One Shoe Gumshoe

"We're not all bitchy really, Edgar, or not as much as appears in the gossip columns. But there are a lot of egos that can get bruised all too easily. Too many actors forget that we are play acting more often than we are living normal lives and some get completely lost in that artificial world. Ten minutes into being back on the ranch and after some ornery mustang has unsaddled me onto my butt, all that unreal tinsel and glitter are nowhere to be seen!"

Just at that moment, thinking about her real home, among her real family, working with horses and cattle, she looked serenely at peace, the worries of the past week, the shooting and killing of a man who threatened our lives, and the death of her husband, a man who appeared to have led a double life, only part of which I understood, melted from her. She was indeed a very beautiful looking woman.

"Go on Mary, tell me how Brad Gold explained himself to you."

"Well, first off, I was immediately aware that my life had changed forever. When their chauffeur took Caroline and myself to my old apartment to collect my things, Caroline had insisted on accompanying me and settling my rent for the month, in fairness to the friends I shared an apartment with. I think she thought that if I went home on my own I might never come back to the Golds. My friends that shared the apartment were all fellow actresses, struggling to get parts like me. They were nice girls, but they were all older than me and I later gradually learned that they all had had to succumb to agents, producers and directors to become victims of the starlet system."

"Do you still see them?"

"Yes, I do, we meet up a couple of times a year, but they never made it to the big time. They were excited by all the attention then though. For a start, when we got there, we couldn't get near the place, the sidewalk was blocked to overflowing with reporters and cameramen, who had discovered where I lived. We shared a telephone in the apartment, so Caroline and I drove to a cheap restaurant just around the corner and I rang them from there. They sneaked out of the apartment and ate at the restaurant at Caroline's expense and they brought with them all the newspapers they had bought, which showed several photos of Brad and I dancing. We were the talk of the town that morning."

"I bet you were."

I remembered our dances, the other night. I am sure I would always remember our dances in that hotel basement, the shaking walls, the vibrating floor and the chandeliers trying to compete with the band trying to drown out the sounds of enemy bombing and the returning ack-ack artillery fire.

We had finished our little cream tea by then and it was time to leave our warm nest at the Lyons Corner Tea House. If Mary didn't want to go back to the hotel, because of the reporters, I thought of an alternative, a friendly house where she could at least spend the night, maybe longer, while I continued my investigations.

I settled up with our Nippy, leaving her a handsome tip; I felt as I hadn't yet been sacked by Mary as I feared, the money I had in my pocket was a bonus.

We fastened up our coats and ventured out into the cold night air, having to shuffle through two layers of blackout curtains to avoid allowing any light to escape.

I asked Mary to wait by the corner outside the café while I checked out the car, in case it had been discovered, or Rawlings had raised a hue and cry.

She took the opportunity to grab some of my pennies so she could call Milly at the hotel and let her know where she was and find out the lie of the land in that direction. It was dark and difficult for us to communicate, even the telephone box on that corner had had the light bulb removed because of the blackout.

I told her that I could probably find somewhere for her to stay for the night, if she didn't want to go back to the hotel. She nodded, and her smile was worth going to the moon and back for. She asked for the address, which she recited to herself a couple of times like lines she had to learn and I later found out she passed it to Milly, trusting her to bring a few of her essentials to her.

The police car was an unmarked one, it didn't even have a bell in it for emergencies. It was all quiet, with no sign of anyone hiding anywhere, so I got in and drove down to pick up Mary from the corner. I didn't want to stay in the vicinity for any longer than we needed, and phoning my sister with my current deafness would have been a complete waste of time, even with Mary's help, so I thought I would simply drive directly to my sister's house in Morden.

However, I had one more call to make along the way before we dumped the car.

"Is Bert in?" I asked of the girl who answered the door. She was silhouetted in the doorway, the hall behind her dimly lit by a gas lamp halfway up the staircase. She ushered both of us in, turned and said something that I was unable to hear. We entered the hallway.

Mary closed the door behind us and, holding my face towards her under the dim gas light, she mouthed with a grin, "She called out 'Grandad! Some geezer an' 'is missus to see you'."

She released my face after I nodded and we followed the girl down the hall and into a warm sitting room.

Bert, the deskman at the chambers where I have my office, was sitting in a fireside chair listening to a programme of light music on the wireless, opposite a short, plump lady who I assumed was his wife.

"Mr Onslow!" he exclaimed, standing up, "What brings you —"

I waved him sit down, which he did immediately, "Bert, I need you to do me a favour first thing on Monday morning. Would you mind?"

"What do you want us to do?" he asked, keenly, turning to his wife, "Ivy, this is Mr Onslow, wot woz a detective at New Scotland Yard; he's got an office where I works, you know the one wot I woz jus' talkin' about. Go put the kettle on, will yer, Ivy, love?"

The dumpy woman got up and extended me a hand, which I shook. I felt introductions were necessary. "Pleasure to meet you Ivy, I'm Onslow and this," I swivelled and swept my other palm to Mary, "is—"

"Oh, we all know Miss la Mare," Ivy smiled, "her pictures woz in the newspaper this evenin' and Bert recognised her as one of yer clients. We've talked about nuffink else since he got home from work. I'll just go pop the kettle on."

"I'm not really, er," I started, but Mary added, after putting a hand on my arm.

"If it's no trouble, Ivy, we've both just eaten, but yes, we'd both love a cup of tea."

"No problem dear, we usually have a brew about now, anyway. Come sit here by the fire, an' keep me chair warm for us. Mr Onslow, you take Betty's chair, she's our granddaughter. Come an' 'elp me in the scullery, can't you, Bet, love?"

Betty had stood with her mouth open, eyes transfixed by the beautiful film star moving to sit in her grandma's chair. Ivy rolled her eyes at me and pulled the poor dumbstruck girl out the door. I moved the hard-backed dining chair closer to Mary and, as I sat down, I put my hand down on the arm of her chair. She rested her hand on top of mine as if this was normal, while I felt like electricity was running through me.

I looked at her to see if she touched me to attract my attention and was moving her mouth to tell me something, but she just smiled quietly at me. Her then eyes flicked towards Bert, I turned and I could see he was saying something.

"Sorry, Bert, but could you repeat that? A revolver went off right by my ear this afternoon and punctured my eardrum, so I cannot hear a thing. I can lip read but only if you look directly at me when you're speaking."

"Gun going off? I wis wandering why you 'ad the bandage rahnd yer 'ead. Must be serious business, eh, Mr Onslow?"

"It is, two people have already died. There's some intrigue going on here, Bert. I believe it involves the Police, Military Intelligence, and even East End villains with criminal records for violence and murder are in on whatever is going on. We have already encountered a kidnap, two violent deaths, an attempted abduction, and attempts on the lives of both myself and Miss la Mare."

"Blimey!"

"We've both got to keep a very low profile, Bert, and we cannot trust either the Police or the Military but we do need help from people we do know and trust."

"What can I do to 'elp, sir?" Bert asked.

"You normally open up the chambers at 6.30 on Monday, don't you?" I continued after seeing Bert's nod. "If you could get there fifteen minutes early, and unlock my offices — you have the master key — and use this key to unlock the bottom drawer of my desk."

I handed him the small key that I had earlier removed from my key ring. "You will find an unloaded pistol, a shoulder holster and a half-full box of cartridges, plus a cheesecloth to roll them all up in for carrying out on the street without alarming anyone. Now, in the top drawer of the desk is a rather ancient black leather-bound address book held together with an elastic band. Wrap that up in the cloth too, along with a couple of notebooks. Please take it to the Blue Jay Café on the main road, and I'll pick it up from you there at 6.25, so you could still get back in time to open up the offices at 6.30."

He agreed, and assured me he would be careful to conceal the wrap under his coat and ensure he wasn't followed. The café operated a simple counter service he said and I told him I would be there early and get up and stand behind him while he ordered his tea, so I could collect the package from him without making it too obvious.

"The police will be looking for me, but I don't think they would suspect you. Just act as though you habitually call into the cafe for a cuppa."

"That's no problem, Mr Onslow, I've been known to call in there from time to time, only they ration you to one sticky bun a day since the war started."

We enjoyed a cup of tea and endured some homemade seedy cake with Bert, Ivy and Betty, before taking our leave, but not before Mary signed Betty's autograph book, the girl also insisting I sign my name on the same page. She promised not to show her friends the signatures for a week, and her grandmother Ivy backed that up by saying she would lock it away safely in a drawer until then.

We drove along in silence in the dark. We both had things on our minds to say, but Mary knew she had no opportunity for me to see what she had to say. We crossed the river onto the Surrey side and headed south-west into Morden.

CHAPTER TWENTY

PASTORAL

"WHERE are we exactly?" Mary asked when we stopped. She looked a little worried. We were outside a corner shop in a smart suburban avenue filled with a mixture of large detached and semi-detached villas, built only ten years earlier.

"My sister Hettie's house is just down the street." I said as we got out and started to walk, "I didn't want to leave the car right outside their door, so we have a two minute walk with a couple of twists and turns before we get there. Hettie's husband Jack Morgan is a motor showroom owner with garage workshops behind and a tearoom next door. It is a mile or so away from here on the busy main London to Exeter road. They have done quite well for themselves and have a nice house, but their two children were evacuated to the Sussex countryside last year, so the house is pretty empty. I stayed here in their spare bedroom when I was bombed out three times last year, and also for the last Christmas holiday, when we felt we needed to be close together."

I didn't need to say anymore, I had already told her about the recent deaths of my two eldest sisters.

As soon as we started walking, she tucked her arm in mine, and by the time I stopped talking we were standing outside Hettie's house. In the starlight, Mary still looked nervous, or maybe she was breathless. It was a cold clear night and our breath came out as white vapour.

Jack answered the door by the light of a hooded torch that he held in one hand. It crossed my mind that it would double up as a weapon if needed, if the door-knockers happened to be unfriendly.

"Hi, Ed," he said as he recognised me, "come on in. Het'll be more than pleased to see you."

I hadn't seen my sister since Christmas, six weeks earlier.

"I was hoping you could put us both up for a couple of nights, Jack."

"Yes, of course, no problem, Ed; have either of you eaten this evening?"

I could see he noticed someone next to me but without hesitation he ushered us in as soon as he recognised me.

"This is Mary ... a ... er —" I started to say by way of introductions.

Mary pulled on my arm and interjected with a smile, "I'm Mary Jones, Mr Morgan, a good friend of Edgar's."

I assume by her words that she was back to using her Middlesex English voice.

"Call me Jack, please Mary, come on in both of you, it's really cold out there. Close the door behind you, Ed, before I open up the sitting room and let the light out."

I waved Mary through ahead of me and closed the door behind us. It was pitch black behind the blackout curtains blanketing the front door once it was closed.

West London and North East Surrey was on the turning route back to Germany after the bombers had paid attention to Woolwich and the East London docks, so the total blackout was vital to maintain.

Jack opened the door into the sitting room and Mary could hear my sister say, "Who is it, Jack?" and his reply, "It's Ed, Hon, and ..." now his voice probably dropped to a whisper, "he's brought a young lady with him. They want to stay for a few days."

I didn't find out what was said until later, of course, when Hettie told me. At that moment, though, Mary did turn her face to me and, by the light from the sitting room, I could see she was smiling and relaxed.

"Edgar! Honey!" Hettie cried, already halfway out of her armchair by the fireplace, and throwing her arms around me.

Henrietta is my youngest sister, seven years younger than me, so in her mid-thirties. She's a tall, slim and attractive brunette; my parents long ago conceded that she was the cutest and smartest of their litter, and I always agreed. As an accountant and bookkeeper, she married her boss, Jack, after using her accounting skills to keep his garage business afloat during the financial crash a decade and more ago, and expanded the business into the next door tea rooms once the boom times returned. Jack was ten years her senior and was too busy during his youth building up his business to ever consider including romance in his life, but working closely with Hettie, helping him work through the troubled financial storms, he naturally fell for her in a big way. Luckily, Hettie was already in love with Jack.

"What's wrong with your ear, sweetheart?" she asked, noticing the plug of cotton wool when she squeezed me to her and kissed me on both cheeks. The huge bandage that the doctor had furnished me with yesterday, had been reduced to a simple small ear plug held in place with a plaster.

"I have a perforated eardrum, Het, and as you know I can't hear much out of my right ear anyway, so I am relying on lip-reading, or Mary here repeating what I have missed."

Henrietta turned to smile at Mary. "Oh, Mary, I'm Hettie, dear, Edgar's sister. He's hopelessly lacking in social skills, so we would have had to wait all evening through before he introduced us. I couldn't help noticing your wedding ring, so I'm wondering ...?"

Mary stepped in front of me on my right hand side, to embrace Hettie and they kissed each other on the cheek, Mary correctly assuming the previous exchange was the normal greeting in our family. She said something to Hettie, but I only picked up odd snippets, like "recently widowed ... assistant ... some men ... so dense ... I'll let Edgar explain."

Hettie refused to expand on that conversation when I asked her about it later.

Mary turned to face me with a quizzical smile on her face. Hettie and Mary were stood together, arm tucked in arm.

"I don't like the way you're ganging up on me, you two. I might need reinforcements, Jack," I said. I looked around for him.

He was leaning on the door jamb, saying, "I'm putting the kettle on", when what he really meant was, 'with these two, you're bloomin' well on your own, mate!'

"Well?" asked Hettie.

Just then both ladies moved their eyes sideways for just an instant, before looking directly at me.

Mary mouthed, "There's another knock at the door, Jack's seeing to it. I think it's for me, anyhoo. My maid Milly bringing my essentials."

Before I could say anything, Jack ushered in the said maid Milly, who was carrying a valise and a thick foolscap envelope clutched in one hand, and automatically curtsied to us all.

Behind her, Jack held up another suitcase, asking "where should we put these, dear? They are clothes, for ... Miss la Mare here." He grinned uncertainly, then he directed a wink at me.

"Miss la Mare, Miss Marcia la Mare?" Hettie looked straight at Mary, "but you don't look old enough, dear."

"She is an excellent, actress, Hettie, dear," I said, putting a hand on my sister's shoulder, "we didn't mean to confuse you, sweetheart, but we do need somewhere to stay for a couple of nights as Mary cannot remain at her hotel, or be recognised anywhere in public at the moment."

Mary said, "And I really am plain old Mary Jones, Hettie, at least to my dear friends, and the family of dear friends. Marcia la Mare is not the real me at all."

"I can see that, dear," Hettie embraced her again, "You can stay here as long as you like, Mary, sweetheart. You are the first girl that Edgar has ever brought home, and this will always be his home. And do accept our condolences for your recent loss."

Again, I couldn't "hear" any of this this because of the embrace, but Hettie instructed Jack and Milly to take the clothes "to Edgar's room," and then she turned to me and said directly to me, "you're sleeping in the office, Ed, the couch folds out to a makeshift bed. Sit down by the fire for now, sweetheart, we've got this covered."

I nodded my acceptance of whatever was going to happen in her house. Hettie was always bossy, particularly in matters where she was the queen bee, in charge of domestic, finance and errant sibling in this case, and they all swept out the door, leaving me with the silence.

I couldn't even hear the ticking of the clock or the crackle from the coal fire. I sat, waiting. At least I was getting warm. I wasn't aware until later, that the cabbie who had brought Milly was paid off by Jack and dismissed. Hettie told Mary that a proper lady needed her maid with her, so Milly had no choice, she was staying.

When Mary said she was more a rancher than a lady, Hettie insisted that she's practically Hollywood royalty and that Milly could sleep in the eldest girl's room, the child's bed being large enough for her.

Jack returned first, with a large tray of tea, cups, milk jug and plate of biscuits, which he placed on the table. Jack is a tall, well built man, in his early fifties, a good head of sandy hair, greying at the temples. He is always quick to smile, enjoys risqué jokes with male friends, yet completely charmingly attentive with ladies of any age.

"Sorry, Ed, that's the last of the milk, so just a splash each," he said to me after placing the tray and turning to face me so I could read his lips. "So, Marcia la Mare, eh? You've put the cat among the pigeons there, old chap, Hettie loves going to the pictures, especially that one last year when Marcia played the nurse...."

"I've never seen any of her films, Jack."

"Well, she seems as sweet and lovely as she is on the silver screen, and even more beautiful in the flesh."

Again, I nodded in agreement and looked at the floor.

He remained standing there, and I felt he must've said something. I looked up. "Sorry, Jack, I can't hear a thing, what were you saying?"