The Jigsaw Puzzle (2 page)

‘Can I see?' asked the man. ‘I collect them. In a small way.'

Penny hesitated. His accent wasn't local and his attitude was just a tiny bit too eager.

He gestured to the side room where the refreshments were served. ‘Over tea and a piece of cake, perhaps?'

Truth to tell, Penny badly needed to sit down. And she desperately wanted to look at the jigsaw. Quite why, she didn't know. ‘I – yes, all right.'

He grinned. ‘I promise not to mug you if it turns out to be valuable. My name is Leo Williams, by the way.'

Him giving his name was insidiously comforting. ‘I'm Penny. Penny Plain.'

He chuckled. He had nice crinkles round his eyes. ‘You must be married. No parent would voluntarily come up with that combination for their child.'

Penny laughed. ‘Divorced.'

‘That makes two of us. What happened in your case?'

She noticed he walked with a limp, so she slowed her normal pace, hoping he wouldn't realise and get embarrassed. ‘Rose-coloured spectacles on my part,' she said ruefully. ‘Julian was twenty-five, completely charming, and engagingly ambitious when I married him. Three grown-up children later he is still twenty-five, still completely charming, and still ambitious. Also extremely high maintenance. It took me a while, but eventually I realised he genuinely couldn't understand me devoting time to the kids instead of to him, and he honestly didn't see that I needed any space for myself. I stuck with him for the children's sake, but just as it got to the point where I couldn't cope with him any more, he told me he'd already found someone else who could. So we parted. How about you?'

She only asked out of politeness. Leo might be a nice-looking chap, but Penny wasn't aiming to change her single state any time soon. After Julian, it was sheer luxury to have her life to herself.

Leo's face twisted. ‘My wife said I was married to my job. She was probably right, but we'd been together for a couple of years before the wedding so she knew what she was taking on and she'd never complained about it before. Apparently being married is different and Kayleigh thought I ought to have known that. After several epic arguments on the subject she went home to Mummy and Daddy, taking our son with her. Just like that, while I was at work. In the goodbye note there was a list of betting odds on the length of time before I noticed they'd gone.'

‘That was a bit uncalled for,' said Penny awkwardly.

‘I thought so. Possibly I should have waited to cool down before I phoned to tell her. It, er, didn't help the reconciliation process.' He took a deep breath. ‘Enough of that. Tea or coffee? And which cake would you like? I'll have a slice of date and walnut.'

Penny smiled at the woman behind the table. ‘One of your cream scones, please, Mrs Beattie.'

Leo flicked a shrewd glance at her as she took an empty chair. ‘You're local, then?'

She was momentarily startled at the quickness of the deduction. Not that there was any reason for her to hide the fact. It was just strange that he seemed keen to know. ‘Yes, I've lived in Salthaven all my life.'

‘I used to come here for the holidays when I was young. My mother's uncle lived in one of the big houses up on the cliff. He was an inventor, so his place was paradise for an active boy like me. I moved back here after …'

‘The divorce?' said Penny sympathetically.

‘My accident. You'll have noticed the limp.'

Penny had brought up three strong-minded children. She could deal with challenging statements with one hand tied behind her back. ‘Naturally I noticed, but I was being discreet,' she said.

Leo reddened. ‘Sorry.' His gaze rested on the Red Cross envelope.

Penny could take a hint. She undid it and pulled out a handful of wooden pieces. Her heart whooshed again. She'd been right! The cut was the same. Her fingers itched to assemble the jigsaw but the refreshment room was busy and their cake and cups were jostling for space on the table as it was. She looked up. Leo's eyes were also fixed on the puzzle.

‘What does it tell you?' she asked. She might as well find out something from him.

He picked up a tile. It had feathery leaves on it just as hers did
.
Had this photo also been taken at the Municipal Gardens? ‘Hand-cut,' he said. ‘1930s, 1940s.'

Nothing she hadn't already guessed. Penny put the pieces back, tipping the envelope casually to one side as she did to see if there was any writing inside. There was! Just like on the inside of her own envelope at home! And there was also what looked like a newspaper cutting wrapped in cellophane.

Leo was drinking his tea, pretending not to watch her. There was definitely more to him than met the eye. Could the puzzle be valuable? This was agony! She daren't risk fishing the cutting out of the envelope with him watching. More than anything she wanted to finish her food quickly and get home. But one had to be mannerly. ‘Have you got many jigsaws?' she said, and took a large bite of scone.

‘I'm sorry?'

Mrs Beattie's scones, remembered Penny with mortification a split-second too late, should not be eaten incautiously. She fumbled for a tissue to wipe exploded crumbs, cream and jam away from her mouth. ‘Jigsaw puzzles. You said you collected them.'

‘Oh – used to. I, er, sold a lot. I'm still interested in them, though. You don't want to do yours now, I suppose?'

Penny glanced at her sticky fingers and the crowded table. ‘Hardly.'

‘There's a bench across the street.'

Drat. The problem with being properly brought up was that good manners continually got in the way. ‘OK, let me finish this and wash my hands.'

It was pleasant, outside in the autumn sunshine. Penny peered covertly at the inside of the envelope whilst getting the tiles out. The spidery fountain-pen words read
Thanks for the loan. Hope you both like your new ‘form'.

They did the jigsaw together. For a collector, Leo didn't seem to be very quick at solving it. Or maybe it was the strange cut and Penny had just had practice with the other one. This photo was of the same era as hers. A young man and a young woman this time, obviously ‘walking out'. The girl had her best hat on, and her gloved hand was resting on the young man's arm. The chap wore a blazer and slacks and had his hair plastered flat against his head. No older than Noel is now, thought Penny with a pang, and wondered who they were. They looked so young, so proud of each other.

Leo stared at it, his face blank. ‘It's just a photo,' he said, sounding oddly baffled.

Just a photo? Had this man no eyes?

‘No, it's much more than that,' said Penny. ‘It's a memory, don't you see? It's a memory of a nice day at the Municipal Gardens. You can tell exactly where it is by the edge of the bandstand on that side. It's still like that today. Look at them. They've got all dressed up, they've been listening to a concert –'

‘Oh, come on! How can you tell that?'

Penny pointed. ‘You can see the chairs.' Then she chuckled. ‘All right, that was a cheat. I know they used to have a brass band there every Sunday. Mum told me whole families would stroll up to listen when she was young. It was a nice safe place to meet your young man under the watchful eye of your parents. I expect there was an enterprising photographer on the prowl most weekends if the weather was fine.'

‘I suppose so,' said Leo, but there was a trace of vexation about him as he watched her pack the puzzle away. Penny wasn't entirely satisfied herself. This young couple were in love. This would have been a treasured photo. Why turn it into a jigsaw?

She held out her hand. ‘I'm glad I bought it. It's a bit of history. Thanks for the coffee and the chat, but I've got to be going.' She walked off briskly before he suggested exchanging contact details. It was nothing she could pin down, but she didn't entirely trust Leo Williams.

She investigated the other item in the envelope as soon as she was out of sight, drawing it out with careful fingers. The cellophane packet was brittle and yellow with age. The cutting inside said: ‘Wanted – photographs or prints (10'x8' for preference) to help with the war effort. Will be returned if at all possible. Send to the
Salthaven Messenger
Box 108'.

‘The war effort?' exclaimed Penny aloud, thoroughly astonished. ‘How on earth could jigsaws help with the war effort?'

The next day, dressed in a smart skirt and jacket, with a briefcase swinging from her hand and a pleasant expression on her face, Penny walked boldly into the reception area of
The Salthaven Messenger
and asked to view the archives. The girl behind the counter blinked at her. Her gaze slid around the foyer as if seeking help. ‘Third floor,' she said at last. ‘There's CCTV.'

‘I'm glad to hear it.' Penny clipped a visitor badge to her lapel and headed for the lift, wishing she knew what she was looking for.
This is your fault, Aunt Bridget,
she said silently.
Going on at me to find out about the puzzle. Why not just phone me and tell me yourself?
When she pushed open the door marked ARCHIVES, she grew even less confident. It was all stacks and filing cabinets and it smelt of very old dust. Oh, help. What on earth was she doing here? She didn't even know where to start.

Then she heard someone in the next bay. That was a relief. She could ask how to look up newspapers for 1943. But rounding the corner, her question died on her lips. Sprawled in an office chair, legs stretched in front of him, was Leo!

‘You!' she said.

He stood and gestured towards the newspaper spread out on the desk. ‘Hi there. I thought you might turn up. Is this what you're looking for?'

Penny's head whirled. She looked at the newspaper without really taking it in. The print was blocky. Old fashioned. Then her vision steadied. Two thirds of the way down a page for 14
^th
March 1942 was the twin of the advert in her envelope.
‘Wanted – photographs or prints …'
She met his eyes, shaken. ‘How did you know?'

Suddenly he smiled. It made him younger, more approachable. ‘I snooped inside the jigsaw envelope while you were washing your hands at the Bring & Buy yesterday. Sorry.'

Penny was bewildered. ‘But why?'

He shrugged. ‘I'm a journalist. It's an occupational hazard. Now – why would jigsaws help with war work?'

‘I don't know. That's why I wanted to look in the paper. I thought there might be a clue.'
He was a reporter? Why hadn't he said so?

Leo shook his head, looking stimulated by the riddle rather than upset. ‘It doesn't help,' he said. ‘The advert ran every day for a fortnight, then stopped. Pity we can't trace the original owner of the photo.'

‘Oh, that's easy enough,' said Penny. ‘I'll ask the stallholder who it was that donated the jigsaw.'

It was Leo's turn to look surprised. ‘Will she know?'

‘You really aren't from around here, are you?' said Penny, chuckling. ‘This is Salthaven. Somebody will know, even if Mrs Lane doesn't. What I don't understand is why you want to find out.'

He smiled at her disarmingly. ‘It would make a good story for the paper, don't you think?
‘How Salthaven Won The War'
. Come on. No time like the present. Have you got a car?'

Penny considered him as he hurried her out of the building. For a start, she didn't trust that smile. Secondly, Leo was full of energy, something she didn't normally associate with the laconic local press. And she wasn't quite sure how she'd got herself involved with him. ‘No need,' she said as he turned towards Market Street car park. ‘Mrs Lane will be at the library. It's the over-60s drop-in this morning.'

‘Local knowledge,' he murmured reverently. ‘I love it.'

Despite her misgivings, Penny started to grin. She liked this version of Leo better than yesterday's man of mystery. This Leo had vision and a purpose.

Mrs Lane, when consulted, said the jigsaw had belonged to old Mrs Parnell, God rest her soul. Her daughter had brought it in. Seemingly Mrs Parnell always used to say it went to war whole and came back in pieces.

‘That's what I adore about this job,' said Leo as they made their way out onto the street again. ‘Confirmation, closely followed by a dead end.' He looked sideways at her. ‘Unless you're holding out?'

‘Me?'

His eyes were bright and intelligent. ‘I saw your face when you opened the envelope yesterday. You were amazed – but not surprised – to see that jigsaw inside. I'd hazard a guess that you've got another one like it.'

It was a very unpleasant sensation, being read as easily as a book. Penny squirmed as if Leo had just sprayed strong cleaning fluid across her soul. ‘You're right, but I only found the jigsaw recently amongst Mum's things. And before you ask, she died six weeks ago.'

‘I'm sorry.' There was a brief pause. ‘Can I look at it?'

Penny felt a wave of pure exasperation. ‘Why?'

Leo gazed up at the sky and spoke very fast. ‘Before my accident I was an investigative journalist on the Nationals. I've been told to recuperate, but what the doctors don't understand is that I have to work or I'll go mad. Council blunders, hidden gems of Salthaven, and the Fisheries Policy are all very well – but I need something I can get my teeth into. Something stretching. Something to solve.' He met her eyes. ‘I need to prove I still can do it.'

‘I don't see how my jigsaw will help you,' said Penny feebly. ‘It's a photo of Mum, Grandma Astley, and Aunt Bridget in the Municipal Gardens together with other people I don't know.'

‘Your aunt?'

‘She's back-packing over the Himalayas. Aged eighty, for goodness' sake! Mum's illness spurred her into doing the things she's always meant to before she gets past it.' In her head she heard Aunt Bridget say
You should too, Penny.
Comfortable ruts are still ruts.