Chasing Ghosts Read online

  CHASING GHOSTS

  Also by Madalyn Morgan

  Foxden Acres

  Applause

  China Blue

  The 9:45 To Bletchley

  Foxden Hotel

  CHASING GHOSTS

  Madalyn Morgan

  Chasing Ghosts @ 2018 by Madalyn Morgan

  Published Worldwide 2018 @ Madalyn Morgan

  All rights reserved in all media. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form by any means, electronic or mechanical (including but not limited to: the Internet, photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system), without prior permission in writing from the author.

  The moral right of Madalyn Morgan as the author of the work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

  All characters in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data.

  A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  Formatted by Rebecca Emin

  www.rebeccaemin.co.uk

  Book Jacket Designed by Cathy Helms

  www.avalongraphics.org

  Cover photograph

  @Roger Schall / Musée Carnavalet / Roger-Viollet

  Thanks to my mentor Dr Roger Wood for his in-depth critique and advice - and for writing the book blurb on the back of the cover. Thanks to Maureen Vincent-Northam for proofreading and to writer and poet Fiona McFadzean, my beta reader. To my family and friends for their love and support, to author friends Theresa Le Flem and Jayne Curtis, and to readers and writers on Facebook and Twitter. Thanks also to the authors of the Leicestershire RNA chapter - The Belmont Belles - for their friendship and encouragement. Thanks to W.H. Smith and Hunts Independent Bookshop in Rugby, and to the libraries in Lutterworth, Rugby and Markfield.

  Chasing Ghosts is dedicated to my mother and father,

  Ena and Jack Smith.

  OXFORD - ENGLAND

  December 22, 1949

  CHAPTER ONE

  Claire turned the key in the lock on the front door. It swung open and she stumbled over the threshold. The late afternoon light crept into the house behind her, casting a gloomy shadow on what was already an unhappy homecoming.

  ‘Excuse me, ma’am?’

  She stepped to the side to allow the young sergeant who had driven her from Brize Norton aerodrome to pass. He carried two large suitcases, which he placed in the alcove under the stairs in the narrow hall. Returning to Claire, he took the holdall out of her hand and the small vanity case from under her arm and set them down next to the suitcases.

  ‘Thank you,’ she whispered. Dropping the house keys on the hall table next to the telephone she pushed open the door to the sitting room. It felt cold.

  ‘Is there anything else, Mrs Mitchell?’

  Claire turned and, grateful for the help he had already given her, said, ‘No, thank you.’

  The airman hovered for a couple of seconds before standing to attention. ‘If there is anything, ma’am?’

  ‘I’ll telephone the base. Thank you, Sergeant.’

  Claire closed the door behind the young airman and, ignoring the luggage, went into the sitting room. Dust, and the musty smell of a room several months without heating filled her nostrils. She switched on the light, walked over to the window and stared out. Thick low-level grey clouds covered the sky, blocking out what was left of the pale winter sun. The day had almost gone. It would soon be dark. Shivering, she drew the curtains to shut out the onset of the cold night.

  She yawned. The flight from Canada, which had taken longer than the estimated ten hours because the aircraft had landed to pick up military personnel in several cities en route, had taken its toll. The endless and repetitive questions that followed during a three-hour interview with her husband’s base commander when she arrived at Brize Norton, had exhausted her. She knew the questions were to enable Commander Landry and the Canadian Airforce to help her - and, more importantly, to find and help Mitch. All the same, she felt as if she had been put through a full-scale interrogation.

  She dropped onto the settee shivering. Thank God she had left her daughter with Mitch’s grandmother. At least Aimée would be warm. And Esther always had plenty of food in.

  She looked at the clock above the fireplace. It had stopped. Of course it had. It hadn’t been wound-up during the three months she had been in Canada. She pulled back the sleeve of her coat and glanced at her wristwatch. Ten past six. Esther would have given Aimée her tea by now.

  Claire wondered if her neighbour had remembered to buy her a pint of milk and a loaf of bread. She had telephoned her from the airport, before she and Aimée had been hustled through passport control and bundled onto an aircraft bound for England.

  Tears fell onto her cheeks. What had happened to him? He knew the time of the flight to England - had known it for weeks - so why did he miss the plane? Did something unforeseen happen, like an accident? Or was he absent without leave by choice, as the sergeant from St Hubert Airbase in Montréal had intimated? If he had chosen to stay in Canada, was it to be with the woman he dreamed about, who he talked to in his sleep? The woman called Simone?

  Claire was driving herself mad. She took a handkerchief from her pocket and wiped her tears. Surely if Mitch was having an affair she would have known, sensed something was wrong with their relationship. She took a sharp involuntary breath. Was Simone one of the nurses at the hospital where he’d been having treatment? No, she couldn’t be. Mitch had said her name in his sleep months before they went to Canada. But, Claire recalled, he had been to Canada on military business several times in the last couple of years. Perhaps he had met her on one of those occasions. If Simone was the reason Mitch had stayed in Canada, she must mean a lot to him, for him to abandon his daughter. Mitch was as devoted to Aimée as she was to him. Questions whirled round in Claire’s head until it ached. There were no answers.

  She caught her breath. ‘Damn!’ she said out loud. When the plane landed at Brize Norton and she was told by Commander Landry that Mitch was officially AWOL she had been so worried that she’d forgotten to let her sister Bess know that she and Aimée were back in England. She ought to telephone her, not only to let her know that they had arrived home safely but also to tell her that they would not be joining the rest of the Dudley family at the Foxden Hotel for Christmas.

  Claire wiped the tears from her face with the flat of her hand, hauled herself off the settee and lost her balance. Nausea swept over her. She felt light-headed. Her stomach lurched and the pulse in her temples began to throb. She took a couple of slow deep breaths. She needed to eat something and hobbled out of the room. Ignoring the telephone in the hall, she went into the kitchen. She opened the door to the larder and found a bottle of milk, a loaf, half-a-pound of butter, six eggs, and a greaseproof paper parcel, which she assumed contained bacon. Her neighbour had not only remembered the bread and milk, she had bought Claire a small feast.

  Dying for a cup of tea, Claire filled the kettle and lit the gas. Too tired to cook but knowing she needed to eat something to settle her stomach, she took the bread from the larder and cut a thick slice. While the kettle boiled she built a fire, speared the bread on the toasting fork and held it close to the crackling kindling. When she had made the tea, she buttered the toast and returned to the sitting room, where she sat on the rug in front of the fire and ate.

  Armed with a second cup of tea she went upstairs and took off her outdoor clothes. In the bottom drawer of the tallboy was an old pair of winceyette pyjamas. The knees were worn and they were frayed around the ankles, which was why s
he hadn’t taken them to Canada. They felt cold to the touch. Claire hoped they weren’t damp. She didn’t have the energy to go downstairs and air them by the fire, or to sort through her suitcase for a dry pair, so she put them on. Swallowing the last of her tea she climbed into bed and pulled the eiderdown up to her chin. She was soon asleep.

  ‘Where is my husband?’ Claire looked around the vast airport concourse. ‘Where is Captain Alain Mitchell? I can’t see him. Aimée, don’t wander off darling. We’ll be leaving as soon as Daddy gets here.’

  ‘Excuse me, Mrs Mitchell, you need to board now. The plane is about to take off.’

  ‘But my husband isn’t here.’ Claire turned her back on the man. ‘Where did Mitch say he was going?’ she asked her father-in-law.

  ‘As far away from you as possible.’ Alain Mitchell Snr. snarled, his mouth gaping open to show a black toothless void.

  ‘What’s happening? I don’t understand. Mitch?’ Claire shouted. ‘Alain?’ Aimée began to cry. Claire reached out to her, but her daughter backed away. ‘Aimée, darling?’ Claire called, ‘don’t you leave me too.’

  ‘I’m sorry Mrs Mitchell, but if you don’t board now the plane will go without you.’

  ‘Then let it go! You don’t seem to understand that my husband, Captain Alain Mitchell, isn’t here and I am not leaving without him! And,’ Claire looked around, ‘where is my daughter? I only turned away from her for a second. Aimée!’ she shouted, ‘Aimée where are you?’

  Claire spun round and glared at the official. ‘What have you done with her? I am not leaving Canada without my daughter and my husband.’

  One man grabbed Claire by the arm while another wrapped a thick winter coat around her shoulders. Together they marched her away from Mitch’s sneering father. She struggled to look over her shoulder; to say goodbye to him, but he was no longer there. Instead, Aimée stood in his place.

  ‘Aimée?’

  ‘Goodbye, Mummy.’

  ‘You can’t stay here, Aimée.’

  ‘I’m waiting for Daddy.’

  ‘But he isn’t here, darling. Let me go!’ Claire screamed at the airport officials. ‘I need to get my daughter. Please,’ she pleaded, first to one and then the other of the men. Neither took any notice. ‘Aimée?’ she called again, ‘Aimée? Come to me, sweetheart.’ Claire shook herself free of the men’s grasp and tried to run, but the coat was too heavy. It weighed her down. She couldn’t move. She gasped for breath, as the collar of the coat tightened around her throat.

  ‘Get it off me!’ she screamed. Clawing at her neck, she threw off the coat that threatened to strangle her and turned to her daughter. She wasn’t there. First Mitch had disappeared and now Aimée.

  Somewhere far in the distance she heard a shrill incessant ringing. She rolled over, arms flailing to free herself from the tangle of sheets and blankets that had been the restraints in her nightmare. She pushed the counterpane from her face and opened her eyes. She lay on her back, disorientated. Staring at the ceiling she squeezed her eyes shut, opened them, and exhaled. ‘Bess!’ she said aloud. ‘It’s the telephone. It’ll be our Bess.’

  Dragging herself out of bed, Claire grabbed the eiderdown, threw it around her shoulders and left the bedroom in a bundle of bedding. Barefoot, she ran downstairs to the hall and snatched up the receiver. ‘Hello?’

  ‘Claire, it’s Bess. Thank God you’re there. You were going to ring me when you landed. When you didn’t, I began to worry. Is everything all right?’

  ‘No, Bess, it isn’t.’

  At that moment Claire heard knocking on the front door. ‘Someone’s at the door,’ she said. ‘It’s probably Esther bringing Aimée home. Can I ring you back, Bess?’

  ‘Yes. I’ll wait for your call… Claire?’

  ‘I’m still here, but I must answer the door. I’ll ring you when Esther has gone.’ Claire put down the telephone and unlocked the front door.

  Aimée ran into the house ahead of her great-grandmother. She put her arms around Claire’s waist and clung to her but didn’t speak.

  Esther entered carrying a large cardboard box. ‘Father Christmas wasn’t sure whether you’d be back from Canada in time for Christmas. So, as he didn’t know your address over there, he left these gifts for you, Aimée, and Alain, with me.’

  Claire forced herself to smile. ‘Thank you.’

  Aimée let go of her mother and, showing no interest in the box Grandma Esther was holding, ran upstairs to her bedroom.

  Esther went into the sitting room and Claire followed. As she turned to close the door she heard Aimée’s bedroom door slam.

  ‘Shall I go up to her?’ Esther asked.

  ‘No,’ Claire said, ‘I’ll go.’

  ‘And while you’re up there, dear, why don’t you get washed and dressed?’ Esther said as Claire left the room.

  When she returned half an hour later, Claire could smell bacon cooking. ‘Can I do anything?’

  ‘Not in here, but you could take a look at the fire. Make sure it hasn’t gone out, will you?’ Esther shouted. ‘I’ll be with you in a jiffy.’

  The warm smoky scent of wintergreen and vanilla met Claire as she opened the door. Crouching down she warmed her hands before the cheerful yellow flames of the burning logs. ‘The fire’s fine. The room is quite warm,’ she called to Esther, who she could hear opening and closing drawers and clanging pots.

  ‘Breakfast,’ Esther sang, entering the sitting room with a plate of bacon and eggs on a tray. She put the food on the dining table.

  ‘Thank you, Esther, but I’m not hungry,’ Claire said.

  ‘Maybe not, but you need to eat. Come on!’ Esther might have been a great-grandmother, almost eighty now, but she still considered herself in charge. She pulled out a chair from under the table and waited for Claire to saunter over and sit on it. ‘Now, young woman, eat this food or you will be ill. And that won’t do, not with Aimée to look after.’

  Esther was right. Claire did as she was told and began to eat. When she had finished, Esther refreshed the teapot and sat at the table with her.

  ‘How was Aimée?’

  ‘Tearful. She’s worried that she’ll never see her daddy again. I reminded her that when she was a baby; when we lived in France with Grandma Édith, Daddy went away but he came back to us. I promised her he would come back to us again.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘She sniffed and nodded. She said she remembered. I’m not sure she does, but I wasn’t going to argue with her.’

  ‘Is she coming down?’

  ‘No. By the time I got upstairs she was undressing. She said she was tired, put on her nightie, and climbed into bed. I was worried that her nightgown was damp, but it felt fine. I think my neighbour must have had a couple of fires going while we were away. I filled a hot water bottle and slipped it into the bed by her feet. I looked in on her when I’d washed and dressed. She was asleep with her thumb in her mouth.’

  ‘She hasn’t sucked her thumb for years, has she?’

  ‘No,’ Claire said, ‘I thought she had grown out of it. She has never gone to bed in the day, either. You know yourself, she’ll do anything to delay going to bed at night.’

  ‘Poor lamb.’ The two women sat in silence for some minutes. ‘What are your plans, dear?’ Esther asked, pouring them both another cup of tea. Claire looked into Esther’s kind blue eyes and slowly shook her head.

  ‘You must go back to Canada!’ Esther said, with such conviction there was no room for discussion. ‘Find Alain and bring him home. But first you need to give Aimée a Christmas. A couple more days without your husband won’t hurt you, but not having a Christmas will hurt Aimée.’

  ‘What about you?’ Claire asked. ‘What will you do?’

  ‘I shall spend Christmas Day with my friend Dorry, who would otherwise be on her own. On Boxing Day two friends who make up our bridge four will join us. If you need me here to look after Aimée, they can come to me. Aimée might not have as much fun with four old fogies as s
he would at Foxden with her cousin Nancy but she won’t go short on love and attention. With no family of her own Dorry spoils Aimée at every opportunity.’ Esther shook her head and laughed.

  ‘So?’ she said, looking at Claire over the top of her glasses, her voice taking on a serious tone. ‘What’s it to be?’

  ‘All right. You win,’ Claire said, pleased that Esther had forced her into making a decision. ‘I’ll telephone my sister and tell her we’re coming up to Foxden tomorrow. That is if the car starts.’

  ‘I’ll have no excuses, young lady. If your car doesn’t start, I shall drive you to the station.’

  ‘Thank you, Esther,’ Claire said, unable to stop her tears.

  Mitch’s ever-practical grandmother reached into her handbag at the side of the chair and took a clean handkerchief from it. ‘Wipe your eyes, child,’ she said, pushing the hankie at Claire. ‘If Aimée sees you’ve been crying when she comes down, she’ll be even more upset.’

  With Esther’s help, Claire unpacked the suitcases. Between them, they made three piles of clothes. A clean and ready to wear pile, a pile that was clean but needed ironing, and a pile to be washed. While Claire ironed, Esther fitted the water pipe to the tap and filled the washing machine. She dropped in the whites, added a cup of Persil and turned it on. While the rhythmical wave of suds sloshed from side to side, Esther filled the sink with clean water ready to rinse. She then sorted through the coloured clothes to put into the machine when she had taken the whites out and the water had cooled.

  ‘I’m hungry Mummy,’ a little voice said at the kitchen door.

  Claire stood the iron up on the ironing board and went to her. ‘Did you have a good nap, darling?’ she asked, bending down and hugging her daughter. Aimée shook her head and put her arms around her mother’s neck. ‘How about I make your favourite lunch?’ Aimée let go of her mother, took a step back and gave her a questioning look. ‘Spam fritters and a yokey-egg?’ Aimée shrugged her shoulders and turned her nose up at the suggestion. ‘But you loved fritters with an egg that you dip your bread and butter into when we were in Canada.’