had to visit a place not reached by the transport services. For the most part, within the capital the bus, tram, and tube served her well, and in particular, she had always enjoyed traveling by bus. She would step aboard, make her way up the winding stairs to the top deck, and from that vantage point look down upon the world as it went about its business. The bus passed houses where people were getting ready for their day: a husband kissed his wife on the cheek as he stepped out on his way to work, briefcase in hand and bowler hat in place; a woman opened the door of her ground floor flat clutching a worn kimono around her as she let the cat in from a night on the prowl and collected the milk from the doorstep; and in another house, she saw children being made ready for school by a uniformed nanny. As the bus drew nearer the shops of Oxford Street, already clerks and assistants were walking and running purposefully towards their day's toil. And she could see the moving throng as it formed into tributaries and streams, running ever onward towards the ocean of commerce, a day's work and a day's pay. Each of the people had a life and, if they were fortunate, family who loved them and who they loved in return-perhaps a wife at home, a babe in the nursery, an aging parent who needed help, brothers and sisters. It was as if she had been looking down upon a landscape of human activity, a charting of everyday endeavor. As she considered, not for the first time, the part she played in the grand scheme, a question came to mind, almost as if Maurice had prompted her. Was she forging ahead in a stream of her own making, or was she allowing herself to be carried out by a riptide, ever onward towards…what?
Mornin', Miss!' Billy was already at his desk when Maisie arrived at the office. 'You've been a bit busy, haven't you? How was Dr. Blanche? Any improvement?' He stood up, ready to take her rain coat.
'I have been rather busy, Billy-and I am afraid I haven't yet made a dent in my list of female letter writers.'
'Want me to crack it open?'
Maisie nodded. 'Yes, I do. In the meantime, Dr. Blanche is not at all well, but I am assured by Dr. Dene that-'
'Dr. Dene?'
'Yes, Billy. Dr. Dene is close to Maurice, as you know, and Maurice gave instructions that he should attend him should a deterioration in his health lead to him being admitted into hospital care.' She paused. 'It was all right, Billy. It was nice to see him-his wife is expecting a child, so they are very happy.'
Billy nodded. He was not one to pry, nor would it have been proper to do so, but he knew that once upon a time Maisie and Dene had been close.
'So, what did Dr. Dene say? Will Dr. Blanche be better soon?'
'He thought Maurice would be home by Saturday afternoon. I'll go down to Chelstone in the evening, and hopefully see him on Sunday.' Maisie flicked through the post as she was speaking, but looked up as Billy sat down again. 'Oh, and I'm still planning to drop in to see Doreen this afternoon-is that all right?'
'She's looking forward to it, Miss.' Billy began placing mugs on a tray, ready to make tea. 'And I'd like to know what you think, Miss. Whether you reckon she's getting better.'
'She's going back for her outpatient appointments, isn't she?'
He nodded. 'Never misses, so far. But I…I still worry.'
'I'm sure you do, Billy. Remember, you've all been through so much, and recovery is a long road to travel. You can expect some stumbles while she-and you and the boys-feel your feet. Everything's changed now, but you'll see that, at some point, her progress should speed up. She'll gain ground, and you'll realize you can't remember the last bad day.'
Billy shrugged. 'From your lips to God's ears, as the saying goes.'
Maisie smiled. 'Think how far you've all come. Now then, let's have a cup of tea and see where we are before I have to go off to see Ben Sutton and his friend with the cine film.'
They discussed the Clifton case while sitting in front of the case map.
'So, what you're saying, Miss, is that when Mr. and Mrs. Clifton came down into the hotel foyer, before they went back upstairs to their rooms and were attacked, there were six people there who stood out, and two of them might've been acquainted, but the Cliftons didn't know that?' Billy tapped the map with his pencil.
'Yes. It's rather a leap, but yesterday I saw Thomas Libbert, who was in the foyer on the day of the attack. He got into a taxi-cab with a man who-even though I didn't get the best view of him-appeared to be wearing a cravat and had the look of a military type. If you remember, when I asked Mr. Clifton to try to envision coming down to the foyer, he said he recalled a man with a cravat. And then there was the man and woman who were having an argument-could that man have been Mullen? Or was it someone else? And if it was Mullen, who was the woman? And did Mullen know Libbert?'
'There's a lot of ifs in there, Miss. And I hate to say this, but a lot of blokes wear them cravats when they're not wearing ties, and as for having that military bearing, well, look how many men were in the army in the war. All that 'chin up, chest out' lark gets trained into you.'
'What we do is peppered with 'ifs' all the time. If it wasn't for the 'ifs' we would take more steps backward than forward.' Maisie sighed. 'And this case is beginning to feel a bit like that.' She stood up, walked around the table, leaned against the window frame, and looked out at the square. 'Then there's this fragment of verse-at least, that's what I think it is. I'll stop at the library to see if someone can tell me whether it's from a well-known poet, or perhaps it was something Michael Clifton's ladylove penned while on night duty in a freezing cold ward.'
'That's definitely more up your alley, Miss. Never been one for your verse, unless it's rhyming slang, of course.'
Maisie laughed, and shook her head. 'Billy, you're a diamond. Now then, I had better be on my way. You'll look into the rest of our list?'
'It's as good as done. I'll stick to the ones in London today.'
Maisie arrived early for her appointment with Ben Sutton at his friend's house in Notting Hill, which gave her an opportunity to look around the area. Priscilla had informed her that as far as she knew, Henry Gilbert had inherited the red-brick terrace house, and now rented out the upper two floors to students, which seemed to fit Maisie's brief observation of the comings and goings of several people who might have been described as 'bohemian' in certain circles-a man wearing a coat of Edwardian vintage with a bright yellow scarf, and a woman with very short hair and equally short skirt, even though, as far as Maisie knew, the very fashionable women had allowed their skirt lengths to fall once more.
She watched Ben Sutton arrive in a taxi-cab. He ran up the steps and knocked at the door, which was opened some moments later by a young man with an open-necked shirt, his sleeves rolled up. He was wiping his hands with a cloth, and smiled at Sutton as if they had met before.
Maisie suspected that it was time to cross the road and knock at the door.
'There you are, on the dot! Just as I expected you would be.' Ben Sutton stepped back so that Maisie could cross the threshold, then leaned down and kissed her on the cheek as if he had known her for more than one evening. 'Henry's waiting for us in his studio. He has a sort of complex of rooms downstairs in what used to be cellars-completely purpose-built for his work. Perfect for running cine film. Follow me.'
Sutton led her down a staircase, then along a dark corridor and into what was a surprisingly large room. She looked around and, when she became accustomed to the light, could see that there had been reconstruction to provide a spacious studio, and behind her a smaller room with what she took to be a film library and a glass window with a hatch through which the lens of a projector extended. There was another door at the opposite end of the room, which was closed. A dozen quite comfortable-looking chairs were positioned in two semicircular rows; the experience would be somewhat more pleasing than a visit to the cinema-at least one would be able to view the cine film with a few friends, rather than half of London, most of whom always seemed to be sneezing.
'The door leads out into another couple of rooms, one where Henry and his assistants do their editing and such like, though of course, they do a lot of this sort of thing at the studios in Twickenham.'
'I see,' replied Maisie, though she really did not see at all. 'I should confess, my knowledge of film stops at the odd trip to the cinema, and in viewing X-rays.'
Sutton laughed at the same time as the door opened and two men entered, one carrying a series of large round canisters. 'Ah, Henry, here's Miss Dobbs.'
'Delighted to meet you, Miss Dobbs-Maisie, isn't it?'
'Thank you for agreeing to show me your cine film, Henry-and yes, it's Maisie.'
'This is my assistant, Roland Marshall.' He turned to introduce the young man who had opened the door for Sutton. He nodded his head, his burden too heavy to allow him to extend his hand.
