Near Petersburg, Virginia, USA
Tuesday 12th November 2024
Tom remained standing by the door while Martha skim read his report.
Sunlight streamed through the bay window behind her desk. There were acres of parkland outside, fringed by wooded hills sporting late autumn colours: amber, auburn, crimson, carmine, carnelian, camboge, gold, maroon, russet, scarlet... If I had this room, he thought, I’d face the desk the other way. Only someone who’d grown up wealthy could afford to ignore such a spectacular view.
Martha looked up and raised a quizzical eyebrow.
‘So, you think we have a problem?’
‘I think it needs careful handling.’
She rose from her desk and gestured towards the sofa in front of the fire.
‘Ring for tea would you?’ she said,
Tom picked up the brass bell by the door. The mahogany handle was smooth with wear. He shook it and a pleasant, penetrating peal rang out.
The butler appeared at the open door.
‘Earl Grey for two, please.’ Martha said. ‘Unless Tom would prefer Darjeeling?’
The uniformed man turned to Tom and cocked his head. ‘Sir?’
‘I’ll have what the boss is having,’ Tom said.
Martha settled herself on a wingback chair at right angles to the sofa, stretched out her stockinged legs and kicked off her stilettoes. Her suit jacket remained draped over the desk chair. She wore a knee-length black dress with a double string of pearls that matched the colour of her hair.
Tom sat down and smoothed his chinos, wishing he’d worn his suit this morning.
‘Start from the beginning.’ Martha said.
‘It’s all in the report.’
‘I want to hear it from you.’
What was the point of writing a report? He’d stayed up late last night finishing it off. So late he missed the dry cleaner and failed to collect his suit.
But then what Miss Martha wants, Miss Martha gets.
‘In a nutshell, one of our assets in India has turned up dead in England.’
Keep reading with a 7-day free trial
Subscribe to Fiona’s Substack to keep reading this post and get 7 days of free access to the full post archives.