part of her with memories of what had gone before.
It was just one year ago, in the midst of a case, when the dragon began to emerge from the hibernation of her control, that she had sunk into the very depths of an abyss from which her emergence had been fragile for months afterward. But she now understood that to control the dragon, she had to look into his eyes and back at her past. Only then would she begin to be free.
Simon lay in a bed in a private ward in which he was the only patient. His breathing was labored, sustenance delivered to his body via a single tube inserted into his arm. Such equipment was unknown in the hospital where Maisie had trained as a nurse, but wartime had brought new tools to medicine.
The staff nurse took Simon’s limp right hand and counted his pulse, then felt his forehead. His breathing would be regular for some seconds, followed by several labored gasps before becoming even again. “I’ll be honest with you, Miss Dobbs, I don’t know what’s kept him going all these years. Amazing what the body can do, isn’t it?”
Maisie nodded and, as the staff nurse moved aside, sat in the chair for visitors set by the bed. She reached for Simon’s hand.
“Only fifteen minutes today, not your usual hour, Miss Dobbs.”
“Yes. Of course.” As the nurse turned to leave, Maisie called after her. “Staff nurse, I wonder—can you tell me, how long do you . . .” Her words faltered.
The nurse shrugged and blew out her cheeks. “To tell you the truth, if you had asked me last week, I would have said a day, perhaps two. Now he’s still here, I wouldn’t like to say, but—” She paused, pursing her lips for a second and shaking her head. “It won’t be long now. I would say he’ll be gone before the week’s out.”
Maisie had become used to the honesty with which the nurses spoke to her, as if, by having been a nurse herself, she was admitted into a confidence of plain speaking, a forthright response where, with family, such opinions and observations were administered only by doctors.
“Thank you, staff nurse, I appreciate your candor.”
The nurse stepped back into the room for a moment and pressed Maisie’s shoulder with her fingers, a gesture Maisie returned by squeezing the woman’s hand before she left the ward.
Maisie sighed and reached toward Simon once more. “I think I ought to say my farewell today, Simon, just in case. I might not be here when—” And she looked down at their joined hands.
SHE LEFT THE clinic fifteen minutes later and walked directly to her motor car. She took her place in the driver’s seat and grasped the steering wheel, resting her head on her hands and closing her eyes. Several moments passed. Then there was a sharp rap at the window.
“Priscilla! What
Priscilla held Maisie to her, then pulled away to look into her eyes. “This must be wretched for you, darling. I mean, it’s bad for all of us who knew Simon—I’ve known him since I was a child—but you loved him.”
Maisie shook her head, reaching for a handkerchief in the pocket of her mackintosh. “I’m alright, Pris. But what
“I’m here to see you, actually. I knew you’d be here, you usually come on a Sunday, so I caught a taxi-cab knowing I’d find you. And there you were, in your minuscule MG. Let’s go down into Richmond for a bite to eat.”
“Aren’t you going to see Simon?”
Priscilla shook her head. “No. I can’t. The Simon I knew died in 1917.” She walked around to the passenger door, opened it, sat down, and turned to Maisie. “Now, then, let’s get going, squashed as I’ll be in your little motor car.”
PRISCILLA DIRECTED MAISIE to a hotel lower down the hill and closer to the river, where the grill room offered diners a calm vista across the water. A waiter showed them to a table for two set in a corner offering two outlooks.
“I’ll have a gin and tonic—and please, don’t drown the gin.” Priscilla pulled off her gloves, fingertip by fingertip, as she ordered.
“And a ginger ale for me, please,” added Maisie.
The women consulted the menu and, having made their selections, sat back.
“You should have had a drink.”
Maisie shook her head. “No, not me. The last thing I want to do is drown my sorrow.”
“It’ll take the edge off.”
“I need that edge, Pris.” Maisie thanked the waiter, who had just set their drinks on the table. Priscilla waited for him to leave after taking their luncheon order, then reached into her handbag for her silver cigarette case and lighter.
“Here we go. Let’s upset the matrons, shall we?”
“I don’t know if anyone gets upset about a woman smoking anymore.”
“More’s the pity.”
“So, how are the boys?” Maisie inquired.
Priscilla rolled her eyes. “I’m off to the school again tomorrow, on the verge of pulling them out.”
“More bullying?”
“Yes. And it’s made even worse by the fact that all three of them don’t want to be seen as cowards with Mummy and Daddy running to the rescue.”
“How serious is it?”
