Page 147 of The Stranger in Room Six

‘I think I owe you.’

‘I don’t understand.’

Frannie sighed. ‘Remember my brother who threw those pheasants out of the house? He was convinced you were working with your aunt and the Colonel to help the Nazis. He’d seen you in the woods and thought you were leaving messages for other sympathizers.’

‘I didn’t know that then.’

‘I believe you but he went to the police. He said he didn’t have any firm evidence but you were put on their list of “people to be observed”.’

Mabel thought back to when the police had questioned her.

‘I thought I was helping the country.’

‘I believe you. That’s why I’m going to help you now.’

To Mabel’s amazement, Frannie spits on her finger.

‘Do the same,’ she orders.

Mabel does as instructed, and they rub their fingers together.

‘Now, remember what we promised each other all those years ago?’

‘Friends for ever,’ murmurs Mabel.

‘Exactly. And it seems that I’ve also returned to the Old Rectory, just as you’d asked me to. Now let’s get to work, shall we?’

It was a risk, both the lawyer and Harry argued. What if it went against them? But it didn’t. Frannie, or Dame Frances as she was known after being honoured for her services to the legal profession, was right. Shedidpull weight amongst all sections of society.

There was a long editorial in one of the Sunday papers, where Frannie likened Mabel’s situation during the war to that of a child being groomed by criminals.

Frannie described her childhood friendship with Mabel:Although traumatized by her mother and sister’s deaths, she tried her best to fit in and help with the war effort, giving food to the poor (myself included), fundraising, knitting socks and making camouflage nets. In 1945 she opened her home free of charge to convalescents and then families who simply needed a break by the sea.

It struck a nerve amongst readers.Mine was one of those families, wrote Doris from Bexhill.Mabel Marchmont was kindness itself. I came from a family of eleven. We’d never seen the sea before. Those two weeks at the Old Rectory are still some of the happiest days of my life.

Then there was an anonymous letter printed in one of the broadsheets.My mother was recruited into the Blackshirt movement. She wasn’t posh like Mabel Marchmont. She didn’t have two pennies to rub together. They offered her new clothes if she’d run errands for them. Later, on her death bed, she confessed this to me. She was deeply ashamed. I now carry that shame of having a mother who could have been responsible – if things had gone the other way – for us being invaded. So I don’t blame this old lady. She was taken in just like my mum was.

More letters came flooding in. It was consoling to find there were others who had to live with the shame of parents or relatives who’d supported the enemy.

Sure enough, other papers joined in, and there was a slewof articles supporting Mabel and condemning the hate she had suffered.

The ebb of residents leaving the home began to slow. It looked as if Mabel’s reputation – and that of the Sunnyside Home for the Young at Heart – was slowly being restored.

108

Belinda

Despite my efforts with the locket, Mabel ignores me as I go about my care duties. I’ve lost my friend. A woman who, a year ago, I hadn’t even known. But Mabel has become such an important part of my life that I cannot bear to see the distrust in her eyes.

A week later, I go to the manager to hand in my notice. It’s only right that I leave Mabel to live out her last years in peace. Hopefully my short experience here will help me find another job, although I’m nervous about using the fake DBS certificate again; I might not be able to fool another home so easily. Besides, I don’t want to lie any more.

‘She’s in a meeting at the moment,’ says the manager’s secretary. ‘Please wait in her office. She won’t be long.’

As I wait, the phone rings. No one comes in so I answer it.

‘Hello?’

‘Is this the manager I am speaking to please?’