Without a Trace (25 page)

Your loving chum, Dilys

‘Oh, Constance,’ Molly sighed as she finished the letter. She wiped a stray tear from her eye. ‘Thank you so much for writing to her. She doesn’t believe I did it.’

‘Would anyone believe that if they really knew you?’ Constance smiled and poured tea into two cups. ‘So, when are you going to see her?’

‘She said she’ll phone on Thursday,’ Molly said, her eyes shining. ‘I’m so excited.’

It was on Thursday that Charles Sanderson came into the café.

The man might have had a dirty face and been covered in brick dust, but he had the biggest, softest brown eyes Molly had ever seen and a smile that would light up the whole of Whitechapel.

‘What’s a pretty little doll like you doing in a Whitechapel caff?’ he said, leaning on the counter and looking right into her eyes. Molly found herself opening and closing her mouth like a fish at the question.

‘Did you say an egg-
and
-bacon sandwich?’ she said, unable to think of any clever response.

‘I certainly did, and is that a West Country accent I hear?’

She nodded, because he was looking at her so intently she couldn’t speak.

‘I went to the West Country once, but it was closed,’ he said.

‘We don’t allow cocky cockneys in,’ she retorted.

He laughed, and his lovely brown eyes crinkled up. ‘So what made you come to the Big Smoke?’ he asked, leaning even further over the counter, as if he might reach out and grab her.

‘It’s a long, dull story,’ she said. ‘Let’s just say I didn’t expect to end up making bacon-and-egg sandwiches.’

She turned away from him to the stove, put the bacon in the pan and began to butter the bread. ‘A cup of tea?’ she asked, turning back to him.

Two other men had come in behind him and he glanced round at them. ‘Wish I could talk to you,’ he said. ‘When does it get quiet?’

‘When I go home at three,’ she said.

‘Right, I’ll meet you then.’ He grinned.

He watched silently as Molly got his sandwich ready, served the two newcomers with sausages and chips, poured cups of tea for them all and rang up the money.

‘You’re very efficient,’ he said as she handed him his sandwich. ‘Along with being very pretty,’ he added.

Molly couldn’t help but laugh. He had such a cheeky grin, and his voice was deep and musical. ‘You’ve got rather a lot to say for yourself, for a man covered in brick dust.’

All at once, eight or nine people came through the door
and the man was forced to take his sandwich and cup of tea and go and sit down. Molly was too busy even to check what he was doing, and when she finally got a moment to go and clear the tables he had gone.

There was no sign of him when she left the café and, though she was a bit disappointed, she wasn’t surprised. Men often said cheeky or flattering things to her; two or three had even asked her out. She thought it was merely showing off in front of their mates. In any case, she was expecting Dilys to phone tonight, and that would be more than enough excitement for one day.

She was just turning into Myrdle Street when she heard the sound of someone running. She glanced around, and it was him. He’d washed his face and he was out of breath.

‘I couldn’t get away,’ he gasped out. ‘Glad I caught up with you.’

Molly’s heart leapt. He wasn’t matinee-idol kind of handsome, but he had such a nice face and she was flattered that he was interested enough in her to chase her down the road.

‘Are you doing some building work nearby?’ she asked.

‘Yes, we’ve been clearing that bomb site just around the corner from the caff. We start digging the foundations for a block of flats next week.’

She couldn’t help but be glad he was going to be around for a few more weeks. ‘Do you live round here?’ she asked.

‘In Bethnal Green,’ he said. ‘But what made you come here? You’re far too posh for Whitechapel.’

Molly giggled. ‘I’m just the same as loads of other people who end up here. I just didn’t have anywhere else to go.’

‘Tell me about it,’ he insisted, taking her hand and tucking it under his arm as they walked along the street.

‘I’m nearly home now, and I can’t ask you in, as I live with an elderly lady who is in the Church Army,’ she said. ‘Also, I don’t even know your name!’

‘It’s Charley,’ he said. ‘Charles Sanderson of Bethnal Green, age twenty-seven, still got all me own teeth and, luckily, I was too young to join up in the war but did me National Service when it ended and got sent to Germany.’

‘I like the potted history, but you still can’t come in,’ Molly said, grinning at him. ‘I’m Molly Heywood, grocer’s daughter from Somerset. I was working at Bourne & Hollingsworth but got the sack for something I didn’t do. That’s why I’m here.’

‘They said you nicked something?’

Molly explained briefly. ‘I really didn’t do it, as God is my witness.’

‘I believe you, but I’d like you just as much if you had done it,’ he said. ‘Those posh shops are right slave drivers, anyway. Treat their staff bad.’

‘I really liked it there, and I loved living in their hostel. Constance was the only person I knew in London, so I kind of threw myself on her mercy. That was back on Christmas Eve, and now here we are at the end of February and I’m hoping to find a job in a hotel in Kent or Sussex.’

She stopped outside number ninety-two. ‘This is me now,’ she said.

‘Come out to the flicks with me tonight?’ he said. ‘
Genevieve
is on. Do you like John Gregson?’

‘Yes, I do, and I’d like to see it, but I can’t go tonight,’ she said. Apart from Dilys phoning, she thought she should play hard to get, and she needed time to tell Constance about him.

‘Tomorrow, then? If you’re planning to run away from
Whitechapel I’ve only got a short while to talk you out of it.’

She looked into his soft, brown eyes and her stomach did a kind of somersault.

‘You won’t talk me out of it, but tomorrow is fine,’ she said, wondering if her face showed what she’d just felt inside.

‘We’ll see about that,’ he said with a wide grin. ‘I’ll pick you up at seven.’

Molly watched him as he walked away. He was tall, over six foot, with wide shoulders and slim hips. His brown hair needed a cut, the donkey jacket he was wearing looked worn out, yet still he had style and grace. She liked the way he walked: straight backed, head up, with a bounce in his step. He turned back to wave at her and she blushed, because he knew she’d been watching him. She waved back, anyway, and a bubble of excitement fizzed inside her.

‘So, poor George back home will be cast aside?’ Constance said, raising her eyebrows quizzically.

Molly had rushed in to tell her friend about Charley and, as always, Constance seemed to read her mind and see into the future.

‘If George and I were meant for one another, surely it would have erupted years ago?’

‘I suppose so,’ Constance said. ‘But you be careful with Charley. London boys are a lot pushier than country ones. Don’t give him an inch. But if he does manage to persuade you to stay here, then he’ll have my undying love.’

Dilys telephoned on the dot of half past seven. ‘Oh, Molly, I’ve missed you!’ she said, and the lovely Welsh lilt in her voice made Molly smile.

‘I bet I missed you more,’ Molly responded. ‘I was quite resigned to never seeing you again. I didn’t dare write to you in case they checked your post. Miss Jackson was probably in the Gestapo. Constance didn’t tell me she’d written to you, and it was such a wonderful surprise.’

They chatted for some little time, Dilys telling her the gossip from the hostel and Molly telling her about her job in the café.

‘Are you still looking for Petal?’ Dilys asked.

‘Yes, still asking around to see if I can get any leads on who might have taken her and why. Lots of people remember Cassie and her here, and really liked them, so they would tell me if they knew something, but they don’t. But I think Cassie came from Kent or Sussex, by the sea. I’m going to try and get work down that way, then I can carry on searching and maybe find some family members.’

‘You’re certainly a loyal friend,’ Dilys said. ‘Most people would’ve given up by now.’

‘I can’t give up. I think of Petal’s pretty little face, remember how much Cassie loved her, and I feel it’s my duty to solve the mystery.’

‘Will your sense of duty allow you to meet me on Saturday night?’ Dilys asked. ‘Dancing at the Empire? I could meet you outside at eight.’

Molly began to laugh.

‘What’s so funny?’ Dilys asked.

‘You, me, dancing at the Empire. Because I’m so happy you phoned. Is that enough reasons?’

CHAPTER TWELVE

Two weeks after meeting Charley, Molly woke up to see her room bathed in a murky grey light. She groaned, as she knew that meant it had snowed again overnight.

She snuggled further under the covers, dreading the moment she’d have to get up.

It was March now, and she’d started to think that spring was just around the corner. But it seemed it intended to strike more blows before it slipped away. Molly was so tired of being cold, of the lack of sunshine, of hearing coughing and spluttering all around her and seeing small children with sore, red noses. It took away the joy she ought to be feeling.

She ought to be ecstatic that, just yesterday, Constance had said that friends of hers with a small hotel in Rye on the south coast would like to interview her for a job. If she got the job, she could live in warmth and comfort, and when spring eventually came she’d be in a beautiful part of England, having said goodbye to the slums of Whitechapel.

But she wasn’t ecstatic. She was scared.

Not scared of the job – that sounded perfect. It was for an all-round assistant, barmaid, receptionist and chambermaid, which was ideal for gaining valuable experience. It would also be wonderful to get to know new people who weren’t downtrodden, like they were around here.

There were two flies in the ointment. One was Charley. Molly didn’t want to move away from him. The other was
Dilys. Having only just got in touch with her friend again, she didn’t want to lose her either. Both of them were very special to her. She knew Dilys would write and keep in touch, maybe even come down for a holiday, but Charley might lose interest if it was too hard to see her often.

She and Dilys had so much fun the night they went to the Empire in Leicester Square. Seeing one another again was like a magic potion that made them giggle like schoolgirls and talk as if they’d been in solitary confinement for a month. They danced with anyone who asked them but escaped to get back together again. There was so much to catch up on, and it felt as if there weren’t enough time.

Dilys said when they parted at the end of the evening, ‘You once said, “We’ll still be chums when we’re old ladies”; it was when we’d had too much to drink. But I believe it’s true. Even if we find our Mr Rights, get married and have lots of kids, we’ll still keep in touch. We’ll look at each other when we’re both sixty, and we’ll think we haven’t changed a bit, and I bet we’ll still be giggling the way we have tonight.’

Molly felt the same: they might go their separate ways because of husbands or children, but there would always be that invisible chain which either of them could tug on to bring their friend right back.

It wasn’t that way with men; for them, it had to be all or nothing. Since her first date with Charley, when he took her to the pictures, she’d seen him almost every day. Mostly it was just drinks in a pub, or a cup of tea in the café when she’d finished work, but then, she would’ve stood on a street corner in a howling gale if it meant seeing him. He was bright, caring, funny, generous – everything she’d ever wanted in a boyfriend – and he set her pulse racing, too.

The cold weather and having nowhere to go to be alone together was perhaps just as well, because one kiss was enough to set her on fire. She was pretty certain that if they had a warm, comfy place to be in, she’d be tempted to go all the way with him.

One of the very nicest things about Charley was that he behaved like a gentleman. His parents in Bethnal Green were, by his own admission, ‘a bit rough’. He’d been evacuated at the start of the war to Sussex and the family he was billeted with were ‘toffs’, as he put it.

‘I couldn’t believe the house when I first saw it,’ he said, his eyes shining as if he were recalling a very magical moment. ‘A huge great pile – I could count twenty windows just on the front! They picked me because they wanted help in the garden and with their horses, and I was about the oldest, strongest boy amongst the evacuees.’

‘Were they kind to you?’ she asked.

‘Fair more than kind. No demonstrative stuff, certainly no mollycoddling. But I think they liked me. I was fed far better than at home, I slept in a bed of my own – at home, I’d shared one with two of my brothers. But the best thing for me was learning about how people with money and position live and behave. I soaked it all up and promised myself that, one day, I’d live like that.’

‘So what was it like when you went home?’

‘Bloody awful.’ He pulled a face. ‘So many bomb sites. Whole rows of houses gone. Mum and Dad were virtual strangers, and they claimed I looked down on them and talked posh.’