None of us returned to the office on Monday. Mr. Elliot had been quick to call Mrs. Porter, and she had been even swifter to seek legal advice. Although Guy had been right about contractual obligations to publish the final issue of Woman’s Friend, Mrs. Porter dug in her heels. Finally, and after missing the regular print deadline, she relented, but only to the extent that Guy, Mr. Newton, and Mrs. Mahoney would be allowed into the office to deliver the magazine for production. Mrs. Pye had also been included. Even after everything Mrs. Porter had said, she still expected Madame to turn up. My hunch was that she didn’t trust Guy.
The rest of us were banned from going in.
It was a final petty act on the part of Mrs. Porter. She did, of course, know from reading the magazine that we had told readers to write in if they wanted our help. We had not heard a peep from her. Now I was sure Mr. Elliot would have reported about the stacks of unopened post. It was why she didn’t let us back in to finish the job.
Instead, I stayed at home with very little to do. The children were back at school, and Harold had set himself the task of finding a new job, so the house was empty, which was not what I needed at all. I finished off the few Yours Cheerfully letters I had at home and then phoned Captain Davies at the station and explained I was free if he needed me. After that I got out the notes Horace Batley-Norris had kindly sent and set about sorting out the cold frame in the garden to sow cauliflowers for next year.
It all took me until Monday lunchtime.
Talk about going from sixty miles an hour to nothing. Three months ago, Thelma and I had been sitting at the fire station cheerfully moaning to each other that we were tired and could do with a holiday.
I bet she’d tell me what I should do now.
I got out my notebook and started to write out a to-do list. That took ten minutes. I wandered around the quiet house and then checked on the animals, who were still as well as they had been an hour ago. I couldn’t wait until the children got home from school.
On Friday lunchtime, Guy came round. The last issue was done. Mr. Elliot had paced around all week like a prison warden, but Guy had been able to go through his office properly and make sure he had taken home everything he needed. He, Mr. Newton, and Mrs. Mahoney had agreed they would all meet up again very soon, and with everyone else as well. And that was it. I had never seen him look so down.
I found a bottle of stout and handed it to him. He didn’t even drink stout, but it was all we had, and anyway, he looked as if he needed it. We sat in the garden in the September sun and said very little.
“This is absurd,” he said after a while. “It was just a job.”
“Absolutely,” I said flatly.
“It was about time I had a change. Been there too long.”
“True.”
“I was thinking I might see if there’s anything at the Ministry.”
“So was I.”
We both laughed, without much enthusiasm.
“Talk about switching sides,” said Guy.
“I just wish we could have finished things properly,” I said, failing in my determination not to torture us both. “As Mrs. Mahoney said. I wish we’d got the bloody letters out. I should have thought it through. I hate the idea of them all going into the salvage without even being opened.”
Guy took a large sip of his drink. “I tried to see Johnny Overton again,” he said. “He refused to meet.”
“What will happen to the office?” I asked.
“I imagine they’ll close it all up. I assume Porter doesn’t want anything, so there’s a good chance the The Chronicle journos will sneak in and nick any supplies. I know I would.”
“I took two pencils,” I said, coming clean.
“A hole punch and two bottles of ink,” said Guy, and raised his glass to me. “Highly unlikely to ever need a hole punch, of course, but I thought I’d take it anyway.”
“Quite right too,” I agreed. “Although won’t they lock up the offices to stop that sort of thing, now?”
“I don’t know,” said Guy. “They hadn’t changed the locks on the doors when I left. I don’t think they care. She’s just waiting for WLP’s cheque.”
I nodded vaguely and watched Laurel and Hardy in their run. I envied their contentment.
“So,” I said after a few moments, “anyone could just walk into the office?”
Guy nodded. “As long as they can get past reception.”
“And they have a key,” I said.
Guy nodded again. “Oh, I nearly forgot,” he said, reaching into his pocket. “I got you a present.”
He threw something at me, which I easily caught.
“A lot of people are still waiting for help,” he said.
I uncurled my fingers and looked at the large metal key. “Tomorrow?” I asked.
“It was never in doubt,” answered Guy.