people we passed as we went. I saw a few eyes move to me as we passed through the crowd, and I wondered what kind of speculation I was inspiring in all their elegant, gossipy heads.
Sir Nigel led us to a little group of six or seven people who sat on the furniture clustered near the fireplace. They stopped their conversation as we approached.
“Ramsey’s arrived at last,” Sir Nigel said to the group. “And he’s brought this lovely young lady, Miss Elizabeth Donaldson. I’ve brought them over to present to you.”
He made introductions all around then, but I paid attention to only two of them.
One was Leslie Turner-Hill, the director of Bothingham’s. He was tall, thin, and very pale, with thick spectacles. He looked like just the sort of man who spent all his time in a gloomy cellar looking at pottery. His hair was dark, so it was possible he was the man Maudie had seen talking to Thomas Harden.
At the moment, however, I was more interested in the woman, based on a rather unexpected flash of surprise across her face as we approached. Or, to be more precise, as Major Ramsey approached.
“This is Jocelyn Abbot,” Sir Nigel said, glancing at the major. “But you know Jocelyn, I think, Ramsey?”
Even if there hadn’t been a slightly malicious gleam of amusement in Sir Nigel’s expression, I would have noticed the least pause in conversation as the major and Miss Abbot looked at each other. There was a history here, I realized at once. Missing pilot fiancé or no, she and Major Ramsey clearly had been more than mere acquaintances. Well, wasn’t that interesting.
“Hello, Jocelyn,” the major said blandly.
“Hello, Gabriel.” So women did call him Gabriel, after all. Her voice, in contrast to the crispness of his tone, was soft and warm.
I looked her over as she and the major relived whatever memories they were sharing. As in the photographs I had seen of her in the society pages, she was a tall, lovely woman, with golden hair and piercing dark eyes. She was dressed to the nines in black satin, and she was very thin. Worried about the fate of Barnaby Ellhurst—or something else?
At last, those eyes turned to me. She greeted me politely enough, but I saw her taking my measure at once, her gaze running from my hair and down my dress. It was a thorough appraisal, and I supposed she might have examined my legs to see if the silk stockings on them were real if she had been able to.
I felt a bit smug about my stockings. They could have the gown back when all this was over, but the stockings I could use.
Sir Nigel finished his introductions, and the group began to chat about the two topics of most interest to Londoners: the weather and the war.
We then broke off into smaller groups, the pleasant hum of conversation mingling with the cracking of the fire.
“Do you have much of an interest in Chinese porcelain, Miss Donaldson?” Leslie Turner-Hill asked, turning to me. I was fairly certain he was being sarcastic. Perhaps he resented ignorant intruders at his educational event.
“I think the Ming pieces are quite lovely,” I said. “Especially the Xuande period. Although, I confess I’m more fascinated by the hunping jars of the Han dynasty. So intriguing, aren’t they?”
He blinked. “Er. Yes. Quite so.”
“Of course, I don’t know much about it,” I said with a smile. “I just do a bit of reading here and there. But I’m quite interested to see the pieces you’ll be discussing tonight.”
I happened to glance at Major Ramsey just then and saw that his brows had risen ever so slightly at my sudden display of knowledge. Our eyes met briefly and the faintest smile—could it actually be approval?—crossed his lips.
Mr. Turner-Hill left me alone after that, though I kept my eye on him as he moved away from our group.
I watched the major, too, intrigued to see that this social side of him was much different from the rigid way he normally carried himself. Of course, there was no reason why he should have revealed that side of himself to me when he was playing the commanding officer, but I found the change in him to be interesting. For one thing, he seemed much more relaxed. It wasn’t that he had dropped his stern demeanor, but there was something added to it, something more polished and pleasant. A different kind of confidence. He even smiled occasionally, which revealed