“Miss Dobbs?”
Maisie swung around. The man before her was about five feet eleven inches tall, broad shouldered and heavyset, though he did not appear to carry excess weight. He wore black trousers, a tan mackintosh and a brown hat with a beige band. She could see that under the mackintosh he wore a shirt and woolen pullover, but no tie. His face was partially obscured by an umbrella.
“Yes. Mr. Fisher?”
Magnus Fisher moved the umbrella slightly to one side. He nodded.
“So where do you suggest we talk? Hardly a day for sitting on a bench on the Embankment and watching a dirty old river go by, is it?”
“Let’s walk toward the Temple underground station, Mr. Fisher. We can speak as we go. Were you followed?”
Magnus Fisher looked around. They were quite alone.
“No. I slipped out of the staff entrance and then came down Villiers Street. The police know where I am and that I always come back. It’s been like a game of cat and mouse, only we tip hats to each other.” He turned to Maisie. “What’s this all about?”
Maisie set a pace that was businesslike and deliberate. “I am investigating the case of a missing woman on behalf of her family. I believe she was a friend of your wife.”
“And how can I help you? I spend most of my time out of the country, so I am not well acquainted with my wife’s associates.”
“May I assume we can speak in confidence, Mr. Fisher?”
The man shrugged. “Of course. At least this chat of ours will take my mind off whatever the police are cooking up for me.”
“Were you acquainted with Charlotte Waite?”
Fisher began to laugh. “Oh, the Waite woman. Yes, I knew Charlotte years ago, and yes, she and Lydia kept in touch.”
“Where and when did you meet?”
“Just before the war broke out I was in Switzerland, mountaineering with some chums. Lydia and Charlotte, being the daughters of poor boys made good, were at a second-tier finishing school there. We met at one of those yodel-odel-odel matinee social events.”
“So you knew Lydia, Charlotte, and their other friends as well?”
“Yes. There were four of them in their little group. Lydia, Charlotte, Philippa, and wispy little Rosamund. I expect you know that Philippa is also dead. That’s why they think it’s me. Because I met with Philippa on a couple of occasions when I was back in the country.”
“I see.” Maisie would return to Philippa Sedgewick later. First she wanted to learn how well Fisher had known each woman. “Did you see the girls in this group often in those days, Mr. Fisher?”
Fisher held the umbrella between them, but put out his hand to feel the air.
“Might as well put this away.” He collapsed the umbrella, and continued. “All right, I confess, my friends and I wooed all of them.” Fisher sighed. “Look, Miss Dobbs, we were three young men in Europe, unchaperoned, meeting four young women who, it seemed, managed to lose
Maisie remembered the weeping willow at the side of the Sedgewick house, and Philippa’s almost secret haven behind the fronds of yellow leaves.
“And Lydia?”
“Lydia was the most fun. A good time was always had by all when Lydia was around, in those days anyway.”
“When did you marry?”
“We met again after the war.”
“Had you been in France?”
Fisher laughed. “Oh God, no. I joined an expedition to South America in May 1914. I’d tried to join Shackleton’s little joy ride to Antarctica. Just as well I didn’t, isn’t it? They went through hell in the ice, then when they got back no one wanted to know about them. While they were trying to keep warm, I was poking around in ruined temples and swatting at flies. I returned in 1919 with no money, but I did have some good stories that didn’t include trenches.”
Maisie checked herself. Though the conversation was necessary, and Fisher was clearly enjoying her attention, she detested his attitude.
“I engineered contact with Lydia again; by that time she had come into her inheritance. We were married within the year.” Fisher was silent and suddenly thoughtful. “Look, Miss Dobbs, I’ll be honest with you: Having a wife with money was attractive to me. I knew that if we were married, I could travel and enjoy a certain freedom that would be impossible otherwise. But I also thought it would be more fun than it turned out to be.”
“What do you mean?”
Fisher kicked at a pebble on the pavement. “By the time I returned, it was clear that Lydia enjoyed a drink. I couldn’t remember her touching any more than a half glass of Gluhwein in Switzerland, but in the interim she had obviously taken to wine by the bottle. I didn’t realize how serious it was at first, but later it was a relief when a new expedition came along. Off I went at a dash. As time went on she acquired a taste for those fashionable new
