“No,” said Tony. “I'm sorry but it would be quite impossible.
We'll get a lovely present for you to take back to her.”
“All right … One gentleman gave her a fairy bicycle for Christmas.
She fell off and cut her knee … When do we start?”
“Would you like to go by train or car?”
“Oh train.
Winnie's sick if she goes in a car.”
“Winnie's not coming.”
“No, but let's go by train anyway.”
So it was decided that they should meet at Victoria on Saturday afternoon.
Jock gave Babs ten shillings and he and Tony went home.
Tony had not slept much lately.
He could not prevent himself, when alone, from rehearsing over and over in his mind all that had happened since Beaver's visit to Hetton; searching for clues he had missed at the time; wondering where something he had said or done might have changed the course of events; going back further to his earliest acquaintance with Brenda to find indications that should have made him more ready to understand the change that had come over her; reliving scene after scene in the last eight years of his life.
All this kept him awake.
Two
There was a general rendezvous at the first class booking office.
The detectives were the first, ten minutes before their time.
They had been pointed out to Tony at the solicitor's office so that he should not lose them.
They were cheerful middle-aged men in soft hats and heavy overcoats. They were looking forward to their week-end, for most of their daily work consisted in standing about at street corners watching front doors and a job of this kind was eagerly competed for in the office.
In more modest divorces the solicitors were content to rely on the evidence of the hotel servants.
The detectives were a luxury and proposed to treat themselves as such.
There was a slight fog in London that day.
The station lamps were alight prematurely.
Tony came next, with Jock at his side, loyally there to see him off.
They bought the tickets and waited.
The detectives, sticklers for professional etiquette, made an attempt at self-effacement, studying the posters on the walls and peering from behind a pillar.
“This is going to be hell,” said Tony.
It was ten minutes before Milly came.
She emerged from the gloom with a porter in front carrying her suitcase and a child dragging back on her arm behind her.
Milly's wardrobe consisted mainly of evening dresses, for during the day she usually spent her time sitting before a gas-fire in her dressing gown.
She made an insignificant and rather respectable appearance.
“Sorry if I'm late,” she said.
“Winnie here couldn't find her shoes.
I brought her along too.
I knew you wouldn't really mind.
She travels on a half ticket.”
Winnie was a plain child with large gold-rimmed spectacles.
When she spoke she revealed that two of her front teeth were missing.
“I hope you don't imagine she's coming with us.”
“Yes, that's the idea,” said Milly.
“She won't be any trouble — she's got her puzzle.”
Tony bent down to speak to the little girl.
“Listen,” he said. “You don't want to come to a nasty big hotel.
You go with this kind gentleman here.
He'll take you to a shop and let you choose the biggest doll you can find and then he'll drive you back in his motor to your home.
You'll like that, won't you?”
“No,” said Winnie. “I want to go to the seaside.
I won't go with that man.
I don't want a doll.
I want to go to the seaside with my mummy.”