To their left, the sitting room had been closed up – dustsheets covering every item of furniture, and the curtains drawn. Left in stasis, ready for its owners to return after the bombing had ended.
‘Ruby?’ Reynolds shouted. They stood, listening. The house was quiet.
‘Check upstairs,’ Cook said to Reynolds. Cook had his eye on a door under the staircase. He knew where it would lead – the cellar.
Cook trod carefully on the wooden stairs, listening to the sounds of the house. He could hear Reynolds hurrying around upstairs.
Cook had some experience of looking for a missing girl – an evacuee who’d been kidnapped and abused. Elizabeth lived with him on the farm now, but Cook had found her in the dark cellar of a country house. He realised a large part of him was expecting history to repeat itself. The logical place to put someone, if you wanted to keep them alive, and keep them undiscovered.
‘Up here!’ Reynolds called, his voice muffled by the distance, echoing down several flights of stairs.
*
Reynolds was in a bedroom on the third floor. A grand room, large windows that Cook guessed looked out over the park. An indoor sink, for shaving and brushing teeth. Electric light.
Reynolds was staring at the top of a chest of drawers. He turned to Cook.
‘It’s hers,’ he said, picking up a grey box as if it were a precious artefact.
It was a gas mask box – an utterly recognisable shape and size, albeit customised to appeal to a young woman who wanted something a bit more individual than a brown cardboard box.
‘Got it at the market,’ Reynolds said. ‘Cost her a couple of shillings. She said if she was going to have to carry it everywhere it could bloody well look nice.’
Cook opened the box. Along with the gas mask there were other bits and pieces – a lipstick. Some tissues. A few bus tickets.
‘No way she would have left that,’ Reynolds said.
71
Dottie had a new friend. After the success of her mission, she’d considered heading home, but the sound of the music coming from the underground bar had lured her back. The new bloke’s name was Hal and he worked for the Ministry. He wouldn’t say which ministry, said it was hush-hush. But he seemed frightfully excited about it. It was his first time here, he’d said. Heard all about it from friends at work.
The basement was a cacophony of sound. Dottie had to lean in close to listen to Hal, but she didn’t mind.
‘Do you come here often?’ he asked, practically shouting in her ear, his lips brushing her skin. ‘I say, that’s a terrible line, isn’t it! You must think me a complete bore!’
Dottie shook her head.
‘I don’t think you’re a bore!’ she shouted. But Hal couldn’t hear her. She leant in closer, shouting into his ear. ‘I don’t think you’re a bore at all!’
Hal beamed. He signalled to the barman for two more drinks.
‘Be right back!’ Dottie said, practically kissing him on the ear she was so close to him. She slid off the barstool, a bit unsteady on her feet. She grabbed her handbag and pushed her way through the crowd to the toilets. She was sweating from the heat, and felt a bit dizzy, now she was standing.
Someone bumped her, and she spun round to apologise, but they were gone. She felt like a pinball in one of those machines.
The toilets were empty – a minor miracle. She used the lav, then fixed her lipstick. Ruby had told her about this place, but she’d never imagined it like this. So ... vibrant. Hard to believe this was all going on while people spent their nights in places like Tilbury, or the public shelters.
One more drink with Hal, then she’d make her excuses. What her chap back on the island didn’t know about wouldn’t hurt him.
The door behind her banged, but she didn’t look up. If she had done, she would have seen a man with a shock of red hair, and a stain on his shirt from the wine she’d used as a decoy when she’d robbed him.
What got her attention was the click of the lock. She turned to see what was going on, but before she could see, she felt two arms around her in a bear hug. He was behind her. He wrapped one of his hands around her throat. Dottie struggled but he was stronger than she was, and her arms were immobilised.
‘Where is it?’ he said. His voice was calm. The calmness frightened Dottie even more than his holding her.
‘Can’t breathe,’ she gasped.
‘Give it,’ he said.
