doesn’t matter.”
“You told me, dear Sam, because I rather insisted,” Billie reminded him. “Never mind, there are plenty of others who feel that way. Your Eunice is no orphan there. But today we have a very satisfied client. It was a strange case, not entirely explained, but it’sclosed now, and the client is happy. Perhaps we ought to focus on that.”
She tried to feel elevated again, but it was curdling in her belly now—the champagne, the scones, the whole thing. The finding of Adin Brown had in no way diminished her interest in what had happened to Con Zervos, or the whereabouts of her mother’s sapphire earrings, or just who had crept into her bedroom in the night. There was something rotten all right, and she found she couldn’t relax despite her best efforts. Her mind kept ruminating on the Browns: on them closing up shop and driving up to the mountains, excited by the prospect of their son returned to them. All that might attract some attention. What if it hadn’t been her being tailed in the Strand Arcade, but them?
Stop it, Billie.She took another sip of champagne. The part of her that did the books knew the case was closed, and that was it. That wassupposedto be it. Mrs. Brown had been insistent. But she could feel the puzzle pieces pulling at her, demanding her attention.
