When Wishes Come True (17 page)

‘I think we both know the answer to that in our hearts, Cyril. If we don’t try, we will always wonder what the truth is. I definitely think we should waste no time, enough has been lost already. We may be disillusioned at the end of our search, but at least we will have tried and will not be burdened with guilt for the rest of our lives. But rather than hire a private detective, I would like to start the search myself. I would feel I was helping Charles. I could start at the property letting office in Moorfields. I know that many years have passed, but they must keep records. Have you any recollection of the date Evelyn left Princes Avenue? That would be a help.’

Cyril rubbed his chin, his brow furrowed in concentration. ‘I remember the baby was born on the eighteenth of September, the maid brought a note to inform me. That was in seventeen. Evelyn and the baby left the house one month later. That means her daughter will be eight next week.’ A catch came to his voice, and an unwelcome tear to his eyes. ‘What a stupid, blind fool I’ve been to have left it so long! If she is Charles’ daughter, I have missed seven years of my granddaughter’s life.’

‘Come now, Cyril, this is no time for self-pity. If we find the girl, and find proof that she is your granddaughter, then think of the happiness it will bring you and your wife. It would change your whole lives, give you something to live for. It will also give you back a part of your son. If we are not successful in finding mother and daughter, then you will have lost nothing. But let’s think positive, it’s half the battle.’

‘Are you sure you want to take such a task on, my dear boy?’ Cyril asked. ‘I would willingly hire a detective.’

Oscar shook his head. ‘I want to do it to put your mind at rest, and my own. But most of all, I want to do it for Charles.’

The following morning Oscar entered the premises of the property letting office in Moorfields. He was well dressed and had an air of authority about him, so one of the two men behind the counter came over to him immediately. ‘Can I help you, sir?’

‘I hope so, my good man, but my quest is not an easy one. I am trying to trace a woman who may have rented a house from you in October nineteen seventeen. Rather a long shot, I know, but I would be grateful if you could assist me. It’s important to a friend that we should trace this woman and her child.’

‘We keep records of all our tenants, sir, and they go back some twenty years. If you can give me the family’s name, I can certainly look it up for you.’

‘The lady in question is a Mrs Lister-Sinclair, and she was a widow with a new baby.’

The man’s face showed his surprise, for the Lister-Sinclair name was known by most business people in the city. ‘Oh, I don’t think I can help you, sir. I’ve worked here since the office opened, twenty years ago, and know all the names of the people who rent our property. I can safely say I would have remembered if anyone of that name had registered with us, it is a name well known in the city.’

Oscar’s heart sank for a second, then he had an idea. ‘It is possible the lady married again, so could I crave your indulgence and ask to look in your tenants’ book for a name I might recognise? I am prepared to pay you a pound for your time.’

The man’s colleague left the person he was talking to and came down the counter. A pound was almost a week’s wages, and he wanted his share. Particularly as he was the senior clerk. ‘Bring the book out, Watson, and let the gentleman look through himself to see if any of the names rings a bell.’ He gave Oscar his best smile. ‘We are always willing to help, sir.’

The large, hardbacked book was well thumbed, and as the clerk opened it a sprinkling of dust rose from its spine. Although he was seeing it upside down, Oscar could see the first dates were in January, and said, ‘Could you start at the October entries, please? I believe that would be nearer the time she would have applied to you for rented accommodation.’

The clerk turned the book around so Oscar could read the entries. ‘If as you say, sir, the lady may have married again, then she would have registered under her new husband’s name. But if you wish to check, then you are very welcome.’

Oscar was beginning to think he was on a wild goose chase. He had lost the feeling of optimism he’d had when he’d walked into the shop. It all seemed pretty hopeless if the two clerks didn’t remember a name that would stick in most people’s minds. Still, the man had been kind enough to take the trouble of rooting the book out, the least he could do was take a look. He went down the list of names, and was about to admit defeat when the name Mrs E. Sinclair seemed to jump off the page. He tried not to let his excitement show, he didn’t want to divulge any of Cyril’s private business.

‘This is a possibility – Mrs E. Sinclair. There was a slight tiff in the family and to alter her name was probably her way of getting her own back. All over a silly quarrel, she was just cutting off her nose to spite her face. Anyhow, it’s worth a try, so if you would be good enough to give me her address, I would be most grateful.’

‘Oh, I couldn’t give you her present address, sir. She is no longer a tenant of ours. She handed in her rent book several years ago. I can remember her vaguely, an attractive woman. A bit standoffish, if my memory serves me right, but a good looker.’

‘When she left, did she leave you a forwarding address, or give you any idea where she was moving to?’

The senior clerk had finished with his customer and came down the counter. ‘I remember her, too, sir, she rented from us for about four years. When she came in with her money for the week’s notice, I did ask why she was leaving and where she was going. But she was reluctant to talk, merely said she had found somewhere more suitable.’

‘Would you be allowed to give me her old address, then, and I can try the neighbours there, see if she was more forthcoming with them?’

The older man nodded. ‘Get the books out, Watson, and help the gentleman. If I am not mistaken, Mrs Sinclair rented a property in Bedford Road. But if you go through the books, you can give him the correct address. And please be quick about it, Watson, I’m sure the gentleman hasn’t got time to waste.’

The clerk disappeared into a back office and was away for ten minutes. When he returned he had a look of triumph on his face and dust all over his jacket. ‘I’ve got it, sir. I’ll write the address down for you when I’ve wiped some of the dust off my hands.’ The pound note he’d been promised would now have to be shared with his senior, which he felt was a bit unfair, but still, ten bob was a lot of money and his wife would be over the moon when he handed it over to her. They’d be able to have a roast dinner on Sunday, with a large joint of meat. ‘I do hope you are successful, sir,’ he said, handing over a piece of paper with an address on. ‘Bedford Road is easy to find, it’s off Stanley Road and the trams stop on the corner.’

‘That is exceedingly kind of you, you have been most helpful. But I know where Bedford Road is, and I have my own transport.’ Oscar dipped his hand into his waistcoat pocket and brought out the pound note he’d carefully folded before entering the office. ‘Here you are, my good man, this is for your co-operation which I can assure you was most appreciated.’

He placed the note on the counter and out of the corner of his eye could see the senior clerk edging his way towards it. He knew that as soon as the door closed behind him the two men would argue over how the money should be shared.

Once out of the property letting office, Oscar walked the few yards to his car. Sitting behind the wheel, he glanced at the slip of paper, made a mental note of the address, and slipped it into his jacket pocket. Then as he switched on the ignition, he said aloud, ‘I can but try. For Cyril’s sake, and my own, I pray I have some success.’

It wasn’t a great distance from the city centre to Bedford Road, and soon Oscar was sitting outside the house where Evelyn and her daughter had lived. It was a come-down from what she was used to, but nevertheless it was a nice road with plenty of greenery in the gardens, and the houses looked solid and well cared for. He decided not to knock on the door of the address he’d been given but instead to knock at a neighbour’s house and ask if the tenant had been living there at the time Evelyn lived next door. It was to be hoped the person wouldn’t think he was up to no good and slam the door in his face. But he assured himself that, although he wasn’t gifted with film-star looks, he didn’t look disreputable enough to be a beggar.

Oscar failed to notice, as he opened the iron gate, that the net curtain in the front window was already twitching. The woman watching him was asking herself who this swank was, coming to her house. He wasn’t a canvasser, and certainly not a rag and bone man. His clothes were expensive, and there was the car parked outside her house. She’d never had a toff like him walking up her path before, and she’d never known anyone who had a car. Perhaps she shouldn’t open the door to a stranger, ’cos her Ted would go mad if she let herself be talked into anything. Only last week she’d bought some pegs off a gypsy because she believed it was bad luck to refuse, and her husband called her for all the silly buggers going. But she couldn’t not open the door to this man ’cos she wouldn’t sleep tonight for wondering what he’d wanted. So, when the knock came, Sarah Higgins straightened her pinny and patted her hair before opening the door. She mightn’t have much money, but she did have her pride.

‘I’m sorry to bother you,’ Oscar said, ‘but I’ve come to see if you can help me trace someone for a friend of mine. Her name was Evelyn Sinclair, and I believe she was once a neighbour of yours?’

Sarah nodded. ‘She used to live next door, yes.’ The thought entered her head that if she did tell this toff what she thought of her former neighbour, then she didn’t want the neighbours to know. And remembering she’d given the parlour a good dusting and polishing this morning, she thought she may as well show off. ‘Would you like to come in?’ she asked in her very poshest voice. ‘I’m not one for standing at the door nattering, I think it’s common.’

Oscar was amused, but didn’t let it show in his smile. ‘That is most kind of you, and also very trusting. After all, you don’t know me and I could be a bogeyman.’

‘I’m a pretty good judge of character,’ Sarah said, holding the door open and hoping all the neighbours were watching. ‘The parlour is the first door on your left. I’m sorry there isn’t a fire going, but my husband and I use the living room in the winter.’ She congratulated herself on speaking in her best accent. ‘Unless you are cold, of course. If so we can go through to the living room and I can make a pot of tea.’

‘That’s jolly good of you! Yes, I would like that. A cup of tea is always welcome.’

Ten minutes later he was sitting facing her across a table covered by a maroon chenille cloth, with an aspidistra plant standing square in the centre.

‘This is really very kind of you, Mrs, er, Mrs …?’

‘Mrs Higgins – Sarah Higgins. And can I ask your name, please?’

‘Oscar Wentworth, Mrs Higgins, and I have to say I am quite overwhelmed by your hospitality.’

Sarah, who had used her best china cups and saucers, waved the compliment aside. ‘I would never keep anyone on the step, especially someone as respectable-looking as yourself. And about Mrs Sinclair – did you say a friend of yours was trying to find her?’

Oscar had no intention of bringing Cyril’s name into the conversation, so he chose his words carefully. ‘Yes, he is quite elderly, and met her many years ago. He knew she had a daughter and was wondering how they were faring. It’s not desperately important that he find her, mind you, but I took it upon myself to try, as a surprise to him. That’s if I can trace her, of course.’

‘Well, much as I’d like to help you, I’m afraid I can’t tell you a lot about her, or where she is now. She wasn’t a very friendly person, not the neighbourly type at all. I did offer to help when she was moving in, and so did the neighbour on the other side of her, but she turned us down. Several times in the winter I knocked to say I’d mind the baby while she went to the shops, but no, she refused point blank. If the weather was bad she’d leave the baby in the house alone while she went shopping. And she didn’t turn you down in a nice way, she didn’t even have the grace to thank you for offering. So after that I didn’t bother because she was a cold person and very stuck-up. Thought she was too good for the people round here.’ Then Sarah decided she’d better watch her tongue in case she landed herself in trouble. ‘The baby was a lovely little thing, though, very quiet and good. I used to feel sorry for her ’cos she seldom went out. And for a child of her age, she was very well spoken. She sounded more like a grown-up than a child, but that’s ’cos she never mixed with other children.’

‘Did she take after her mother in looks?’ Oscar asked casually. ‘My friend said Mrs Sinclair was an attractive woman.’

Sarah pursed her lips and frowned as she tried to bring pictures of the couple to mind. ‘Mrs Sinclair had dark hair, but the girl’s was much darker, almost jet black. And their eyes were different, if my memory serves me right. The mother’s were dark brown, but the girl’s were more of a greeny-hazel. She had her mother’s way of speaking and walked like her, with her back as straight as a rod. I can still hear Mrs Sinclair’s voice coming through the wall, saying, “Straighten your back, Amelia, and hold your head high.” I often said to myself that she’d make the girl into an old woman before she’d had her childhood.’

Oscar felt his heart pounding as memories of Charles’ face flashed into his mind. His friend with his green eyes lit up with humour and a lock of black hair falling on to his forehead. The images seemed so real he felt he could reach out and touch the man who had been his friend for years, and for whom he still grieved. He mentally shook away the memories, for he could see Sarah watching him. ‘Was she a good mother to the child?’

‘She thought she was, but you wouldn’t find any neighbours who would agree with her.’ She caught and held Oscar’s eyes. ‘I don’t know you from Adam, and I’m probably talking out of turn, but so help me God, I’m speaking the truth. There was no love in that house while Mrs Sinclair lived there. Far from being a good mother, she didn’t seem to have any affection for that poor child. And although it’s a few years now since they left, I often think about them. Not the mother, I couldn’t care less what happens to her, but I’d like to know if the girl is being well treated. Trying to look on the bright side, I keep telling myself she’ll be going to school now, and will probably have made friends of her own age to play with. I certainly hope so, she deserves better than she was getting when she lived here.’