Joe detected a farewell-and-thanks-for-the-ride flavour to her speech. ‘What’s this? I don’t much care for your tone, Wentworth. What are you trying to say?’
‘Earlier in the day I offered you my resignation from the force. I meant it then and the day I’ve just been through has served to reinforce my decision. I don’t care to go to war, sir. I’ve had enough of bullets and bandages, male mischief-making and female grief. I’m leaving and here’s my letter of resignation.’ She produced it from her pocket.
He was irritated. ‘Don’t be rash. What on earth will a bright girl like you do in the world? Do you have other employment in mind? Jobs are scarce, you know. Ah! Hopkirk scared you off, has he? I ought to tell you – he scares everyone.’
‘Not at all. I’m going to sell hats, sir.’
‘What? Hats? Sell them? Did I hear you correctly?’
‘You did. My aunt Phyllis has a millinery business in Bruton Street. I’m going to work for her. When women try on a hat, they smile at themselves in the mirror. I like to see that. I’m going to take up a position that lets me put a smile on women’s faces instead of a grimace of pain.’
‘Anyone can say “Modom looks wonderful in that”. It takes a special kind of girl to tell a mother her son’s a murderer and he’s about to hang for his crime,’ Joe said quietly.
Lily tilted her chin in defiance and handed over the envelope.
Joe took it, stern faced, refusing to open it in her presence. He watched her turn away. She must be aware that no one could treat a senior officer with such lack of respect and get away with it. Not even his equals or superiors would descend to such rudeness. In a building patrolled by his minions, she could expect to find a heavy hand descending on her shoulder before she could make it out into the courtyard.
With a show of unconcern, he didn’t rise and come to open the door for her. While she struggled with the knob, he called after her, casual and cheery: ‘Off now, are you? Look – don’t think of going far, will you?’
As she closed the door behind her, his hand reached out to the electric buzzer on his desk.
Miss Jameson emerged from her room opposite just as Lily prepared to set off down the corridor. ‘Constable! A moment!’ She ducked back into her room.
Lily started off and then turned to see Miss Jameson stalking after her, carrying an extravagant bouquet of white flowers. They looked each other over in mutual puzzlement.
‘I’ve been keeping these fresh in my room since this morning,’ Miss Jameson said accusingly. ‘I think they’ve survived. Glad to be rid of them – they were making my room smell like a funeral parlour. The commander brought them in. He’d like you to have them.’
‘Me? Are you sure? But why?’ Lily said unguardedly.
Miss Jameson shrugged an elegant shoulder. ‘Who can say? If you don’t know, I’m sure no one else does. He’s a law unto himself. He’s known to indulge, on occasion, in … whimsicality.’ The distaste in her voice suggested whimsicality might well be accounted the eighth deadly sin. ‘There’s a note in there, you’ll find.’ She turned on her heel.
Alone in the corridor, Lily fished out a small florist’s envelope, opened it and took out a note written in black ink. Present yourself here at 6 p.m. Saturday week in Mata Hari mode. Something sparkling at the wrist and throat? I have another little problem you can help me with. JS.
Joe waited until he heard Miss Jameson’s door close again and Lily’s footsteps retreat down the corridor before he picked up the telephone and requested the internal number he had rung before.
‘She’s just left.’
Chapter Thirteen
A murmured question at the other end of the line prompted the response: ‘Oh, yes, I think so. In any case she’ll have to do … no time to look further. She’s the right age – which is to say a year or two younger than our friend. How old is he these days? Twenty-eight?
‘No, she’s not out of the top drawer, I’m afraid. The lowest grade for intake recommended by Sir Nevil – what was it? Upper shop-assistant level? Yes, pitch it there. Is that where you’d find millinery? Hats? But her behaviour’s acceptable. She’ll pass.’
He listened impatiently to a further query and answered briskly: ‘Well of course we have. But none of them has the other qualities we require. My cousin Margery might oblige, if I asked her … though she runs Girl Guides shindigs on Saturday nights, I believe. And I very much doubt she can do the tango.’
He eased the receiver a little way from his ear. ‘Well, there you are then. You’ll have to take what’s on offer. It’s a question of settling for the best balance. I’ve passed them all in review and you’ll have to take my word for it, this is the best we can do. Look – I took the precaution of trailing her before a friend … Lady Dedham … Cassandra. Knowing nothing to the contrary, she took her for one of our upper-class young ladies. In fact, the girl made a very favourable impression. No awkwardness at all, sympathetic and chatty, was the verdict. Cassandra’s asked to see her again – quite unprompted by me. “Someone I can really talk to,” she says. And Cassandra Dedham’s no one’s fool.