The Consequences of Fear Jacqueline Winspear (i can read book club .txt) 📖

“Do you have any idea what’s in this book?” asked Hillman.

“I only know that there’s something in there for me—something Gabriella might have left there for me to find because she knewothers might want to intercept the information.”

“I’ve not managed to get very far with it, as I had another job to finish first. In fact, I hadn’t expected her manuscriptfor at least another month. Gabriella has a history of being a tyrant when it comes to getting her work in on time. Just terrible.”

“May I?” said Maisie, holding out her hand.

“Sorry—here you go.” Hillman passed the envelope to Maisie. “Would you like a drink? And I mean a drink, not a soppy cup of tea. Hate the stuff.”

“Just a small one. Cream sherry, if you have it.”

Hillman nodded, stood up and went to the drinks cabinet. Maisie opened the envelope and began to turn each page of GabriellaHunter’s manuscript.

“It’s an interesting book,” said Hillman, handing Maisie a glass of sherry. She brushed aside the cat, threw the blanket onthe floor and settled into the chair opposite Maisie. “Quite different from anything she’s ever written before.” She sippedher drink—Maisie detected the aroma of anise. “Usually her work is firmly directed toward the student of European literature,whether that student has just come up to university or is a few years on and working on a doctorate,” continued Hillman. “Butthis is different. Yes, it is a sort of review of literature in the immediate period following the last war, right up untilthe present, but there’s more than that—it’s woven in with her memories.” She gave a half-laugh. “Mind you, I doubt she’llgo right into that realm of her past, after all, it’s all rather murky—isn’t it, Miss Dobbs?” She looked at Maisie, givingher a knowing wry smile.

“I’m anxious to go through the manuscript. I believe that what I am looking for might not be part of the document itself,but something specifically for me.”

“Look—would you like to read it here?”

“But the blackout—I should be on my way.”

“I think you’re a bit late for that, Miss Dobbs—it was almost as dark as pitch outside by the time you arrived. I have guest quarters at the top of the house with everything you might need, right down to a new toothbrush. And you can look at the manuscript, find what you’re searching for and leave it with me to continue my work tomorrow morning. I think this plan could suit both of us very well—and I’m clearly making the offer for selfish reasons, as I want to get on with my first read and the task of editing Gabriella’s book so I can send it back to her immediately she’s discharged from hospital. It might be the first of her books that we manage to get out according to the actual publishing schedule.”

Maisie consulted her watch and realized that Joan Hillman was right—it was the best plan in the circumstances. “I’m sorry—Ihadn’t realized it was so late.” She sighed. “Sometimes there are never enough hours at my disposal. Thank you very much forthe offer, Miss Hillman—I’ll take you up on it, and I assure you I will be away from here and out of your hair on the earlytrain. I think the peace and quiet of your top-floor room might be just what I need.”

“Good, that’s settled. I’ll throw together something for us to eat—how about a salad, cheese, some bread and a glass of wine?We can tuck in and call it supper.”

Maisie laughed. “That sounds like my staple diet when I’m in London.”

“Cheese is getting harder to come by, but fortunately my cleaning lady makes her own bread. I don’t ask how she comes by theingredients. Oh, and if we’re to open a bottle of wine to share, you must call me Joan—so enough of all this ‘Miss Hillman’lark. That’s for the staff and even my father when we’re both in the office. All very proper. We’re ‘Mr. Hillman’ and ‘MissHillman,’ though I sometimes think my father would like to be ‘Saint John Hillman, patron saint of the publishing world.’ ”

“Thank you, Joan—and please drop the ‘Miss Dobbs.’ It’s ‘Maisie.’ ”

“Good,” said Hillman as she reached for a packet of cigarettes, shook one out and tapped it on the packet before picking up a lighter. As she ignited the flame she nodded toward the doors leading back into the house. “If you wander down the hall to the library—second door on the left—there’s a telephone in there. Nice and private for any calls you need to make. Then I’ll show you to your quarters. In the meantime, I’ll make sure all the blackout blinds are in place, otherwise we’ll be sharing our wine with Mr. Shilling, our local Air Raid Precautions man.”

As Maisie made her way along to the library, she reflected on Hillman’s earlier confession of selfishness; the esteemed editorhad yet to ask how Gabriella Hunter had fared following the attack, or whether she might visit her at some point. But fornow, Hunter’s relationship with her editor was not of great import. Maisie wanted to telephone her father and Brenda at theDower House and to speak to Anna, who she ached to see. She also wanted to contact Billy at the office—there was an extensionline to the downstairs flat now, so if he had locked up the office, she hoped to locate him there.

“ ’Allo, miss—I wondered what had happened to you.”

“I’ve been chasing the not-yet-published book written by Gabriella Hunter.” She went on to explain the circumstances, lookingaround to ensure her privacy. Though she trusted Hillman not to be the slightest bit interested in her work and personal life,it was a habit to confirm there was no one listening while she discussed a case.

“So have you read it yet?”

“I’ll do it later this evening. I should be a good guest and not vanish to my room too quickly, though I doubt Joan Hillmanwill care much—she looks as if she’d rather have her nose in a book anyway.