The Silent Speaker Read online

  The editor was no time-waster.

  “The Blair case, I suppose. Where are you?” Bernard could hear him scribbling down Olivia’s number. “I’ll call you back.”

  It was half an hour before the call from the paper came through.

  “It’s taken a bit of ferreting,” the editor explained. “Nobody knows who she is but the buzz in the band world is that there was another woman in his life much older than the girl he’s married. She was kept out of sight so it’s likely she has a husband. We know nothing more, do you want us to do anything?”

  Bernard thanked him and said no. Then he rang off. He looked admiringly at Olivia.

  “Your hunch could be right. It looks as if we’re going to be busy little bees buzzing round Andy’s band.”

  There was not, of course, when Field enquired, a copy of last Sunday’s News of the World in the newsagent’s, but one was ordered and arrived the next morning. It was not until Saturday lunch time that Mrs. Simpson had time to read it. She was not looking for a story but for a reference to Rotherhithe. It was a weary job but when Field arrived after his luncheon job she had something to show him.

  “The trouble is I don’t know my London well that side of the river, Mr. Field, but I’ve looked up Rotherhithe in the telephone book and its postal number is S.E.16. Funny but there’s quite a lot come from round there, but most of it’s about beauty queens or boys that have become stars. There’s four young men who went round pretending they’d come from a hire purchase firm and stole people’s television sets. One of them came from S.E.16, name of Jim Slicer. Only 19, terrible, isn’t it? Then that boy found starving on Dartmoor, all the papers had a bit about him, well, his foster home was S.E.15, which would be near, I suppose. And there was a woman found drowned, the paper said the river police had pulled her out of the water by East Lane stairs, it only said that was S.E. but you never know.”

  Field laid out the silver to polish. He put down an entrée dish and looked with dismay at Mrs. Simpson.

  “But what could people like that have to do with Madam? As nice a lady as you could wish to meet.”

  Mrs. Simpson knew that Field disapproved of her, and it grieved her, but she was convinced that in some way the News of the World was mixed up with Helen’s death, and equally certain there would be no peace of mind for Mr. Blair until he knew why Mrs. Blair had done herself in. She had no strong feelings about Mrs. Wragge’s story, there might be nothing in that, but you couldn’t find out about every person mentioned in a newspaper, and S.E.16 was somewhere to start. So even at the risk of losing Field’s respect she felt she must do what she could.

  “I wish you wouldn’t be like that, Mr. Field. You know me, I’ve never been one for putting my nose into what isn’t my business, but I like Mr. Blair, he’s always been pleasant and nice to work for, so if I can help now he’s in trouble I will.”

  Mrs. Simpson had spoken with such dignity that Field was impressed. Could it be that she was right and he was wrong?

  “If only something could be said showing Mr. Blair wants to get to the bottom of things it would be different.”

  Mrs. Simpson could feel he was on the edge of understanding. She left her stove and came to the table.

  “Nothing like that will be said. And, as I told you supposing I found out something that would help I wouldn’t say anything to Mr. Blair, I’d go straight to Mr. Cale.”

  There was a long silence after that during which Mrs. Simpson went back to her cooking and Field sorted the silver. Then he said:

  “How were you planning to set about things, Mrs. S.?”

  Mrs. Simpson went on stirring a sauce she was making.

  “Mrs. Wragge’s sister lives in a new block of flats, Dunkirk Buildings they are called. I reckon there’ll be a public nearby and it’s easy to get talking to a publican. I thought maybe you could go down and find out if any of those I’ve taken from the paper live thereabouts. If they do I’ll have to find a way to ask Mrs. Wragge if that was the house where Madam went.”

  Field knew he was committed. His decision was made easier in that there was no reason to mention Mrs. Blair.

  “If you can do without me this evening, Mrs. S., I’ll get there opening time.”

  Miriam had no difficulty in getting a back copy of the News of the World. Old papers for use in the kitchen were stored in a cupboard and the paper was still there. But a quick skim through it and she knew without help there was no answer to be found in it. There were dozens of tragic cases which might have touched Helen’s life, but which? It would take weeks and an army of enquiry agents to discover. Yet somewhere someone must surely have a clue. It was almost impossible to have something in your life that affected you so deeply you could kill yourself because of it and nobody know a thing about it. But who? Gradually, as she separated her thoughts, the two people with whom she was involved swam to the surface. Verily, not a forthcoming child but she might have a bit of information which could be got out of her. Then there was Selina. It was impossible for a woman to have even a platonic love affair and not glean stray information about the man’s private life. It could be, if she spoke to Selina without pulling her punches, she could make her see, if she was to have any happiness, she must find out the real reason why Helen killed herself, for until that was cleared up she would have no chance with Tom. Of course, Miriam thought as she put the News of the World away in her desk, Selina may not know anything but it’s worth a try. Then she opened her engagement book. She could, of course, do nothing over the week-end as the house was open to the public, but what was wrong with Monday? Then she would telephone that school again and arrange to take Verily out, if that headmistress was obstructive she would tell Tom to arrange it. Selina she would telephone right away to make sure she was not planning to return to Ireland. As she looked up the number of Selina’s hotel in the telephone book she thought: “Seeing that I am doing this for her the least she can do is to stay where I can get at her.”

  * * *

  Barbara Bell, plodding up from the village loaded with her shopping basket, stopped outside the vicarage gate to stare at the car outside her front door. It was not that it was unusual to see a car there, for apart from their own old Morris there was usually another car or two in the drive, but not cars that looked like that car. There was not, as far as she knew, a smart car like that anywhere in the parish. While she was still marvelling her small son Bob rushed out to meet her.

  “Isn’t it smashing! It’s a Bentley, it’s got . . .”

  “Whose is it?”

  Bob thought it was the car that was interesting, not its occupants.

  “A man and a woman. It’s all aluminium . . .”

  Barbara moved towards the front door.

  “Did they say who they were?”

  “Cale. She knows you. I fetched Daddy but the man said I could get into the car if I wanted to.”

  Celia Cale, thought Barbara, and though her feet hurried her mind ran over the larder. Surely they would not expect lunch, but she must offer it. Suppose they said yes, what had she that she could prepare quickly?

  Theodore Bell had been titivating to-morrow’s sermon when Edward and Celia were shown in. He had no idea who they were except that Celia said she had known Barbara during the war, but he had given them glasses of his Empire sherry and did his best to entertain them by talking of his hobby, church architecture, but he found it a trial not to show how relieved he felt when Barbara walked in.

  Barbara and Celia having kissed, Barbara said:

  “I suppose, Theo, you had no idea who you were entertaining? Celia’s husband is a most distinguished lawyer.”

  Celia had received her instructions on the way up.

  “Edward wants to talk to you about something, Barbara. Can I go and make friends with Bob? There’s a box of chocolates in the car for him.”

  “You’ll stay to lunch, won’t
you?” said Theodore.

  There was a slight pause before Edward replied, for he did not want to sound too eager to get away but another glass of Empire sherry was more than he could face.

  “We can’t, thank you. We have to get back. We’ll lunch on the road.”

  Barbara tried not to sound thankful.

  “What a pity! Well, come into the drawing-room. You’ll find Bob gloating over your car, Celia.”

  Edward was charmed with the drawing-room which, though faded, held the remains of a richer and more leisurely past. He would have liked to have studied the room and learnt a little of the history of some china in a glass cabinet, but that was not what he was there for.

  “I suppose you read about Helen Blair.”

  Barbara’s face was full of contrition.

  “Of course I did. I forgot Celia was a friend of hers. I ought to have said something.”

  “The inquest was yesterday. No reason was discovered.”

  “Oh, wasn’t there? I meant to look in the paper this morning but I forgot. Well, I suppose it doesn’t matter why she did it. Poor Helen, I’m very sorry.”

  “It wouldn’t matter, except that because there is no reason, her husband blames himself.”

  “I suppose he would. I mean, you couldn’t think you made a person happy if they would do that. Could you?”

  Edward was grateful that Barbara had found so easy an explanation of Tom’s attitude.

  “No, but we, his friends, are worried, it’s preying on his mind, so we are trying to find the real reason, and I hoped you might help us.”

  Barbara was astounded.

  “Me! I’ve only seen her once since the war.”

  “It’s the war period I’m looking at. Can you tell me why she gave up driving an ambulance in London?”

  Barbara gazed at him out of wide, truthful-looking brown eyes.

  “She went to work in a factory in Wales.”

  “But do you know why? I suppose ambulance drivers were still needed.”

  “As it happened they weren’t for quite a while, for those first big blitzes were over, but she didn’t know that when she went.”

  “Did she talk to you about why she was going?”

  Barbara’s eyes were glued on his unwaveringly.

  “Do you really think it’s going to do Helen’s husband any good this prying into her past?”

  Edward decided to trust her.

  “There are two children, you know, so I hope in time Tom will marry again, but I fear he won’t while he’s obsessed with this foolish blaming of himself for Helen’s death.”

  Barbara thought over what he had said, then she gave a nod as if accepting his argument.

  “We lived in the same block, that’s to say Helen had the flat and I had a room, which was almost part of the flat, it was meant for a maid but of course nobody had a maid then, so they let the maids’ rooms to people like me. The last big raid was in May. I remember that because it was on my birthday. One day not long afterwards the housekeeper told me Helen was ill so I went in to see her. She had been ill since that last raid. She always was as thin as a needle but she seemed gone to a shadow and I could see she had been crying. She said there was nothing the matter with her except that she was tired, but I was sure she was really ill.”

  “Had she seen a doctor?”

  “Not then, she said there was no need, in fact she got angry when I wanted to fetch one. I went in to see her every evening after that, she still wouldn’t see a doctor and she still looked dreadful. Then one day—it was a Sunday—she said she’d seen a doctor, that he’d told her she was to leave London. She said she had a friend working in a factory in Wales. She was joining her.” Barbara clasped her hands as if to help her force unwilling words out of herself. “I think it wasn’t true about the doctor. You see, my room being almost part of her flat, I couldn’t help hearing anyone who came, and nobody did for I was in all day, and the day before she had told me she hadn’t seen a doctor.”

  Edward digested this.

  “It was her idea then to go away?”

  “That’s what I thought. I suppose she must have seen a doctor before she left who gave her a certificate or she’d never have got out of the ambulance service, but going to Wales was her idea.”

  “Did you keep in touch with her?”

  “I went to stay with her once. It was North Wales, a glorious place. We were having the flying bombs, it felt like heaven it was so blissfully quiet.”

  “I should have thought she would hate that. She struck me as a woman who liked being in the centre of things.”

  “I thought that. It was a boring sort of job too—she made something on a lathe for aircraft, it was the same job year in and year out—imagine, for a person like Helen.”

  “Was she living with her friend?”

  “There was a big country house taken over—it was a sort of hostel, they both lived there.”

  Edward absorbed that. He could have guessed right and Helen have gone away to have a child, but a hostel seemed an awkward spot to have it.

  “Did she have a holiday before she went to Wales?”

  Barbara was curled up childishly on the end of the sofa. She now unfurled, putting her feet on the floor as if the act gave her strength.

  “Hadn’t you better come clean, Mr. Cale? What is it you think might have happened? It would be quicker to tell me.”

  Edward nodded.

  “I agree. As far as anyone could see Helen was a devoted wife and appeared entirely happy with her husband, so we have to look elsewhere for a situation so disturbing that it could cause her to take her life. In my experience if it is not because of a man then it is trouble over a child which most often breaks a woman. If Helen had a child born during the war whom she farmed out but kept in touch with, and if that child grew up a bad hat . . .”

  Barbara put her hands to her face.

  “Imagine how you would feel. I mean, knowing things might have been different if you had kept the child with you.”

  “Could that have been Helen’s story?”

  Barbara seemed to have forgotten Helen in thinking of a child such as Bob left without parents. Now she pulled her thoughts back, and what she remembered seemed to make her less forthcoming.

  “It’s so long ago—I couldn’t tell you now whether she went straight to Wales. Anyway I suppose it would have been easy enough for her to pretend she was there even if she wasn’t.”

  “If your room was almost part of her flat you’d have known about the men in her life?”

  Barbara, now obviously hesitant, took her eyes off Edward to look out of the window.

  “She was terrifically attractive, with a lovely figure, so she’d masses of men friends, but I never heard her talk of a special one.”

  Edward knew something was being held back.

  “Nor saw her with someone of whom she might have been particularly fond?”

  “No.”

  There had been a faint pause before the negative. Edward was sure he was on to something.

  “Do you know the name of the friend Helen joined in Wales, and where she now lives?”

  Barbara relaxed and turned back to him.

  “She was killed in a car smash just before the end of the war.”

  Edward was accustomed to what had appeared a promising opening closing on him, so there was no sign of frustration in his voice.

  “Perhaps you remember someone else with whom she was friends while in Wales?”

  There was no mistaking the honesty of Barbara’s reply.

  “Not a soul.”

  Back to London, thought Edward, for there is a clue there. I am convinced of it. It will have to be a frontal attack for this is an honest woman. What she is holding back is from loyalty. He sympathised with Barbara and this was in his voice, but
he did not allow her to think he would leave until he had got out of her what she knew.

  “I have not told you the whole truth and neither have you told the whole truth to me. The reason Helen’s husband blames himself is because he was fond of another woman, a platonic business, he was brought up with her. But if there is to be a proper home and happiness for the children as well as for Tom, that woman must help, it is what the children will expect, already they are fond of her and treat her as a relative. Some day I hope Tom will marry her. At the moment, blaming himself, he won’t even see her.”

  There was silence in the room for so long that Edward had the greatest difficulty in remaining motionless; he did achieve this for he felt the slightest movement would break the chain of Barbara’s thoughts. When she spoke her eyes were again on the garden beyond the window, but this time not to avoid his but as if there she could see that long ago time.

  “Helen had been gone a week, I think. We had a hall porter to those flats and one night when I came home from the War Office he said to a warden who was there: ‘Here’s a lady who might help you.’ Then to me: ‘This warden is looking for Miss Lomax,’ that was Helen’s maiden name . . .”

  Barbara broke off there, obviously trying to be sure she was remembering accurately. Edward, to show she had his attention, murmured:

  “Lomax. I’d forgotten that was her name.”

  “He was a nice-looking man but not Helen’s type so at first I thought he’d come about ambulance business. I explained she had gone away. Then he said: ‘Could I have a word with you, miss, somewhere quiet?’ Well, there wasn’t anywhere except my room so we went to the pub next door. He brought us each a beer and we found a couple of seats in a corner.”

  Edward could see the two of them, the dimly-lit pub, for, in spite of the black-out curtain over the door, lights had to be kept down. Barbara in that light would not look so different from the Barbara to-day, but what about this man?

  “What sort of aged man was he?”

  “Thirty-ish. He wasn’t in the army because he had flat feet. In peace time he was a hotel porter. He knew Helen had left her ambulance station, he’d been there and they’d told him. He wanted her new address where she worked but all they could give him was the flat. I told him where she had gone. That was why I remember it all so well, he was so upset. He kept saying ‘I made sure I could see her.’”