Harry’s call to Laurel McFry went well. Since taking the call from Bill Blunt, she had found the obituary he’d written on her father. Although it wasn’t old, the paper was already yellowed, and the words she read were like an echo. It had been some time since she had read it, but she remembered now how sensitive she had thought it was at the time, a generous tribute to someone she dearly missed. Perhaps, after all, this Bill Blunt fellow might be on her side? He’d mentioned
“I’m glad you’ve rung, Harry,” she said. “There are one or two things I wanted to talk to you about.”
Harry had worked out what these might be, but waited for her to outline them.
“How come your friend, Mr Blunt, knows all about Cyril Galloway? And what’s all this about medals?”
“Bill’s a journalist, Laurel. Don’t you forget that. He’s a good one, too. When you told me about the problems with your McFry shares, I asked him to do some digging for me. Seems he’s done more than I expected.” Harry waited for her response which, when it came, was in the form of another question – pointed, this time:
“Did you tell Mr Blunt about
“Absolutely not. I’m going to ring him, shortly, and find out how he knows about him.”
“So – I take it I won’t be finding my name on the front cover of the Birkenhead Beagle this week?”
The question jolted Harry. He knew that the deadline for the Beagle was Tuesday. He realized Bill might, indeed, be planning a story for this week. He’d have to head him off, if he could.
“Absolutely not. I can assure you it won’t.” Harry hoped his assurance was worth something to
“And the medals he mentioned?”
“Bill’s put two and two together to make five, I’m afraid. I’ll put him right though, don’t you worry. Now…” Harry said, pausing to change tack. “I have something I need to tell you.”
Danny had been watching as Harry made the call, his glance occasionally straying back to the locals as they continued their promenade around the square. The general hubbub of chatter was punctuated occasionally by the shrill cries of a lottery ticket vendor, which Danny couldn’t make out at first, but which sounded something like ‘ons-ay!’ He supposed that Harry was about to tell
He was right. Harry outlined how, while in
“But I don’t understand… a bond … from who?” Harry had anticipated the question.
“I don’t know,
She wondered what Harry McFry and Danny Longhurst were up to. She expected she'd hear from them, one way or another.
But mainly, she was relishing the prospect of all of these people telling her more – whatever they could - about Jonathan Harcourt, so that the void that had been in her heart for so many years now might, perhaps, be filled. If only just a little.