up the telephone and dialed Priscilla’s number.
“Darling, how are you?” Priscilla was effusive in her greeting.
“I’m well—how was your trip to Paris?”
“Absolutely divine! I adore my toads, but sometimes there is simply too much maleness in this house and I have to get away. Mind you, two or three days in Paris on my own and I’ve had enough of that, too, though I had a wonderful time choosing a few more dresses for summer. You should come with me next time—there’s more to a shopping trip than a quick dip into Derry and Tom’s for a new woolly cardigan, you know, or to Debenham and Freebody during the January sale.”
“Shall I pay you a visit? How about later tomorrow afternoon? I’ve a funeral to go to in the morning, but I’d love to see you.”
“Oh, dear Lord, please, don’t come in that black dress again, Maisie. Do promise me you won’t drag out that miserable-looking garment for another airing in company. I swear, if I see that thing again I will scream. Either change before you get here, or buy a new black costume to wear to the funeral.”
“I’ll just change before I come over.”
“And James?”
“What about him?”
“Oh, Maisie, that doesn’t sound very promising.”
“See you tomorrow afternoon, Pris.”
“I’ll have refreshments ready. About four then?”
“Yes, about four. See you then.”
Maisie set down the receiver and sighed, then looked up to see Sandra staring at her.
“Sandra?”
“I just wondered if everything’s all right, Miss Dobbs.”
“Yes, of course it is. Now then, I expect you’ll have to be leaving soon, to go to your job with Mr. Partridge.”
The young woman shook her head. “No, Mr. Partridge has given me time off while he works on something else—and he’s paying me! I don’t mind, because I can catch up with reading for my studies. But it’s really generous of him, not a lot of people would do that.”
“Douglas Partridge is a man of generous spirit—I am sure it’s the quality that attracted Mrs. Partridge.”
“They married after the war, didn’t they? He does well for a man with only one arm, and who can’t walk without a stick.”
“They met in southwest France, actually—both trying to get away from their memories, if truth be told. They were married some thirteen years ago—yes, it was, because their eldest is now twelve. And he and his two brothers are growing like weeds. Anyway, I’m sure Mrs. Partridge will tell me more about her husband’s exciting new job.”
Sandra slipped a sheet of paper into the typewriter and smoothed it against the platen. “Oh, I doubt that, Miss Dobbs. I think it’s something he’s doing on the QT.”
Maisie was about to ask what Sandra meant but could see she had spoken without thinking and was oblivious to the curiosity such a comment might inspire.
M aisie stood at the side of the road with her father to watch the hearse carrying Eddie Pettit pass along streets he’d walked as a child. Drawn by two gleaming jet-black Friesian horses, their manes braided and with black plumes attached to their browbands, the hearse was followed by costermongers driving carts and pushing flower-filled barrows, by a few mounted policemen, and by horse-drawn drays from Starlings Brewery, the leatherwork and brassware of their harnesses polished to a shine. When the cortege passed, Maisie held on to Frankie’s arm, and they stepped out to join the procession to St. Mark’s Church, where Eddie would be laid to rest.
As they stood in the church, Maisie looked at Maud Pettit during the reading of the lesson, and could see grief enveloping her small, vulnerable frame. She leaned on Jennie, who looked tired but stood tall—and while watching, Maisie wondered what those early years of motherhood had been like for a young girl with not two ha’pennies to rub together. How she had worked, and what a struggle it must have been. And how comforting to have her old friends, Jennie and Wilf, to
“Darling, how are you?” Priscilla was effusive in her greeting.
“I’m well—how was your trip to Paris?”
“Absolutely divine! I adore my toads, but sometimes there is simply too much maleness in this house and I have to get away. Mind you, two or three days in Paris on my own and I’ve had enough of that, too, though I had a wonderful time choosing a few more dresses for summer. You should come with me next time—there’s more to a shopping trip than a quick dip into Derry and Tom’s for a new woolly cardigan, you know, or to Debenham and Freebody during the January sale.”
“Shall I pay you a visit? How about later tomorrow afternoon? I’ve a funeral to go to in the morning, but I’d love to see you.”
“Oh, dear Lord, please, don’t come in that black dress again, Maisie. Do promise me you won’t drag out that miserable-looking garment for another airing in company. I swear, if I see that thing again I will scream. Either change before you get here, or buy a new black costume to wear to the funeral.”
“I’ll just change before I come over.”
“And James?”
“What about him?”
“Oh, Maisie, that doesn’t sound very promising.”
“See you tomorrow afternoon, Pris.”
“I’ll have refreshments ready. About four then?”
“Yes, about four. See you then.”
Maisie set down the receiver and sighed, then looked up to see Sandra staring at her.
“Sandra?”
“I just wondered if everything’s all right, Miss Dobbs.”
“Yes, of course it is. Now then, I expect you’ll have to be leaving soon, to go to your job with Mr. Partridge.”
The young woman shook her head. “No, Mr. Partridge has given me time off while he works on something else—and he’s paying me! I don’t mind, because I can catch up with reading for my studies. But it’s really generous of him, not a lot of people would do that.”
“Douglas Partridge is a man of generous spirit—I am sure it’s the quality that attracted Mrs. Partridge.”
“They married after the war, didn’t they? He does well for a man with only one arm, and who can’t walk without a stick.”
“They met in southwest France, actually—both trying to get away from their memories, if truth be told. They were married some thirteen years ago—yes, it was, because their eldest is now twelve. And he and his two brothers are growing like weeds. Anyway, I’m sure Mrs. Partridge will tell me more about her husband’s exciting new job.”
Sandra slipped a sheet of paper into the typewriter and smoothed it against the platen. “Oh, I doubt that, Miss Dobbs. I think it’s something he’s doing on the QT.”
Maisie was about to ask what Sandra meant but could see she had spoken without thinking and was oblivious to the curiosity such a comment might inspire.
M aisie stood at the side of the road with her father to watch the hearse carrying Eddie Pettit pass along streets he’d walked as a child. Drawn by two gleaming jet-black Friesian horses, their manes braided and with black plumes attached to their browbands, the hearse was followed by costermongers driving carts and pushing flower-filled barrows, by a few mounted policemen, and by horse-drawn drays from Starlings Brewery, the leatherwork and brassware of their harnesses polished to a shine. When the cortege passed, Maisie held on to Frankie’s arm, and they stepped out to join the procession to St. Mark’s Church, where Eddie would be laid to rest.
As they stood in the church, Maisie looked at Maud Pettit during the reading of the lesson, and could see grief enveloping her small, vulnerable frame. She leaned on Jennie, who looked tired but stood tall—and while watching, Maisie wondered what those early years of motherhood had been like for a young girl with not two ha’pennies to rub together. How she had worked, and what a struggle it must have been. And how comforting to have her old friends, Jennie and Wilf, to
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