“No, I don’t think so. I’ll find someone.”
At that moment, the telephone began to ring. Billy picked up the receiver and answered, as usual giving the number. Maisie watched as he listened to the caller, then smiled at Maisie. He put his hand over the receiver, still grinning. “Would you believe it? Out of the blue—a Mr. Stratton. Asking for you.”
Maisie reached for the telephone receiver with one hand, and pointed to the door. “Thank you, Billy.”
“I think I’d better nip down to get the post.” Billy winked at Maisie and left, closing the concertina doors behind him.
“Hello, this is Maisie Dobbs,” she said, not knowing quite what else to say. She had not seen Richard Stratton for five or even six years, and while she had once addressed him as ‘Richard,’ she now felt unsure of herself.
“Hello, Maisie. Richard Stratton. I was in London today, and thought I would give you a ring. I—I heard about your . . . your bereavement. I am so terribly sorry.”
Maisie curled the telephone cord around her fingers. “Thank you, Richard. Yes, thank you. I suppose you understand more than some, having suffered a similar loss.”
“Time, Maisie. It all takes time. I’d heard you were in Spain a couple of years ago—I thought it very brave of you. And now you’re back in business, in London.”
“Yes, I’m back in business—and busy, so that counts for something.”
“Of course—I’m sorry, you are most definitely busy. I wasn’t thinking.” There was a silence on the line; only a second, though it seemed longer. “Look, would you like to meet for tea? Or perhaps lunch? I’m in London at the moment, though I’ll be working in, well, the country, for the most part.”
Maisie paused, opened the desk drawer, and lifted out the opera ticket. “Richard, might you be in London towards the end of next week?”
“Let’s see, yes, I think so—I’m coming back in on Thursday. Meetings, that sort of thing. I’ll be staying at a flat until the Sunday evening.”
“All right. Can you meet for a cup of coffee this morning? I must leave town today by eleven, so it would have to be quick, but I would like to see you.”
“It’s work, isn’t it?”
“I’m afraid it is—but I mean it . . . it would be lovely to see you, Richard.”
“The usual caff, if it’s still there—in about half an hour?”
Maisie laughed. “Oh yes, I remember you always said it was ‘More caff than café.’ It’s still there, still serving tea straight from a big urn, and the toast is still buttered until it’s dripping from the crust. I’ll see you there—and Richard, thank you.”
“The caff, half an hour, Maisie.”
“But Maisie, you’ve overlooked something here,” said Stratton, returning his cup to the saucer. “Everything’s closed—this ticket is useless. The theater performances were suspended last week. Government orders.”
“Oh, for goodness’ sake—I cannot believe I missed that.” She looked at the ticket again. “And it’s not even for a big auditorium, but a small theater just off the Grays Inn Road. It was probably more music hall than opera.”
“Now the Royal Opera House is being converted to a Mecca dance hall, there won’t be anything for a while anyway. Not that I’m a fan.” Stratton looked at Maisie. His once dark hair could now be described as pepper and salt. And yet he seemed more rested, more at ease, as if the strain of the years since his wife died, leaving him to raise his son alone, had been erased. “You’re looking better than I thought you might, Maisie.”
“As you said, Richard—time. It takes time. The pain of loss does not go away, but it takes up a place in your heart. And it nestles there in the corner, another dragon to keep at bay—that’s what my friend, Priscilla, said about the war. He took up residence then, that war dragon, and must be mollified, not tempted out of his lair.”
“Your friend has a point.”
“What are you doing now, Richard—can you say?”
“Roped in for war work. My son is now sixteen, and looking at university. I hope he keeps looking at it, to tell you the truth. The last thing I want is any heroics on his part. He says he wants to be a doctor. His mother would have been so very proud of him. At the moment he’s with his grandparents—her parents. School will start again in a week.”