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

Just like Maurice, straight to the point, thought Maisie. “The scarring is fainter now, Gabriella. And I have a daughter.”Maisie reached into her bag and brought out a photograph she kept in a leather case. “Her name is Anna. I adopted her lastyear—she was an evacuee, an orphan, and . . . and I came to love her.”

Gabriella took the photograph while reaching for the spectacles that dangled from a chain around her neck, a deft move thatdid not disturb her pearls. “Oh yes,” she said, as soon as she was able to inspect the photograph. “She even favors you.”She handed the photograph back to Maisie. “And I suppose she always was yours, in a way. Human beings and animals have a tendencyto find their way home, even when it’s thousands of miles away and they have never set foot in the place before.” She paused,looking at Maisie over the spectacles, and was about to speak again when the housekeeper returned to the room bearing a traywith tea and cakes.

“Ah, excellent, Mrs. Towner,” said Hunter. “Just put the tray on the table here, and I am sure Mai— Lady Margaret will pourfor us.”

The housekeeper’s eyes widened, and she appeared about to protest when Maisie came to her feet.

“Thank you, Mrs. Towner—I’ll pour tea and serve the cakes,” said Maisie. “My goodness—you must be psychic—my favorite Ecclescakes! Lovely—though I am sure they will spoil my dinner!”

The housekeeper blushed and hurried from the room.

“You’ve intimidated her, Maisie. She’s always been in awe of a title—and perhaps enough of a snob to be impressed.”

“She’s a miracle worker to get the ingredients for the cakes.”

“Squirreled them away even before the war—she said there was no harm in stocking up.” Gabriella Hunter reached for the cup of tea as Maisie passed it to her.

“So, Gabriella—are you in good health? Your note seemed to suggest that all was not well.” Maisie thought it best if she,too, got straight to the point.

“Oh dear—I shouldn’t have worried you. It’s this war. I keep reading that life goes on and hearing that the young are havinga whale of a time in the clubs, dancing the night away even though a bomb might drop and kill them all—I don’t even know ifit’s true, but it makes me want to be twenty again. Mind you, I had more on my mind at twenty, but I feel quite . . . quitebereft of good company, even though I have often said I prefer my books. And I miss conversation. I thought you wouldn’t mindif I had a taste of life outside the confines of my house, just for as long as it takes to have a cup of tea.”

“I’m delighted you wrote, Gabriella. Now then, what are you working on? I see a great pile of papers over there, so I knowyou’ve something on the boil.”

“I can’t say much at the moment, but it’s an interesting topic that has been on my mind for a while. It blends a very closelook at literature following the last war with my own experiences in France and the Levant, and my understanding of it all,but I have to be—”

“Circumspect?”

“Definitely. Very much so. Which is why I don’t want to immerse you in the minutiae today—perhaps another time. I do wantto know about your life though. Tell me, is there a young man?”

“Gabriella, I am not exactly young anymore, so no, there is no young man.” Maisie took a sip of tea. “Though there is onewho is just a bit older than me.”

Hunter set her cup and saucer on a side table. “Do I detect a hint of something else?”

Maisie shrugged, putting down her own cup and saucer. “Oh, Gabriella, I don’t know. He is a lovely man, with a wonderful sense of humor, and he just adores my daughter. But you see . . . well, he’s a diplomat of sorts. An American, working at the embassy. I’m not sure exactly what he does, and of course I cannot really tell him what I do, so—”

“So you’ve fallen into a dark tunnel of your own secrets.”

“I suppose so, yes.”

“And where secrets reside, so does fear—it’s the unknown.”

“Yes. That’s right. And I know that if anyone would understand what it is to live with secrets, it’s you, Gabriella.” Maisierubbed the backs of her hands, relieving an ache in the lesions across her knuckles. “Sometimes I can imagine a road aheadfor both of us, and other times I don’t even know when I’ll see him, and whether he’ll be at my flat when I get home—or vanishfor days.”

“And I’m sure he could say the same about you.”

Maisie nodded. “To a point, though he knows where I am when I’m at Chelstone.”

“Your work is for the government?”

“For the most part now. Yes.”

Hunter looked out of the window. Maisie thought it was as if she were staring into the past.

“If I look back, Maisie, I think kindness is the most important thing. There were interludes when—well, that can wait for another time—but suffice it to say I believe love must be cradled gently, as if you have something very precious in your hands that you do not want to break. I wish I had been more careful as a younger woman. Not necessarily young, but younger, at a time when I had confidence that love was still possible . . .” She turned her gaze back to Maisie. “Anyway, the war will be over one day, Maisie—what you do now will pave the way for how you will live in peace. Remember that, my dear. Never let fears get in the way of happiness, because fear can lead to such irrational reasoning, and we can make dreadful mistakes, saying things we can’t take back.” She seemed at once melancholy. “I’ve been guilty of such errors, in my time.”

Maisie entered her garden flat in Holland Park by the side entrance. As she slipped the latch on the gate, she could alreadyhear a blues number playing on