She hesitated. “I don’t, no, but he did mention an Emily once.”
“When was this?” asked Dennison.
Herr Gunter was her employer, but she wasn’t going to lie, either for him or against him, and so she said, “The day that Germany invaded Poland.”
Dennison’s eyes narrowed. “Is that right?”
“Herr Gunter was upset—we all were. He was in a rush and asked me to call Emily and cancel his dinner with her. When I told him I didn’t know who that was, he said that he would do it himself.”
Dennison sat back, his chair creaking with the shift in his weight.
“Who is Emily?” Dr. Hughes asked.
Dennison ignored him. “Miss Bohn, were you aware that in the last few months, Herr Gunter had begun to see a woman? Romantically?”
“No,” she said. Herr Gunter had never so much as made a murmur about his social life outside of Royal Imperial.
“Then you did not know that your employer had used an agency to arrange to meet a woman?” Dennison asked.
Marie spread her hands over the desk to brace herself. “What kind of agency?”
Dennison looked down at his notes before fixing her with a stare she felt to her bones. “The Mayfair Matrimonial Agency. Now, Miss Bohn, I think you’d better come with me.”
seven
Dennison bundled Marie into the back of a large black Morris that was parked in front of the university gates. She sat with her hands clasped tight, trying to hold on to her last shred of composure. Herr Gunter had never once mentioned to her that he had been to Hazel’s agency, but it couldn’t be a coincidence. And why had Hazel never mentioned that Marie’s boss was a client?
Of course she wouldn’t, Marie reasoned. Hazel might tell stories from the agency, but she rarely used names.
Dennison drove like a man who expected traffic to part like the Red Sea for him. Granted, there were fewer cars clogging up the roads now, making it easier to race down Piccadilly. The petrol ration that had been put into place meant people were far more considered about how they used their fuel. In just four weeks, the streets had been given over to official vehicles and buses as even cabs were abandoned by the young drivers who were signing up in droves to serve.
In Mayfair, Dennison swung the Morris into an open spot just a few doors down from Hazel’s building and killed the ignition. The seats squeaked in protest as he shifted to look over his shoulder at Marie.
“This is the building of the agency Gunter visited,” he said.
A growing unease churned in her stomach.
“We’re going to go in and speak to the proprietor. Miss Bohn, I want to remind you that this is an investigation. When we go inside, you’ll only answer questions that I put to you. Is that clear?”
Then why bring me at all?
He didn’t know. The realization struck her like lightning. However he’d found out about Herr Gunter, the matchmaking agency, and his mysterious Emily, Dennison hadn’t put together the fact that Marie might be the connection between her boss and Hazel’s agency.
Dennison stepped around the car to open her door, and he led her into the building. They climbed the stairs just as Marie had done so many times before. On the occasions when Herr Gunter decided not to work in his office on the last Friday of the month, she would come here early to collect Hazel before walking over to the Harlan, just a few blocks away. Marie had always liked the agency. It was a place of warmth, feminine and welcoming. Lady Moreton, the proprietor and Hazel’s mentor of sorts, insisted that she wanted clients to feel at home while they asked for help making one of the most important decisions of their lives.
The light was on behind the frosted glass panel of the agency’s door. Dennison leaned on the small brass doorbell embedded in the frame, and a moment later Nancy, Hazel’s secretary, opened the door with a smile.
Marie inched back from Dennison and shook her head emphatically, praying that Nancy wouldn’t reveal that she knew Marie. She needed to speak to Hazel first and figure out why Herr Gunter had come here and warn her friend that Dennison seemed far too interested in finding out why.
“Hello,” said Nancy brightly, looking from Dennison to Marie. A flicker of doubt flashed over the secretary’s face, but just as fast she turned her smile back to Dennison. “Welcome to the Mayfair Matrimonial Agency. How can I help you?”
Dennison pushed forward, angling his body around Nancy as he said, “I need to speak to Mrs. Carey.”
With Dennison behind her, the secretary dropped her smile and shot Marie an alarmed look.
“I’m afraid Mrs. Carey is with a client at the moment,” said Nancy.
“Perhaps we should come back at another time,” said Marie, stepping into the reception.
Dennison glared at her. “I’m here on Home Office business. It’s a matter of great importance.”
“I can see if she—”
Hazel’s door opened, and she appeared, a laugh on her lips as she looked over her shoulder at the client following her. He was a good-looking, solid sort of man with light brown hair brushed back from his forehead in waves. He looked as though he might’ve spent his youth on the rugby pitch but had left the mud behind for well-cut suits and a leather briefcase. He was chuckling at something her friend had said, but he carried a sadness about him as well, as though life had somehow disappointed him along the way.
“Mrs. Carey, a gentleman from the Home Office is here to see you,” said Nancy.
Hazel’s laugh died as she took in the players in the room. Marie prayed that her friend would pick up on Nancy’s discomfort.
“The Home Office, you said?” Hazel asked.
“Thomas Dennison. I have some questions for you about a client.” He pulled that little black notebook out of his jacket pocket just as he’d done with Marie.
Hazel put her hand up. “Mr. Dennison, will you please allow me to see Mr. Calloway out first?”
Calloway… Calloway… Marie turned the name over in her head until it snapped into place. Richard Calloway, the widower with the wife who’d died tragically young. That, she thought, accounted for his slight air of melancholy. She felt a pang of sympathy for this man who had lost so much, yet was trying to find love when so many stood to lose again.
“I’ll see myself out,” said Richard, shaking Hazel’s hand.
“We’ll find you a more suitable match. Sometimes it simply takes a few attempts,” said Hazel.
“I place myself entirely at your mercy,” he said.
“You’re very trusting,” said Hazel.
“Only when I know that there’s good reason to trust.” Richard said goodbye to Nancy and nodded at Dennison. But when he came to Marie, he stopped and offered her a kind smile. “You’re in good hands with Mrs. Carey.”
“Thank you. I would certainly hope so,” she said.
Over Richard’s shoulder, she could see Hazel tilt her head in question. But by the time he gathered up his coat and hat to leave, Hazel’s usual composure was back in place.
“If you’d like to come through, Mr. Dennison,” said Hazel, gesturing to her office door.
Dennison gestured for Marie to lead, and they settled themselves into the chairs angled before Hazel’s desk.