Free Without the Moon by Cathi Unsworth Page A

join her staff at Balcome Place – I was such an admirer of everything she did for the suffrage, you know.”
    â€œIndeed I do,” Swaffer nodded gravely. “Lady Denman and I once attempted a raid on Parliament. Our plan was to float a suffragette over the House in a hot-air balloon, whereupon she would shower down leaflets about the plight of the ladies on hunger strike. Would have made a terrific front cover. Except that the wind was blowing in the wrong direction and she floated off down to Tilbury Docks instead.” He shook his head. “Sorry,” he said, “I digress.”
    For the first time, a tremor of a smile played on Daphne’s lips.
    â€“ . –
    â€œGordon,” said Lil, staring hard at the tablecloth as she summoned back the conversation at the salon. “Mol said the fella’s name was Gordon. And his pal was called Felix.” She looked back up at Greenaway, the pupils of her eyes so dark and dilated her irises looked totally black.
    Greenaway felt a familiar tingle in his blood as she said it, as if he was back on the racetrack and a tip was coming good.
    â€œFunny name, Felix,” Lil went on. “Posh boys, I s’pose – they said they was training to be officers in the RAF, had some little white slips in their hats to prove it.” Her frown deepened and her stare intensified. “They only take them sort to be officers, don’t they? They don’t take no commoners – nor Romans, neither.”
    The Duchess put her hand down softly on Lil’s arm. “Well remembered, love,” she said, patting her, “you never told us their names before.”
    â€œI only just remembered them,” Lil turned her gaze on her companion. “You was late that morning, Duch, where d’you get to anyway? You never said …”
    â€œNever mind that now,” Duch’s mothering fingers gave a sharp little squeeze before she let go. Greenaway noticed the smile tighten at the corners of her mouth. “Is there anything else you need to tell the Inspector you never thought of before?”
    â€œNo,” Lil winced, pulling her arm away. “Oh,” her features transformed, as quickly as the sun coming out behind clouds, the warmth of her smile resting on Greenaway. “One thing I’d like to know. If you’re a friend of Mr Swaffer’s, then you probably know my Tom – Tom Power, or Frank I should say – he was the crime reporter on the Evening Sentinel and he was always after Sammy Lehmann, too. I wondered if you’d heard from him at all, since he got the draft?”
    Greenaway’s mind shimmied like a tic-tac man calling the odds. Tom Power, that nosy little bastard? Had he been seeing this undoubtedly beautiful but at the same time fatally fallen woman while he was out chasing gangsters and then waxing moralistic in the linen drapers? What would Mrs Power think?
    Mirroring this imagined countenance, the face of the Duchess flashed white.
    â€œCourse he don’t, Lil,” she said before he could reply. “And even if he does, he ain’t got time for gossip now. He’s got a killer to catch, ain’t he?” She got to her feet. “I’ll see you out, Ted, if there’s nothing more we can help you with?”
    Greenaway got to his feet. “No,” he said, offering Lil his hand. “Except to say you’ve been very helpful, Miss, very helpful indeed. If you hear any more talk about this Gordon, then you’ll be sure and let me know, won’t you?”
    Her hand was as light as chiffon in his big paw. There was something about her that went beyond how she looked and what she did for a living that turned all this into some grim kind of joke. Greenaway could see how easy it would have been for Tom Power to fall for Lil. Wondered what the Duchess was most afraid of – losing her to a murderer or to a hack.
    â€œAnd if you see the bastard,”