“Except to sell textbooks,” said Maisie.
Sandra laughed. “Oh, I think he fancied writing one. When I first met him, he didn’t strike me as a businessman, though he’s been very successful. No, he’s more of your absentminded professor type—he seems to bumble, and then he’ll take you by surprise with a really difficult and interesting question. And he has a heart of gold, really he does. Family is important to him—and his businesses are his family too.” She paused and sipped her tea again. “I think he liked helping with the publishing side of things. It gave him a chance to talk to these professors about our books, to get into a room with a scientist, a mathematician, or an engineer. He loved discussing new inventions, new discoveries. And believe me, in this job you hear from a lot of slightly barmy but very bright people.”
Maisie laughed as she rose to her feet. “Well, I must be off now. Mrs. Partridge will be ringing everyone in her address book trying to find me if I don’t return to her house soon.”
“Um, Miss Dobbs—Maisie—will you be wanting the flat back again? I mean, I can move out—after all, this is your flat, and I know it was only for a short term, renting to me, and—”
Maisie held up her hand, shaking her head. “No, really, stay here for as long as you wish, Sandra. The flat holds too many memories for me and, well . . . you know.”
“I didn’t know how to say it to your face, how sorry I am. I couldn’t believe it when I heard—I mean, you were so beautiful when you walked down the aisle, and you both looked so happy. We were all just overjoyed to see you content, and the smiles across your faces, you and your husband.” Tears welled in Sandra’s eyes. “I mean, I know how it is. I saw my Eric die a terrible death, and—”
Maisie put her hand on Sandra’s arm. “It’s all right. You came through, and look at you now. You will never forget, but you’ve endured, and you have made so much with your life. I will use you as my example, dear Sandra.”
Sandra pulled a handkerchief from her sleeve and pressed it to her eyes. “It’s just terrible, the things that happen to people. To you. To Mr. Donat. And look at Billy and how he and Doreen lost their little Lizzie.”
Maisie put her arm around the younger woman’s shoulder, and they stood for some moments before Maisie declared that she really had to be going.
“Oh, and Sandra,” she said as she reached the door. “It’s quite all right, you know, that you and Lawrence have become more to each other. You aren’t betraying Eric—had you not known such love, you might never have loved again. It was his gift to you. So no need to hide, if you are indeed involved in more than publishing books together.”
Walking toward the bus stop, Maisie considered her words, and wondered if she would ever accept the opportunity for love again, and how it might feel. For now, though, she had work to do. Work had brought her through the steepest arc of her grief, and work had saved her in the past, when she was no more than a girl, in France. Perhaps stepping into the shoes of a very sick woman to bring a much-loved man home would help her in more ways than she might imagine. But how would Leon Donat react, when he learned his daughter’s health was so compromised?
Maisie pulled her silk scarf up around her neck and made her way to the Embankment, where she knew she would find a taxicab. Time to go back to Priscilla’s house in Holland Park, time to walk into the warmth of her friend’s embrace and the noisy ebullience of her three boisterous sons. She imagined them sliding down the long banister, yelling, “Tante Maisie, Tante Maisie, look at me!” And she would watch, and laugh, and know that this was as good as home, for now. In just two days she would travel to an as yet unspecified location, where Robert MacFarlane would teach her how to kill a man. Tomorrow, though, she would visit Lorraine Otterburn. A mother whose daughter was so lost, she had abandoned her own child.
CHAPTER 4