One of Maisie’s first visitors was Sandra, who had telephoned her at Priscilla’s house, asking if she could spare a moment or two to talk about something quite important. Although Maisie kept an open mind, she suspected she knew what Sandra might reveal in the conversation.
As they sat on a sofa situated to face the open doors and the garden in summer bloom, Sandra revealed her news.
“Lawrence has asked me to be his wife—and I’ve accepted him.”
“That’s wonderful to hear—I am so happy for you, Sandra.” She took Sandra’s hands in her own. “It was time. You loved your Eric and you have mourned him, and you’ve come through it all a new person—I take my hat off to you, really I do.”
Sandra bit her lip. “I used to worry, you know—that I was changing so much, we wouldn’t recognize each other when my time came and I passed over. They say that, don’t they—that you meet again on the other side, you and the love of your life.”
Maisie shook her head. “No one knows, Sandra, and best not to think about it. But you love Lawrence, and he loves you, so you must trust your instinct.”
“There is one fly in the ointment, though.”
“Is there?” Maisie reached for the teapot and poured for them both.
“Well, the company has grown now, and we have more people—not a huge number, but six all told.”
“Oh, I see. And as a married woman—to the owner, no less—they would have something to say about you being in the business. It could make things difficult.”
“Yes, that’s about the measure of it. And being married, I can’t get another job—and I’m like you, not the sitting-at-home type. Never have been. I’ve always worked, even before I left school at twelve. Now I’ve educated myself, and I don’t want to languish in a house all day. Lawrence said I should talk to you, and I was going to anyway. He’s suggested I could work at home for the company, part-time—but I don’t know, it doesn’t sound right.”
Maisie set down her cup. “Are you busy on Thursday?”
Sandra frowned. “Um, no—well, yes, but I mean, I don’t have to be.”
Maisie nodded. “Good. I have a plan. I want you to meet me at this address.” She took a pad of paper from the table next to the sofa, and scribbled an address, handing the sheet to her former secretary.
Sandra’s eyes widened. “I’ll be there, miss.”
“It’s Maisie—please, I’ve had enough of all this ‘miss.’”
“You’ll never get Billy to change—he’ll never call you anything but ‘miss.’”
“How is Billy? I haven’t spoken to him lately.”
Sandra shrugged. “Doreen is doing very well, the boys are growing, and little Margaret Rose is a gem of a child—you should see her, all blond curls and red lips. Everyone in the family dotes on her, you know.” She sighed. “But since . . . well, since things changed, after Edward Compton came in to take charge under Lord Julian, who came out of retirement, it hasn’t been easy for anyone, apparently.”
“Yes, I have heard.” Maisie noticed how Sandra could not speak James’ name. Edward Compton was a second cousin who had been earmarked to take James’ place in the event of his no longer being at the helm of the Compton Corporation—it was a line of accession planned during the war, in case James died while serving in the Royal Flying Corps. No one imagined his death would come much later. The tragedy had also affected her former assistant, Billy Beale. When she left for India, closing her inquiry agency, Maisie had arranged for James to employ Billy to oversee security at the company’s City headquarters. He was grateful for the steady work, but did not care for Edward Compton.
“Billy doesn’t sound very happy to me,” said Sandra.
“No, I can imagine the change must be affecting everyone.”
Hugo Watson paced up and down the pavement in front of a whitewashed former mansion. The fact that he was to meet a woman who had been more than displeased with him when he was with his previous employer was worrisome indeed, especially for an agent working on commission.
“Mr. Watson, what a surprise. Moved from residential to commercial properties, have you?” Maisie approached him, looking up at the familiar building.
“I think it suits me more than residential,” said Watson.
“As long as you don’t say ‘Up we go’ as if you’re putting a child to bed when we ascend the stairs, I think we’ll do well. Ah, here’s my friend now.”
Sandra smiled and waved as she walked across the square toward Maisie. “I can’t wait to see it,” she said as she approached.
“Shall we?” said Watson, holding out a hand to the now open door.
Maisie nodded, turned to Sandra, and raised her eyebrows. “Here we go.”