“Fancy another serving, Hans?” Mavis poised a spoon over a serving dish displaying the remains of their evening meal of rabbit stew with dumplings and carrots.
“No, thank you. It was delicious. Shall we not keep the rest for Miss Grace?”
It was Monday. Both Mavis and Grace had returned to work. Mavis put the lid back on the dish. “I’ve got a helping set aside for her. I don’t know why she’s so late and it’s getting parky out. Now for a bit of pudding!”
“There is a pudding?”
“Aye. Hold on.”
Mavis collected plates and serving dish and whisked into the scullery. “It’s a favourite of mine. Apple crumble, still warm from the oven. Sorry, hinney, custard’s off but the empire won’t crumble for lack of it!”
She spooned out crumble. Rain rattled harder against the roof. “It’s stotting down like stair rods,” she called over her shoulder. “I’ll have to lend you me umbrella.”
“I hope Miss Grace is not working in the rain.”
Mavis put Hans’ crumble down on the table harder than necessary. His interest in Grace had begun to annoy Mavis, but why should it? She was very fond of him, but merely in a friendly way.
The kitchen door opened. Turning to greet Grace, Mavis saw instead a tall sandy-haired man in soaked clothing. Her heart froze.
The visitor stamped in. His grin vanished when he spotted Hans. “Who the bloody hell are you?” he demanded in a loud voice.
“Welcome home, Ronny,” Mavis’ words came out in a strangled whisper.
Hans stood and bowed. “Goedenavond, sir. I am Hans van—”
Mavis’ husband reddened with rage. “What the hell are you playing at, Mavis? I come home and find a bloody Hun talking German to me in me own kitchen!”
Mavis stepped between the two men. “Nothing, Ronny, honest. He’s a refugee. And he’s not German.” She moved and spoke automatically. She felt as if she were watching herself in a nightmare.
Ronny sneered. “That’s what you say. Look at the bugger! Blue-eyed, tall, blond. I suppose he left his jackboots at home.” He leaned forward and prodded Hans’ chest with a nicotine-stained finger. “And don’t tell me you’re a refugee, either.”
“I am, for I have come from the Netherlands, sir,” Hans replied in a dignified tone.
“And it’s crawling with bloody Germans right now! So this is what you get up to behind me back, is it, Mavis? When you wrote you were waiting for a lodger to arrive I expected it would be a woman.”
“That’s right!” Mavis snapped back. “She’s over at the police station right now.”
Ronny’s face got redder. “Arrested for streetwalking or was it shoplifting? Or flogging stuff on the black market? Perfect company for a slut like you!”
“I think it best I leave,” Hans said, addressing Mavis. “Thank you for the meal.” Taking his jacket he shrugged it on, bowed silently to Ronny, and departed through the scullery.
“Good riddance to bad rubbish! And don’t come back!” Ronny shouted after him. “And now, my lady, a word with you. So you have men to dinner behind me back, do you? The kind of swine who’ve been trying to sink me ship. The swine I’ve been on the lookout for, freezing me backside off halfway to the North Pole. Meanwhile one’s in me kitchen at home. And me bedroom as well, no doubt. Isn’t that right, Mavis?”
He kicked her chair aside. It hit the fireplace fender with a metallic crash as he caught her arm and pulled her toward him, snatching away the fork she hastily picked up from the table. “No, you don’t!”
His familiar smell—alcohol and sweat—enveloped her. Since he’d been gone she’d awakened from this nightmare many times.
He tightened his grasp on her wrist, digging his fingers in the way he always did. “You’ve forgotten your lessons, dearest. I’ll have to teach you all over again.”
***
Returning from the station Grace’s mood was darker than the street. Sergeant Baines had assigned her to take over Robinson’s desk duties for the day. There were also files to be arranged. The orders had been passed on to Grace by an apologetic Wallace, Baines remaining absent. Robinson’s typing jobs piled up, thanks to Grace’s lack of typing skills and the filing went very slowly, indeed. She hoped her incompetence at desk work would be noted.
It was raining hard. She splashed through deep puddles she couldn’t see to avoid.
The day was not a total loss. During the afternoon Wallace took her aside. “I’ve made inquiries and come up with some interesting information on our elusive Mr. Rutherford. You may want to pursue it.”
When he told her what it was she’d kicked herself for not thinking of it herself. “But will Sergeant Baines approve?”
Wallace smiled. “I haven’t been able to get in touch with him so I guess we’ll have to assume he’d want you to continue your interviews.”
Though it had been a long day, the prospect of further work not involving a desk energized Grace. She’d grab a bite to eat and then—
Footsteps sounded behind her. Turning, she made out a gleam of light from a shaded torch. She had the impression the torch-bearer was tall.
“Hans!” She took a few steps toward him.
“Sorry, you’re not my type!” came the reply from a stranger.
She blushed furiously. “I’m not…I mean, I mistook you for a friend and—”
As he passed, his eyes widened. “Sorry, Constable, I didn’t see the uniform.”
Who was more embarrassed? She covered the rest of the distance to the maisonette faster than was prudent in the dark. To her surprise the front door was unlocked. Alarmed, she pushed it open.
A tall, sandy-haired man was raising a fist to hit Mavis in the face.
“Stop!” Grace yelled.
The stranger saw the uniform, lowered his fist, and let Mavis go. “You got here fast. I suppose the neighbours complained about the noise? Or did her German friend go running for help? What am I supposed to do, coming home on leave and finding me wife all cozy with her fancy man—?”
“You’re lucky I didn’t see any violence,” Grace interrupted calmly. “I did see a distinct physical threat.”
“You women always stick together,” Ronny sneered.
“For heaven’s sake,” Mavis burst out. “This is my lodger. She happens to be with the police.”
“Is this place a bloody railway station? At the rate people are coming and going, it may as well be. To think of a copper living in me house! As for you, Mavis—” he pointed at her. “When I get back from the pub, there better be a proper welcome for the homecoming warrior.”
“Warrior? Fancy yourself, don’t you!”
Ronny took a step toward her, thought better of it, and left, slamming the door behind him.