'Fire away.'
'Do you know a family, very big in building and land in America? They come from Boston-the Cliftons.'
'Yes, of course I know of them. In fact, I've had a few dealings with Teddy Clifton-he's the eldest son. A few years ago the Compton Corporation was engaged in several consortium projects in which they were also involved, mainly in Chicago. We've also been on a couple of advisory boards together, nothing too formal, just meetings of interested parties gathered by local dignitaries. Lots of blah-blah-blah. Teddy was always a good, solid person to talk to. Rather do business with him than with that brother-in-law of his.'
'Which one?'
'Tom Libbert. I believe he's married to the second daughter. Can't remember her name now.' He paused, frowning as he recalled details. 'I think it was Anna. Yes, that's right: Anna. And the eldest daughter, Meg, is married to a doctor, though I understand both sisters are not above a bit of speculation on land themselves. It seems to run in the family blood.'
'Why don't you care for Libbert?'
James shrugged. 'He's managed to garner a bit of a reputation for himself as playing a bit too hard with the family money. He's had a few land deals go bad-and apparently he was warned to be careful by Teddy, but on the other hand, Teddy doesn't want to upset his sister. Mind you, I had my misgivings about Libbert before I'd garnered those nuggets of information. Can't put my finger on it, but as the saying goes, if it doesn't feel right, then it probably isn't, and even though I like a lot of background to any deal-as you know after the purchase last summer, when you played such an important part-I tend to depend on good old instinct.'
'Goodness, James, you seem to know a lot about them.'
James shrugged. 'Same business, same continent. Hardly surprising. Mind you, I'm half surprised myself.' He paused. 'They're a close family, Maisie, so despite anything I might have said, the fact remains that they are tight, and they treat Libbert as any other member of the inner circle; he's Anna's husband, therefore he's family.'
'Thank you, James.'
'I know I daren't ask why you inquired-but can I help with any more details? I have employees in Toronto whose sole remit is to uncover information on land, markets, and people-I call them my intelligence squad.'
'I think you should be doing my job, James.' Maisie sighed. 'You've probably not read the papers-mind you, the press were asked not to release the news immediately-but Edward and Martha Clifton were attacked in their hotel room earlier this week. Between us, I had just taken on an assignment for them and received my usual advance on expenses and my fee, and I consider both finding their attacker and fulfilling the terms of our agreement to be paramount.'
'Dear Lord, Maisie, are they all right? Where are they? I must get in touch with Teddy to see if there's anything I can do to help.'
'They're at St. George's Hospital-but don't count on seeing them yet. Mrs. Clifton is in a critical condition, and her prognosis isn't good. Teddy is arriving in a few days.' Maisie sighed, then smiled. 'James, I had better be going. See you on Saturday, then.'
James Compton smiled in return and patted the roof of the MG. 'Drive carefully. Oh, and remember to dress for the cold and mud-Brooklands is hardly the place for one's finery, not if you really want to see the action.' As Maisie pulled away, she looked back to see him watching her motor car drive off, the dogs now sitting at his feet. She put her hand out the window and waved once. He returned her wave, and when she looked back upon reaching the Chelstone road, she saw him wave once more, then begin to walk back across the lawns. She began to accelerate and reflected upon Maurice's words-'
As soon as Maisie arrived at her flat in Pimlico, she knew she wanted to speak to Thomas Libbert at the earliest opportunity. She needed to see him for herself, to gauge the measure of the man. She unpacked her small case and went out once more, this time walking along the road to the telephone kiosk, where she placed a call to the Dorchester. Thomas Libbert was not available, so she left a message, asking him to telephone her on Monday morning. With luck they would meet that day. She was just about to leave when she changed her mind and dialed Priscilla's number. The housekeeper answered, and soon Priscilla came to the telephone.
'Darling, you can't let me down. If you leave now, you can join us for supper. Slight change of plan. The boys have had theirs-they are eating us out of house and home-so it's only the grown-ups.' She lowered her voice. 'And Douglas has a visitor, a charming man. Bit of a writer, but frankly, it looks as if money is no object-you know how some of them always look as if they could do with a meal, well, this one appears to be rather well-heeled for a change. Do come, I think you should meet him.'
'Oh, Pris, please stop playing with Cupid's bow, I'm sure he has a much better aim than you.'
'Not if you read your Shakespeare, he doesn't.'
Maisie changed the subject. 'I thought I would see if you'd made any progress with the little task I put your way.'
'Little task, my eye! If I tell you what I've found out, will you come?'
'Blackmailer.'
'Call your detective friends and shop me. Do I hear a yes?'
Maisie sighed, but smiled at her friend's subterfuge. 'Yes, I will. Against my better judgment.'
'Where men are concerned, Maisie, you haven't the experience to have garnered judgment. Anyway-' She paused. 'I just happen to have my little dossier by the telephone, and here's what I have for you-and I will be brief, because I can tell you more later and give you my notes. Makes up for all the times I filched your essays at Girton.' Maisie heard the rustle of paper, then Priscilla continued speaking. 'Now, as you know, not all nursing contingents would have been able to go to Paris for the odd day or two off. You went to Rouen, if my memory serves me well, and if you had longer, then you went on leave back to Blighty. The American and Canadian nurses tended to have more time in Paris-and remember, even though the Yankee boys weren't at the front until the tag end of 1917, they sent out medical contingents right from the outset. Having said that, by hook or by crook, I have made a list-by no means complete-of the British units that allowed leave in Paris for their nurses. This gets very confusing, because 'British' means from the Empire.'
'Oh, dear.' Maisie sighed, not for the first time realizing the enormity of the task.
'And you have to consider something else, Maisie.'
'Go on.'
'This nurse may have been English, originally, but she might have been an immigrant to Canada, or Australia, or America. After all, so many young men went out to the lands of opportunity before the war, but enlisted to help the old country as soon as war was declared-many of the Canadians were born in Britain. Might be the same with the nurses. Your English nurse could have been with a Canadian contingent, or Australian.' Priscilla paused again, and Maisie heard the raspy breath as she inhaled from her cigarette, doubtless affixed to the long holder she favored. 'If she wasn't with a private nursing contingent, one of those sponsored by Lady This or the Duchess of That, I bet she was a Canadian. Australia is a bloody long way to go, after all.'
'Thank you, Pris. I'll look at your notes later.'
'Oh, and there was this one unit, quite a few nurses, paid for by a very wealthy woman, Lady-can't find her name, where is that piece of paper?'
Maisie felt the skin at the base of her skull tingle. 'What about the unit, Pris?'
'Well, it was called, simply, 'The English Nursing Unit.' Bit of a cheek, if you ask me, I mean, what did it matter where you came from, as long as you were there? Anyway, the nurses wore these badges with the coat of arms of Lady Whatever-her-name-was, and the name of the unit. All a bit elitist, in my opinion.'
Maisie nodded. 'I'll just go home and dress for dinner, and I'll be over as soon as I can.'
'Changed your mind about the writer?'
As was so often her wont, Maisie stood in front of the open doors of her wardrobe and regarded the contents. Knowing Priscilla and Douglas, dining would not be a formal affair if only one other guest was to join them, and one of Douglas' writer friends at that. But on the other hand, Priscilla might want to bring a level of sophistication to the proceedings if she were in a matchmaking mood, so evening dress might be appropriate-she could just imagine Priscilla wearing a pair of her signature wide silk trousers and a loose silk top with a broad sash drawn around her hips. On her feet would be a pair of satin mules embellished with an oriental design, and her thick hair would be drawn back into a chignon with a crystal-studded clip. Though Maisie had been the grateful recipient of several of Priscilla's cast-off gowns, she did not feel that such a choice would be
