A Lesson in Secrets_ A Maisie Dobbs Novel - Jacqueline Winspear [5]
MacFarlane stood as the door opened, and Maisie looked up to see a tall man, distinguished in a very English aristocratic way, enter the room. His dark-blue suit had the merest pinstripe, his white shirt still bore a faint scent of starch, and his shoes shone like a just-polished gun barrel. He wore a signet ring on the little finger of his right hand, and his tie bore the insignia of the Household Cavalry. Their eyes met and Maisie stood up and held out her hand—she wanted to stand tall to greet this particular guest.
“Mr. Huntley. This is indeed a surprise.”
“Miss Dobbs.” He handed his mackintosh and hat to the constable, and shook her hand. “We had little time to speak at the funeral. Though expected, Maurice’s death came as a shock all the same.”
She nodded as a lump seemed to swell in her throat, preventing an appropriate reply.
Maisie had first met Brian Huntley in France two years earlier. She had traveled to a region in the country to look into the case of a missing wartime aviator, an investigation that had dovetailed with a personal assignment on behalf of her friend Priscilla Partridge, née Evernden, who had asked her to help solve the lingering question of her brother’s death in the war. Maisie discovered that Peter Evernden had been assigned to the intelligence corps, and soon after, she realized she was being followed. In Paris she was apprehended by none other than Brian Huntley—a Secret Service agent who was reporting directly to Maurice Blanche. It was a case that revealed to Maisie the extent of her mentor’s involvement in matters connected with the defense of the realm; the fact that he had not trusted her with this information drove a wedge in their relationship. It was a fissure that was healed by the time Maurice passed away, and for that Maisie was ever grateful. Now it seemed that Brian Huntley was in an even more senior position, and he wanted to see her.
Maisie looked at the two men and took the initiative. “Gentlemen, shall we begin? Perhaps you can start by telling me why I have been followed for some ten days now.”
“Robbie, perhaps you’d like to start,” said Huntley.
It seemed to Maisie that Huntley had assumed a certain superiority in the conversation, with his chummy manner towards the detective chief superintendent. She felt ill at ease in Huntley’s company, but she remembered how he was well respected by Maurice, and such esteem would have been well earned.
MacFarlane turned towards Maisie. “Miss Dobbs, would you be so kind as to tell us when you first noted that you were being followed, and recount the instances since that initial realization that you were under surveillance?’
Maisie looked from MacFarlane to Huntley. She nodded. Ah, so that was the game. She had been tested.
“It was a week ago last Friday. I was in my office and when I looked out of the window, I noticed a man on the other side of the square. I am sure he thought that he was well hidden by foliage, but I noticed him immediately.”
“What made you suspicious?”
“His manner, his way of moving as he walked around the square. He appeared to be looking at the houses, much as one might appraise an area if one were looking to rent a flat. But his carriage revealed him to be a man of secrets—a slight roll of the shoulders inward definitely the mark of one who is protective of something; in this case it was his assignment.”
“And then?”
“I decided to test my theory, so I left the office to walk in the direction of Tottenham Court Road—it’s invariably busy and wider than most streets, and it has many shop windows in which to see a reflection.” She looked at her inquisitors in turn. “In my estimation, Mr. Huntley, Detective Chief Superintendent MacFarlane—”
“Robbie, please. The title and the name form a veritable mouthful together, and we’ve only got so much time.”
“Thank you—Robbie.” She cleared her throat and went on. “In my estimation there were two men working together,