“Don’t be dramatic, Harry.” As Georgina spoke, Maisie heard paper rustle. “There you are. It’s all I can let you have at the moment.”
There was a pause in the conversation, then Harry Bassington-Hope spoke again. “Nick might have nagged the stuffing out of me, but there was always a bit more in my pocket after the upbraiding.”
“Well, I’m not Nick! The least you could do is say thank you.”
Maisie heard the already ajar door open wider and stepped back so that when she retreated into the hall, there would be no suspicion raised that she had heard the exchange. The front door slammed behind Harry Bassington- Hope, who had not even bid his sister good night.
“Georgina, I’m leaving now, I—”
“Must you go?” Georgina appeared tired, but in the manner of the true hostess began the pretense of being put out by the departure of her guest. As she spoke, she looked over Maisie’s shoulder and smiled in the direction of another guest, adding, “In a moment, Malcolm.” She turned back to Maisie. “Well, I hope you had a good evening, Maisie, dear.”
Maisie nodded. “Yes, indeed, it was. I was rather surprised to see Sir Oswald Mosley here—do you know him?”
“My dear, everyone who’s anyone knows Oswald. Future PM, just you watch.”
“What do you think of him?”
Georgina shrugged her shoulders, as if there really was no other answer than the one she was about to give. “I think he’s a brilliant politician, an amazing man. We’re lucky to have his like among us—it was quite a coup, having him come this evening. Everyone wants him at their parties.”
Nodding again, Maisie changed the subject. “I’d like us to confer tomorrow morning as early as possible. I have some more questions for you, and there are aspects of the case I wish to discuss.”
“Right you are, but let’s hope you don’t mean too early. How about ten?”
“Of course. Can you come to my office?”
“All right. Ten o’clock at your office.”
Maisie smiled. “Thank you for inviting me to the party.”
Georgina Bassington-Hope moved forward and pressed her cheek to Maisie’s, then looked around to ensure they were alone. “Maisie, I’m so glad you came. I know it probably seems heartless, having a party when someone you love has died, but…”
Maisie nodded. “It’s all right, Georgina, you don’t have to explain. I do understand.” She paused, placing her hand briefly on the woman’s upper arm to reassure her. “Your life must go on. I am sure Nick would approve— everyone’s having a wonderful time and I have enjoyed myself thoroughly.”
Georgina nodded, assured Maisie that she would see her in the morning, then turned aside to indicate to the butler that her guest was leaving. As Maisie departed, she heard Georgina in the distance say, “Not leaving so soon, Oswald?”
MAISIE SLIPPED INTO the driver’s seat of the MG and sighed. Despite earlier misgivings that had remained uppermost in her mind, she had seen a vulnerability in Georgina Bassington-Hope and had allowed it to touch her. She was still on her guard, but that did not preclude the compassion she felt for her client when she overheard the conversation with manipulative Harry Bassington-Hope. She understood that the truths that lay between black and white, in the gray areas of experience, were never cut and dried, and though she did not trust Georgina—doubting her in some way she had yet to identify—she had always tried to see the humanity in others.
She started the motor, turned on the lights and pulled out into the street. The smog was even thicker, if that were possible, and once again rendered any speed in excess of a crawl dangerous.
Leaning forward as she drove, Maisie stopped at the junction with the Embankment before turning right to continue her journey. It was then that she saw an unexpected movement by the river wall, an activity that sparked her suspicion and caused her to pull over and turn off the MG’s lights. She could barely ascertain what was happening, so thick was the air around her. In the murky light shed by gas lamps, she saw two men talking to a third man who had his back to the wall. One of the first two poked the third man repeatedly on the shoulder, until he reached into his pocket and pulled out something that he passed to the second man. The first man poked him again, whereupon he and the second man stepped into a waiting motor car and drove off. The man with his back against the wall took a few moments to compose himself—he also seemed rather drunk—then he turned and ambled off along the Embankment, as if he were not entirely sure where he was going. The man was Harry Bassington-Hope.
At first, Maisie thought she should offer him a lift, but then decided against such a move. She did not want him to consider that she might have seen what had just transpired, the passing on of money taken from his sister. Even drunks have memories, if unreliable. And she thought that he was probably safe now, seeing as the piper had been paid. But who was the piper? Experience informed her that such men as those encountered by Georgina’s younger brother were usually servants to one who was much more powerful, and certainly the conversation she overheard earlier indicated that Nick had baled out his brother before.
Maisie parked in her customary place, close to her flat. As she closed and locked the door, she smiled, remembering the dance, and took one or two steps in rhythm to the rag she could still hear ringing in her ears. But that smile soon evaporated. She stopped to listen, to pay attention to the physical sensation of fear that at once enveloped her, then continued walking. She considered that the sensation might be associated with the scene she had witnessed alongside the Embankment and entertained the possibility that the one to whom Harry Bassington- Hope was indebted might have previously approached Nick directly. Or, if he had not approached him, it was even more likely that he tried to find a weakness he could exploit. She considered the driver of the motor car that had trailed the younger Bassington-Hope to his sister’s party, and it occurred to her that she had already discovered the source of Nick’s Achilles’ heel. It was therefore crucial that she speak to his friends as soon as possible.
With the feeling of dread increasing as she approached the door, Maisie took the flat key from her shoulder bag, then looked toward the brightly illuminated center stairway and the silhouette of a man pacing back and forth. Now she understood the root of her dread. The appearance of Billy Beale waiting for her late on a Sunday night could mean only one thing.
Nine
Driving at what amounted to breakneck speed, considering that she could barely see three feet beyond the front of the motor car, Maisie was so intent upon getting to Billy’s house that she took chances she would never otherwise have taken. Barely missing a horse and cart, the carriage lanterns dim as the man made his way home, she turned into Billy’s street with a screech that
