Only Time Will Tell (The Clifton Chronicles, #1)(33)

Even Maisie couldn’t resist a grin when, a week later, both of her suitors dropped in for a coffee on the same morning, and both asked if they could meet up with her later.

Eddie was first, and he got straight to the point. ‘Why don’t I pick you up after work this evening, Maisie? There’s something I’m rather keen to show you.’

Maisie wanted to tell him she already had a date, just to make him realize she wasn’t available whenever it suited him, but when she returned to his table a few minutes later with his bill, she found herself saying, ‘I’ll see you after work then, Eddie.’

She still had a smile on her face when the other customer said, ‘I wonder if I might have a word with you, Mrs Clifton?’

Maisie wondered how he knew her name.

‘Wouldn’t you prefer to speak to the manageress, Mr . . . ?’

‘Frampton,’ he replied. ‘No, thank you, it’s you I was hoping to speak to. Might I suggest we meet at the Royal Hotel during your afternoon break? It shouldn’t take more than fifteen minutes of your time.’

‘Talk about buses never turning up when you need one,’ Maisie said to Miss Tilly, ‘and then two arrive at once.’ Miss Tilly told Maisie she thought she recognized Mr Frampton, but couldn’t place him.

When Maisie presented Mr Frampton with his bill, she emphasized that she could only spare fifteen minutes because she had to be on time to pick up her son from school at four o’clock. He nodded as if that was something else he was aware of.





Was it really in Harry’s best interests to apply for a scholarship to St Bede’s?

Maisie wasn’t sure who to discuss the problem with. Stan was bound to be against the idea, and wasn’t likely to consider the other side of the argument. Miss Tilly was too close a friend of Miss Monday’s to give a dispassionate view, and the Reverend Watts had already advised her to seek the Lord’s guidance, which hadn’t proved particularly reliable in the past. Mr Frobisher had seemed such a nice man, but he’d made it clear that only she could make the final decision. Mr Holcombe hadn’t left her in any doubt how he felt.

Maisie didn’t give Mr Frampton another thought until she’d finished serving her last customer. She then exchanged a pinafore for her old coat.

Miss Tilly watched through the window as Maisie set off in the direction of the Royal Hotel. She felt a little anxious, but wasn’t sure why.

Although Maisie had never been in the Royal before, she knew it had the reputation of being one of the best-run hotels in the West Country, and the chance to see it from the inside was one of the reasons she’d agreed to see Mr Frampton.

She stood on the opposite pavement and watched as customers pushed their way through the revolving doors. She’d never seen anything quite like them, and only when she felt confident she’d got the hang of how they worked did she cross the road and step inside. She pushed a little too hard and found herself propelled into the foyer more quickly than she’d anticipated.

Maisie looked around and spotted Mr Frampton sitting alone in a quiet alcove in the corner of the foyer. She walked across to join him. He immediately rose from his place, shook hands with her, and waited until she had taken the seat opposite him.

‘Can I order you a coffee, Mrs Clifton?’ he asked, and before she could reply he added, ‘I should warn you, it’s not in the same class as Tilly’s.’

‘No, thank you, Mr Frampton,’ said Maisie, whose only interest was to find out why he wanted to see her.

Mr Frampton took his time lighting a cigarette, then inhaled deeply. ‘Mrs Clifton,’ he began as he placed the cigarette on the ashtray, ‘you cannot have failed to notice that I have recently become a regular customer at Tilly’s.’ Maisie nodded. ‘I have to confess that my only reason for visiting the café was you.’ Maisie had her well-prepared ‘amorous suitor’ line ready for just as soon as he stopped talking. ‘In all the years I’ve been in the hotel trade,’ he continued, ‘I’ve never seen anyone do their job more efficiently than you. I only wish that every waitress in this hotel was of your calibre.’

‘I’ve been well trained,’ said Maisie.

‘So have the other four waitresses in that tea shop, but none of them has your flair.’

‘I’m flattered, Mr Frampton. But why are you telling—’

‘I am the general manager of this hotel,’ he said, ‘and I’d like you to take charge of our coffee room, which is known as the Palm Court. As you can see – ’ he waved a hand expansively – ‘we have about a hundred covers, but less than a third of the places are regularly occupied. That’s not exactly a worthwhile return on the company’s investment. No doubt that would change if you were to take over. I believe I can make it worth your while.’

Maisie didn’t interrupt him.

‘I can’t see why your hours should differ greatly from those of your current employment. I’d be willing to pay you five pounds a week, and all the tips earned by the waitresses in the Palm Court would be split fifty-fifty with you. If you were able to build up the clientele, that could prove very remunerative. And then I—’

‘But I couldn’t think of leaving Miss Tilly,’ interrupted Maisie. ‘She’s been so good to me over the past six years.’