Diamond Solitaire

'This one? This one, Naomi?'

She tapped it again.

'So you're right. He was only partly right. He worked out what the drawing represented,' Diamond told the woman, 'but she was telling us she traveled by train.'

'Japan Airlines,' said Yamagata, nodding.

'British Rail,' Diamond said, turning to speak to the woman. 'Fancy you working it out.'

She told him, 'The credit for interpreting the drawings belongs to Mr. Yamagata.'

'You got it between you, then. Bloody brilliant!'

'Asian people write their language in ideograms. We have a sharp eye for symbols.'

Yamagata spoke again in Japanese and his interpreter said firmly, 'Mr. Yamagata must prepare for the basho. We should not delay him. He said he will pay whatever you need to find Naomi's parents.'

Diamond's eyes widened in surprise. 'He'll pay?'

'That is so.'

'Let me get this right. He's offering to hire me?'

'Yes.'

'Does he really mean whatever I need?'

More consultation ensued. Then: 'Mr. Yamagata possesses the Gold Card of American Express.'

'I'm impressed, but-'

'He will give you his Gold Card number. If you need to make expenditure, you quote the number. I will write this down for you.'

'He's giving me carte blanche to spend his money?'

'American Express,' said Yamagata himself, but with some difficulty over the letter R.

'Mr. Yamagata has satisfied himself that you are honorable.'

Encouraging as it was to have found unlimited sponsorship and been judged honorable, Diamond still had mixed feelings about the encounter. His expectation that these people had recognized Naomi had been dashed. He was pleased to have her drawing explained, but disappointed that it indicated nothing more than a journey on BR's Intercity.

After another bout of bowing and handshaking, he withdrew with Naomi to the blessedly unscented air outside.

The interpreter followed them out and handed him a card with Yamagata's Tokyo address. Below it she had written his credit card number. She said solemnly, 'And my phone number is on the back.'

The impulse to smile, or wink, or say something suggestive was hard to resist. But there are people you don't risk upsetting, and this Asian dowager was one. Actually the mention of the phone jerked Peter Diamond back to a matter of more urgency. He still hadn't called the school. He thanked her, pocketed the card and went to look for a callbox.

To his immense relief, Julia Musgrave answered. She agreed that it had been right to follow up the summons from the sumo wrestler. She'd watched 'What About the Kids?' Everyone in the school had watched it and there had been high excitement among the children when Clive had recognized Naomi. Julia was sorry that nothing of real substance had resulted from the program, apart from Mr. Yamagata's offer, because-she reminded Diamond, as if it wasn't paramount in his mind-Naomi's time in England was almost up. In less than forty-eight hours, she would be on that flight to Boston.

Miss Musgrave had gone home, Diamond learned when the school's front door was opened.

It was a good thing he'd phoned first. The worst Mrs. Straw could find to complain of was that the child looked worn to a frazzle, poor mite. 'Look at her. She can hardly stand up, she's so done for.'

Naomi slipped her hand free from Diamond's and ran inside and up the stairs in quick, light steps, still holding her drawing pad.

He raised his trilby to Mrs. Straw and went off to catch the tube.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Stephanie's advice across the breakfast table was eminently sensible, if totally unacceptable.

'Face up to it, Pete-you've run out of time. You can't solve that little girl's problem.'

'Which problem is that?'

She sighed. 'Oh, don't get pernickety, love. It's too early in the day.'

To demonstrate good will, he offered to put a slice of bread in the toaster for her. 'I was only asking you to explain what you're on about. Which of her problems am I incapable of solving?'

'The speech.'

'You mean the absence of it.'

She sighed, rested her chin on the bridge she had made of her hands and gave him a look that said he was being unreasonably reasonable.

He told her, 'I never expected to restore her speech. All I've been trying to do is find her people. I'm a policeman, not a speech therapist.'

'You're neither,' she reminded him mildly.

'An ex-policeman, then.'

'But you weren't dealing with abandoned kids.'

'I've been through the training. I know the procedures. Look, Steph, you know me well enough. I'm not giving up now.'

She got up from the table and carried her plate to the sink. 'What can you do? It's Saturday morning. You told me they're flying her out to Boston tomorrow.'

'Correct.'

'Can't you see it may be the best possible thing, Pete? The school is run by the Japanese. They have a wonderful reputation.'

He had nothing against the school. 'You want to know what I can do?' he said. 'I can get her to draw things. She is definitely trying to communicate through the drawing. I'm getting her confidence now. She holds my hand.'

Stephanie looked down at the water she was running over the dishes. Unseen by Diamond, she was smiling. By the simple act of holding his hand, one small, silent girl had succeeded in taming the bear.

'Would you like to come with me?' he offered.

'To the school?'

'We could take her out together.'

She thought for a moment, pleased that he'd suggested it, and then shook her head. 'She doesn't know me. She's not going to open up if there's a stranger tagging along. She's seen too many well-meaning women already, social workers and embassy people and special teachers trying to coax something out of her-worthy, I'm sure, but not what the kid wants. Heaven knows how or why, but you seem to have reached an understanding with her. You go alone, love, only don't pin your hopes on it.'

Knowing the school routine on Saturdays, he timed his arrival for just before ten, after breakfast was finished, the rooms cleared and the kids dressed and playing. It was one of those brilliant, cloudless London mornings that make urban pollution seem like a myth. He could hear the children outside in the garden at the rear, so he walked around the side of the house. Clive spotted him immediately and came running, holding the toy car Diamond had given him and making a convincing engine sound. Diamond stopped and spread his hands in welcome, but the boy veered off to the left, as if he had just remembered that he was autistic and didn't, after all, relate to adults.

Mrs. Straw was on duty, seated on the bench under the sycamore, sedulously knitting something in a revolting shade of green.