Page 24 of Fire Must Burn

‘You brought fishing flies to show on a first date?’

‘Any woman who is worth my attention should know who I am from the start. Wouldn’t you agree?’

‘I do, Mr Lonsdale. So things began well.’

‘They began well and they continued well throughout the evening. It was by far the most enjoyable experience I’ve had since I signed up with your agency.’

‘I am glad to hear it, Mr Lonsdale. What went wrong?’

‘At the end of the evening, I asked if we could see each other again. She said no. It was expressed with decency, even kindness, but it was still no. Frankly, I am at a loss to understand why.’

‘I’m so sorry, Mr Lonsdale,’ she said. ‘I will see if there is someone more outdoorsy among our ladies. Perhaps—’

‘No, Mrs Bainbridge,’ he said. ‘The purpose of my calling you is to tell you that I am done with all this.’

‘But Mr Lonsdale—’

‘Mrs Bainbridge, I know who I am,’ he said. ‘I believe that being a man of my particular passions is off-putting to city girls, and I have seen that belief validated by one unpleasant encounter after another. I thought this last one might be different, yet the end was the same. In some respects, it was even more disheartening because I had hope in the beginning, and that hope grew throughout the evening. The fall at the end was from a greater height as a result, and more painful because of that.’

‘Oh, Mr Lonsdale, I cannot tell you how sorry I am,’ said Mrs Bainbridge. ‘Please give us another chance. I will not rest until I have brought you happiness.’

‘No, Mrs Bainbridge, I am done,’ he said. ‘I appreciate the efforts you and Miss Sparks have made on my behalf. I know that you can’t succeed with everyone. I am sorry to have become one of your failures. I am going to wrap up things in London and go back to Hampshire. If I am to be alone, I would at least like to be alone where the trout are biting. Goodbye, Mrs Bainbridge.’

‘Goodbye, Mr Lonsdale,’ she said. ‘Thank you for calling to tell us.’

She hung up, then dabbed at her eyes.

We’ve hurt someone, she thought. Damn it.

Berkeley Square was a short walk from The Right Sort, so Sparks arrived much too early for her quarry. She was running on nerves and an empty stomach by this point, so she walked through the London plane trees dotting the park, inhaling the scent of the new-mown grass to soothe her frazzle.

Then she spotted him. Tony, unmistakably Tony, walking down the pavement towards the shop. She looked down into her bag as if she were searching for something, keeping him in view out of the corner of her eye. He went inside Maggs Bros.

She pulled out her compact, checked her make-up, snapped it shut and put it back. Then she took a deep breath and sauntered from the park to the bookshop.

Two shallow steps took her to the door, next to which hung a plaque with the royal coat of arms over it and the proud, white-lettered proclamation:Maggs Bros. Ltd., 50Berkeley Square Est. 1853. RARE BOOKS MANUSCRIPTS AUTOGRAPHS. She opened the door, tinkling a small silver bell overhead. A clerk nodded to her from behind a maple counter to her left. On long tables in front of her were stacked giant volumes with worn bindings from centuries past, while more on shelves covered every inch of wall space up to the ceiling. A rolling stepladder stood at the ready to the right. There was a staircase at the rear leading to the upper storeys, which no doubt were crammed with even more books.

Tony wasn’t there, which meant he must have gone upstairs. She walked over to the clerk at the counter.

‘May I help you, miss?’ he asked.

‘Miss Iris Sparks,’ she said. ‘I called about a book yesterday.’

‘Of course,’ he said, turning to a shelf directly behind him.

He pulled down a large brown book with embossed lettering and placed it before her. She flipped it open to find plates of Coleoptera in glorious array.

‘Wonderful,’ she said, meaning it. ‘I will take it. But I’d like to do some browsing before I go.’

‘Of course, Miss Sparks,’ he said. ‘I’ll be here when you’re ready.’

She took the book, then made a slight show of examining the volumes on the display tables, some of which were nearly half her size. Then she took the stairs up to the next floor.

Where would he be? she thought.

History, most likely.

The History section was two storeys up. She took a quick recon of the first floor just in case she was wrong but didn’t find him.