The Mapping of Love and Death

without being informed that this was Christopher.

'Tuffie, how many times do I have to tell you-'

He turned to Maisie, his smile wide and with no trace of embarrassment. 'Do forgive me, madam. That entrance did nothing to support my claim to be the gentleman my mother always hoped I would be.'

Maisie laughed. 'You're forgiven, young man, though I suspect your ear might be in for a chewing when I depart.'

Ella nodded. 'It will indeed. Do run along, darling, and change out of those clothes-you reek of river.'

Christopher Casterman nodded, with a grin and a mischievous twinkle in his eye. He bowed to Maisie, kissed his mother on the cheek, and was gone, slamming the door behind him.

'If you ever have a son, be advised, that age represents the best of times and the worst of times. I am sure we will all come through it in one piece, though I am not sure about every door in the house, or indeed the bathroom floor.'

Maisie smiled. 'I think I'm getting on a bit to worry about that.'

'Nonsense! I was thirty-seven when Tuffie was born. Elizabeth Barrett Browning was forty-three when she had her first child, and she was not only far from being a picture of health, but also rather fond of opiates.'

'Well, anyway…' Maisie held out her hand. 'You were most kind to allow me so much of your time. With your family and your charitable work, you are a busy woman.'

'And about to be busier-we have a new baby due soon, my first grandchild.'

'Many congratulations, Ella.'

'Do let me know if I can be of further assistance.'

'I will. Most certainly.'

As Maisie walked towards the bus stop, in her mind she replayed different stages of her conversation with Lady Petronella Casterman as if she were reading chapters in a book. She would go back over a sentence, a look, a gesture in response to a question, a comment. And when she saw a bench, she sat down and took out her index cards to make notes while the memory was still fresh in her mind. She liked Petronella- Ella, to her friends-and found herself drawn to the woman's honesty when questions were put to her. She was sure she had a solid family life, with children she loved and who loved her. When she recalled the photographs atop the piano, it was clear that they all resembled their mother more than their father. Yes, Ella had responded with straight answers throughout their meeting. But then, it was also true that Maisie had drawn back from asking two or three questions that occurred to her, because she thought she already had the answers.

'You know the truth, Maisie. You know the truth, but you need the proof.'

Maurice's words echoed again in her mind. She put the index cards and pencil in her shoulder bag, and began to run when she saw the bus coming along. And even as she clambered on board and the conductor rang the bell for the bus to be on its way, it was as if Maurice were with her. 'The evidence is always between the lines, whether it is written or not. Look between the lines.'

Maisie checked the time on a clock above a shop window as the bus passed along the street, and decided that it would be a good idea to detour via The Dorchester Hotel, to see if she could meet with Thomas Libbert again. At this time of day many men of commerce were returning to their hotels, perhaps to rest before venturing out for supper with colleagues. She stepped off the bus at the next stop and walked to the underground station, from which she traveled to Marble Arch by tube, then made her way down Park Lane to the hotel. She found that she rather missed the very grand Dorchester House that had been demolished to make way for the new hotel. It had spoken of the limitless ambition of old wealth, and though it might have looked more at home in Venice, she had rather liked the building, which looked out over Hyde Park as if it were an elderly lady surveying her garden from the comfort of a soft old chair while feeling very pleased with herself as she regarded each tree, shrub, and flower bed planted over the years.

Maisie entered the hotel and asked a clerk if a guest by the name of Mr. Thomas Libbert might be available.

'Ah, yes, madam, I believe you will find him in the bar. He's been expecting you.'

'He-' Maisie almost revealed her surprise, but instead thanked the clerk and began to walk towards the bar. Libbert had obviously informed the clerk that he was in the bar, should his expected guest arrive soon. She was not the anticipated arrival, but she was curious to see who it might be. Should she approach Libbert? Or should she seclude herself in a corner with a vantage point from which to observe the comings and going of the clientele? She did not want the clerk to question her if he returned, so she decided to continue with her plan.

'Mr. Libbert?'

Libbert turned, and frowned when he saw Maisie.

'Oh, Miss Dobbs.'

'I beg your pardon, Mr. Libbert-were you expecting someone? I was passing the hotel and thought I might drop in and take my chances as to whether you might be here. If you've a moment or two, I have a couple more questions-but only if you've time.'

Libbert glanced at his glass, which was full, signifying that he was not in a hurry. 'Yes, of course. Drink?'

'Thank you. A ginger ale would be lovely, please. I have been rather busy today, and I'm parched.' The lie came with ease, though Maisie was far from thirsty, having had two cups of tea with Ella Casterman.

Libbert raised a hand to the barman, ordered the ginger ale, and turned to Maisie, who was now seated alongside him. 'So, are you making progress, Miss Dobbs?' He took a sip of Scotch and let it linger in his mouth before swallowing the liquid.

'Yes, there's been some progress.' She thanked the barman, who placed a glass with one cube of ice and the effervescent ginger ale in front of her. 'I am curious, though, Mr. Libbert-I know you've spent a lot of time in Europe on business, and I'm wondering if you ever visited Michael while he was in Paris on leave.'

Libbert rubbed his forehead, and Maisie thought he might be considering whether she knew of a visit, or whether she was engaging in investigative brinkmanship. 'Paris. Lovely city. My wife and I went there for our honeymoon. Idyllic.'

'Were you there during the war?'

He shook his head. 'Not that I can remember. So much traveling, you see, on behalf of the company.'

'Yes, I see. I must say, though, I don't think I will ever forget a moment spent in Paris. Especially had I been there in wartime. And especially if my brother-in-law was on leave there.'

'Sorry, Miss Dobbs, you've rather caught me at a bad time. I've a lot on my mind-Anna's parents are still fighting for their lives, and my brother-in-law is due here tomorrow.'

'I'd heard that Mr. and Mrs. Clifton were improving-much to the relief of the doctors.'

'Y-yes, yes, they are, but there's no guarantee you know, with blows to the head. They could go like that.' He snapped his fingers.

Maisie nodded and reached for her ginger ale. She took another sip, set down the glass, and had just drawn breath to ask another question when Libbert looked past her, distracted.

'I must go, Miss Dobbs. My business associate has just arrived, and I do want to get this deal sewn up before Teddy arrives tomorrow-it's rather important for our company.'

'Of course, Mr. Libbert.' Maisie smiled, and held out her hand. 'And thank you for accommodating my unexpected arrival, and for the refreshment.'

'You're welcome.' He shook her hand, nodded good-bye, and hurried from the bar.

Maisie thanked the barman as he came to collect the glasses, then walked back towards the foyer. As she came out into the low spring sunshine of late afternoon, she saw Libbert clamber aboard a taxi-cab, and though she could not be sure, it seemed the man with him, at that moment caught in a ray of sunshine that lightened the otherwise shadowed interior of the vehicle's passenger compartment, was wearing a cravat at his neck, a white shirt, and a blazer. He was a man one might have described as distinguished, and Maisie thought that if she saw him walking along the street, he would strike her as a man who knew how to hold back his shoulders and step forward with some purpose. And in that shaft of light, she saw a man who was probably used to giving orders. Orders that were always carried out to the letter.