The door closed behind MacFarlane and Maisie as they stepped into the corridor. He led the way along the maze of hallways and down stairs that led to the street.
“Doing anything interesting today? You should go out with your friend and treat yourself—you deserve it, lass.”
“Funny you should say that—treating myself is exactly what’s on my list.”
MacFarlane laughed. “And what’s the treat, if I may ask?”
“A new motor car.” Maisie pulled a brochure from her bag and passed it to MacFarlane. “My friend thought it would suit me well.”
“Oh, take that away. You’ll have me green with envy.”
Maisie pulled back the brochure and waved as she stepped out onto the pavement.
“Don’t be a stranger, Maisie.”
“Oh, I intend to be just that. Bye, Robbie!” She waved and walked back along Whitehall, looking back once to see Robbie MacFarlane lift his hand to wave before returning to the offices of Brian Huntley’s section within the Secret Service.
It was as she walked along that she saw a woman she recognized coming toward her. She knew better than to acknowledge Francesca Thomas, but as they drew close, the woman seemed to step in her direction. She did not stop, but as she passed, Maisie saw her almost imperceptible nod as she whispered the words “Good work,” and continued on her way.
EPILOGUE
Maisie immersed herself in finding a new London flat, and spending time at Chelstone Manor. At first she found it troubling to stay for even one night at the Dower House—and even more difficult to be in the company of her in-laws, who were still mourning the loss of their only son. And when they learned of James’ death, they had been forced to relive the grief endured when their daughter died in childhood.
It was Brenda, Maisie’s stepmother, who galvanized her, making it clear that there was something she must do.
“My suggestion, if you don’t mind my saying so . . .” said Brenda, pouring another cup of tea while they were seated at the kitchen table in the Dower House. “My suggestion is that it’s high time you did your bit to help Lord Julian and Lady Rowan out of the pit of despair they’re in. Look at them—they go about their lives in a terrible gray cloud, and who can blame them? We’ve all lost, Maisie—but we can all help each other, when it comes down to it.” She put her hand up as if to stem any comment. “I know this isn’t easy for anyone—nothing worth doing is ever easy, and it’s certainly not easy for you—but I worked for Mr. Blanche for a good number of years, and some of his understanding of life, God bless him, rubbed off on me. Don’t just go and visit them, Maisie. Every time you do that, it’s like a painful duty, and you do nothing to help each other. No, you’ve got do something to take them out of themselves.”
Maisie placed her hand on Brenda’s. “You’re right, Brenda—I’ll come up with an idea. But there are other things I want to do too, and I must get on with them.”
Maisie’s stepmother nodded. “Good—you can’t just wait, drifting along until something turns up. It’s nice to see you having a plan or two.”
By July, Maisie was halfway through executing those plans, starting with the purchase of a new motor car, the one advertised in the brochure she had handed to MacFarlane—an Alvis 12/70 drophead coupe. It was, she knew, an indulgence, but she had fallen under the influence of Priscilla, who gave her the final nudge, almost tearing the checkbook from her handbag and writing the check herself as they stood in the showroom.
“It’s not as if you’ll be able to drive a motor like that when you’re in your dotage, Maisie. Might as well enjoy it while you can—and at least you’ll be able to fit me and the boys in there!”
As they were leaving the showroom where the transaction had taken place, the manager took pains to tell Maisie that although there was a new model coming out in just a few months, she would be assured of the very best in automobile engineering. He added, in a low voice, “We’re very proud, you know. I probably shouldn’t say anything, but our engineers are working on designs for the army even as we speak—armored cars, that sort of thing, and we’re also designing aero engines. That should tell you something about the quality of your new motor!”
Now the shining Alvis was parked outside a flat comprising two bedrooms, a drawing room with French doors leading to a walled garden, a dining room, study, kitchen, and maid’s scullery. Maisie had not purchased the flat, but had instructed her solicitor, Mr. Klein, to lease it with an option to buy after one year. She wanted to see how it felt to be in a flat just one hundred yards from the mansion where Priscilla and Douglas Partridge lived with their three sons. It might be a delightful choice, with the boys visiting to see Tante Maisie, and more time with Priscilla—but the latter could also prove to be somewhat overbearing. Maisie smiled when she pictured her friend tripping along the street toward her door, carrying a bottle of gin and two glasses.