They made their way up one flight of stairs, whereupon Watson unlocked the door to the first-floor premises.
“Now, you will note that the office has changed quite a lot since you rented a few years ago. The new tenant tore back the plaster where doors were originally fitted, and opened it up again.”
“Oh, goodness me,” said Sandra, stepping into the room, looking between the tall windows that faced the square and the space where a wall had been last time she was in the office. “I never knew there had been doors there.”
Maisie stepped from what was once her office into the place where their neighbor had been, now part of a larger room, with white-painted folding doors drawn back like a concertina. “When it was a house, this would have been the dining room, I think—and this the drawing room.” She shrugged. “Not sure—but it’s much bigger and lighter now, and see, there’s a window at the back too, though the view is only into the yard.” She began to walk around the room, then to the window to look out across Fitzroy Square.
How many times had she taken up this position in the past? How many times had she watched while a new client approached the door, or left after a meeting? She had waited so many times by that window, hoping for the insight that might lead to the successful closure of a case. She turned to Sandra.
“What do you think?”
“They’ve made a good job of it, haven’t they? I like that new gas fire, the paint is as fresh as a new pin, and now it’s bigger, it won’t be so cramped. Mind you, there will be only the two of us, and I’ll only be part-time—until you need me for more hours.”
Maisie turned back to the window again and smiled. She beckoned to Sandra to join her as she pointed to a man walking in their direction, a slight catch to his step marking him as a soldier of the Great War. “Actually, there will be three of us, Sandra.”
The front door slammed and footsteps could be heard on the stairs before Billy opened the door and stepped into the room, his smile broad and his hair as unruly as it had ever been. “Sorry I’m a bit late, miss. Hallo, Sandra!” He stopped speaking and whistled as he looked around the room. “Blimey, miss, it don’t look like the same place, does it? Changed as much as we have, I wouldn’t wonder.”
Maisie looked at Watson. “I’ll take it, Mr. Watson. Please send the leasing documents to Mr. Klein, my solicitor—I believe you have the details.”
She nodded to her two former employees, who would soon be working with her once again. But as she moved toward the door, Billy held out a brown-paper-wrapped package to her.
“Thought you might like this. I did a little bit of engraving, down in my shed.”
Maisie glanced at Billy, then Sandra, who both seemed to be on tenterhooks. She unwrapped the paper to reveal a brass plaque.
M. DOBBS
Psychologist & Investigator
“I wondered if I should’ve put ‘Margaret,’ seeing as it’s your proper name, but then Sandra thought it would be best as just ‘M’—but I can start all over again, if you don’t like it.”
“Oh, thank you, Billy, I think it will do very well—very well indeed.” Maisie wrapped the plaque in the brown paper once more. “Right, then—anyone for a cuppa around the corner? We’ve some plans to make.”
It was in September that Maisie received word that Edwina Donat had succumbed to the consumption she had fought for so long. Although Maisie had visited Leon Donat once after returning from Munich, she had not stayed long, as he was both tired and at the same time preoccupied with what was being asked of him. Now she decided to wait until the end of the month, when she would make the journey to his home outside the village of Shere in Surrey, to pay her respects and hopefully stay a little longer than before. This was, after all, the man she had once called “Papa.”
The drive to Shere allowed Maisie to put her new motor car through its paces, negotiating twisting country lanes and longer stretches where the road opened up and she could ease out the throttle. Donat’s house, which had been built at the turn of the century, was set in manicured grounds, with a lawn mowed in stripes that made it seem as if it were being readied for a game of cricket. She parked the Alvis on a pad of gravel adjacent to the house, and was surprised to see Leon Donat at the side door, leaning on two canes, waiting for her to arrive.
“Mr. Donat—” She walked toward him, placing a hand on his arm as she reached his side. “I am so very sorry to hear of your loss.”