If Merope was in Backbury, Polly wouldn’t be coming back, which meant that before she left she needed to buy Marjorie stockings to replace the ones she’d borrowed. But she hadn’t enough money with her for them and her train fare. She’d have to go back to Mrs. Rickett’s for Mr. Dunworthy’s emergency money, and take the 7:55 instead, but that had a benefit. She’d be able to tell Mrs. Rickett where she was going. And if she was delayed for some reason, she could take the 9:03.
She hurried back to her counter. Marjorie was busy with a customer. Polly brought Doreen over to write up the purchase and, when Marjorie finished waiting on her customer, took the stockings over to her. “They’re lovely,” Marjorie said, “but it wasn’t necessary for you to do that.”
Yes, it is, Polly thought. You’ve no idea how scarce stockings are about to become. You may well have to make these last for the remainder of the war.
“Thank you,” Marjorie said. She leaned over the counter toward Polly. “You’ll never guess who was here while you were gone,” she whispered, and before Polly’s heart could turn over, “The airman I told you about who’s always after me to go out with him. Tom. He wanted me to go out dancing.”
“And are you going?” Polly asked.
“No, I told you, he’s terribly fast.” She frowned. “Though perhaps I should have. As he said, in times like these people need to seize happiness while they can.”
Which was also a very old line. “I need to ask you something,” Polly said. “Is it Miss Snelgrove I need to speak to about getting tomorrow off, or Mr. Witherill?”
“A day off?” Marjorie echoed. She sounded horrified.
“Yes. I’ve had a letter from my sister, you see. My mother’s ill, and I must go home.”
“But you can’t go tomorrow. Saturday’s Townsend Brothers’ busiest day of the week. They’ll never allow it.”
It had never occurred to Polly that she might not be able to get the day off, especially with an excuse like an ailing mother. She could just leave, of course, but if Merope wasn’t in Backbury, working here was her best chance of being found by the retrieval team.
“Miss Snelgrove’s already had her quota of human kindness for the week,” Marjorie was saying. “And Mr. Witherill will be convinced you’re doing a flit.” She looked at Polly sharply. “You’re not, are you? Not that I’d blame you. Sitting in that horrid cellar last night, listening to the bombs, I thought, ‘When the all clear goes, I’m going to go straight to Waterloo Station, take the train to Bath, and move in with Brenda.’”
“I’m not running away.” Polly pulled out the letter from Props and handed it over, making certain Marjorie saw the Northumbria postmark on the envelope. “It’s her heart. Surely if I tell Miss Snelgrove—”
But Marjorie was shaking her head. “Don’t say anything to her or Mr. Witherill,” she ordered, handing the letter back. “Tomorrow morning, I’ll say you rang me up and said you weren’t feeling well. Will you be back by Monday?”
“Yes, unless…” Polly said hesitantly. She hated to get Marjorie into trouble if she didn’t return.
“I’ll cover for you Monday as well. If you need to stay on longer, you can always write from home and tell them.”
“But what about tomorrow? You’ll be left shorthanded.”
“I’ll manage. No one’s buying girdles just now. They take too long to put on when there’s a raid. Do you leave tonight?”
Polly nodded. “Thank you so much for covering for me. If anyone should come in asking for me, tell them I’ll be back on Monday, or Tuesday at the latest.”
Marjorie leaned confidingly on the counter. “Who is this mysterious person you’re always hoping will come in and ask for you? A man?”
I don’t know, Polly thought. It was likely the retrieval team would be female, but not certain.
“Is he a pilot?”
“No. A cousin of mine is coming to London and might look me up,” she said and walked quickly back to her own counter before Marjorie could ask any more questions.
At a quarter past five, she began tidying up, hoping she might be able to leave early, but just before the closing bell Miss Snelgrove demanded to see her sales book.
Marjorie came over, already in her hat and coat. “I’m leaving now, Miss Snelgrove,” she said, and turned to Polly. “Are you feeling all right? You look rather pale.”
“I’m fine,” Polly said, then realized Marjorie was attempting to help her set up