would you be able to suggest anyone else in that line?’
‘What line exactly, Mr Irving?’
‘Please call me Rodney. Well, you know, the “personal and missing friends” sort of thing.’ He smiled apologetically.
‘You want to find someone?’
He nodded. ‘Yes.’
‘Do you mind me asking who, exactly?’
‘A, ah, lady friend has . . . well, she’s gone.’
‘I see.’
‘The solicitor warned me that it may cost quite a bit to hire a good man, but he said Mr Liddicoat had a good reputation for this sort of thing.’ He shook his head, took a last sip of tea, smiled and said, ‘Thanks for the tea. Sorry to have bothered you.’ He put the cup and saucer on the desk, stood up.
I said, ‘Listen, Rodney, if you’re prepared to let me know some of the details, I may be in a better position to make an assessment of your case.’ I opened one of the ledger books there on the desk, made like I was scanning the pages and said, ‘I may be able to refer you on, or it’s just possible that I may even have sufficient time over the next week or two to look into it myself.’
‘Could you?’
‘I’m not a licensed agent in the same sense that Murray is, right, but we’ve worked together on a number of important projects’—like elbow-bending at the Chamberlain Hotel, I thought—‘and I may be able to assist you in the event of Murray not being able to.’
‘Well, you seem a decent enough chap,’ said Irving, ‘and I’m not afraid of acting on my instincts. But, with all due respect, are you, ah, personally experienced in this sort of work?’
‘I’ve stood in for Murray in some very important inquiries.’ Like three weeks ago, I thought, when Murray sent me into the Covent Gardens to find out whether or not he was still barred.
Irving said, ‘Well, I suppose that’ll be all right then. What happens next?’
‘You tell me all about it.’
And so it all came out. He and his ‘lady friend’ had had ‘an understanding’ for the last eight years, but now she’d gone.
Irving opened his wallet and drew out a snapshot. Him and a good-looking, dark-haired woman, dressed in evening clothes. They were sitting at a table, people on either side. The woman was smiling, composed. Rodney was slightly behind her, his face half in shadow. I handed back the photo.
He said, ‘Her name’s Fay. Fay Small. She cleared out a month ago.’
Just like that, I said, with no warning?
No, there had been warning, Irving said, but he didn’t offer any more for a moment.
Then he said, ‘I have these . . . attacks sometimes. Sort of nerves. When they happen it’s hard on me.’ He smiled weakly. ‘But I’m afraid it’s even harder on those around me.’
I looked at his sunken cheeks and deep-set eyes. ‘Rodney, you’ re a returned man, aren’t you?’
He nodded.
‘And a former prisoner of war?’
He nodded again, looking surprised.
‘At Changi?’
‘Hong Kong.’
‘Are these “attacks” connected with your experiences as a POW?’
‘I suppose so, yes, they are. Cripes, you’re as good as my quack.’
‘You’re getting treatment then?’
‘I am now.’
‘You weren’t before?’
‘Well, Fay always told me I should see someone, a head shrinker. But I kept, you know, putting it off. I thought with time, everything would come good.’
‘But it didn’t.’
‘No. But now I’m seeing a chap, a top man in the field. And it really is helping. I want to tell Fay that things are different now.’
‘You’re seeing, what, a specialist?’
‘A head bloke named Harry Bailey. He gives me special medication. His method is to cure you with sleep. It’s very much the latest thing, I believe.’
I knew Bailey well enough. He was one of the quacks around town who gave me prescriptions for dexes.
‘Well, if Harry’s half as good at making you go to sleep as he is at keeping me awake, you’re in business.’
‘You know him then?’
‘Yeah, I know him. If you don’t mind me asking, why don’t you just go and find Fay yourself? Why hire someone else to do it?’
‘For starters, I wouldn’t know where to look, or how to look. And I have my own day-to-day business to attend to. I need expert help.’
‘What makes you think she’ll come back, assuming we do manage to track her down?’
‘You probably think I’m deluding myself. But I know she really does love me, as I love her. Fay’s a stayer by nature. I just want one more chance. Once she sees that things really are different, maybe . . .’
‘This could cost you a bit.’
He looked at me square. ‘I’ll pay five hundred pounds to the man who finds her.’
‘That’s a hell of a lot to pay for a matrimonial matter, if you don’t mind me saying so.’
He smiled a little, nodded slowly. ‘I’d pay five times that if I thought it would get me to her.’
I picked up a pen and a pad. ‘Better give me some details. If I can make the time, I’ll have a crack at this myself.’
There wasn’t much. Fay had come over from New Zealand as a young war widow. She’d lived in Brisbane first, then Sydney. She started work at a place called Victory Press, a magazine publishing house, which was where she met Rodney. Their ‘understanding’ had commenced a bit later. She’d kept her flat in Elizabeth Bay but spent most of her time at his place at Fairlight.
We shook on it and Rodney took off. I figured if I could track down this woman in a week, then five hundred quid was a pretty good pay rate, and it would make a healthy addition to the Fred Slaney Benevolent Fund.
An hour later I finished up and slipped out. In the hallway I walked straight into Trish. I hadn’t seen her since she’d spent the night at my place three weeks before.
‘Hi. What’s happened to Murray?’
‘He’s split. I don’t know where.’
‘Second
