The Shadow of Treason Read Free Page A

Commercial traveller, isn’t he?’
    ‘Yes, he goes round all the shops in Essex.’
    ‘What’s he flogging?’
    ‘Household goods, he says. But I bet he does black market stuff as well.’
    ‘Black market’ meant illicit goods, illegally acquired, often bytheft and violence, and sold at inflated prices. German attacks on British shipping had created shortages. Essentials like food, clothing and petrol were safeguarded by rationing. Luxuries like spirits, tobacco, and nylon stockings became rare. This was where black marketeers made their money.
    ‘Well,’ said Adam, ‘I must say he looks slimy enough.’
    Jane was contemptuous. ‘Slimy’s the word,’ she agreed. ‘He’s always hinting that he can get me nylons if I’m nice to him. Eugh! Fat chance!’
    ‘Look, if he gives you any trouble, let me know. I’ll deal with him.’
    ‘Thanks. But I can usually cope with creeps like that. I’ve had practice.’
    The coffee arrived, and Jane changed the subject.
    ‘Adam … is it all right if I call you Adam?’
    ‘Of course.’
    ‘Adam, there is something I’d like your help with.’
    ‘Then you’ll have it.’
    ‘Mark’s stuff is still in his room. The police wouldn’t allow anything to be touched until after the inquest. But now Mum needs to let the room. So someone has to clear it out.’
    ‘And, because you were his friend, she thinks it’s a job for you.’
    ‘Right. And I don’t fancy doing it on my own.’
    ‘That’s understandable. I’ll be glad to help.’
    ‘Oh, thanks! That’s a great relief. Mark didn’t have many belongings. There’s a few spare clothes and things that can go to the Salvation Army. But we’ll have to go through the pockets. And there are a few personal bits and pieces we’ll have to think about.’
    ‘Don’t worry. We’ll sort it out.’
    ‘It won’t be so depressing with two of us. Oh, and there are some bits of post that arrived since Mark’s death. We’ll have to go through those.’
    ‘Yes, I saw some stuff for him in the hall.’
    ‘I put it in his room for safety. The thing is, Mum wants theplace cleared by the end of the week. But I can’t do tomorrow, I’m at the theatre.’
    ‘And I can’t do Thursday or Friday – we’ve got a major experiment on. Look, I’m off to work now, but I’ll be back at the Cavendish by nine. We can make a start this evening, if you like. If we reach some decisions, I can take things to the Sally Army in Southend tomorrow.’
    ‘Right. That’s really good of you, Adam. I’ll be waiting in the lounge at nine o’clock. Gosh, you’ve really cheered me up.’
    Adam called for the bill. This time there was no movement from the man with the newspaper. He was totally absorbed in his reading.

    Emily Hart hadn’t intended to be a businesswoman. As a child, she’d hoped for a theatrical career. There’d been singing and dancing lessons, and bits in school plays and concerts. She’d even appeared briefly on the professional stage, as one of the fairies in
Where the Rainbow Ends
, a Christmas attraction at a theatre near her London home. But family money was tight and, when no further offers came along, she’d had to settle for an office job.
    Then came marriage, the birth of her daughter, and the move to a semi-detached house in Essex, thought to be a healthier environment for Jane to grow up in. After a few years her husband Fred tired of commuting to London to work every day, and they took out another mortgage, bought the adjoining house, built an extension, and converted the whole into the Cavendish. Fred and Emily were hard workers, and the business prospered. By the time Fred died, in 1938, the mortgages were paid off, and Emily had some staff to help her.
    The Cavendish had ten rooms available for guests, and offered a modest serve-yourself breakfast. Cereal packets, bread, margarine, toaster, electric kettle, teapot and other attendant necessities stood on the sideboard each day until 9.30 a.m. Cold