Maisie remembered the last cigarette she’d smoked, in Gibraltar before crossing the border into Spain. She had been new to the habit, which gave her something to do with her shaking hands.
“Not anymore, no, Elaine. I don’t—”
“Look, cards on the table,” Elaine interrupted. “You are here to persuade me to go home, to take up the reins of wifedom and motherhood. I am sure you have other things to do here—I suspect you would not have come to Munich just to see if you could drag me back.”
“I have business, yes. And I promised your parents that I would try to find you.”
“Really? Well, that’s interesting, because my father could find me at the drop of his hat if he wanted. They probably thought sending you would do the trick—a sensible woman to escort the wayward child home.”
Maisie wondered where the Elaine in the taxi had gone. It was as if, while making tea, someone else had emerged and taken over from the vulnerable person who had clutched her hand as if ready to confess her sins.
“What’s so much more important than your son, Elaine?”
Elaine’s eyes filled with tears. She brushed a hand across her cheek and looked away. “I’m not exactly maternal material, am I, Maisie? Let’s be honest, now—he’s much better off with Mother than with me. Certainly I knew my husband’s people would not want him—yet. When he comes of age, doubtless they’ll have a sudden need to initiate him into the tweedy ways of his forefathers. With a bit of luck he’ll have no patience with that sort of thing, and will have made something of himself. If he’s under my father’s roof, he’ll be an Otterburn through and through. He’ll probably even like modern art acquired at great expense!”
“To your point about motherhood, Elaine—frankly, I think you owe it to your son to try a bit harder. If you can’t stand the wilds of Northamptonshire, then move in with your parents or get a flat for yourself and your son, and a nanny if you want to continue to be at large in society.” Maisie came to her feet. “I don’t think you’ve been completely honest with me, Elaine, but frankly, I don’t have the time to sit here trying to persuade you to do something against your will. I’ve done what I gave my word I would do—which was find you and speak to you. Now I have to leave.” Maisie began to turn away, then looked back. “Oh, and if by any slight chance you see me again in the next day or so, on no account must you recognize me or show any sign of familiarity. You must not use my name. If you must communicate, a simple ‘Fr?ulein’ will do.”
Elaine shrugged. “Well, seeing as James’ death—”
Maisie’s movement was quick. She stood in front of Elaine and looked down at the still-seated woman, who had frozen while reaching to extinguish her cigarette in the ashtray. “Do not ever, ever speak of my husband in my presence again. Don’t you dare say his name in front of me. And you know why.”
Elaine Otterburn’s face registered shock, the half smile at the corner of her lips quivering. In that second, Maisie wondered if anyone had ever countered this young woman in her entire life. Stepping over the discarded clothing, she reached the door, then looked back. Elaine reminded her of a Greek statue, her silky evening dress clinging to her body. “Do you know something, Elaine? Do you know what makes me sick about people like you? If an inspector walked into an ordinary worker’s house anywhere in London and saw this kind of state, he would make a report to the authorities. But for some reason, the wealthier a person, the more they can get away with living in a filthy heap. Pick up your belongings, Elaine, tidy this place—and perhaps you’ll find it easier to pick yourself up from whatever mess you’ve found yourself in.”
Maisie passed two of the “gels” on the stairs, rushing past her, laughing, calling out Elaine’s name. They had not offered even a simple “Guten Tag.”