joy in his face; in fact, he was absently stirring his coffee and staring at the cup. I went over, introduced myself, and sat at his table. He seemed happy to have company-he was clearly homesick. We talked and talked, and soon he confided that he had recently seen his brother-in-law, who had frequently caused him much concern over his financial dealings. I suggested I should treat him to supper that evening, to take his mind off unpalatable matters before he returned to his unit, and I to mine. Suffice it to say, I remained in Paris for several days, until it was time for him to leave. We were inseparable, and it was as if the years just melted away-friends had often said that I looked like my daughters' older sister, not their mother, and for once I felt like it. And my heart was lifted out of the mire of age that I was stuck in at home, and the terrible sadness of the war. We both knew it could not go on forever, though perhaps I knew that more than Michael; but there were intimacies shared that I would never have wanted my husband to know about.'
Ella Casterman spoke with a calm forcefulness, as if to bolster her resolve and not draw back from the truth.
'Michael Clifton and I were lovers. I was some twelve years older than him and I was a married woman, but for four short days we knew love and we experienced the joys that come with a new deep attachment.'
'Then?'
'When I was expecting my daughters, on both occasions I knew the very moment I was with child. The very moment. Shortly after leaving Michael I felt those same sensations within my whole body-and indeed, before more proof was needed, the usual indisposition followed. In short, I was as sick as a dog. As soon as I could, I returned home and assumed relations with my husband. Almost nine months later our son was born.'
'Michael's son.'
'Yes. Michael's son. Of that I have no doubt.'
'And your husband never knew?'
'If he suspected, he never said.'
'So the secret remains with you.'
'As it will with you, Miss Dobbs.'
Maisie nodded. 'Michael's parents are in London. Let me tell you what has happened to them, and to their family since they last saw their son.' She recounted the story of Michael Clifton's death and the subsequent events since discovery of his remains by a farmer in France.
'I had no idea he came from such wealth. And I never connected Clifton's Shoes with Michael Clifton. I mean, he spoke of his property in a valley in America, but I imagined a smallholding, a farm, that sort of thing.'
'He loved land, loved exploring. Rather like Christopher, if that collection of books is anything to go by.'
'Will you keep the secret, Maisie? I have much to protect. I have a son who is still more boy than man, and there is also the question of his inheritance.'
'I will not reveal any details of our conversation; however, I do hope that one day Christopher might know more about the man who was his true father. I think Michael deserves such respect.' Maisie reached into her bag. 'Here you are-the address of Edward and Martha Clifton in Boston. They are getting on, especially Edward, and I think their years are numbered, especially following the attack. You must do what you feel is right.'
The woman who had been Michael Clifton's lover took the piece of paper, folded it and placed it within the pages of Elizabeth Barrett Browning's poems. She turned to Maisie.
'Truth, not cruel to a friend.'
It was Maurice who had taught Maisie that, following the closure of a case, it was important to ensure that she was at peace with her work, and that she had done all in her power to bring a conclusion to the assignment in a way that was just and kind. This process, known as her 'final accounting,' would also help to wipe clean the slate, so that lingering doubts might not hamper work on the next case.
With Maurice's funeral just one week away, Maisie wanted to complete her final accounting sooner rather than later. It was not only with regard to the case that she sought to bring peace to her heart, but to the most recent weeks in her life. So, following a visit to Scotland Yard, and the time spent making a statement in the presence of Detective Inspector Caldwell, her first stop was to see Edward Clifton in his room at The Dorchester Hotel.
Charles Hayden greeted Maisie in the foyer of the grand hotel.
'Maisie, how are you? I was so sorry to hear of Dr. Blanche's death-I never met the man, but from your letters, I knew of your affection for him.'
'Thank you, Charles. It's been a very sad time for everyone who knew Maurice. I miss him so much already.' She shook her head, as if to dislodge the painful thoughts that gathered at the mention of Maurice's name. 'Anyway, I came to see Mr. Clifton-how is he?'
'Anxious to see you. I gave him as full an account of events as I could following your telephone call. He is so grateful to you, Maisie-as am I. I never thought you would find the man responsible for Michael's death, though I knew you'd find the woman who loved him. Anyway, Edward is waiting for us, and Teddy is with him.'
She put her hand on his arm. 'Before we go up-how is Mrs. Clifton?'
Hayden nodded. 'Now that she's out of the woods, she's making progress every day. It will be slow-I'm trying to sort out a suitable place for her continued convalescence. Of course, she wants only to go home, but I am loath to give my blessing to the passage until she is completely well again.'
'There are some lovely convalescent homes out in the countryside. I could have my assistant look into it for you.'
'Would you?'
'Consider it done. Shall we go up now?'
Edward Clifton had insisted upon getting up from his bed, and now sat alongside a window in pajamas and dressing gown. He wore a dark blue cravat at this neck, and Maisie could not help but smile, for he reminded her of a certain type of English gentleman depicted in American films. His son, Teddy, sat in a chair opposite, and was dressed casually in gray trousers, shirt, and pullover. The table in front of them was set for coffee, and a selection of pastries had been served.
'Miss Dobbs. We've been anxious to see you.' Teddy Clifton rose from his chair to greet Maisie, shaking her hand before steering her to his chair. He and Charles Hayden then pulled up chairs and the four were seated together.
'Charles tells me you're doing well, and that Mrs. Clifton is making good progress.'
'According to Teddy, she complained when he visited her yesterday, so I consider that a good sign. Slowly but surely she's on the mend.'
'I'm glad.' Maisie looked at Teddy.
'Miss Dobbs, Charles gave us as many details as he could, but we'd like to hear the whole story, start to finish-frankly, I didn't even know I had a cousin called Peter Whitting. And needless to say, the whole family is shocked at what has happened to Tommy. Fortunately, my sister Meg is with Anna now-it's a boon we all live so close to each other.'
'Even close families can grow apart, so it's not surprising that distance and time played a part in the fact that you had no knowledge of your cousin. Your home is a great distance from your father's place of birth.'
'I blame myself. I was little more than a boy when I left, and I let them all go. When I arrived in the States, I wrote a few letters, but they were returned. Time passed, and with it any connection to my former life. My new family was all that mattered to me. Perhaps I should have tried harder.'
'Do not blame yourself, Mr. Clifton. Many families have been divided by the distance of emigration, and it is usually left to subsequent generations to renew the blood ties, if at all.'
'Miss Dobbs is right, Dad. You can't take all this on because you wanted something different from the life your father had dictated for you.' Teddy turned to Maisie. 'Please, tell us the whole story, from the time you began work on my parents' behalf.'
Once again, Maisie recounted each milestone in her investigation, annotating here, cutting a detail there. She told them about the attack by Mullen, about viewing the cine films at a house in Notting Hill, and about her visits to Whitting, Temple, and Thomas Libbert. She described the help given by Priscilla, the fortuitous meeting with Ben
