A Lesson In Secrets_ A Maisie Dobbs Novel Part 18

"His secretary, for a start. Miss Rosemary Linden-though we both know that's not her real name. She would have liked to see him dead."

"Anyone else?"

"Dunstan Headley-but then Dunstan Headley doesn't care for many people, especially women. In fact, Headley is something of a woman-hater."

"A woman-hater?"

"Yes. He hates the idea of women in any position of responsibility. He is so filled with hatred and anger over the death of his eldest son, he doesn't know how to live with himself. He blamed his first wife for his son enlisting in the army-don't believe what you might have heard about her dying; she left him for an army officer when their son was young. Apparently the boy joined the army to make his mother proud, something of that order. It was his second wife who committed the sin of dying on him, hence the complete indulgence you see in Robson. He hates Delphine Lang, given her Austrian parentage; I would like to be a fly on the wall in the Headley household today."

"Yes, he seemed about to explode at the debate yesterday."

"And he'll definitely explode if he discovers that she was only offered the job in the first place because she's Roth's niece-his sister's daughter. Roth can't be happy about having to send her home to her parents, and I bet he's none too pleased about Robson Headley, either."

Maisie nodded. "Oh, of course! That explains Roth's affection for Lang."

Thomas inclined her head to acknowledge the piece of information clicking into the puzzle for Maisie. She said nothing for a while, then went on. "You've found Miss Linden, I take it?"

"Caring for her rather ill mother, along with her brothers and sister."

"You may wish to talk to her again. The last time I saw her before Greville was murdered, she was conversing at great length with Dunstan Headley, in the grounds, along the meditation walk."

Thomas requested sandwiches and gla.s.ses of water to be brought to her office, and over this simple lunch they talked about the clouds that seemed to be forming over Germany, clouds that appeared to have been observed with some indifference by those in power. When coffee was brought to the room, Maisie sipped from her cup and felt she knew Thomas well enough to ask a personal question.

"Were you ever married, Dr. Thomas?"

The woman smiled. "Yes, I was. I was married to one of my fellow agents, a very brave young man. His name was Dietger. I loved him dearly, but love in the midst of war is always more urgent, more undiluted by the ordinary responsibilities of marriage which most couples encounter. I was widowed when he was captured by the German army."

"I am so sorry."

She rubbed her upper arms, as if cold. "It is something we all lived with. He gave his life and it made me an even more determined fighter." She untied the scarf at her neck to reveal the scar Maisie had seen when she first came to the college. "I sought my revenge, and won-but I have this to show for my trouble. I found out who was responsible for my husband's death, and I lured him to his end. I killed him with my bare hands, and almost lost my life in return. I buried him with the strength I had left, and I went back to work."

Maisie realized that the woman before her would continue to seek her revenge; what she had seen and done in the war had all but hollowed her heart. It was evident that Francesca Thomas would not hesitate to kill again to save the countrymen she considered her people.

You will remember that all that we have discussed must be very tightly held," said Thomas, as Maisie departed in the late afternoon.

"I gave you my word."

"Good." She smiled, and whispered, "You know, the propaganda men would have everyone believe that women agents were little more than Mata Haris who gave their bodies for information. Now you know we gave our hearts-and we worked as hard and took as many chances as our men."

Maisie walked back to her motor car, having pulled down her cloche again. She had just unlocked the MG, when, as if on cue, a black vehicle pulled up alongside. The driver stepped out and opened the back door with haste.

"Miss Dobbs-step in, please."

Maisie locked the MG, then took a seat in the motor car, next to Brian Huntley.

"Having me followed, Mr. Huntley?"

"A fortuitous sighting as I was leaving a colleague's office."

"Of course it was. I was looking forward to seeing you this evening-does this mean that I won't have the pleasure of supper with you, Mr. Huntley?"

"Sadly, it does. But I am sure you can spare some time now to a.s.sure me that you haven't done or said anything that might run counter to your signing of the Official Secrets Act."

"Absolutely not."

"Good."

"Any news, Miss Dobbs?"

Maisie recounted the events of the previous evening, and Robson Headley's display of support for a regime that had not come to power in Germany but seemed to be stoking a fierce mood among the people, which, she thought, was of grave concern.

"Are you sure it's not just youthful support for something new? Young people are wont to see the world in black and white, and to be taken with revolutionary ideas."

"He is almost twenty-five years old! He is not just out of short trousers, and knows very well what he is doing. Men younger than he were laying down their lives in the war-and I am sure they saw a good deal of gray amid the black and white-" Maisie stopped herself, concerned that she had spoken out of turn.

"Point very well taken, Miss Dobbs. You have done exactly as I asked." He ruffled through some papers as the motor car swung around Buckingham Palace. "Have you observed any activities that might give rise to suspicion that there is Bolshevik activity at the college, or any other college in Cambridge?"

"I have seen nothing to suggest there is a 'red menace' at the College of St. Francis-yet. However, in my opinion your department must be on the alert and not simply focus your concern on one strand of political belief. I realize the Communist threat is uppermost in the minds of the Secret Service, but you cannot rule out fascism as the greater threat to peace in the short term." She turned to face Huntley. "You see, I believe the two go together. There will be those who see the likes of Robson Headley-and, further up the scale, of Adolf Hitler and Oswald Mosley-and they will be angered or scared by their rhetoric, so they will look to support what they believe to be the opposite, which is communism. And I'm not only talking about the young and impressionable, though they are the subject of our investigation at the moment."

"I see. Well, you've made your point in no uncertain terms, Miss Dobbs." He cleared his throat. "I realize MacFarlane and Stratton are still engaged in the investigation into Greville Liddicote's death, and of course you were instructed not to become involved, but I know you a little better, I think-do you know who murdered Liddicote?"

Maisie looked at Huntley. "Ah, now that is a good question. I need to uncover some sort of proof, but I do believe I have a good idea of who took Liddicote's life. However, there are others who are equally culpable."

"In what way?"

"I don't think I can tell you that, Mr. Huntley. Not without compromising the very promise I have made to you."

"Well said, Miss Dobbs. Very well said."

The black motor car came to a halt alongside Maisie's crimson MG. She opened the door and exited before the driver could a.s.sist her.

"Be in touch, Miss Dobbs." The vehicle pulled away before Maisie could respond.

She hoped Billy was still at the office; her next stop was Fitzroy Square. It was time to find out if there was news of the search for Sandra.

Chapter Eighteen.

Has Caldwell come up with anything?" Maisie had taken off her hat and now sat at her desk, with Billy seated opposite her as she leafed through messages and unopened post. "What did he say this morning when you spoke to him?"

"Turns out this bloke that Sandra was on to is a right one-just like you said. He's reeled him in, along with Reg Martin, though apparently Reg is as scared as they come. It was protection, as I said-and it went wrong. That poor girl."

"But does anyone have any idea where she is? She must be terrified-that's if Walling hasn't had her picked up somewhere and silenced." She pushed the pile of paper to one side.

"Miss, you don't think-"

"I know, I'm not being very rational, am I? I'm terribly worried about her; I hope she's just gone to ground somewhere-but where?"

They were silent for a while. Maisie was concerned with all there was to be accomplished in just a short time. Tomorrow she would return to Ipswich, and afterward-dependent upon the outcome of her business in Knowsley-straight back to Cambridge to find MacFarlane and Stratton.

"And there was another telephone call from that Miss Robinson at the Compton Corporation again."

Maisie looked up. "Oh yes, I'm to collect a letter. It seems using a bag that goes back and forth to their offices in Toronto is now the best way for me to receive mail from James. I was supposed to get in touch with her at the beginning of the week, wasn't I? But I just didn't have the time-and I so wanted to pick up the letter. I wonder why they couldn't have simply had it brought over by messenger?"

"Might have a nice little present in it, eh? That aside, she wants to know when you can go over and pick it up."

"Does she, now?" Maisie stood up. "I'm just going along the corridor to splash some cold water on my face-would you mind giving her a telephone call, Billy? Tell her I will be over before half past six, if that's all right."

"She did sound a bit anxious, as if it were burning a hole in the desk."

Maisie laughed. "It might well be doing just that!"

She returned to the office ten minutes later to be informed by Billy that she was expected at the Compton Corporation, where Miss Robinson was awaiting her arrival. She looked at the clock. "I'd better be off, then. I don't want to be late for the very efficient Miss Robinson, do I?"

Despite her recent doubts, Maisie realized that she had been missing James more than ever over the past few days. When he was at home with her, there was no echoing silence in the flat, and their excursions at the week's end-to Chelstone, or to Pricilla's country house-seemed to be filled with a heady blend of deep conversation and laughter. Yes, she looked forward to his homecoming.

Miss Robinson, I'm sorry to keep you waiting," said Maisie as she entered the secretary's fiefdom, a s.p.a.cious anteroom to James' office. Since taking over the running of the Compton Corporation, James had embarked upon a program of modernization at the offices, and had started with his own. The walls had recently been painted in a creamy white, and the mahogany furniture was of a modern design, with smooth corners and chrome fittings. The decor reminded Maisie of a s.h.i.+p; she thought it might have seemed impersonal had it not been for the bouquet of flowers in a vase on the secretary's desk, and a large tapestry of geometric shapes mounted on the wall behind.

"I had trouble parking, what with one thing and another," added Maisie. "You must be dying to get home at this time on a Friday."

The woman smiled, but there was something in her expression that caused Maisie to wonder if all was well.

"Is everything all right? I mean, I am terribly sorry if you were meant to be somewhere. After all-I could have waited, and-"

Miss Robinson picked up the telephone as if to place a call that could not wait. She held out her hand towards the door that led to James' office.

"If you'd like to go in, Miss Dobbs, your letter is on the table."

"Are you sure?" asked Maisie. "I mean, I don't want to just charge into the office."

"No, it's perfectly all right. On you go." She waved in a way that made Maisie feel as if she were a schoolgirl who had just been dismissed by the headmistress.

Maisie placed her hand on the large chrome door handle, and as she pressed her weight against the door, she looked back at Miss Robinson, who was watching her, smiling. She waved her hand again. Maisie nodded and walked in.

Her shock at seeing James Compton coming towards her with his arms open almost caused her to faint. The table before her was covered with packages.

"James! James Compton, you rogue!" She was soon in his embrace. "You have been here all the time!"

James kissed her, but soon she pushed back from him to speak. "You sent that letter from here!" She laughed, knowing that once upon a time she would have been devastated by such a trick. "Why didn't you tell me you were home? What are you up to? Apart from committing a crime in the eyes of the post office, that is."

"A crime?" James laughed as he spoke. "What crime?"

"You forged a postmark-that's a prison sentence. How did you pull that one off?"

"Oh, that was easy-I just had Miss Robinson talk nicely to a man at the post office, asking him to smudge a stamp to disguise the franking, and had the letter delivered by hand."

"But why? Couldn't you just have let me know you were in London?"

"Ah, it was all part of my grand plan-as much as I wanted to call you the minute I disembarked at Southampton, I was trying to keep a secret, and I made sure anyone who knew I was here in London had sworn on their life not to let the cat out of the bag."

"What cat? Oh, this doesn't make sense, James."

"It will when you see your surprise."

"I think this is all a surprise. Anything more would const.i.tute a shock." She allowed herself to be embraced again. "And what about those?" She nodded towards the packages.

"Just a few things I thought you'd like, Maisie. Don't worry, nothing extravagant; a few bits and pieces to bring a smile to your face." He looked at his watch. "There was something else I wanted to show you, but I think it will have to wait until tomorrow morning now-too dark outside."

"This sounds very suspicious."

"Just a surprise. Now then, shall we load these up in the back of your motor car? We'll stop somewhere for supper, then deliver them to your flat. Do you still have the guest you wrote about?"

"No, I don't, and I'm worried about her-oh, James, so much has happened since you left."

"And I suppose you can't tell me the half of it." He gathered up the parcels, handing several smaller ones to Maisie to carry.

"I can tell you more about Sandra, but not about my other job."

"Other job?"

"I shouldn't have said that much. It's an official secret."

James wanted to linger over a long breakfast the following morning, but Maisie knew she had to leave for Ipswich at around midday if she was to pay another visit to Alice Thurlow.

"Can't we just sit here on your comfortable sofa, drink our tea, and enjoy the morning? I haven't even had so much as an egg yet, and you've only opened one or two of your presents."

"Imagine what a surprise it will be when I come home-I can ration them out. In any case, I thought you were anxious to show me something."

"Absolutely. I'll just be a tick. We'll be off by nine and I will let you go to your urgent appointment if you promise to come straight back afterward."

Maisie shook her head, then reached out to touch James' arm. "I can't return immediately, but I'll be back at the end of the week. I have a contract I'm committed to, and to leave now would not be wise."

James held his hand to his heart and gave an exaggerated sigh. Then he smiled and nodded towards the door. "All right, let's go."

When they reached the edge of Belgravia, James pulled over and stopped the motor car.

"Now, you have a choice," said James.

"What sort of choice? You're being very strange, you know."

"You can either close your eyes and cover them with your hands-or if you can't keep them closed, I'll have to blindfold you."

"James, you do realize how very edgy this makes me feel, don't you?"