Jacqueline Winspear - Maisie Dobbs

"Don't some officers get rooms with bathrooms?"

"Oh, yes. Forgot that. Privilege and all that."

Iris and Maisie had discarded their uniform dresses quickly, and Iris gathered the laundry and walked toward the door.

"Never know, Maisie, p'raps your Captain Lynch will let you use his bathroom."

"Iris!"

"Only joking, Dobbsie. Now then, go bag us a bathroom."

The bathtub easily accommodated the two women, who lay back in the steaming water and audibly allowed the tension of the past few months to drain away.

"Bit more hot water, Maisie. Another five minutes and we'll swap ends."

"And about time!"

Maisie turned on the hot tap and pulled the plug to allow some of the cooler water out at the same time. After wallowing for another five minutes, they swapped ends, giggling as they moved, and continued to linger in the soothing steamy heat.

"Maisie," said Iris, as she leaned back, trying to comfortably position her head between the heavy taps,"Maisie, do you think your Captain Lynch will ask you to marry him, then?"

"Iris--"

"No, I'm not kidding you on now. I'm serious. What with the war and all. Makes you a bit more serious, doesn't it? Look at Bess White--gets a letter from her sweetheart, says he's going home on leave, she goes on leave, and boom! There they are--married, and him back at the front."

Maisie leaned forward, dipped her head in the water and sat up, sweeping back the long dark tresses.

"Here's what I do know, Iris. I know that when this is over, when the war is done with, I'm going back to university. That's what I know. Besides, when the war's over, I don't know if I'll be . . . well, Simon comes from a good family."

Iris looked at Maisie, then sat up and took hold of her hand.

"I know exactly what you are just about to say, Maisie, and let me tell you this, in case you haven't noticed. We are living in different times now. This war has made everything different. I've seen the letters from your dad, and from that Carter and Mrs. Whatsername with the pies. Those people, Maisie, are your family, and they are every bit as good as Simon's. And you are every bit as good as anyone Captain Simon Lynch will ever meet."

Maisie held on to Iris's hand, bit her bottom lip, and nodded. "It's just that--I can't explain it, but I have a feeling here," she held her hand to her chest,"that things will change. I know, I know, Iris, what you're going to say, 'It's the war. . . .' But I know this feeling. I know it to be true. And I know that everything will change."

"Come on. This water's going to your head, Maisie Dobbs. You are a grand nurse, Dobbsie, but I tell you, sometimes I wonder about all your wondering."

Iris put her hands on either side of the bath and levered herself up. She stepped out onto the tiled floor, grabbed one of the sturdy white towels, and began to dry herself. Maisie continued to sit in the rapidly cooling water while Iris dressed.

"Come on, dreamer. We'd better get a move on. That's if you want to see young Captain Lynch for dinner this evening. What time did he say to meet him?"

"The note said seven o'clock. By the desk in the main corridor as you come into the hotel."

Wearing a plain gray day dress, her hair up in a bun, and accompanied by Iris, Maisie walked down the wide sweeping staircase of the hotel. She had tried not to anticipate meeting with Simon again, in case she imagined too much, in case the expectation of excited conversation, of hands held, of feelings expressed, was to clash with reality.

Iris was accompanying Maisie, but had already made up her mind to retire early. Not that she should, really. Fraternizing between men and women in uniform was frowned upon. But with a bit of luck, Maisie's young man would have a nice friend for company. Chaperone, my eye! thought Iris. Nothing like being the piggy in the middle.

Maisie and Simon Lynch saw each other at exactly the same time, and moved quickly through the throng of visitors. The thumping of Maisie's heart seemed to radiate to her throat, and stopped the words of greeting she had so carefully planned. Simon simply stood in front of her, took both her hands in his and looked into her eyes.

"I thought I would never see you again, Maisie."

Maisie nodded and looked down at their hands held together.

A deep, throaty "Ahem!" brought Simon and Maisie's attention back into the room. Iris was looking at her feet, inspecting the soles of her shoes, when the man accompanying Simon spoke.

"Think you could introduce us, Lynch? Don't know how you folks do things, but where I'm from, we try to get acquainted."

"Oh, I'm sorry. Please forgive me. Maisie, Iris, may I introduce Captain Charles Hayden. Currently sporting a British uniform, but as you can hear, he's an American. Good man came over here with the Massachusetts General Hospital contingent to do his bit. God bless them all. We've been exchanging notes about dealing with gas poisoning. Charles--Miss Maisie Dobbs and Miss Iris Rigson."

"And delighted to meet you. It was worth coming all this way. And Lynch was becoming a bit of a bore, as you might say. Well, are we going to eat, or stand here all evening? Personally I'm for eating."

"Me too," said Iris.

Charles Hayden provided the group with a much-needed dose of humor at dinner, and as time passed the waves of conversation shifted, so that the voices of Hayden and Iris could be heard above all others, laughing loudly, teasing, and generally exchanging good cheer. Instinctively they had assumed the task of allowing their friends the intimacy that can be had, even in a crowded room, when two people want only to be with each other.

"I have longed to see you, Maisie, and yet now that you are here, I hardly know what to say."

"Yes, I know."

Simon turned his body toward Maisie and reached for her hand.

"Talk to me about anything, Maisie. I want to know everything about you. Even if you've already told me in a letter. I want to hear your voice. Start anywhere, but not with the war. Tell me about London, Kent, about your father, your mother--and what about that funny little man Maurice Blanche? Tell me about it all, Maisie."

Maisie smiled, looked briefly across the table at Iris laughing with her head back.

"I'll tell you about my father. Francis. Known to just about everyone as Frankie. He has three loves in his life. My mother, who died when I was a child, me, and Persephone, his horse."

Maisie and Simon each unfolded tales of their lives that transported them from the memory of more recent experiences. Even after dinner had ended, the two walked close together along a cobblestone street that led to nowhere in particular and back again. For two days Simon and Maisie were almost exclusively with each other, apart only when Simon kissed her hand at the end of each day and watched as she climbed the stairs to the room she shared with Iris.

"Well, we're off tomorrow, Maisie. Back to the delightful Maison Tent."

"Have you enjoyed yourself, Iris?"

"Thank God for Chuck--that's what he calls himself--Hayden. Nice man, good company. We swapped sweetheart stories while you collected stars in your eyes."

"Iris, I'm sorry. I can't thank you enough."

"Oh, Maisie, don't get me wrong. It was a very nice time I had. Seriously, like I said, he was good company. Left his wife and young son behind to come over here with other American doctors and nurses. Misses his family something rotten. I told him all about my Sid. Blimey, I dunno if I would've come over here if I didn't have to."

"You didn't have to come here, Iris."

"I know. But there again I did, because it's my country that's here in this war. They're our boys and I'm a nurse. But they didn't; the Americans didn't have to come here. Though Charles seems to think it won't be long before they're in."