Page 5

“Be not afraid, Mr. Duffery. Be not afraid in the least. All the demons in hell could not make me repeat one word of this conversation. To anyone. Ever.”

“ Nicholas!” Fiona mouthed, glaring at him from behind Mr. Duffery.

“I am glad to hear you say so, Mr. Soames,” said Mr. Duffery.

“Now, as I was explaining, this product is so new, I haven’t even advertised it yet.

” His voice dropped low, as if he were a spy divulging state secrets.

“It’s called Duffery’s No-Flap Chin Strap .

It lifts sagging wattles and presses them back into place.

” He pointed at Nick’s neck. “Why, you could use one yourself. I can see the very beginnings of a double-chin. It may have escaped your notice, but it is there, I assure you. It’s easy to wear the device.

You simply strap it on before retiring and remove it upon rising.

I wear mine with my mustache trainer. To gain the best results, I advise that you wear it every night without fail. ”

Nick looked at the man as if he had just thrown a dead rat at his feet. “I would rather die, sir,” he said.

Fiona sucked in a sharp breath. She hurried to his side and squeezed his arm.

“ Try , sir,” she quickly said, flashing Milton Duffery a too-bright smile.

“My husband would rather try your brand, than any other. I will buy him one the very instant it’s available.

Now, come along, Nicholas. I need your help. ”

As Fiona shepherded Nick over to a wall, Mr. Duffery returned his attention to Mary. “I wish to purchase a few items for my table, Mrs. Munro. Two sausage rolls. Three pork pies. Four currant scones. And that lovely madeira cake.”

“I’ll wrap them for you right away. Shall I put them on account?”

“Yes, please. You are a fine cook, Mrs. Munro. A very fine cook, indeed. And I can see from the state of this shop that you are a tidy housekeeper, too.”

Mary flushed with pleasure. “You’re very kind to say so, Mr. Duffery.”

“My sister cooks for me and I wish she had as light a hand with pastry as you do. She is too free with the suet. An excess of fat unbalances the digestion, Mrs. Munro. It leads to biliousness and an over-dependence on magnesia.” Mr. Duffery shook his head dolorously, then continued.

“Her cooking leads to steep dentist bills, too, I’m afraid. ”

“Does it?” Mary asked. “How so? ”

“She is a bit careless, my sister, I don’t mind telling you. She wore her favorite ring as she kneaded bread dough last week, you see…”

“A thrilling raconteur, too? My word, is there no end to the man’s talents?” Nick whispered, slapping paint on the wall.

“…and unbeknownst to her, the stone dropped out of it. She was beside herself with worry when she discovered it was missing, fearing it was lost forever. Well, I found it, didn’t I?

That very next morning when I took a bite of toast!

Cracked a molar. This one right here…” Milton Duffery hooked a finger in his cheek and stretched it wide. “Oo thee?”

“Yes, I do. How painful that must’ve been,” Mary said.

Mr. Duffery released his cheek. “Such is the bachelor’s burden,” he sighed.

Mary handed him his purchases, neatly wrapped in brown paper and tied with string.

“Thank you, Mrs. Munro,” he said as he took them. “I was wondering…”

“Yes, Mr. Duffery?”

“Might I have the honor of your company at the East Side Temperance Society’s Saturday evening singalong? I think you would have a very nice time. We sing only good, clean, old-fashioned songs. None of that racy new rubbish.”

Nick turned around. “My word, doesn’t that sound like fun?”

Mary ignored him.

“There will be a supper afterwards,” Milton Duffery continued. “Fried chicken, I’m told. Cookies and sarsaparilla, too.”

“I would be delighted to accompany you, Mr. Duffery,” Mary said warmly.

“Splendid. I shall call for you at four o’clock.” He held up a finger. “ Sharp . Good day, Mrs. Munro.”

“Good day, Mr. Duffery.”

“Mr. Soames…Mrs. Soames,” said Milton Duffery, doffing his hat as he opened the shop door.

“Good-bye, Mr. Duffery,” Fiona said.

“And good riddance!” Nick fumed, as the door closed behind the visitor. He pointed his paintbrush at Mary. “You can’t possibly…you don’t really mean to—”

“Stop before you start,” Mary warned.

“But Mary, he’s a—”

“ Stop ,” Mary said, sharply enough that Nick flinched. She saw it and softened. “My options are somewhat limited, Nicholas. I am a widow who comes with a teenage son and an elderly father-in-law. I am hardly considered a catch.”

Mary looked so vulnerable as she made this admission, that Nick felt a flame of chivalry ignite in his heart. “Rubbish!” he protested. “You are the finest catch in all of New York!”

Mary smiled at his words, but her smile was tinged with sadness. “You are very sweet to say so, but I can’t go on as I’ve been doing.”

“Why not?” Fiona asked, concerned. “What’s wrong? Have we done something?”

“It was me, wasn’t it? Banging on about a Victoria sponge the other night,” Nick said, pained by the memory.

“Don’t be ridiculous. You’ve done nothing wrong, either of you.”

“Then what is it?” Fiona pressed.

Mary looked down at her hands. “It’s…well…” she began awkwardly. “People talk.”

“Who’s talking?” Fiona demanded. “What are they saying?”

“That it’s improper, a widow and widower living in the same building, spending so much time together. Why buy the cow when you can get the milk for free ?”

Anger colored Fiona’s cheeks. “Who said that?”

“Maggie Flaherty.”

“Why, that old toad.”

“She is an old toad, but even so…it’s time.

Time I moved on with my life.” Mary paused for a moment, struggling with her emotion, then added, “I loved my late husband very much, and I’ve always heard it said that you only get one big love in your life, if you’re lucky. I think it’s time I accepted it.”

Nick understood what Mary was saying—and what she wasn’t.

So did Fiona. “You don’t love Mr. Duffery,” she said.

Mary polished a bit of imaginary dust off the counter with her sleeve. “It’s a bit early to be talking about love, isn’t it? And anyway, there are many different kinds of love.”

“Yes, there are,” Fiona agreed. “Like true love. The kind you feel for Michael.”

Mary blushed. And winced. “Right to the point, lass. As always.”

“Why don’t you tell him how you feel?”

“I can’t, Fiona,” Mary replied. “I’m not a modern woman like you. I’m rather old-fashioned, I’m afraid. I expect the man to make the first move.”

“But Michael—” Fiona pressed .

“Does not return my feelings,” Mary cut in. She lifted her head, and Nick saw the depth of her heartache etched upon her face. “Don’t you think he would have said something by now if he did?”

Fiona, flustered, stammered an answer. “Well, I…I don’t…I mean, he—”

“Exactly,” Mary said, then she changed the subject. “I need to run upstairs to check on Nell. Keep an eye on the shop for a minute, will you?”

Nick and Fiona watched her as she disappeared through the doorway that connected the shop with the building’s foyer and the staircase to the upper floors.

Then Fiona turned to Nick. Her jaw was hard-set, her gaze intense. “Milton Duffery is moving fast, Nicholas,” she said. “He has made inroads.”

Nick waved a hand dismissively. “He has taken Mary out once.”

“Once that we know of. And he’s taking her out again this Saturday.”

“I’d hardly call two outings inroads.”

But Fiona seemed not to hear him. Worry darkened her eyes. “I don’t have a good feeling about this. Mary cares for Michael and he cares for her, I know he does, but he’s going to lose her if he doesn’t make a move.”

“I hope you’re wrong. I really do. Poor Mary. Can you imagine it?”

“Imagine what?”

“The pudding climbing into bed at night with his chin strap and his mustache trainer and his bottle of magnesia,” Nick replied, with a shudder.

“We have to do something. ”

“But what? We can’t force Michael to talk to Mary,” Nick said, remembering how Michael had stormed out of his flat on Saturday evening after being confronted by Alec. “And it looks like Mary isn’t going to approach him, either.”

“I don’t know what to do. Not yet,” Fiona replied. “But I’ll come up with something.”

“Well, how about we finish splotching paint colors on the walls in the meantime? It’s getting on,” Nick suggested. He picked up his paintbrush again.

“Yes, let’s. Then we’ll collect Seamie and go home. I have a fair bit of accounting to do tonight and the sooner I make a start, the better. I’m just going to run up to Michael’s flat to get my shawl. I was so upset with him last night, I forgot it.”

“Fee?” Nick called after her.

“Mmm?” Fiona said, turning in the doorway.

“Matchmaking is a tricky business. One must tread lightly where hearts are involved.”

“When have you ever known me not to tread lightly?” Fiona asked.

Nick snorted laughter.

Fiona leveled her chin at him. “Mary deserves better than Milton Duffery. She deserves her heart’s desire. And I mean to see that she gets it.”

Then she disappeared through the doorway and Nick heard her footsteps, quick and light, hurrying up the stairs, and his heart clenched painfully with love for her. And with sadness.

“Ah, Fee,” he whispered in the silence of the shop .

He knew her. Better than anyone. And he knew that she would fight hard for her friend, determined that Mary would find true love.

Because she herself had lost it.