pint, and clearly wondering if there was likely to be any follow-up. âCould be. They moved, I remember that. They were here for years and years, but they moved early in the war . . . Was it northwards?â
âNorthwards? Like Yorkshire, you mean?â
âNoâKilburn, Edgware, somewhere like that. Wait, though: Iâve an idea it was Islington, not the north at all. Anyway, never heard of them after that. Not that I had much to do with them while they were here.â
âYou didnât know them well?â
âNo. Private lot, so far as I remember. No disrespect, but they kept themselves very much to themselvesâthat kind of folks. Church, too, I reckon. I never saw him in here that I remember.â
âWho was he, then?â Simon felt his heart beating faster.
âThat was the son. Letâs see, what was his name? Lawrence? Lionel? Leonard. Leonard Simmeter, maybe. Sounds about right. Could be I never heard it, though.â
The name aroused no response in Simon. But if it was his father, he would always have known him as Daddy, presumably.
âWas it a large family?â
âFairly so, as families go these days. And all crammed in together there.â
âWho actually was there in the family?â
âOh, my God, itâs a long time ago. Youâre asking a lot, young fellow. Yes, I will have another, since youâre so kind . . . Thanks. Pulls a good pint, does Arnold. Well now, I can remember Mother. Big woman of fifty-odd then. Widow lady. Then there were three or four children. This Lawrence or Lionel or Leonard. And his wifeâpale little body. And his sisterâabout the same age, or perhaps a bit younger. Good-looking girl. And . . . oh dear . . . I think there may have been a younger brother. Donât know that I could put a name to himâErnie, could it be?âbut I seem to recall a lad in RAF uniform. This LenâIâm sure it was Len, now I come to say the nameâhe worked at Paddington Station, that I do know. In the ticket office. I had a spell as a porter, so Iâm pretty sure of that. But more I canât call to mind.â
âItâs a lot. Iâm very grateful.â
âYou say they were killed?â
âYes . . . I think so.â
âYou donât seem too sure, lad. Thatâs a bit queer, isnât it? You wouldnât be looking to find relatives, would you, young feller?â
âWellâsomething like that.â
âI never knew folks as was happier for finding relatives. Yâknow, lad, if they didnât care for you then, theyâre not going to care about you now.â
âI know,â said Simon, getting up abruptly. âSilly, isnât it?â
But when he got back to his hotel room that night, the first thing he did was to take up the last volume of the London Telephone Directory. There were four entries under Simmeter:
Simmeter, E., 16 Leith Grove, SE5.
Simmeter, L. J., 25 Miswell Tce, EC1.
Simmeter and Fox, TV Repairs, 76 High St, SE6.
Simmeter W., 7 Burdett St, NW3.
He looked under Simmetter, Simeter, even Scimeter, but he found no more entries.
He took out his pocket book and pencil, and noted down the details of the four.
CHAPTER 5
N ext morning, over scrambled eggs and toast and marmalade, Simon propped his pocket book up against the teapot and contemplated the entries. Thank God it was an unusual name, he said to himself.
It was fairly clear where he ought to startâsupposing, that is, he decided to start at all. NW3 was Hampstead, that he did know, because his professor at Leeds had moved there when he got a job at London University. He had as yet no clear picture in his mind of the Simmeter family of Paddington, but Hampstead seemed an unlikely locality for them to rise to. In any case, the L. Simmeter was a much better bet. Jack Watkyns had mentioned Islington as a possibility. Simon turned