“Oh, all right—you can take me to Bond Street.”
“That’s the spirit, lass. And we can have a wee chat while we’re about it. After all, your country needs you.”
“Who’s your friend in the motor car?”
“Well, I think you’ve met Harry, the driver. And you’ve met Mr. Huntley too.”
“Brian Huntley?”
“Yes, the very man.”
MacFarlane nodded to Harry, who stepped back as MacFarlane held the door for Maisie. She took a seat next to the man who waited inside. MacFarlane climbed in, flapped down the extra seat in front of them, and closed the door. He rapped on the glass partition, and the motor car eased away into Warren Street in the direction of Tottenham Court Road.
The man next to Maisie turned to face her. His dark gray pinstripe suit seemed brand-new, the creases in his trousers sharp. He wore a white shirt, and his tie, bearing the insignia of a Guards regiment, seemed to stand out even in the dim light. He removed his Homburg and smiled.
“You’re looking well, your ladyship.”
“I do not care to use the title, if you don’t mind, Mr. Huntley.”
“As you wish. If you don’t mind, we’ll take a little diversion on the way to . . . Bond Street, was it? I am sure Mrs. Partridge will still be shopping. In fact—” He leaned toward the window to consult his watch. “About fifteen minutes ago, she was still in Selfridges.”
Maisie sighed and closed her eyes, opening them again a few seconds later. “How long have you been watching me?”
“Oh, come now, Maisie—may I call you Maisie? We know each other quite well by now, don’t we?” Huntley didn’t wait for an answer. “There’s something that you can help us with, Maisie. I understand very well what you have endured in recent years, but you are the very person we need for a particular job.” He looked down at his hands and pushed the signet ring on his little finger back and forth toward the knuckle. “Maurice held you in high esteem, Maisie, and he knew our work inside out. He was my mentor as well as yours—and you’ve done good work for us in the past.”
“I don’t know that I’m up to my old work.”
“I believe you are. And this is an important task for a woman. It involves a little travel, however.”
Maisie did not respond. She wiped a gloved hand across the window and looked out at people walking along the pavement, heads bent, scarves pulled up, hats tugged down. At tram stops they stamped their feet, and others ran into shops as if to gain respite from the cold. She turned and looked at MacFarlane, who had said nothing.
She met Huntley’s eyes. “Where to?”
“Munich. Of course it is a little cooler there at this time of year.”
She was quiet again. Huntley and MacFarlane allowed her the silence.
Perhaps it was time. Perhaps one small job wouldn’t cause any harm. What would she do otherwise? Sit in the Dower House nursing her broken heart? Allow the past to simmer up to a rolling boil again? Perhaps it was the right thing to do.
“All right, Mr. Huntley—tell me why my country needs me.” She looked at MacFarlane. He was smiling.
CHAPTER 2
Maisie spent a sleepless night in Priscilla’s guest room. The deep, soft mattress that usually made her feel as if she were a cygnet nestled under its mother’s wing now seemed hard and lumpy, as if horse hair had been stitched into pillow ticking and laid across concrete. She turned one way and the other, unable to find any semblance of the comfort that would lead to sleep.
Without doubt, part of her felt a sense of excitement and worth—though when she considered what was being asked of her, she wondered if she were not biting off more than she wanted to chew. In truth she had become used to being part of the family, staying at Priscilla’s home. The boys delighted her, and Priscilla’s ebullience energized her. As friends they knew each other’s history, knew the twists and turns that had brought them to this place in the world. And they understood each other’s fears and frailties; nothing had to be explained. Now, in the space of a day—a day that seemed to be whirring around in her mind as if it were a film running back and forth on itself in an endless loop—another landscape had been spread before her.
And Maisie knew, as thoughts contradicted each other, conspiring to exhaust her into sleep, that with one short assignment she could test the water. She could find out how it felt to be working again.