Only Time Will Tell (The Clifton Chronicles, #1)(36)

‘Then why doesn’t he say so?’

‘He probably thinks there’s something you don’t want to tell him.’

‘But I don’t know the truth myself,’ admitted Maisie.

Old Jack didn’t comment.

Maisie walked slowly home; one question answered, another still unresolved. Even so, she wasn’t in any doubt that Old Jack could be added to the list of people who knew the truth about what had happened to her husband.

Old Jack turned out to be right about Miss Tilly, because when Maisie told her about Mr Frampton’s offer, she couldn’t have been more supportive and understanding.

‘We’ll all miss you,’ she said, ‘and frankly the Royal is lucky to have you.’

‘How can I begin to thank you for all you’ve done for me over the years?’ said Maisie.

‘It’s Harry who should be thanking you,’ said Miss Tilly, ‘and I suspect it will only be a matter of time before he realizes that.’





Maisie started her new job a month later, and it didn’t take her long to discover why the Palm Court was never more than a third full.

The waitresses regarded their work simply as a job, unlike Miss Tilly, who considered it to be a vocation. They never bothered to remember the customers’ names, or their favourite tables. Worse, the coffee was often cold by the time it was served, and the cakes were left to go stale until someone bought them. Maisie wasn’t surprised they didn’t get any tips; they didn’t deserve them.

After another month, she began to realize just how much Miss Tilly had taught her.

After three months, Maisie had replaced five of the seven waitresses, without having to recruit anyone from Tilly’s. She had also ordered smart new uniforms for all her staff, along with new plates, cups and saucers and, even more important, changed her coffee supplier and her cake-maker. That was something she was willing to steal from Miss Tilly.

‘You’re costing me a lot of money, Maisie,’ said Mr Frampton when another stack of bills landed on his desk. Try not to forget what I said about return on investment.’

‘Give me another six months, Mr Frampton, and you’ll see the results.’

Although Maisie worked night and day, she always found time to drop Harry off at school in the morning and pick him up in the afternoon. But she warned Mr Frampton that there would be one day when she wouldn’t be on time for work.

When she told him why, he gave her the whole day off.





Just before they left the house, Maisie checked herself in the mirror. She was dressed in her Sunday best but not going to church. She smiled down at her son, who looked so smart in his new red and black school uniform. Even so, she felt a little self-conscious as they waited at the tram stop.

‘Two to Park Street,’ she told the clippie when the No. 11 pulled away. She was unable to hide her pride when she noticed him taking a closer look at Harry. It only convinced Maisie that she had made the right decision.

When they reached their stop, Harry refused to let his mum carry his suitcase. Maisie held on to his hand as they walked slowly up the hill towards the school, not sure which one of them was more nervous. She couldn’t take her eyes off the hansom cabs and chauffeur-driven cars that were dropping off other boys for their first day of term. She only hoped that Harry would be able to find at least one friend among them. After all, some of the nannies were better dressed than she was.

Harry began to slow down as they got nearer the school gates. Maisie could sense his discomfort – or was it just fear of the unknown?

‘I’ll leave you now,’ she said, and bent down to kiss him. ‘Good luck, Harry. Make us all proud of you.’

‘Goodbye, Mum.’

As she watched him walk away, Maisie noticed that someone else appeared to be taking an interest in Harry Clifton.





15


MAISIE WOULD NEVER FORGET the first time she had to turn away a customer.

‘I’m sure there will be a table available in a few minutes, sir.’

She prided herself on the fact that once a customer had paid the bill, her staff could clear the table, replace the cloth and have it re-laid and ready for the next guest within five minutes.

The Palm Court quickly became so popular that Maisie had to keep a couple of tables permanently reserved, just in case one of her regulars turned up unexpectedly.

She was a little embarrassed that some of her old customers from Tilly’s had begun to migrate to the Palm Court, not least dear old Mr Craddick, who remembered Harry from his paper round. She considered it an even greater compliment when Miss Tilly herself began to drop in for a morning coffee.

‘Just checking on the opposition,’ she said. ‘By the way, Maisie, this coffee is superb.’

‘So it should be,’ Maisie replied. ‘It’s yours.’

Eddie Atkins also came in from time to time, and if the size of his cigars, not to mention his waistline, was anything to go by, the sky must still have been the limit. Although he was friendly, he never asked Maisie out, but he did regularly remind her that his door was always open.

Not that Maisie didn’t have a string of admirers she occasionally allowed to take her out in the evening, maybe to dinner at a fashionable restaurant, sometimes a visit to the Old Vic or the cinema, especially if a Greta Garbo film was playing. But when they parted at the end of the evening, she allowed none of them more than a peck on the cheek before returning home. At least, not until she met Patrick Casey, who proved that the charm of the Irish was not just a cliche.