Chapter Four

Vi sat opposite Tilly at Mrs. Harris’s dining table. As always, it was covered in a pure white, immaculate ironed tablecloth. In front of the four place settings was the usual array of silverware, plus a water glass. A tall jug of tap water had been paced in the center, along with condiments – salt, pepper and mustard. On the back wall a large Victorian wall clock with Roman numerals and a pendulum ticked away the seconds. At precisely six thirty, the clock chimed the half hour as the door opened and a tall, slender woman entered. She was immaculately made up, with black glossy hair that looked as if it had been polished before being wound into a soft bun at the nape of her neck. Her lips were stained a deep red and she was dressed entirely in black – an elegant, tailored dress with long sleeves and a high neck. Timeless in style, it suited her. The woman’s dark brown eyes caught Vi’s mesmerized gaze and a small smile played around the corners of her lips. This woman liked being the center of attention. Vi could sense the feeling of power it gave her to know that, once she entered a room, everyone else ceased to exist.

Immediately behind her, bearing a soup tureen, came Mrs. Harris, who laid her burden down in front of her own place setting before beginning to ladle liquid into bowls.

“I’m afraid it’s Brown Windsor again. I can’t get the ingredients, you see. Oh, of course, Vi and Sandrine, you haven’t met yet.”

Sandrine smiled at Vi. “We have now,” she said and accepted a steaming bowl of soup from her landlady.

Vi could see what Tilly meant about the accent. Surely all Italians were interned, so that left Portuguese, Spanish or maybe somewhere much farther afield?

“I’m Vi – Violet – Harrington.” She put out her own hand and met Mrs. Harris’s proffered soup bowl. Sandrine made no effort to shake her hand so Vi settled for accepting the food and smiling at her landlady. She inhaled the aroma of watery gravy, and suspected her nose was fairly accurate. These days it was better never to enquire what was in the soup – even when purchased at a restaurant or café. Today, there was no bread either.

Everyone was now seated and sipping the soup. Vi and Tilly made appreciative noises, but Vi thought Tilly’s exclamation of “Delicious!” a little too effusive. She settled for a nod of thanks. Sandrine said nothing, merely dabbing her lips with her napkin after each spoonful. No lipstick stained the white linen table napkin so perhaps hers was the indelible sort. Or maybe her lips were always that color. Vi dismissed the fleeting thought. No one’s lips could be that shade of red naturally. Could they?

Main course consisted of stew made from some kind of meat. Mrs. Harris had done her best, but it remained gray, gristly and unappetizing. A couple of chunks, bathed in a thin gravy with some lumps of potato, turnip and carrot. Vi was now certain the soup had come from this stewpot.

Salt, pepper and mustard helped, and Mrs. Harris apologized more than once. “The butcher said it was mutton. He swore to me it was mutton. It was on the ration too.”

“Maybe it’s just old mutton,” Vi said. “You know, an older-than- usual sheep.”

Tilly grinned. “Maybe it got lost on the moors and wandered into the abattoir before dropping dead of old age.”

Vi set down her fork and laughed. It lifted the atmosphere. Mrs. Harris seemed relieved.

Once again, Sandrine said nothing. She ate her meal in silence.

Dessert consisted of tinned pears and condensed milk. At least that was palatable, and Vi had to restrain herself from licking the bowl clean. Whatever would Mother say?

When they were all finished, Sandrine stood up, smoothed down her dress with a light pat, and thanked Mrs. Harris. She nodded at the other two and left the room, closing the door behind her. Vi and Tilly helped their landlady with the dishes.

Vi whispered to Tilly as they cleared the table, Mrs. Harris having left with a pile of pudding dishes. “Is Sandrine always like that? Doesn’t she ever lift a finger?”

“No. That’s typical. You won’t see her now until breakfast, but that doesn’t mean you won’t be aware of her.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’ll tell you when we’ve helped with the washing up. I’ve got that sherry, remember.”

“I’m looking forward to that,” Vi said.

Twenty minutes later, they were up in Tilly’s room, sitting on her bed, tooth mugs at the ready. Tilly poured out from a lemonade bottle.

“Are you sure that’s sherry?” Vi stared at the reddish-brown liquid. She sniffed it. It certainly smelled like sherry. A little like the Harvey’s Bristol Cream her father used to buy at Christmas. Only not as rich.

“My brother got it from a mate of his when he was on leave recently. They keep an off-license, but this stuff may be brewed at home. Best not to ask these days, isn’t it?”

That was a lesson they’d all had to learn. Vi prepared herself for her first taste of…whatever it was. “Here goes, then.”

“Mud in your eye,” Tilly said, and they raised their mugs in a toast to each other.

The drink hit the back of Vi’s throat with a stinging wallop. “Whoa! That’s strong.”

Tilly coughed. “Not unpleasant though. And it warms you as it goes down.”

Vi took another sip. This time, she got more of the flavor and less of the hit. “It certainly tastes like sherry. Thanks, Tilly. This is going down a treat.”

The tapping sound, when it came, took Vi by surprise. Tilly merely shrugged.

“Is that…Sandrine?” Vi whispered.

Tilly drew closer to her. Vi could smell the sherry on her breath. “It always starts this way. Light rapping and then it…well, wait and see.”

“Is she signaling to someone?”

“Listen really carefully and you’ll get it in a minute.”

Vi listened to the rhythmic thud…thud…thud. “It’s a drum. Like a child’s drum. I used to have one. Maybe she’s rehearsing to play in some sort of jazz band. It sounds rhythmical. Or maybe a signal code of some sort.”

“I think so too. It’s not Morse code because I learned that. Went on a course when I thought I wanted to be a spy, back in ’39, right at the beginning of the war. I think she’s performing some kind of ritual, but I’ve no idea what kind.”

“She’s stopped now,” Vi said and the two women listened in silence for a minute.

“It’s the same every night,” Tilly said.

A sudden commotion outside sent them dashing for the light switch. Tilly snapped it off and the two of them crept over to the window. Vi inched the blackout aside.

Down below, an ARP warden, wearing his siren suit and tin hat, was gesticulating wildly up in their general direction. Tilly raised the sash window sufficiently to speak to him.

“It wasn’t us, sir. I’m sure it wasn’t.”

“No, not you. The one next to you. Any Jerries coming over could have seen it a mile away. More probably. Bloody great flash lit up half the street. Tell whoever it is to get that blackout fixed or there will be consequences. There’s a war on, you know.”

“Yes, sir. We’ll tell her.”

The warden scribbled something in his book, using a small flashlight to illuminate the page.

A knock sounded at Tilly’s door.

Vi replaced the blackout, making sure not the smallest sliver of light could escape, while Tilly crossed the room, careful not to trip in the darkness.

“All right, you can switch on now,” Vi called.

The sudden brightness made Vi blink. Tilly opened the door to reveal a flustered Mrs. Harris in her pink candlewick dressing gown.

“Whatever’s going on? Was that the warden?”

“Yes,” Tilly said and then raised her voice. “Someone let some light out.”

“Oh no.” Mrs. Harris’s eyes opened wide. “I don’t want any trouble.”

“It’s all right, Mrs. H.,” Tilly said, touching her arm lightly. “I’ll sort this out.”

Vi came to stand by Mrs. Harris, surprised to find the woman was trembling. Sandrine’s door remained firmly shut. Surely she must have heard the commotion.

Tilly rapped smartly on her door. “Sandrine. We need to speak to you. The ARP’s on the warpath.” Silence. “Sandrine. Open this door, please.” Tilly rapped again, so hard she cradled her knuckles afterward. Still no response. She put her ear to the door, then frowned and made an expansive gesture with her hands. She rattled the handle.

“It’s locked.”

“Do you have a key, Mrs. Harris?” Vi asked.

“Why, yes. Yes, I do. But I don’t like….”

“It seems to me,” Vi said, “you have two choices. Either we open the door, or you let things lie and end up in trouble with the authorities. It’ll mean a heavy fine. Maybe even a court appearance.”

“Oh dear. Oh, what do you think the silly girl’s doing?”

“Come on, Mrs. H.,” Tilly said, steering the poor woman back down the landing. “Let’s get that key. Vi, wait here and see if she comes out.”

Vi nodded and, as the two made their way down the stairs, took Tilly’s place at Sandrine’s door, knocking and listening.

A couple of minutes later, Tilly was back with a bunch of keys on a ring. “Mrs. H. is making a cup of much-needed tea,” she said. “I told her we could take care of this.” She gesticulated with her thumb at Sandrine’s door. Selecting from the small collection, Tilly inserted a key in the lock and tried to turn it, wiggling it from left to right. It didn’t move. She repeated the gesture with all six keys. Same result.

“There must be some mistake,” Vi said. “Maybe Mrs. Harris gave you the wrong keys.”

Tilly shook her head. “These are the only keys. One for each bedroom, one for the back door and one for the front. There’s only one other key and that’s for the outside lavvy. She keeps that on a hook by the back door in case of emergencies.”

“So that means Sandrine must have changed the lock,” Vi said. “But why would she do that? And how? Without Mrs. Harris knowing?”

Tilly motioned Vi to go back to her room. Once inside, Tilly closed the door. The girls sat down on her bed. “I don’t think we can let this pass, can we?” she said. “I mean, do I settle for just reporting it in my MO diary? Or should I take more drastic action?”

“There could be a perfectly innocent explanation. But…I mean, she has to be in there, doesn’t she? Neither of us heard her leave and the ARP man must have been onto that flash of light in an instant. You know what they’re like. There’s no way she could have got out of her room and down the stairs without Mrs. Harris seeing her, or us hearing her.”

Both girls sat in silence for a few moments, deep in their own thoughts.

Tilly broke it. “It’s no good. I can’t think of one good reason why Sandrine would barricade herself in like that.”

“Or why she would change her lock without at least discussing it with Mrs. Harris first.”

“Let’s face it, why would she change her lock if she didn’t have something to hide?”

“So, what should we do? Tell the police? Report her as a possible spy? We have no evidence.”

“Her behavior is evidence enough. And she’s definitely not British.”

That remark of Tilly’s sat uncomfortably with Vi. “But is that reason enough? I mean, that doesn’t make us much better than the Nazis with their obsessive nationalism.”

Tilly blinked at her. “Are you calling me a Nazi?”

“Good grief. No, Tilly. I’m just saying that simply because she clearly wasn’t born here, doesn’t automatically make her a spy or a fifth columnist or whatever. What about your MO diary? Where does that go? Who sees it?”

Tilly calmed down, but her lips were still set in a fine line and her voice was more clipped; it had lost its usual friendly tone. “I’m not exactly sure. Some government department. They send us directives too. Those are subjects they especially want us to focus on and report separately about. This month, it’s all about changing attitudes to society. What do we think have been the major changes to the way we live in the last hundred years and how do we think that’s affected our attitudes toward each other. I have to send that in within the next week. Haven’t even started it yet.”

“Presumably, someone reads those surveys and reports on them to someone higher up?”

“Presumably, else why get us to report?”

“Why doesn’t ‘Dolly, 21’ report that, as an example of changing current attitudes, behavior which might have been considered merely eccentric before the war, is now viewed as highly suspicious. You could then report everything about Sandrine so far and how your suspicions have been aroused. They know who you are, and where to get hold of you, so if they feel there is something worth following up, surely they’ll come knocking on your door.”

Tilly’s face brightened. “At least then I couldn’t be accused of a witch hunt.”

“Exactly.”

“And if they pursue it and find there’s a perfectly innocent explanation, they could merely put it down to me reporting in answer to their directive.”

“And no harm done on either side. Plus, if it got that far, maybe Sandrine would feel better if she moved out and that would remove the last trace of the problem once and for all. At least for us anyway.”

“Then that’s what I’ll do.” Tilly stood up. She pulled a drawer of her nightstand open and withdrew a lined notepad and fountain pen. “No time like the present.” She grinned at Vi, all trace of her previous annoyance gone.

“I’ll take the keys back down to Mrs. Harris and tell her what happened,” Vi said.

Tilly made a slight grunt in acknowledgment. She was already scribbling away furiously.

* * *

Downstairs, Mrs. Harris was clutching a cup of steaming tea, rocking slightly back and forth. She looked up when Vi entered the kitchen.

“Want a cup, dear? I think the pot’s still warm.” She indicated the dark brown ceramic teapot on a stand in front of her on the oilskin cloth.

“Thanks.” Vi set the keys on the table, pulled a chair back and sat while Mrs. Harris poured the deep golden liquid through a strainer into a cup, added a drop of milk and stirred with a small silver teaspoon. She then offered it to Vi, who accepted it gratefully. A reviving cup of tea was exactly what she needed at that moment.

“How did you get on?” Mrs. Harris asked. “What did she say?”

Vi took a sip and laid her cup down carefully on its saucer. Here goes. “None of the keys worked.”

The landlady nearly dropped her cup. “But that’s not possible.”

“We tried all of them. None of them worked. Unless you have another key somewhere, it looks like Sandrine has changed the lock. It doesn’t look any different from the others, but the fact remains. None of the keys would work. Unless….” Vi had a sudden thought. “Is it possible the lock could be seized up? Maybe it needs a drop of oil.”

“I don’t think so,” Mrs. Harris said. “I saw Sandrine come out of her room yesterday. She locked her door behind her and the key turned, sweet as a nut. I noticed especially because mine had been a bit stiff and I put some oil in a few days ago….” Her voice tailed off.

Vi wondered whether to tell Mrs. Harris what Tilly was planning to do but decided against it. The woman was het up enough already.

Mrs. Harris poured out more tea, her hand shaking so much she could barely hold the teapot. Vi gently took it off her and topped up the landlady’s cup.

Mrs. Harris drew her hands through her gray hair. “Oh, Vi, whatever am I to do about her? Why won’t she come out of her room? It was only a chink of light, for mercy’s sake. We’ve all had our accidents.”

“Neither Tilly nor I could hear anything,” Vi said. “But she’ll have to come out sooner or later. I mean, she’ll need the bathroom for a start.”

“I don’t like this. I don’t like it at all. I want her out of here. I don’t want trouble under my roof. I’m too old for this. I’ve got enough with the war on. And every night the bombs coming over….” She dissolved into floods of tears and Vi cradled her until the crisis subsided, or Mrs. Harris ran out of tears.

Outside, the noise of a siren started up its dreaded wail. “Come on, Mrs. H.,” Vi said. “Let’s get down to the shelter.”

Tilly appeared in the doorway, carrying gas masks in their cardboard boxes, and coats for herself and Vi, plus small overnight bags they kept permanently at the ready. Mrs. Harris reluctantly hauled herself out of her chair and swapped her dressing gown for a more practical overcoat, which she retrieved from a coat stand in the hall, along with a pair of sensible shoes, her hat, gas mask and her own small bag and handbag.

Tilly opened the door.

“No sign of Sandrine?” Vi asked. Tilly shook her head.

“The devil take her, then,” Mrs. Harris said and stormed out into the night.