The Consequences of Fear, Jacqueline Winspear [most important books to read TXT] 📗

alwaysclose to the surface, which explained why she was so loved. But it might be too close for this work—and that would renderher vulnerable.

 

“Elinor!” Maisie’s greeting for the next candidate was quite different from the one she accorded Pascale Evernden. She tookboth Elinor’s hands in her own. “Elinor, it’s lovely to see you—but first, I must add that we are now in a formal interview,so it’s Miss Dobbs and Miss Jones.”

“You’ve always been Miss Dobbs to me . . . Miss Dobbs,” said Elinor.

Maisie laughed. “Quite right—now the formality is all on my shoulders.” She extended a hand toward the chair on the otherside of the desk. “Please sit down, Miss Jones.”

Once seated, Maisie opened the second folder and took a moment to run her finger down the first page—she had already read every word on the report and had no need to remind herself, but the move could unsettle a candidate, and Maisie wanted to see how easy it was to disquiet Elinor Jones.

Elinor remained relaxed, so Maisie continued.

“Tell me how you were recruited, Miss Jones.”

Elinor cleared her throat. “Well, as you know, I joined the FANY, and I thought I’d be learning to drive an ambulance, likeMrs. Partridge in the last war. She recommended me for it, you see, when I said I was going to join up.”

Maisie nodded. “Go on.”

“Anyway, we had to list any skills we had, and I speak French. To a point it became easy when I was working for Mrs. Partridgein France—remember I had to learn English as a child because my first language was Welsh. And of course, I was still a girlmyself then, so it was easier.”

“I seem to remember there was a young man in Biarritz.”

Elinor blushed. “Well, he was a good reason to learn at the time. But then I went to a lady who gave lessons, and of coursethe boys nattered away in French all the time and I didn’t want them thinking they could pull the wool over my eyes by slippinginto French every now and again. They were right scamps then, those boys.”

“I know they were!” said Maisie.

“I can’t believe it when I see Tom in uniform—and he’s training other pilots now. And what with Tim at Cambridge and Tarquinplanning to—”

“So you added proficiency in the French language to your list of skills,” interrupted Maisie.

“Yes. Then I was transferred to the same department as that Mr. MacFarlane—and I remember seeing you on the stairs there last year, but I wasn’t supposed to say anything to anyone, which is why I couldn’t talk at the time. I felt bad about that, Miss Dobbs. Anyway, then they brought me over here and I had some interviews with different people and my training was approved.”

“Radio operator.”

“Yes.”

“And now you’ve been given your final tests and certified as ready to join a unit in France.”

“I think the training has gone well. I work with another girl—she’ll be my contact here, so she had to learn to recognizemy fist. That’s what they call the way you tap out your message—everyone’s different you see, and—”

“Yes, I’m familiar with the work,” said Maisie. She leaned back in her chair and regarded Elinor Jones, remembering her asa girl who had often appeared barely older than the three gregarious boys in her care; young charges she had marshaled intoa level of obedience their mother could never quite achieve. “Miss Jones—all right, Elinor—Elinor, you have been recruitedfor very dangerous work. Are you fully aware of the risks? The average life of a radio operator in France is proving to beabout six weeks at best.”

Elinor blushed and nodded, yet as Pascale had done before her, she straightened her back. “Miss Dobbs, our country is in direstraits. Our ships are being torpedoed by U-boats right, left and center and we are close to the danger point with regardto food supplies. I know that and you know that, but most of the country is in the dark about how terrifying things reallyare. Hitler is trying to starve us out. If I can do just one thing to slow down his progress, then I shall do it. Even ifI have to die trying.”

The words on the page in front of Maisie blurred. Blinking away the moisture in her eyes, she cleared her throat.

“Right, let’s get started, shall we? I have some questions for you—some I would like you to answer without any consideration, just off the cuff. The others I want you to think about—I’ll give you a minute. All right?”

“Fire away,” said Elinor, leaning forward.

 

There had been little reason for Maisie to venture into the area around Mecklenburgh Square since conducting the investigationinto her first case, a brief she had accepted with a sigh of relief after setting up in business on her own in 1929. Thatfirst case opened the door to more work, and began to soothe the panic she had felt several months earlier when Maurice informedher of his intention to retire. Instead of taking over his office, he recommended she should rent premises of her own in orderto establish her independence. “It’s time to spread your wings, Maisie—time to fly alone. You are more than ready to leavethe nest. The work we’ve done together will remain with you; however, if you stay here, I believe it would stunt your abilityto do your job effectively and in your own unique way.” Maisie had put off making the move until the last minute, becauseeverything about the change in circumstances was daunting, not least the responsibility of affording rent on the rooms she’dfound in Warren Street—rooms that seemed sad and tired in comparison to the well-appointed office on Wigmore Street whereshe had worked as Maurice’s assistant.

Her fears regarding the future were assuaged when the first client came to her, a man named Christopher Davenham, who believed his wife to be in the midst of an affair with another man. Maisie had followed Mrs. Davenham from the couple’s home in Mecklenburgh Square to a cemetery where the woman laid flowers on the grave of