Maisie at first could not speak, then found her voice. “I suppose I knew that, really. I cannot say it makes me feel any more kindly toward her, but . . . but I suppose . . .” She heard her voice catch. “I was going to say, ‘I suppose she’s young.’ But Pris, as you have said in the past, when we were that age we’d already been to war, we’d already seen terrible things, and there’s nothing to excuse her abdication of responsibility. I mean, how old is she now, twenty-five? And where is her baby?”
“With Lorraine. And a nanny, of course. He was with the father, but the chinless wonder could not cope, even with the nanny—I mean, really, he only had to swan in once a day to wave a rattle in front of the child’s face, but apparently it’s all too much for him. Ditto his parents, who do not want an abandoned Otterburn child in their midst, especially as they didn’t approve of the match. You see, Elaine’s husband, he without a backbone as well as a chin, only wanted the stardust that came with squiring around a very vivacious young woman. And she threw in her lot with him—child on the way and all that. His parents love the fact that there’s a veritable mound of Otterburn money, and it flows quite readily, but at the end of the day they consider the Otterburns colonials—and colonials in trade, into the bargain. So any chance to get rid of the baby is to be welcomed, though a bit tricky, as the child is the heir. Mind you—heir to what? The son-in-law’s people have nothing but a money-soaking pile somewhere in the shires, where they cannot even afford to heat more than one room at a time. All title and no substance. One would have thought it was a match made in heaven—wealth on one side and a heritage on the other.”
Maisie sighed, pushed back her chair, and leaned toward Priscilla, kissing her on the cheek. “I don’t think I needed to be party to the family’s problems, Priscilla, but it puts it in perspective a bit.” She rested her table napkin to the side of her plate and stood up. “Anyway, I’ll be out for a few hours this morning—perhaps I can take Timothy to a picture show when there’s something good on at the cinema. I know he loves those American cowboy films.”
“You spoil them, Maisie. You indulge their independent whims—you’ll make terrors of my sons.”
“They’re already terrors, Pris. That’s entirely down to you!”
Maisie left the house twenty minutes later, her stout brown shoes suggesting a woman who would not be climbing aboard a bus or taking the Tube. The Otterburns’ London mansion was situated opposite Hyde Park, and she’d already decided a brisk walk in the wintry sunshine would be in order. In truth, Priscilla’s news had unsettled her deeply. She still considered Elaine Otterburn to be a self-indulgent young woman, one whose negligent attitude had led to James’ death. But on the other hand, Maisie also knew that she could not hold Elaine completely accountable. It was James himself who’d decided to fly that day. It was James who broke his promise not to pilot an aeroplane again, not with a baby on the way. The test flight could have been canceled, could have fallen to someone else, but James wanted to fly. The boy in the man had jumped at the chance to be aloft with the birds on a fine day.
A butler answered the door when Maisie arrived at the Otterburns’ home and led her into the drawing room, where she was asked to await Mrs. Otterburn. Both Otterburns hailed from Canada, but whereas John Otterburn seemed to retain elements of a Canadian accent, Lorraine could easily have been pegged as the daughter of Home Counties aristocracy. She entered the room wearing a tweed skirt with kick pleats, a silk blouse, and a long cashmere cardigan. Two strings of pearls adorned her neck, and Maisie noticed diamond rings on both hands.
“Maisie, how lovely to see you. We have all been so worried about you!” Lorraine held out her hands to receive the hand Maisie extended in greeting. “How are you getting on? I am sure those who love you are glad to have you home.”
Maisie inclined her head. “Yes, indeed. It was wonderful to see my father and stepmother again.”
“Of course, of course. Do sit down, Maisie. Our coffee will be here in just a moment—I like it brewed nice and fresh. We have it sent from Jamaica, you know—Blue Mountain coffee truly is the very best.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Otterburn, I—”
“Lorraine, please. We know each other well enough by now, Maisie—you and James were frequent guests, so let’s not stand on ceremony. And I know why you are here.”
Maisie pulled off her gloves and unpinned her deep purple beret, revealing her cropped hair. Lorraine made no attempt to conceal her shock.
“It was easier to cut my own hair when I was in Spain,” said Maisie. “Long hair is a burden if you are a nurse. And I discovered that I quite like being free of the bother of long hair.”
Lorraine collected herself. “And what an adventure Spain must have been. Did you know we have friends there? Mind you, they went up into France as soon as the peasants began revolting, to coin a phrase.”