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

her gramophone, and the smell of cooking coming from the kitchen. A wicker table was set fortwo on the lawn, for the weather had changed again and it had become an unseasonably warm evening. She could hear Mark Scottsinging along as he cooked spaghetti—she knew it would be spaghetti. It was always spaghetti when Mark was in charge of supper.Maisie wondered if the man had been weaned on Italian food, though she would not have thought to use herbs in the way thathe used herbs—beyond a little sage and rosemary in the Christmas turkey stuffing, she didn’t know anyone who used herbs. NowMark Scott was in her home, and herbs had become a staple in the kitchen.

“Hi hon,” said Mark, coming to the door, his shirtsleeves rolled, his tie loosened. He looked at his watch.

“You’re early,” said Maisie, allowing him to wrap his arms around her.

“Actually, Maisie, you’re late. Don’t you remember when I called and said I’d be getting away on time to cook dinner for ustonight? I figured I had some time owing, and I wanted to see my lady. But I guess she didn’t want to see me so much.”

“Mark, I am so sorry—really, I just had a lot to do today, and a new case came in, and—” She stepped back and looked up at her lover. Her smile faded. “You’re going back to Washington.”

“Maisie, you can read me like a book. But look, it’s not for long—not like the last time when I hadn’t a clue whether I’dbe away for days or months. I’m flying over just for a week—well, maybe more. Maybe less. Have to see. Usual route via Lisbon—tobe on the safe side. But I’ll miss the half-pint’s gym-thing.”

“Gymkhana,” corrected Maisie. “She’ll be upset, but—”

“But then she’ll be so excited by it all, the fact that her old Uncle Mark isn’t there won’t matter a bit.” He sniffed theair. “Oops, better check the dinner, don’t want to burn the pan again—and I mean ‘again this evening,’ because that’s thesecond sauce I’ve whipped up for you.”

“Oh, you didn’t throw away good food, did you, Mark?”

“Maisie, it was burned. I can’t put burned food on the table because it isn’t good, even though as you will probably remindme, there are people wanting for something to eat in this country.” He paused with a sigh that seemed to signal exasperation.“Anyway, as you can see, I thought we’d just have enough time to eat outside with a candle to light the way—it’s warm enough,though they say the weather will break tomorrow. I tell you, if you Brits didn’t have weather, you’d never talk to each other.”

Maisie thought of Gabriella Hunter’s words of advice. Love must be cradled gently. She smiled. “Yes, of course. Forgive me, darling—I wasn’t thinking. It’s been a long day.” She followed Scott into the kitchen,where the aroma of fresh garlic and tomatoes simmering teased her appetite—she realized she had not eaten since a hurriedslice of toast at Chelstone before leaving for the station, and an Eccles cake that she could not finish at Hunter’s house.Now she realized she had admonished Scott for wasting food when she was guilty of the same thing.

“So, what calls you to Washington?” she asked, taking off her jacket and hanging it on the back of a chair. She leaned against the doorframe and accepted the glass of chilled white wine he passed to her.

“Oh, you know, embassy business.” Scott smiled as he clinked his glass against hers and leaned in to kiss her cheek.

She closed her eyes and breathed in his aftershave. The ship was righting itself again, and they were on an even keel.

“I don’t suppose it’s got anything to do with Hitler’s speech last week—about Germany being in a position to ‘beat all possibleenemies’ no matter how much they spend. We all know that was a dig at the United States.” Maisie paused. “Sorry. Carelesstalk costs lives.”

“Sure does,” said Scott, turning back to the stove. He set down his glass and began serving spaghetti and sauce into two bowls.“Grab the bread from the oven, hon—it should be warm now.”

“The advantage of knowing you, Mark, is the food—and Anna just loved her chocolate treat this morning.”

“Now she tells me—I guess I know Anna only laughs at my jokes for the chocolate.” Holding the plates, Scott nodded towardhis glass, and they made their way to the garden, Maisie carrying the glasses and bread.

“You’ve got that look on your face, Maisie,” said Scott, as they were seated and he raised his glass once again to touch hers.“You’re either worried about me—and I doubt that—or someone else. Is it Anna or your dad or Brenda or Rowan or . . .”

“You’re going through the family list until you see my face change, aren’t you?”

Scott laughed.

“I’m just a bit tired,” said Maisie. “As I said, long day.”

“All the days are long right now—for everyone.” He set down his fork and reached for her hand. “Maybe you should head back to Chelstone—you don’t need to do whatever you’re doing, Maisie. It would be good for you, for Anna. Maybe even for us.”

“For the time being, Mark, I have to make a contribution and do my bit as much as everyone else. It’s just that the bit I’mdoing worries me at times, and today was particularly draining.”

“That bad.”

Maisie nodded. “Risking other people’s lives is always bad.” With her free hand she lifted her glass and took a sip of wine.“Forget I said that—I shouldn’t have.”

“Said what? It’s gone already, sweetheart.” He smiled at her. “It’s gone from my mind, never to return.”

Maisie held on to his hand. “I’ll miss you, Mark—when you’re away.”

“Me too, you too,” said Scott, holding her gaze for a few seconds. “Come on, eat up—there’s more in the pan. And let’s talkabout something else. How’s your dad? Is his knee still giving him trouble? What does that old beau of yours say about it . . .the orthopedic guy?”

She released his hand, taking comfort in his deliberate attempt to bring the talk around to normal