The Mapping of Love and Death

documentary he was making. Personally, I'd rather see the likes of Louise Brooks at the cinema myself.'

'Inspector, I think I will be driving to Kent later today. May I come to the Yard tomorrow afternoon to make my statement?'

'I'll make an exception for you.'

'Thank you, I appreciate it.' She smiled at Caldwell. 'You sailed a bit close to the wind there, when you insinuated that Temple was 'singing like a canary.''

'Well, it's true military police have him in for questioning, and one of my men is with them, but as you pointed out yesterday, Temple would probably be shocked to know the outcome of some of the orders he received from Whitting. And thankfully, he's talking about those orders, including Whitting's instructions to report even the most minor fault on Michael Clifton's part during the war. It won't do any harm to let Whitting think that Temple has more knowledge than he has, and for him to assume we are in possession of that information. I have no doubt we'll get the full confession we're after, sooner rather than later.'

'And what about Libbert?'

'More or less as planned, though my opposite number in the Flying Squad is a bit put out at having to play by the rules because of the embassy. We want Libbert in connection with his relationship with Mullen, the Flying Squad want him because he was a player in Alfie Mantle's game, and the Americans want him home where he can't embarrass them.' He gave what Maisie now recognized to be his signature shrug and sigh. 'In terms of the law, it could be said he was a victim first, but all the same, he might be encouraged to go back home as soon as we're all done with him and can get him onto a ship.'

'Oh what a tangled web we weave, when first we practice to deceive.'

Caldwell rolled his eyes, though he smiled at Maisie. 'I'll be in touch.'

Maisie spotted Lady Rowan Compton almost as soon as she walked into the tearoom at Fortnum and Mason. She was sitting at a table alongside the window, looking out at the street below. Maisie could see she was tense, sitting on the edge of her chair, her hands clasped around a warming cup of tea. As usual, she was dressed with understated elegance, wearing a pale beige skirt and light tweed jacket, set off by a flash of color in the cobalt blue silk blouse worn underneath her ensemble. It was a blue reflected in the feather set into the side of a navy blue hat pinned atop hair that had once been copper red, but was now toned with striking thick strands of gray.

Taking a deep breath, Maisie joined the woman who had discovered her reading in the library at two in the morning when she was thirteen years of age-a mistake on Maisie's part that would change the course of her life.

'Lady Rowan. I am so sorry to keep you. I was detained at an appointment.'

Lady Rowan beamed a broad smile at Maisie and grasped her left hand in both her own. 'I was about to get worried, my dear. I know what a stickler you are for punctuality-just like Maurice.' She turned to summon a waitress, while Maisie seated herself in the facing chair.

Lady Rowan ordered another pot of tea, a plate of sandwiches, and scones with fresh clotted cream.

'You seem tired, Maisie. Was it a very troubling day?'

Maisie nodded. 'A case was brought more or less to an end today, though I have yet to brief my client on my findings and the outcome-which will cause added grief to a very close family.'

'They have each other, Maisie-that's a blessing when tragedy strikes.' Lady Rowan looked out of the window again, then back at Maisie. She half laughed and went on. 'That was a fortuitous turn of phrase, all things considered.'

'Was it?'

'James told us that you know about our darling Emily.'

'I am so sorry, Lady Rowan, I had no idea-'

Lady Rowan reached forward as if to take her hand again, then drew back. 'But there was no reason why you should have known. Carter and Mrs. Crawford knew, but they were sworn never to talk about it to the staff. And the staff who were with us at the time all knew and were also charged with not gossiping about it, and to be perfectly honest, it seemed that, after the tears abated, no one wanted to discuss it again anyway. Though for us-Julian, James, and me-the challenge has never been greater.' She shrugged, as if to shake off an untoward thought. 'Losing Emily has made us all who we are.'

Maisie sipped her tea, knowing that any words at all might sound trite.

Lady Rowan once more grasped her cup of piping hot tea in both hands. 'I suppose I felt as if we all had to live two lives, one for ourselves, and one for dear Emily. She was such a lovely girl, you know.'

'James told me. He adored her.'

'Of course they could argue. I once saw their nanny take them each by the scruff of the neck and all but throw them into the garden. 'Sort yourselves out before you come in again!' she admonished them. So they set off down to the woods to play, and I daresay they forgot what the row was about in the first place.'

'Lady Rowan, if you wanted to ensure my confidence, please be assured that I would never speak of Emily's passing. James entrusted me with his memories of her, and I will honor such trust.'

'You, perhaps as much as his father and I, and of course, Maurice, know how much James has struggled since the war to-I don't know how to put it-'regain something of his old self' might fit the bill.' Lady Rowan set down her cup. 'I'm usually very good at getting straight to the point, but today all backbone seems to have abandoned me. Oh, blast, I'll just get on with it.' She looked directly at Maisie. 'James had a chat with Lord Julian and myself on Sunday evening. He told me that he has a great affection for you, and that you are, in effect, a courting couple.'

Maisie nodded. The lump in her throat prevented her from speaking.

'Of course, I will make no bones about it, my mother-in-law, the Dowager Lady Jane Compton, would have had you both sent to islands as far apart as possible, but times have changed. Not much, but they have changed, and Lord Julian and I, having lost a daughter, do not intend to lose a son. I have my concerns, but you have our blessing.'

Maisie felt her color become flushed. 'And what are your concerns, Lady Rowan?'

The older woman shook her head. 'Not what you think. You are not an Enid, and you are not sixteen-James was sent away in a bid to stop that affair. Now I have my voice, I will be frank. My reticence has nothing to do with one's station in life, or your father's situation as my employee-in fact, as we both know, he is more of a trusted friend to whom I can have a good old chat about my horses. So, no, that's not it.'

'But-'

'Let me finish.' She sighed. 'Maisie, in the course of the next year or so your life could change in ways you might never have imagined-in fact, that's true of us all, really.' Another sigh. 'The truth is, I believe you are very good for my son. I have seen something of the old James in recent days. I lost part of him when Emily died, and I lost a lot more during the war. Do you know he put on a gramophone record and had me dancing with him on Sunday? He hasn't done that in years. I have my son back and I don't want to lose him again. And I fear I will if your courtship comes to an end at a time when you are both deeply invested in the outcome. You are, after all, a very independent young woman, Maisie. Such accomplishments are not easily relinquished, and the obvious conclusion to an affair of the heart always requires compromise. I should not admit this, but I found it difficult myself. I was a most head-strong young woman, but my mountains were never as steep as yours.'

Maisie was silent as she looked out of the window, her eyes following the snaking lines of traffic moving in and out of Piccadilly.

'Lady Rowan, do I take it that you are asking me to end my relationship with James sooner rather than later?'

'That seems awfully brutal, doesn't it? But it is close to the truth. If you can see some longevity to the liaison, then you have our blessing. There will be talk, but we are all adults, and frankly, there's more to worry about in this world. When you have endured tragedy, the things that seemed so important to the maintenance of a way of life do not have the same significance. Maurice knew that, which is why he dragged me off to the East End to see his first clinic for the poor-and I have been a supporter of his clinics ever since. But if it is not to be, if you are just testing the water with James, then I ask you to draw back. Release him. We might lose him for a while, but we won't have to see our son drowning in despair.'