Read Online Maisie Dobbs by Jacqueline Winspear - Free Book Online
Authors: Jacqueline Winspear
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last saw Celia.
0-7t was Maisie's intention that Thursday's meeting would reveal what she needed to know about Vincent's passing, about the mystery of the single name on his headstone, and what had occupied his time between the end of the war and his death. She wanted her next meeting with Celia to reveal Vincent's whereabouts just prior to, and at the time of, his death.
Maisie felt that she understood much about the relationship between Celia and Vincent. Their love had been more of a youthful infatuation-Celia had admitted as much herself-and in going forward with marriage to Christopher Davenham, she had tried to bury her feelings for Vincent at a time when emotions were running high throughout the country. But the ordinary rituals of marriage to the seemingly bland Christopher Davenham could not erase the memory of Vincent, the hero of her imagination, the handsome, fearless knight she might have married. Maisie believed that, to Vincent, Celia had remained simply the younger sister of a dear friend.Yet it was among the friends of one's brothers that so many young women found suitable partners.
Maisie met Celia Davenham at the Ritz for afternoon tea on Thursday, as arranged. As she made her way from the main doors of the Piccadilly entrance to join Celia, Maisie caught her breath when she saw the heavy marble columns at either side of the Winter Garden ahead. She walked toward the steps leading up into the venue for tea, and felt soothed by the warm shafts of light that entered through the windows at either end of the room. For a minute she allowed herself not to consider the expense of the expedition. The opulent grandeur of the Winter Garden, designed to resemble a French pavilion, with decorated cornices and a skylight that allowed soft natural light to bathe the room, almost took Maisie's breath away. With perfect white damask tablecloths, shining silver cutlery, and voluminous swags of fabric hung around the windows, the Winter Garden might not have encouraged intimate conversation between the two women, but the surrounding mirrored panels, and calming presence of water in the golden mermaid sculpture, brought a certan serenity to the room. Instead, with the delicate sound of Royal Doulton china clinking in the background, as cups were replaced on saucers, talk between the two women was light, skimming over the surface of confidence like a fly buzzing over a tranquil millpond.
Maisie touched each side of her lips with her table napkin, and placed it at the side of her plate. "I think it's time for that walk, Mrs. Davenham. Such a lovely day, one feels as if summer is almost here" She reached for her handbag and gloves.
"Oh yes, indeed. Let's walk ... and please, do call me `Celia.' I feel as if we know each other so very well now" Celia Cavendish inclined her head in invitation.
"Thank you, Celia. It does seem as if the time for such formality has passed, so I expect you, in turn, to use my Christian name."
With the bill settled, waiters hurried to pull back chairs for the women, their deep bows signaling the exit of a well-satisfied customer, and that the table must be cleared and prepared for the next duo of well-heeled ladies. Maisie and Celia left the Ritz and entered Green Park.
"It's so lovely here-the daffodils are pretty, but they're late this year, aren't they?"
"Indeed they are"
"Maisie, the fabrics at Liberty were simply gorgeous, almost over- whehning, as always. I have to confess, I bought three yards of the most exquisite sheer lilac silk."
"Good for you. How very clever of you to be able to sew"
"I learned from one of our maids who was an absolute whiz with the needle. Mummy insisted upon such drab colors and styles-it was the only way for me to avoid looking like a dowdy schoolmistress. Of course, during the war it wasn't as easy to get fabric, but remember there was the passion for all things Indian, wasn't there?"
Maisie nodded, remembering the demand for goods from the Indian
0-7t was Maisie's intention that Thursday's meeting would reveal what she needed to know about Vincent's passing, about the mystery of the single name on his headstone, and what had occupied his time between the end of the war and his death. She wanted her next meeting with Celia to reveal Vincent's whereabouts just prior to, and at the time of, his death.
Maisie felt that she understood much about the relationship between Celia and Vincent. Their love had been more of a youthful infatuation-Celia had admitted as much herself-and in going forward with marriage to Christopher Davenham, she had tried to bury her feelings for Vincent at a time when emotions were running high throughout the country. But the ordinary rituals of marriage to the seemingly bland Christopher Davenham could not erase the memory of Vincent, the hero of her imagination, the handsome, fearless knight she might have married. Maisie believed that, to Vincent, Celia had remained simply the younger sister of a dear friend.Yet it was among the friends of one's brothers that so many young women found suitable partners.
Maisie met Celia Davenham at the Ritz for afternoon tea on Thursday, as arranged. As she made her way from the main doors of the Piccadilly entrance to join Celia, Maisie caught her breath when she saw the heavy marble columns at either side of the Winter Garden ahead. She walked toward the steps leading up into the venue for tea, and felt soothed by the warm shafts of light that entered through the windows at either end of the room. For a minute she allowed herself not to consider the expense of the expedition. The opulent grandeur of the Winter Garden, designed to resemble a French pavilion, with decorated cornices and a skylight that allowed soft natural light to bathe the room, almost took Maisie's breath away. With perfect white damask tablecloths, shining silver cutlery, and voluminous swags of fabric hung around the windows, the Winter Garden might not have encouraged intimate conversation between the two women, but the surrounding mirrored panels, and calming presence of water in the golden mermaid sculpture, brought a certan serenity to the room. Instead, with the delicate sound of Royal Doulton china clinking in the background, as cups were replaced on saucers, talk between the two women was light, skimming over the surface of confidence like a fly buzzing over a tranquil millpond.
Maisie touched each side of her lips with her table napkin, and placed it at the side of her plate. "I think it's time for that walk, Mrs. Davenham. Such a lovely day, one feels as if summer is almost here" She reached for her handbag and gloves.
"Oh yes, indeed. Let's walk ... and please, do call me `Celia.' I feel as if we know each other so very well now" Celia Cavendish inclined her head in invitation.
"Thank you, Celia. It does seem as if the time for such formality has passed, so I expect you, in turn, to use my Christian name."
With the bill settled, waiters hurried to pull back chairs for the women, their deep bows signaling the exit of a well-satisfied customer, and that the table must be cleared and prepared for the next duo of well-heeled ladies. Maisie and Celia left the Ritz and entered Green Park.
"It's so lovely here-the daffodils are pretty, but they're late this year, aren't they?"
"Indeed they are"
"Maisie, the fabrics at Liberty were simply gorgeous, almost over- whehning, as always. I have to confess, I bought three yards of the most exquisite sheer lilac silk."
"Good for you. How very clever of you to be able to sew"
"I learned from one of our maids who was an absolute whiz with the needle. Mummy insisted upon such drab colors and styles-it was the only way for me to avoid looking like a dowdy schoolmistress. Of course, during the war it wasn't as easy to get fabric, but remember there was the passion for all things Indian, wasn't there?"
Maisie nodded, remembering the demand for goods from the Indian
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