'A fall. Andrew, I'm so glad you're here with him. How is he?'
'He'll be kept in for observation for a couple of days, just to make sure.' He brushed back his unruly fringe, a habit that at once touched Maisie. Though she knew he was not one she wanted to spend her life with, she had great affection for Dene, and had missed his easygoing personality and ready humor. 'I've given him a sedative, so he's asleep at the moment.'
'Can I see him?'
At that moment, James Compton stepped forward, held out his hand, and introduced himself.
'Ah, Chelstone's son and heir. Weren't you in Canada?'
James nodded. 'Back here now, and doubt I will be returning in the foreseeable future.'
Maisie was aware that James had become tense. She suspected that Dene's comment was meant to lighten the atmosphere, but at the same time, it could be misinterpreted as a goad-and she wasn't entirely sure that it wasn't. She changed the subject.
'I understand congratulations are in order, Andrew?'
Dene blushed and grinned. 'Yes. Abigail is expecting a baby-not long to go now, end of May, all being well.'
'That's wonderful-I'm happy for you.'
'Thank you. Yes, thank you.' Dene cleared his throat and turned towards the door that led to the corridor of patients' private rooms. 'Come this way.' He continued walking, and addressed James as he opened the door for the visitors. 'I expect you know Maurice quite well yourself, James. He's a great friend of your parents, isn't he?'
James stepped past Dene, responding as he walked alongside Maisie. 'I've known him all my life. He's been an enormous help to me. I don't know what I might have done without him.'
Maisie looked at James, her curiosity piqued by his candor.
The conversation continued, this time with James questioning Dene about Maurice's care, and whether a specialist should be called. Dene was an orthopedic surgeon now, and though it was known that he was trusted by Blanche-his mentor since boyhood-James did not show any reticence when querying whether a consultant in respiratory illnesses might attend Maurice.
'If you wish to bring someone in, I would be more than willing to make my notes and Maurice's medical history available,' said Dene.
As they reached Maurice's room, Maisie looked through the glass window. Maurice was asleep, his head to one side. He seemed rested, though she also noticed equipment at the ready should breathing become difficult once more.
'What do you think, Maisie?' said James. 'Shall I bring in someone from Harley Street? It would take only minutes and I could have a man on his way to Tunbridge Wells.'
Maisie looked at Dene, then at James Compton, and shook her head before placing her hand on James' arm. 'Andrew loves Maurice as much as I, and as much as you, James. Let's leave things as they are for now.' She turned to Andrew. 'You'll let us know if you think otherwise, Andrew?'
Dene nodded. 'Of course.' He reached for the door handle. 'In you go, Maisie. I know I have no need to give you instructions.'
She nodded, and entered the room. She heard the door close behind her as she walked towards the bed where Maurice was resting. His breath at first seemed easy, but she could hear the occasional rasping in his chest, a sound that reminded her of two pieces of wood being rubbed together. She leaned across the bed and rested her hand on Maurice's forehead. He did not stir, but continued to breathe with some difficulty, as if with each inward breath he was searching for more air to sustain him. In that moment, Maisie reflected on the time when he had cared for her in France.
Upon revisiting the site of the casualty clearing station where she had worked, now a cemetery for those who died when the unit came under enemy fire, Maisie had suffered a breakdown. It was Maurice who had looked after her until she regained consciousness, and Maurice who had brought much-needed healing when he directed her to face her past so she could move beyond the memories and the years of suffering. 'Wound agape,' he had said, 'is when we find healing in the blood of the wound itself.' And she understood, then, that to rise above the pain that still inflamed her heart, she had to face the dragons of her war, or she would forever be at their mercy. Now, in this clinic where Maurice was clinging to life, it was as if every lesson, every memory of him, was being brought back to her to see again in her mind's eye. He had offered balm for so many of her wounds, and for that she loved him as if she were his own.
Maisie rose from the chair, leaned across the bed, and kissed Maurice's forehead. She waited only a few seconds more before leaving the room and joining Andrew Dene and James Compton.
'Thank you, Andrew. I'm glad you're here. I'm relieved to know you're in charge of his care.'
'It was in his instructions, actually. His doctor told me that he has everything planned for the future, right down to who should be summoned at whatever stage of his illness. And I was to be brought in if he was transferred to the clinic.'
'Just like Maurice. Always one step ahead of everyone else.' James took a calling card from his pocket and handed it to Dene, then shook hands with him. 'I meant no offense when I asked about the consultant, and I hope you don't take it as such. We all love him so very much, don't we? Anyway, if you need anything-and I mean anything-with regard to his well-being, be in touch with me straightaway at this number.'
Dene nodded. 'Will do-thank you.' He turned to Maisie, leaned forward, and kissed her on the cheek. 'I'll see you again soon, Maisie. And don't worry, I will keep you posted. He should be going home on Saturday or Sunday, and if there's any change, I will telephone you.'
Maisie nodded her thanks, at once unable to speak.
'And before you go, let me give you some ointment for that graze. It'll heal faster, and you don't want a scar, do you?'
Dene led the way to the consulting room, and as they walked along the corridor, James Compton put his arm around Maisie's shoulder, as if to protect her. Later, she would try to give words to the effect that the gesture had upon her, and had to admit that it made her feel as if she was protected, and safe.
Maisie placed telephone calls to her father and Priscilla prior to leaving the clinic, and when she informed her friend of the reason she was unable to come to tea, Priscilla insisted that she and James drive from the clinic straight to the house in Kensington for an early supper. 'We'll be sitting down with those toads, but as I always warn you, that's how we do things in this house in all but the most illustrious company. In any case, as soon as they know that James was an aviator in the war, they will be all over him like a sprawling vine-your eldest godson has aeroplanes on the brain, and is already saying that he wants to be a fearless flier when he grows up. I swear that one of them, and probably my budding airman, will send me back to daytime drink!'
Having had her cheek tended by Andrew Dene, Maisie left the clinic with a heavy heart, and for a time she and James Compton sat in silence on the drive back to London. Yet it was a comfortable silence, soothing her as much as the journey itself.
They were close to Sevenoaks when Maisie spoke. 'It was good of you to take me to the clinic, James. I do hope it doesn't seem like too much of a wasted journey because Maurice was asleep.'
'Absolutely not. And remember, I was under my mother's orders to chauffeur you to Tunbridge Wells, so there's no blame on your part. It was important that we went-for me as much as you, Maisie.' James slid the motor into a higher gear as they went up River Hill. 'Dene reckons Maurice will be able to go home on Saturday afternoon, so I imagine you'll want to come straight to Chelstone after we've been to Brooklands-and if you don't want to go to the racing, do say. You won't be letting me down.' He turned and half smiled. 'But perhaps the day out might help take your mind off things.'
Maisie felt unsure at first, for she could not imagine her mind being on anything but Maurice. Yet on the other hand, the thought of hours filled with mounting concern at home was not an attractive proposition. She turned to James. 'Yes, let's go. You're right-if I'm at Brooklands, I won't have time to worry. But I would very much like to
