The Franchise Affair by Josephine Tey

love that had gone to the decoration of these regrettable objects. No love had gone to their building; only a reckoning. But to each owner, as he took over, the bare little house had represented his “sufficient beauty,” and having found it he served it. The gardens were small miracles of loveliness; each succeeding one a fresh revelation of some unsuspected poet’s heart.
    Nevil really ought to be here to see, Robert thought, slowing down yet once more as a new perfection caught his eye; there was more poetry here than in a whole twelve months of his beloved Watchman . All his clichés were here: form, rhythm, colour, total gesture, design, impact . . .
    Or would Nevil see only a row of suburban gardens? Only Meadowside Lane, Aylesbury, with some Woolworth plants in the gardens?
    Probably.
    Number 39 was the one with the plain green grass bordered by a rockery. It was also distinguished by the fact that its curtains were invisible. No genteel net was stretched across the window-pane, no cream casement cloth hung at the sides. The windows were bare to the sun, the air, and the human gaze. This surprised Robert as much as it probably surprised the neighbours. It augured a nonconformity that he had not expected.
    He rang the bell, wishing that he did not feel like a bagman. He was a suppliant; and that was a new role for Robert Blair.
    Mrs. Wynn surprised him even more than her windows did. It was only when he had met her that he realised how complete a picture he had built in his mind of the woman who had adopted and mothered the child Betty Kane: the grey hair, the solid matronly comfortable figure, the plain broad sensible face; perhaps, even, an apron, or one of those flowered overalls that housewives wear. But Mrs. Wynn was not at all like that. She was slight and neat and young and modern and dark and pink-cheeked and still pretty, and had a pair of the most intelligent bright brown eyes Robert had ever seen.
    When she saw a stranger she looked defensive, and made an involuntary closing movement with the door she was holding; but a second glance seemed to reassure her. Robert explained who he was, and she listened without interrupting him in a way he found quite admirable. Very few of his own clients listened without interrupting; male or female.
    â€œYou are under no obligation to talk to me,” he finished, having explained his presence. “But I hope very much that you won’t refuse. I have told Inspector Grant that I was going to see you this afternoon, on my clients’ behalf.”
    â€œOh, if the police know about it and don’t mind—” She stepped back to let him come past her. “I expect you have to do your best for those people if you are their lawyer. And we havenothing to hide. But if it is really Betty you want to interview I’m afraid you can’t. We have sent her into the country to friends for the day, to avoid all the fuss. Leslie meant well, but it was a stupid thing to do.”
    â€œLeslie?”
    â€œMy son. Sit down, won’t you.” She offered him one of the easy chairs in a pleasant, uncluttered sitting-room. “He was too angry about the police to think clearly—angry about their failure to do anything when it seemed so proved, I mean. He has always been devoted to Betty. Indeed until he got engaged they were inseparable.”
    Robert’s ears pricked. This was the kind of thing he had come to hear.
    â€œEngaged?”
    â€œYes. He got engaged just after the New Year to a very nice girl. We are all delighted.”
    â€œWas Betty delighted?”
    â€œShe wasn’t jealous, if that is what you mean,” she said, looking at him with her intelligent eyes. “I expect she missed not coming first with him as she used to, but she was very nice about it. She is a nice girl, Mr. Blair. Believe me. I was a schoolmistress before I married—not a very good one, that is why I got married at the first