she started down the steps of the consulate, an older man with a waxed moustache wearing a pinstripe suit passed her in the other direction, entering the building. “Excuse me?” Grace called out impulsively. “Are you Sir Meacham?”
Confusion crossed the man’s face, as though he were not quite sure himself. “I am,” he said. His expression changed to one of annoyance. “What is it that you want?”
“If you have a moment, I just need to ask you a few questions.”
“I’m sorry, but I really don’t have the time. I’m late for a meeting. If you make an appointment at the front desk, I’m sure the vice consul will...”
She did not wait for him to finish. “It’s about Eleanor Trigg.”
He cleared his throat, an almost cough. Clearly, he had heard. “I suppose you saw the news story. Very sad. Were you a friend of hers?”
“Not exactly. But I have something that belonged to her.”
The consul waved her hurriedly back inside the building. “I have two minutes,” he said, leading her across the lobby. Seeing Grace with the consul, the receptionist’s eyes widened with surprise.
The consul led her to a room off the main lobby that was well-appointed, with brown leather chairs scattered around dark oak tables and heavy red velvet curtains held back by gold rope. A bar or club of some sort, presently closed. “How can I help?” Sir Meacham asked, not bothering to hide the annoyance in his voice.
“Eleanor Trigg was a British citizen, wasn’t she?”
“Indeed. We received a call last night from the police. They knew from her passport that she was British. We’re trying to locate family to claim her body.”
Grace hated the cold, impersonal way that sounded. “Did you know her?”
“Not personally, no. I knew of her. I happened to be detailed to Whitehall during the war. She worked for our government, did something clerical for one of the sections of SOE, that is, Special Operations Executive.”
Grace had never even heard of Special Operations Executive and wanted to ask the consul about it. But he was looking at the grandfather clock in the corner impatiently. She was running out of time.
“I found some photos,” Grace said, being purposefully vague as to how. She took them out of the envelope and spread them before the consul like a hand of cards. “I brought them to the consulate this morning because I believe they belonged to Miss Trigg. Do you know who these women are?”
The consul pulled out his reading glasses to study the photographs. Then he shifted his gaze away. “I’ve never seen them before. Any of them. Perhaps they were friends of hers, or even relatives.”
“But some of them are in uniform,” she pointed out.
The consul waved his hands dismissively. “Probably just FANYs, members of the women’s nursing auxiliary.” Grace shook her head. Something about the girls’ grimly set jaws, their serious expressions, suggested more. The consul looked up. “What exactly is it that you want from me?”
Grace faltered. She had come here just to return the photos. But now she found she wanted answers. “I’m curious who these girls are—and what their connection was to Eleanor Trigg.”
“I have no idea,” Sir Meacham replied firmly.
“You could make some inquiries in London and try to find out,” Grace challenged.
“Actually, I couldn’t,” the consul replied coldly. “When SOE was shut down, its records were shipped to your War Department in Washington. Where,” he added, “I’m quite certain they’re sealed.” He stood up. “I’m afraid I really must be going.”
Grace rose. “What was she doing in New York?” she persisted.
“I have absolutely no idea,” Sir Meacham replied. “As I said, Miss Trigg was no longer affiliated with the British government. Her whereabouts were her own business. This is a private matter. I’m not sure that it is any of your concern.”
“What if they can’t find anyone?” Grace asked. “To claim Eleanor, I mean.”
“I suppose the city will put her in a pauper’s grave. The consulate has no funds for such things.” A woman who served your country—even as a secretary—deserved better, Grace wanted to say. She gathered up the photos and put them in the envelope. The consul held out his hands. “Now, if you would like to give me her photos, I’m sure we can reunite them with her personal effects,” the consul said.
Grace started to give them over, compliance almost a reflex. Then she pulled back. “How?”
Sir Meacham’s eyebrows raised, white above his glasses. “Pardon me?”
“If there is no next of kin, how can you reunite them?”