Elegy for Eddie by Jacqueline Winspear Read Free Book Online Page B

staff are using—he vacuumed up newspaper after newspaper, then sold some to get a toehold in London. There was no stopping him then, so his interests encompass the whole business of newspapers, a book publisher, and raw paper production. The Compton Corporation has contracts with Otterburn to supply timber by-products for paper manufacture. The interesting thing is, he still refers to himself as a newspaperman.”
    Maisie nodded, brought her knife and fork together and picked up her wineglass. “So, taking into account the many pies in which he has a finger, would it follow that he has some strong associations with politicians and the like? You said there might be a few government types at the party.”
    James nodded and reached to pour more wine for Maisie, but she shook her head. He topped up his own glass—the staff had been dismissed so that the couple could eat supper in peace.
    “He generally rides every morning in Hyde Park, and I would say that twice each week there’s some important city man or politician riding out with him. Some men talk on the golf course—Otterburn’s a horseman.”
    “Is he really?” Maisie leaned forward.
    “Yes, in fact I heard Winston Churchill was seen out with him early one morning last week, cantering across the park as the fog was beginning to lift, like a couple of cavalrymen.”
    “Churchill? I thought he was persona non grata in London these days—didn’t your friend Nancy Astor say, ‘ Churchill is finished ’?”
    “She’s never been my friend, though I still get invitations to those dreadful soirees of hers—you almost have to sneak in your own wine under your jacket, and heaven knows why she invites me. My mother knew her at one point, but frankly she couldn’t stand the woman. Never mind Churchill being finished, there are many saying that Nancy has well and truly had her day.” James paused. “Why the interest in Otterburn?”
    Maisie shrugged. “Not sure yet, although someone I knew when I was a child was recently killed in one of his factories—Bookhams, the paper factory in Lambeth.”
    “And don’t tell me, you’re looking into it, just in case the circumstances are suspicious. And are they?”
    Maisie took a last sip of her wine. “Perhaps.” She smiled. “I don’t know whether you’ve room after the lamb, but I’ve heard your new cook has prepared a sort of meringuey pudding with raspberry sauce. Very popular in Paris these days, so I’ve been told.”
    “Deft change of subject, Maisie. But seeing as you’ve asked, let’s try that pudding.”
    Maisie looked around, to see if Simmonds might be waiting outside the door.
    “You can use the bell behind you to summon Simmonds—that new electric system cost a fortune to put in,” said James.
    Maisie avoided his eyes. “Oh, I’m sure he’ll be back in a minute.”
    James sighed and half-threw his napkin on the table as he pushed back his chair. He stepped past Maisie and pressed a button on the wall, which was situated within easy reach of her place.
    “There, that wasn’t too hard, was it, Maisie?”
    The door opened and Maisie smiled at Simmonds as he entered. A footman cleared the plates and cutlery from the table.
    “We’d love some of the pudding, please, Simmonds.” She was still flushed from James’ rebuke.
    “Of course, mu’um. ‘Pavlova,’ cook calls it—and it looks very good indeed.”
    “Lovely. Thank you.”
    As Simmonds turned and left the room, James placed his hand on Maisie’s. She smiled in return, but felt a pressure upon her chest, almost as if she could not breathe. And she knew that if she were sitting with dear Maurice, he might have asked her, “What happens when a person cannot breathe?” And she would have had to reply, “They suffocate.”

Chapter Three
    T he Bookhams paper factory was located close to the Albert Embankment in Lambeth, between Salamanca Street and Glasshouse Lane. Not for the first time in recent weeks the MG had failed to start,