CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

‘SOME LETTERS FOR Mr and Mrs Stellion and another parcel for you, Miss Arnold,’ said Arthur Smollett, putting the little brown-paper-wrapped box in Gina’s hands. ‘I’m sorry, I don’t know what’s happened with this one. Looks a bit like someone’s sat on it. Let me know if there’s owt missing and I’ll bring you a form to claim for it.’

‘Thank you, Mr Smollett. I’d be very angry if that were the case,’ said Gina. ‘Folk expect to get their post intact, not smashed up like this.’

‘It’s hardly smashed, love—’ Arthur began.

‘It’s bad enough,’ said Gina. ‘Please make sure it doesn’t happen again.’

‘I didn’t—’

‘Thank you, I’ll let you know if I need the claim form,’ said Gina, shutting the door in his face. She knew she’d been rude, but the parcel from James looked as if it might well have been opened and her stomach was dancing with anxiety.

She sped into her sitting room, locked the door behind her and ripped off the already torn brown paper and put a match to it in the hearth. Then she opened the misshapen box and rummaged through the crumpled newspaper to find the jewellery. For a moment she thought there was nothing there but paper, but then she unearthed a rather creepy mourning brooch with some dead person’s plaited hair in it, and a couple of long slender hatpins with pearls at the ends. That was all. There did seem to be a lot of newspaper to wrap up so few items. She stood back, trying to think clearly, her heart pounding.

Then she looked through the small cardboard box again, more carefully this time, taking out each piece of newspaper and straightening it to make sure there was no jewellery hidden within the folds. Nothing.

Maybe there had only ever been these few items in the parcel, but they hardly seemed worth sending. James usually sent more than this at a time. Gina looked carefully at the hatpins. The pearls were big, although of course they might not be real, and the tops of the pins were embellished with tiny stones, which might or might not be rubies. The brooch was a ghastly thing, the skinny plait of grey hair surely of no value to anyone except a sentimental relative of its original owner.

What if there had been more pieces and someone had stolen them? Gina paused a moment to consider the irony of that. But the person who had stolen them might have noted her address, might even know the items had been stolen once already, and connect her with them. They knew her name and where she lived!

Gina closed her eyes and took a few deep and calming breaths. It was pointless guessing and speculating; there was only one thing to do and that was to ask James. She had never telephoned him before, but now she would have to do so, and make sure no one overheard. Maybe there was nothing to worry about, but this was the only way to be sure.

She tidied her hair, which had got a bit wild during her frantic search through the parcel, and composed her face, then unlocked the door and went down the corridor, remembering to take the letters for Mr and Mrs Stellion with her.

‘Gina, love, would you like some lemon barley?’ asked Mrs Bassett as Gina tried to get by the kitchen without being seen.

Actually, a cooling drink would be nice. It was a hot June day and Gina’s panic over the parcel had left her feeling heated and uncomfortable.

‘Thank you, Mrs Bassett. I’ll take a jug up for Mrs S, too. I had hoped she’d be feeling a bit better today, but she says there’s nowt right about her at the moment.’

‘Oh dear, poor lady. I wonder if she could stomach a little lemon junket. Would you ask her, please, Gina? I’m using that many lemons at the moment, it’s a shame Tom and Ellen don’t grow them in one of them greenhouses.’

‘I bet Ellen would have a go if she thought you’d want them,’ said Gina vaguely. ‘But I’ll take the jug of barley water and go and find Mrs—’

‘And would you ask her if she and Mr Stellion are in for dinner this evening, please, Gina? I’m wondering if she’d manage to eat a chicken pie. I know Mr S always likes my pies. In fact, I remember him saying that—’

‘Yes, Mrs Bassett, I’ll ask. And now—’

‘And I’ve been wondering whether Tom might have some more of those new potatoes like he dug for me last week. They’d be just the thing to go with—’

‘I don’t know. You’ll have to ask him, Mrs Bassett.’

‘With carrots and spinach, I reckon. All new baby vegetables to tempt Mrs S with her sensitive stomach. Build her up a bit when she’s feeling fragile. What do you think, Gina, love?’

‘Lovely. And now—’

‘Of course, I could always just poach the chicken in a little light broth with the baby carrots. She always likes that when she’s feeling a bit under the weather. With mebbe a tiny bowl of the junket to follow. What do you reckon, Gina? And then again—’

‘Mrs Bassett,’ said Gina, rather too loudly, backing towards the door with the barley water on a tray, ‘I’m sure whatever you decide will be grand. Now please, can I just get on?’

She fled before the well-meaning cook had a chance to say anything more. Mrs Bassett had a heart of gold, but sometimes Gina just wished she’d shut up, especially now, when her mind was in turmoil about the opened parcel.

Edith, too, seemed to want to try Gina’s patience to its limits with her fussing and her numerous requests. Would Gina please take Coco for a walk? Please would Gina pass this morning’s letters, and where was the letter opener? Please would Gina telephone Fowler’s shop and ask for some of those plain biscuits to be delivered with this week’s order? Please would Gina sort through those magazines and see if she could find that picture of the dress with the sailor collar that Edith had in mind to have copied …?

It was on the tip of Gina’s tongue to snap back, but then she realised the impatience was all of her own making and these simple tasks were exactly what she was employed to do. And as for telephoning Fowler’s shop, that was the perfect opportunity to be making another phone call.

‘I’ll make the phone call to Fowler’s first, shall I?’ said Gina, getting up to look for the book in which Edith had noted down all the telephone numbers she used.

‘Oh, no hurry about that particularly. I think Coco would like his walk now, dear,’ said Edith. ‘He’s been quite noisy this morning and it’s set my head pounding. Please take him for a good long one and he and I will both feel better for it by lunchtime.’

Gina was beginning to think she’d never get to telephone James, especially as she’d just spotted Edith’s personal directory on the little table beside her. There would be no sneaking it out unnoticed. Then she had to ask about the food so Mrs Bassett could get on with preparing it, and go down to deliver the answers. By the time she set out with Coco on a long walk, she felt as if she had been wrung out, and she still hadn’t even had a chance to speak to James.

If something was missing, would he even believe her that the parcel had been damaged, possibly deliberately? Maybe he’d think she had taken the things herself and made up the story. Gina felt even more anxious now. James Stellion was so attractive, but there was an unknown aspect to him. He certainly couldn’t be trusted, of course. As it was, she thought they needed each other equally, although she suspected he knew a lot more about her than she did about him, which gave him the upper hand. And he was the Stellions’ son and always would be, whereas she could be replaced at the Hall. For her own sake, she wouldn’t want to fall out with James.

Ellen, standing on a ladder, secateurs in hand, saw Gina striding quickly through the rose garden, completely ignoring her, then veering off to the front of the house as if to go down the drive. Poor Coco was trotting along beside her, being pulled to heel and not being allowed to stop to explore all his favourite interesting places. Gina looked like a woman on a mission or, more likely, a woman in an extremely bad mood.

Now what? There was always something unsettled about Gina. She was amused by the strangest things, such as the sudden death of Mrs Thwaite – Ellen still felt shocked when she remembered what Dora had told her about Gina’s reaction to that news – and was never entirely happy with her own lot, always casting an envious eye over other people’s lives. The current object of her bitterness and envy seemed to be Diana Stellion, although Ellen couldn’t imagine why on earth that should be. Diana was way out of Gina’s league. Ellen recalled it was envy of her own new job at the Hall that had inspired Gina to come to find work here. She seemed no happier for it really, though, despite the work being cleaner and easier than helping at Highview Farm. There was a wildness about Gina that was unpredictable. She was like a creature that could not be entirely tamed; perhaps like the wild cat Edward had told her about that evening he’d proposed: a loner, shy of company, yet with the potential to be fierce and dangerous.

Ellen felt her stomach do a happy little skip at the thought of Edward and that lovely evening with the shooting stars. He worked well with his father at Highview Farm, and he was that proud of his own little flock of Herdwicks. The first of the lambs would be ready for market in the autumn, and he was so excited, it did her heart good to hear him.

She tried to imagine, as she did so often, what it would be like to be married to him and have the pleasure of his gently cheerful, loving company all the time. They’d discussed where they’d live. Albert and Nancy had said they could live at the farmhouse – there was plenty of room and Ed’s parents could not have been kinder to her – but Ellen really wanted a place of their own. The obvious home for them would be Highview Cottage, but that would mean Dora having to move out, and Ellen would not make her mother homeless, especially after she’d worked so hard to make it beautiful. The cottage belonged to the Beveridges, though, so ultimately it must be their decision. Then Edward had had the idea of building another little cottage on Highview land, but that would take time and effort, and the farm itself took as much time and effort as any man could give in a working day. Well, she would just have to see … There was plenty of time. They hadn’t even set a date for the wedding yet, although Edward had bought her a pretty little ring with three sapphires set in gold. She didn’t wear it often, though, because her work in the garden was not a place for delicate jewellery. She loved Ed with all her heart, but she didn’t want to rush into marriage. After all, the garden needed so much attention. The deadheading alone was an almost full-time occupation in June …

She sighed to see so many of the rose heads falling into the wheelbarrow as she snipped away. If only the best of the roses could last for ever; if only the best of life could last for ever, too: happy moments she never wanted to forget, always bright and complete in every detail instead of fading into the past. So much of her time lately she wanted to remember all her life: not just that magical evening when Ed had proposed beneath the shooting stars in the dark lane, but simple things, like finishing the decorating with Dora and celebrating with a well-earned cup of tea; the bookish conversations with Mr Shepherd; jokes with Sally on their walks to see him and back; the day Uncle Tom had first allowed her to set some new annuals in the herbaceous border entirely to her own planting scheme …

Then there was the little garden at the cottage, all tidy and flourishing now, with a new climbing rose, a present from Tom to Dora, growing beside the back door, and rows of flowers and vegetables. There was always a pretty jug of flowers on the table these days and Ellen knew her mother was happier now than she’d been for years. She’d put on a bit of weight, which suited her, and she was smiling much more, and singing as they cooked their tea together or pottered about in the garden.

‘You and me, love, we get on just grand, don’t we?’ she’d said only the previous evening when she and Ellen had taken their cups of tea outside to drink them sitting in the sun. ‘You know, Nellie, it’s so good not to have to worry all the time, to know when I come home that it’s going to be a nice evening.’

Ellen had hugged her mother. She understood exactly what Dora hadn’t said. No one was missing Philip.

This summer felt like a welcome respite from the unhappy summers of previous years, thought Ellen, snipping back another cluster of browned flowers on Mrs Stellion’s favourite red rose. Why would either she or her mother want anything to change – at least for the moment?

Gina closed the door of Mr Stellion’s study. She laid Edith’s book of telephone numbers down on the desk, picked up the phone and dialled.

The telephone rang at the other end once, twice, three times …

Come on, come on …

Gina was just thinking James must not be there when the phone was picked up and a woman’s voice said, ‘Hello?’

It had not occurred to Gina that anyone other than James would answer. Who was this woman? Suddenly she realised she knew nothing about James’s life at ‘his place’ in Pimlico.

‘Good afternoon,’ said Gina. ‘May I speak to James Stellion, please?’

‘He’s not here,’ said the woman.

‘Oh … when will he be back?’

‘I’ve really no idea,’ said the woman, unhelpfully. While Gina wondered what to do next, the woman seemed to relent because she said, ‘I’ll take a message for him, if you like. Who’s calling?’

‘It’s Gina. Please would you tell him Gina called and … just … I need to speak to him.’

‘Yes, all right, Gina, I’ll tell him,’ and she put the phone down.

Who was that? Gina’s mind was racing. James had certainly not said anything about a woman. Gina had always imagined he lived alone in his big house with his big garden. He might have a housekeeper of his own and maybe someone like Tom or Ellen to look after the garden. If she really examined her imaginings, she would have said that he lived alone because he was just waiting for the right time to ask her to come up to London to join him. Maybe that abrupt woman was the housekeeper … though her attitude had rather suggested she wasn’t a paid employee.

Gina walked up and down beside the desk a while, thinking and worrying. Now she had not only the opened parcel to worry about, but this mysterious woman as well. What if she was James’s girlfriend? Oh, good grief, it was possible. Gina had thought she was James’s girlfriend, but maybe that was only while he was in Lancashire. His life in London was entirely separate, she realised, and she knew she didn’t – couldn’t – trust him. That was rather the whole point of James Stellion and the business he was in: he was entirely untrustworthy.

Gina sank into James’s father’s chair and put her head in her hands. All she could do was wait until James telephoned and asked to speak to her. Then everything would become quite clear … or at least clearer. There was nothing she could do until then except hide the horrible brooch and those stupid hatpins in the box under her bed beside the contents of some other, rather more promising, parcels she had received lately.

She picked up the phone again and dialled the number for Fowler’s shop, hoping it would be Sally Mason who answered, and not Mr or Mrs Fowler. Gina had had enough awkward conversations for one day.

It was three days later that James telephoned the Hall. It was late morning and Gina had just come in from taking Coco for his walk when she heard the telephone ringing in George Stellion’s study. Luckily Mr Stellion was at the brewery and Gina, still keen to speak to James, knew that and rushed to get the call, barging into the little room without even thinking of knocking.

‘Grindle Hall.’

‘Gina, thank God it’s you. Listen—’

‘James! You got my message, then?’

‘What message? Never mind. Gina—’

‘No, it’s important. You see, that parcel—’

‘Gina, shut up and listen. The police have been to my lodgings and searched the place. They may be on their way to the Hall now. You have to get rid of the stuff.’

‘James, what are you talking about? Lodgings?’

‘What? Oh, shut up and listen, Gina. Take the stuff I sent you to Bella. You have to go now, before the police arrive. If they find it in your room, or with your prints on, you’ll be arrested, and if you squeak then I’ll be arrested, too, and we could both end up in prison.’

‘What, now? Go now?’

‘Yes! I said so, didn’t I? There’s no time to lose. Go straight away and put the stuff in a bag – some of it’s worth quite a bit and the police are looking for it – then take it to Bella.’

‘Why would the police come and look in my room? They know nowt about me.’

‘I’m … I’m not sure … they just might, but I’m certain they’ll come to the Hall and have a look around and ask questions, so just get rid of it to Bella and we’ll both be quite safe. If they were to question you and you slipped up, then they’d search your room, and if they were to find the stuff then you’d be in serious trouble, and that means that I would be as well. Serious trouble, Gina.’

‘James, where are you? Are you still in London, at your place in Pimlico?’

‘No, I told you, the police were there. I’m lying low at a friend’s place.’

‘James, when I rang the other day, who was that woman?’

‘What? What does that matter? Just go and get the stuff and take it to Bella and do it now.’

‘James—’

‘Please, Gina, just go and do that, for both our sakes. I’m not joking: the police could turn up any time. Can you do that for me, please, sweetheart? Just go and do it now, please.’ He was pleading and Gina felt suddenly breathless and very frightened. This was really happening and she could be arrested; they both could.

‘Right … right, I’m going now. I promise I’m doing that now, James, as soon as I’ve put the phone down.’

‘Good girl. I’ll come up and find you as soon as I can and I promise I’ll be very, very grateful. Now go!’

‘Yes … yes … I’m going.’ She put down the phone and stood trembling, her heart pounding.

Right, I’ve got to go now … with the stuff … to Bella.

She rushed out into the corridor and along to the door at the back of the hall. Coco, hearing her footsteps, gave a little bark and Edith called, ‘Gina, dear?’

Gina ran through the door and down the steps, past the kitchen, where Mrs Bassett was rolling out pastry and the delicious smell of chops grilling for lunch hung in the air.

‘Gina, love, is that you? Would you be able to …?’

Gina didn’t stop to hear what it was Mrs Bassett wanted. She rushed into her sitting room and grabbed her handbag, in which she kept the money she had taken from Mrs Thwaite’s dead husband’s jacket pocket all those months ago, and the money she had made fencing the loot, visiting the pawnbrokers and taking the better class of items to Bella. Someone of Gina’s status had no business having that much stashed away: she needed to take it with her now. She raced into her bedroom, threw herself down beside the bed and pulled out the boxes from underneath. There was a shopping bag hanging on her door and she grabbed it and tipped the contents of the boxes into it, shaking them roughly down. She needed something to put over the top, to stop anyone seeing and to keep them safe. There was Diana’s silk scarf on the dressing table. Gina tucked that over the jewellery, took her coat and hat and rushed out to the corridor, locking her sitting-room door and pocketing the key.

‘Gina, is that you, love?’ called Mrs Bassett again, but Gina was through the back door and into the courtyard in a moment.

She was just hurrying round to the drive when she saw a black car coming up towards the house. In it were two men in police uniform. She leaped back and flattened herself against the side wall so they would not see her, desperately trying to silence her gasping breath. It was exactly as James had said. The police were here to search the house.

She heard the car stop in front of the Hall and the policemen slamming the car doors. Then there was the sound of their footsteps crunching on the gravel. Oh Lord, they were coming round this way! Desperately Gina looked for somewhere to hide. If she was caught with her coat on, a large amount of cash in her handbag and a bag of stolen jewellery, too, there would be no story she could invent to save herself that they would believe. Quickly she ran light-footed across the courtyard to the outbuilding where she played with Coco. As usual the door was open and she nipped inside and stood behind the door, making herself as flat as she could, the incriminating bag of jewellery resting between her feet. She hardly dared breathe as she strained to hear if the police were coming to find her.

There was the sound of approaching footsteps and the two men said something to each other that she couldn’t hear. Then, after what seemed an age, their footsteps receded and she thought they must have gone round to the front of the house. Fortunately for her, she would not be available to answer the bell when they rang. They’d have to wait several minutes for Edith to rouse herself to go to the door, or for Dora to do so. But unfortunately for Gina, this meant she couldn’t escape down the drive because they’d see her.

Gina remembered a little path to the side of the outbuildings that ran parallel to the drive, then petered out not far from the gates. It may well have had a use when the Hall was built and the courtyard had been surrounded by stables. She crept out, past the bricks and the broom handle she had trained Coco to jump over, and sidled between the two buildings to the side of the courtyard, onto the old overgrown path, then fled down it in a swift kind of tiptoe, her footsteps almost silent on the weedy grass. When it got to the point that the path ceased, she crept to the camellias that bordered the drive and shouldered her way through. She was almost at the foot of the drive, and the policemen had left the big gates open. From the scratchy shelter of the dark shrubs she glanced up the drive and saw their parked car, but there was no one in sight. She’d have to be quick in case anyone noticed her from the windows. In seconds she was through the gates and into the lane.

As she set off at a fast walk in the direction of Great Grindle, she heard a bus approaching from the Whalley direction and she hurried to the bus stop just in time to hail it. What luck! Within minutes of leaving the Hall she was on her way, ultimately to Blackpool, by bus and then by train. She worked out the journey in her mind, not knowing the timetables but hoping to get to Blackpool by the end of the afternoon.

It was only as she sat waiting for the train at Preston railway station that Gina had a chance to catch her breath and think about what she’d done. James had said, ‘I’ll come up and find you as soon as I can,’ but find her where? Not at Grindle Hall. By now the police would have told Mrs Stellion the reason for their visit, and Gina’s absence would be sending out its own message loud and clear. She could not just go back when she’d sold the stolen items to Bella and pretend that nothing had happened.

She imagined returning to find the police still there and, worse, Mr Stellion himself questioning her in his study, asking very, very difficult questions … learning from her all about what his son really did in London and when he came to stay at the Hall. She could imagine George Stellion getting stricter and angrier the more he learned, and Edith would be sitting to the side of his desk patting her aching head and having the vapours. And then the police would descend on Gina with handcuffs and escort her out to their big black car. There would be Dora, standing at the door, watching her go past, weeping on Tom’s shoulder, and Nell beside her, looking stricken but brave, and as the officers drove away to the police station, to lock her in the cells, Coco would be watching her shameful departure through the windows, and whining …

‘Are you all right, love?’ It was a grey-haired woman asking.

‘Oh! Oh, yes … I’m all right, thank you.’ Gina sniffed and realised she’d been crying.

‘Not bad news, I hope?’ asked the woman. ‘I don’t want to pry but you look that sad it set me wondering if mebbe you could do with a cup of tea or summat.’

‘Oh, yes, please,’ said Gina.

She’d had nothing since fleeing the Hall and was now very thirsty. The lady seemed kind and, apart from taking the stolen items to Bella, Gina had nowhere to go and nothing to do. She had no job now – that was a certainty – and, really, she needed to think about her situation and make her own decisions, not just go along with whatever James had said. Look where that had landed her so far!

‘What time is your train?’ asked the woman.

‘I was thinking of going to Blackpool so there are plenty of trains,’ said Gina. ‘It doesn’t matter; I’ve nowt to be there for, really.’ She sniffed again and delved in her pocket for a handkerchief.

‘Ah, love, don’t you fret yourself,’ said the woman. ‘Come on, let’s have a sit-down and a cuppa and you can tell me all about it. A trouble shared and all that.’

Gina followed her to a little station café where she sat at a round table while the woman bought a pot of tea. All the time Gina was working on her story.

‘So, love,’ said the woman, as she poured Gina a cup of tea, ‘have you come far?’

‘From out Skipton way,’ said Gina. ‘I’ve just come from my mum’s funeral and now I’m alone in the world.’

The woman looked at Gina’s black dress and coat and nodded. ‘What, asked to leave, were you?’

‘Aye, by our landlord. We lived in a little cottage but now Mum’s gone I can’t afford to rent it by myself.’

‘Ah, you poor love. Here, drink your tea. My name’s Mary, by the way, Mary Hathersage.’

‘I’m Diana … Thornton,’ said Gina. The name Thornton flew into her head and she realised she must have seen it on a destination board. It was safer not to announce she was Gina Arnold in case her name hit the headlines in the next day’s newspapers.

‘Well, Diana, what are you going to Blackpool for? Do you know someone there you can go to?’

Gina shook her head. ‘Not a soul, but I thought, what with it being a place with a lot of visitors, I might be able to get a job there … in a shop or a café, mebbe.’

‘I reckon you might. It’s the beginning of the holiday season. But where would you stay, love? I take it you’ve not made any plans for that?’

‘No, Mrs Hathersage. I thought I’d see what I could find when I got there.’

‘Mm …’

They drank their tea in silence and Mary poured Gina a second cup.

‘The thing is, love, I’m not sure it’s safe for a pretty young woman like you to be finding her own way in a vast metropolis like Blackpool. You come across all sorts of chancers and the like.’

Gina suppressed a smile. Vast metropolis?

‘What do you mean, Mrs Hathersage?’

‘It’s Miss Hathersage, but call me Mary, please, love. I don’t stand on ceremony. I mean folk go to Blackpool to have a good time and there’s other folk only too willing to relieve them of their hard-earned wages while they’re there. You know, landlords and landladies who offer cheap rooms and it’s not as nice as they advertise. Too late then when they’ve got their hands on your money and there’s nowt for breakfast but stale toast and a filthy bathroom shared with ten others.’

Gina nodded. Mary Hathersage sounded as if she might have been taken for a ride herself at one time and was speaking from bitter experience.

‘Now, I’m not saying there aren’t plenty of honest folk in Blackpool, too, but it’s not allus easy to tell the good ’uns from the bad ’uns straight off, if you get my drift. When accommodation’s in demand, that’s when standards drop or chancers move in.’

Gina was impressed. ‘I reckon you could be right, Mary. It’s lucky for me that I met you and have fair warning.’

Mary patted Gina’s hand. ‘Well, I couldn’t let a little lamb like you wander where there might be wolves, could I, love?’

Gina nearly spilled her tea choking back her laughter, and had to cover it with coughing.

‘So, what you do think I should do, Mary?’ she asked.

‘Why, I reckon you should come home with me, love. I can put you up and you’ll be quite safe while you look for a job for yourself.’

Crikey, I never saw that coming. This could be the luckiest break of my life … or a really bad idea.

Gina studied Mary Hathersage, the upward creases round her kindly eyes, just like Uncle Tom had; her respectable hat and light coat over a flowered frock – the sort of garments Dora would call ‘good’. She appeared completely genuine.

Aye, but so do I and the police are after me. But what better place to lay low than in the company of a respectable elderly lady?

‘Have you room for me?’ Gina asked. ‘It’s that kind of you, but I wouldn’t want to put you out.’

‘Oh, it’s no bother, love,’ said Mary. ‘My sister, Ruth, and me, we have a little guesthouse in St Annes. We can accommodate you, no trouble.’

‘Well, that sounds lovely,’ said Gina. ‘I’m that grateful.’

‘Come on, then, Diana. Where’s your stuff?’

Gina gripped her shopping bag with the stolen items in it. ‘What stuff?’

‘Why, your luggage, of course, love. You weren’t thrown out with nowt but what you stood up in, surely?’

‘Oh, no … I … it was stolen. It was stolen between Skipton and here. Someone must have got off the train and taken it with them.’

Mary gave her an old-fashioned look. ‘Right … I’m sorry to hear that. So you’ve only that?’ She nodded at the shopping bag of stolen items.

‘Yes. I’m afraid so.’

‘Oh dear. We’ll have to see what we can do. Our train will be here directly so come along, Diana.’

Mary set off towards the platform for the St Annes train and Gina followed her, still wondering if this really was a sound move or absolute madness.