‘There you go again. Asking me a question but you know the answer. You’d better buy me that cuppa before you realise you don’t need me sitting here.’ She waved to her counterpart, at the counter.
‘Tea for two over here if you don’t mind. And a slice of lemon cake. He’s buying.’
‘What did he say?’ Cook asked.
‘Had a nasty cut on his face.’ She drew a line down her cheek. ‘Reckon he was back from Dunkirk. Didn’t want to let on. Which meant he’d deserted, if you ask me.’
‘Her boyfriend,’ Cook said. ‘Gone into the army. Gone to France to give Hitler what for.’
The waitress poured tea for two and started in on the cake.
‘He’s spending his nights in the shelter at Dickins and Jones,’ Cook said, remembering where the young man’s father had been heading. A loose end he’d let go. As he said it, he knew it was the missing piece of the puzzle. A burst of adrenaline as he saw the end in sight.
‘Wrong,’ the waitress replied, shaking her head. ‘They wouldn’t let him in. They’ve got their standards, see. They get so many people lining up they can be picky.’
She nodded at Cook.
‘Unlike us,’ she said.
Cook thought she was mistaken. Either way, it was something he could test. He gulped down his tea. Dickins & Jones was only a ten-minute walk.
‘He’s in the same place he always is,’ she said. ‘Since I told him where Ruby was working.’
Cook must have looked blank, which pleased the waitress. She knew something he didn’t.
‘You come from Piccadilly Circus?’ she asked.
He nodded. The truth was more complicated, but he didn’t want to slow down her narrative.
She smiled, pleased she’d got it right.
‘You walked past him just now,’ she said. ‘Opposite the hotel. I think he’s keeping an eye out for her. Maybe you should have done that if you were so keen to find her.’
91
The tramp was in his usual place, in the doorway. Invisible. Part of the wallpaper. Perfectly placed to keep an eye on the comings and goings at the Empire.
Cook dropped half a crown in the upturned hat. The tramp looked up at him with a nod of thanks.
‘Arthur Burton?’ Cook said.
Panic flashed across the man’s face. The scar on his cheek a livid red.
Cook held out his hand, palm forward, like trying to calm a skittish animal.
‘I’m a friend of Ruby’s,’ Cook said.
*
Cook carried over two pints from the bar, having rescued enough coins from his sodden wallet. The pub across the road, the same one he’d taken the American to. Burton nodded his thanks.
‘What happened?’ Burton asked. Cook felt his forehead and his hand came away with fresh blood.
‘I’ve been looking for Ruby,’ Cook said. ‘Some men took exception to that. Tried to dissuade me.’
‘Looks like they succeeded,’ Burton said.
‘You’ve been watching the hotel,’ Cook said. ‘Why didn’t you go to her place?’
