Authors: Frederic Lindsay
Of
Maitland's marriage.
'Yes
.’
She
managed
the
single
dry
syllable
as
he
waited
the
blank
white
wall
of
his
forehead
raised
against
her.
After
all
she
was
the
one
this
old
man
had
chosen
to judge.
May
Stewart
that
day
in
the
office
not
introducing
her
to
Maitland's
wife,
she
had
known.
Yet
the
secretary
had
seemed
to
take
to
her
from
the
first
morning.
They
had
got
on
so
well
together.
Had
she
really
been
stupid
enough
to
imagine
she
had
made
some
kind
of
ally
of
May
Stewart,
devoted
May,
devoted
to
Maitland
–
Stupid!
Contradictory
images
tumbled
through
her
head,
of
Maitland
loving
her,
of
Maitland
in
her
arms,
of
Maitland
speaking
of
anything
and
everything
under
the
sun
except
the
life
he
led
with
his
wife.
That
dull
ageing
woman!
If
Maitland
was
too
loyal,
she
did
not
have
to
be
told
to
know
how
he
must
feel.
Must
.
Let
her
marry
Maitland
and
she
would
show
this
lawyer
with
his
contracts
and ceremonies
what
love
meant.
Hadn't
Maitland
the
right
to
be
happy?
Opening
her
mouth
to
speak,
she
was
forestalled.
'You mustn't
let
me
bore
you,'
Julian
Chambers
said,
'about
the
Trust.
I
wanted
you
to
understand
the
very
particular
feeling
some
of
us
have
for
it.
There
must
not
be
any
risk,
however
remote,
of
scandal.
That's
why
Mr
Norman
won't
be
allowed
to
sign
cheques.’
Expecting
anything
but
this,
she
was
disconcerted.
'You
didn't
know?'
Chambers
speculated.
'I
had
the
impression
from
Mrs
Stewart
that
you
knew.’
'I
might
have
heard
something.’
Her
mind
had
stopped
working.
She
struggled
to
find
something
sensible
to
say.
'The
pair
of
them
talking
...
I
didn't
feel
it
was
any
of
my
business.’
'Mrs
Stewart
has
authority
to
draw
upon
the
Trust
account
for
routine
payments
below
a
certain
level.
That
is
a
matter
of
administrative
convenience.
Above
that
sum,
as
normal
practice,
other
signatories
would
be
required
for
confirmation.
In
any
case,
whatever
the
sum
there
is
no
need
for
Mr
Norman
to
be
involved.’
As
he
finished
abruptly,
she
was
conscious
only
of
her
own
relief.
All
her
guilty
imaginings
had
been
nonsense.
It
was
shameful
that
she
should
have
let
it
happen,
for
she
felt
no
guilt;
there
was
no
reason
for
her
to
feel
guilt.
None
of
this
had
anything
to
do
with
her,
only
with
Monty
Norman.
Not
judged,
she
was
being
treated
as
a
confidante.
Here
was
something
she
would
share
with
Maitland.
It
would
have
been
easy
for
her
to
weep.
As
Julian
Chambers
rose
to
his
feet,
she
stood
also.
'I
have
no
intention
of
impugning
Mr
Norman's
honesty.
The
point
is
general.
It
would
be
rash
to
give
it
any
particular
application
to
Mr
Norman.
I
wouldn't
want
to
be
misunderstood.’
She
nodded
without
entirely
following
what
he
was
saying.
Beside
his
tallness,
the
emotion
she
felt
was
a
deception
of
memory.
Her
father's
friend,
the
headmaster,
avuncularly
towering
had
bent
down
to
joke
with
her.
‘
Kaffee fiir mich, bitte, es ist zu kalt fiir Bier und Wein. Don't tell me you have no German. A little Hebrew perhaps?’
'Have
you
met
Mrs
Ure?'
'I'm
sorry?'
'Maitland's
wife.’
'She
came
to
the
office
–
and
for
the
last
meeting.’
'She
is
a
very
fine
person.
A
lady – if
you
will
allow
me
that
expression
from
another
time.
I
have
known
her
for
a
great
many
years.
All
of
her
life,
indeed.
I
am
very
fond
of
Lucy.
You
understand?'
From
his
great
height,
balefully,
he
had
left
no
room
for
doubt.
Beyond
any
hope
of
a
mistake,
Sophie
understood
why she
had
been
summoned.
Chapter 11
When
the
door
opened,
it
was
May
Stewart,
who
raising
her
hand
to
her
lips
cried,
'Did
I
startle
you?
I
got
a
fright
myself
–
I
was
sure
you
had
gone
out
for
lunch
without
saying.’
'No
…
'
She
looked
at
her
watch,
it
was
after
one.
'Is
it
so
late?'
'Are
you
feeling
unwell
again?
You
shouldn't
have
come
in
today.’
Mr
Terence's
thesis
leaned
forlornly
against
the
bundle of
undelivered
hospice
material
on
the
table.
'We'll
post
them,'
May
Stewart
had
said
in
the
morning;
but
now
they
had
missed
the
first
collection.
'And
Mr
Chambers?
You
didn't
see
him
either?'
'It
was
after
I
saw
him
I
felt
sick
and
had
to
go
home,'
Sophie
had
told
her
vindictively.
'Did
he
speak
to
you
…
about
Mr
Norman?'
'There
wasn't
a
lot
I
could
tell
him.
Mr
Norman
has
a lot
of
good
ideas.
I
told
him
that.’
'Do
you
know
he
wants
to
sign
the
cheques?'
'Well,
you
do.’
'That's
not
the
same!
I've
worked
fifteen
years
for
the
Trust.
It
means
something
to
me.
Anyway,
only
up
to
a
hundred
pounds.’
'It's
between
you
two,
isn't
it?'
'But
I
can't
just
let
things
go.
I
have
a
responsibility
.
And
another
thing –
he
comes
in
when
he
likes.
I've
always
worked
regular
office
hours,
though
I
needn't
have. No
one
was
here
to
bother.
I
just
wouldn't
have
felt
it
was
right.’
Sophie
had
escaped
then,
and
been
left
alone
in
the
workroom
to
brood.
Now
May
Stewart
was
asking
again,
'You're
all
right?'
'I
didn't
sleep
well
last
night.’
To
offer
that
was
weak,
an
excuse;
like
the
ones
she
had
made
all
her
life,
to
her
parents,
to
schoolteachers,
to
lecturers
at
Balinter.
The
habit
of
apologising
was
a
hard
one
to
break,
no
matter
how
angry
you
were,
how
full
of
contempt.
'Have
you
eaten
yet?'
'I'm
not
hungry.’
The
secretary
shepherded
her
along
the
corridor
to
her
own
room.
'Fruit
and
biscuits,'
she
said.
'I
always
bring
too
much.
You
can
share
and
then
we'll
make
coffee.’
Into
two
round
plastic
containers,
she
sliced
apple,
banana
and
a
peach
carefully
divided
between
them.
She
handed
one
over.
Staring
into
the
little
bowl,
Sophie
explained,
'I'm
not
hungry.
I
think
I'll
go
for
a
walk
–
don't
worry,
I
won't
take
too
long.’
A
light
flush
touched
the
secretary's
fine
high-boned cheeks.
'I
rather
thought,
Sophie,
you
and
I
had
become
friends.’
Sophie
put
a
piece
of
the
fruit
into
her
mouth.
The chunk
of
banana
was
slippery
and
tasteless.
'Last
week,'
she
said,
'Monty
Norman
tried
to
get
me
to
share
a
bag
of
potato
sticks.
Apparently
that
would
have
made
us
blood
brothers.’
'Blood
brothers?'
'Allies,
I
suppose
he
meant.’
'Why
should
he
suppose
you
would
want
to
be
an
ally
of
his?'
'Perhaps
because
we
both
owe
our
jobs
to
Professor Ure';
and
added
deliberately,
'Maitland.’
'It's
so
wrong,
Sophie,'
May
Stewart
said.
'You
don't
have
to
put
it
into
words.
I
know
how
you
must
feel
about
the
man.’
Then
as
Sophie
stared,
she
cried
out,
'He's
an
impossible
man!'
With
the
side
of
her
fork,
Sophie
cut
into
the
soft
flesh
of
the
peach.
She
did
it
automatically,
working
out
that
it
was
Monty
Norman
who
was
impossible,
but
the
juice
of
the
peach
ran
between
her
teeth
and
the
rich
sweetness
of
it
surprised
her
into
pleasure.
She
cut
another
piece
and
popped
it
into
her
mouth,
and
looked
up
to
find
the
secretary
smiling
at
her.
'Thing
is,
the
first
time
I
saw
him
he
reminded
me
of
the Professor.
I
was
sure
I
was
going
to
like
him.
Isn't
that
silly?'
'They
couldn't
be
more
unlike.’
'I
haven't
put
it
into
words,'
May
Stewart
said,
'but
it's
been
so
nice
to
have
young
company.
I
love
this
job,
no
two
days
are
the
same –
well,
you've
found
that
out –
but
the
one
drawback
was
the
lack
of
company,
apart
from
the
odd
temp
or
a
bit
of
part-time
help.
Not
the
same
thing,
is
it?
And
then
you
came.
I
was
so
pleased.’