Page 42 of The Midnight Secret

‘...pas ici! C’est interdit!’

Flora looked at James in panic. Did he understand a word?

‘Oui, je sais,’ James replied calmly. ‘C’est tout bien. Je cherche un ami...Joseph Landon?’

‘...Landon?’

‘Oui.’

The man looked at James, then at her. They were both respectably dressed, clearly rich. She smiled and the man seemed to wilt a little.

‘Il est là-bas,’ he said, lifting his arm and seemingly pointing to the next building. ‘Au deuxième étage.’

‘Deuxième?’ James clarified, holding up two fingers.

‘Oui.’

‘Merci. Merci, monsieur,’ James said, taking his hand before the man could withdraw and shaking it with gratitude.

Flora smiled too as she passed him, hurrying after James across the empty hall. He burst out through the door wherethey had entered and crossed the road towards another building. Above the door, a sign read: ‘Office of Immigration and Colonization; Harbour Commission’.

A woman looked up from her typewriter, frowning, as they walked in. ‘Nous sommes fermés,’ she said abruptly.

James hesitated. ‘Do you speak English, by any chance?’

Her lips pursed. ‘We are closed,’ she said with a heavy accent.

‘I’m looking for an old friend – Joseph Landon. I was told I could find him here. Upstairs.’

She sized them up, but James’s casual reference to an old friend, his specificness of Landon’s whereabouts, worked in his favour. ‘Attendez,’ she said finally, picking up a telephone and speaking rapidly into it. There was an agonizing pause. ‘...Il vient.’

‘Merci,’ James nodded. He had taken off his hat, and Flora could see he was trying not to wring it in his hands as he paced a few steps. Could it really be this easy, after weeks of obstacles and delays?

Several minutes passed, the woman typing with ferocious stabs on the keys, her eyes darting suspiciously towards them every few moments. Then came footsteps on the stairs and they looked up to see a man with curly, dark hair coming down with an expectant look. He stopped short as he took in the two strangers.

‘Ah, Landon,’ James said, immediately marching forward and offering his hand, so familiar as an old friend that the man instinctively responded in kind. He looked at them in bewilderment; Flora could see he was trying to place them.Didhe in fact know them? ‘Good to see you again. Old Tucker said we’d find you here.’

Tucker’s name registered immediately. Flora watchedLandon’s expression change as he looked between the two of them, seeming to get an understanding of the situation.

‘Comment ça-va?’ James smiled, aware of the typist watching them.

Landon withdrew his hand and slipped it into his trouser pocket. ‘Can’t complain, although the weather’s a bastard,’ the man replied in a broad Irish accent. ‘How is Tucker?’

‘Faring well. We just sailed over with him on theEmpress of Britain.’

Landon’s eyebrows shot up. ‘She only docked this morning. You’ve made it to here from Montreal in a day?’

‘Yes, we’ve a tight schedule.’ James’s gaze was steady, though there was an easy smile on his lips. He really was a social chameleon, able to adapt to anyone. ‘We wondered if you fancied coming for a drink with us while we’re in town?’

Landon hesitated. ‘Well, I’ve a bit more paperwork to shift before I can get out this hellhole...Why don’t y’s both come up to my desk for a moment and we can talk over old times here for a bit?’

‘Marvellous idea,’ James said brightly, immediately following him up the stairs. He turned back to Flora. ‘Come on, darling.’

Flora felt the typist’s eyes upon her again as she delicately picked her way up the stairs.

The office was large but subdivided with partitions at each desk, overhead lights hanging low at intervals. Outside, the lights from the docks glowed, the sound of a train in the distance coming down the tracks.

‘Looks like we caught you in the nick of time,’ James said, making conversation as Landon led them over to his desk, set alongside the wall. ‘Long day?’

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