Chapter One #4
Mrs. Montgomery was still talking, oblivious to the gooseflesh that had crept up Billie’s legs, and her words returned suddenly to Billie’s ears, like a radio turned back on.
“ . . . and between us, I can’t access more finances unless he, well, unless there is some resolution .
. .” She paused. “You see, I can’t remarry unless I divorce Richard. ”
“Indeed. I see your predicament,” Billie replied smoothly.
The money—which must have been substantial—was running lower than was comfortable, along with this woman’s patience for answers.
This was understandable. After two years, she needed a divorce settlement or the proceeds of probate.
But even in the event that finances were not a pressing concern, and that was indeed rare, the social suspicions cast upon unmarried women were not something widows were spared, particularly not if they appeared eligible, as this well-turned-out woman did.
It was assumed that such a woman wanted a man, and there were certainly fewer going around these days.
Single women had long been considered threatening—one reason daughters were routinely married off while still barely children—and a woman who was not attached to a man was viewed with suspicion by many, with no male hand to guide her, rein her in, and keep her from seducing the unsuspecting husbands of others.
Billie was all too aware of these notions.
“It must be terribly hard for you, not knowing.”
Mrs. Montgomery nodded, her eyes glistening. Finally, a hint of emotion, a hint of vulnerability.
“Sadly, I see these sorts of cases far too often,” Billie continued.
She understood there were millions of missing persons recorded by the International Red Cross Missing Persons Bureau in Geneva.
Just how many of those stories would have happy endings was increasingly slim as the years wore on.
“You have my sympathies, but I’ll be frank, Mrs. Montgomery: If you are sure your husband is not in the Antipodes, I fear I can’t be of much help. ”
With this, the arms crossed, and Billie caught a better look at the glittering engagement ring—a central large solitaire diamond surrounded by two cascading swirling tiers of round brilliant-cut diamonds and glittering baguette diamonds.
It was well and good to have clients from the high end of town walking into Billie’s office, but not if she couldn’t help them.
It seemed a shame to turn Mrs. Montgomery away.
“Nettie said you were the one to come to, that for missing persons you are second to none. What is your rate for this kind of case?” Mrs. Montgomery pressed, ignoring Billie’s observation as if it hadn’t been raised.
“It’s the same as it is for all of my work,” Billie explained calmly, having already decided this was going nowhere.
“We charge fourteen pounds a day plus expenses.” Her rate had gone up recently, with her higher profile after the complicated Brown family case.
“We dedicate ourselves entirely to our clients for the duration. There is no guarantee of how long any individual case may take. Some are resolved in just a couple of days and some take far longer. I have found many a husband,” Billie said without false modesty.
“However, as I mentioned, I fear we are not suitable for your particular needs, given the likelihood your husband did not return to this country. We can certainly explore any local connections, but it does seem you likely need an inquiry agent in Paris, and possibly London as well. Sadly, I don’t believe I have contacts on hand to offer you, though I could look into it for you, if that would help. ”
She tried her professional smile, hoping to ease the woman’s disappointment.
“But you do have contacts,” Mrs. Montgomery replied, to Billie’s surprise. “Did you not work there yourself during the war? You will go to Paris for me on the next available flight and you will find out what happened to my Richard.”
Billie was caught without words for a moment. Since returning in ’44 and reopening her late father’s agency, she’d worked in Sydney and surrounds, as he had before her. The possibility of traveling for the work had not occurred to her.
“Oh, I had you checked out, naturally,” Mrs. Montgomery added, while Billie searched for a response. “I wanted to know who I was hiring. You were a reporter, weren’t you?”
Billie nodded. She missed that work, though not the war. The newsrooms of Sydney had not been so keen on women reporters once the men returned.
“You must understand, you couldn’t get me on one of those beastly deathtraps .
. . airplanes . . . for all the tea in China,” Mrs. Montgomery continued.
“My aunt died in one of those cursed machines and Richard never could convince me to get in one. No, I am not going over there, and I am quite determined to have you do it. I will pay handsomely.”
Billie could certainly see that determination was real. There was no doubting it. But though she was not the type to dissuade a clearly well-heeled client from hiring her, she wasn’t prepared for this idea, and it set off a series of conflicting thoughts and feelings.
“I’ll admit it’s an intriguing idea,” she replied cautiously, “but it would come with some considerable expenses, you understand.” She watched the woman’s response, but her warning did not seem to faze her.
Could she be the only woman in Sydney not to feel the pinch of the war years?
“I can’t guarantee my assistant will be available,” Billie continued.
“I’ll have to consult with him on that, and look into our calendar. ”
Billie must have appeared uncertain, because what Mrs. Montgomery said next sealed the deal.
“Naturally, Miss Walker. I’ll pay double your usual rate.”
Billie Walker had seen a fair bit in her years, particularly since ’39, so it was rare for anyone or anything to raise her brow, but Mrs. Montgomery had succeeded.
“It’s a day rate, I think Nettie said?” Mrs. Montgomery added.
“I’ll double your fourteen-pound day rate when you are outside the country, all expenses paid.
Reasonable expenses, of course,” she specified.
Those eyes focused on Billie with an unusual directness.
“I want this done, Miss Walker. I’ve waited quite long enough and I won’t take no for an answer. ” The square jaw was set.
And with that the woman slid two hundred pounds across the battered wooden desk and handed Billie a formal card, embellished tastefully with an illustrated spray of flowers.
MRS VERA MONTGOMERY
Vera. She had her own name after all.