until we can resume aircraft trials again next year. I’m not sure whether I’ll be back for Christmas, Maisie.”
“Yes, I see. Who will take care of the Corporation here, in London?”
“That second cousin of mine, Jonathan Compton—frankly, the families aren’t close, but he’s worked for the Corporation for years and has been groomed to be my number two. He’s a bit older than me, actually. My father brought him into the company during the war, when I was in the Flying Corps—sensible idea, after all, you never knew when I might have had a particularly bad landing.”
Maisie rubbed her forehead with her free hand; James still held the other.
“So, we’re down to the crunch, Maisie.” He picked up his wineglass, then set it down again without taking a sip. “Will you come with me? Will you marry me and come with me as my wife?”
Maisie felt light-headed. This was not a new question, or an unexpected proposal. But it was time to give an answer.
She rubbed her forehead again, back and forth.
“Well?” James looked at her intently.
“Oh dear.” She caught her breath. “James, let me tell you something. I have been thinking about traveling. I have never been anywhere really—apart from France—and I think I need to go overseas. But not to Canada; not yet, anyway.”
“This is the first you’ve said about it. Where do you want to go? I mean, we could go together. We could plan a tour, then make our way out to Canada. A long honeymoon—though not the best time of year for shipping, I’ll grant you. We could—”
“James. James, stop.” She paused. “Here’s what I think I must do. I cannot consent to marriage at this point, because I want to follow in Maurice’s footsteps. It’s a journey I think I must embark upon, but I don’t know when. I’ve just taken on a couple of new cases, and Billy isn’t well; he never recovered from those injuries he sustained during our last murder case. I’ve told him to take at least a month, and if I am honest, I don’t think he should return.” Maisie could hear herself, the speed of her words, as if the velocity of her explanation would mollify James. “He needs another job, something more regular. And then there’s Sandra, and—”
“Maisie—” James leaned forward, forcing her to look at him. “Maisie, shhhh. Here’s how it is. As I said, I’m planning to leave in about six weeks. You can give me your answer at the last minute if you like. Or you can join me later. Your choice, but you know my intentions.”
“All right. Yes . . . I see.”
“And I might be able to help with Billy. Just give me a little time to talk to Jonathan and some of my staff.”
Maisie smiled. “Oh James, thank you.”
He pushed back his chair and came to kneel at her side, taking her in his arms. “I love you, Maisie.”
She nodded, her eyes downcast. “And I love you, James. I love you.”
Sandra stood up as soon as Maisie opened the door to the office and stepped into the room.
“That Caldwell has been on the telephone, he wants to speak to you.”
Maisie went to her desk, set her briefcase down beside her chair, and pulled off her gloves. “If we’re not careful, we’ll be calling him ‘that Caldwell’ to his face! Did he say what he wanted?”
“Only to give him a call—a ‘bell,’ he said—as soon as you showed your face this morning. And those were his words, not mine.” Sandra lifted the receiver, adding, as she began to dial, “Oh, I’ve found out that Miss Pramal’s former employers, the Allisons, are presently in Italy, and are not expected back until Sunday.” She looked up at Maisie as the call was answered, changing her tone to speak to the Scotland Yard operator. “Miss Maisie Dobbs to speak to Detective Inspector Caldwell, please.” She smiled at Maisie and held her hand over the mouthpiece. “This’ll get him going, me doing the calling for you. Shows him you’re important.”
Maisie shook her head. “Sandra, I do think you’re setting up a vendetta here.”
Sandra smiled at Maisie as she began to speak once more. “Ah, good morning again, Detective Inspector Caldwell. I have Miss Maisie Dobbs on the line for you, per your request.” The sweetness of her greeting was laced with just the hint of a sarcastic edge. She handed the receiver to Maisie.
“What’s the matter, can’t get your finger in the dial of a morning?”