a list of questions answered, facts discovered, points to act upon, another clue, another step towards the successful closure of a case, towards an invoice submitted and payment received. There was nothing to continue, nothing to suggest that work of any substance had taken place. She would have to start from scratch.
Maisie leaned forward with her head in her hands. She would have to visit Jesmond Martin again so that she could create a new plan for the inquiry. They had met when he first came to the office to discuss his son, missing some weeks by the time he’d contacted Maisie. Should she invent a story to account for the lack of progress? Or should she simply tell the truth, that during a previous investigation, her assistant had been left for dead by thugs in the pay of a powerful man—and she placed blame for Billy’s breakdown firmly at the feet of that particular man. Should she tell him she’d left the case in Billy’s hands, trusting—hoping—that he could manage on his own.
“Oh Billy, how I have failed you,” said Maisie aloud.
It was on the way home through traffic thick with motor cars, exhaust-belching omnibuses, clattering trams, and high-stepping carthorses that Maisie began to list what she knew about the life and death of Usha Pramal against elements of the case still to be discovered. Yes, she had to interview the friend at whose house Usha’s brother had lodged upon his arrival in England. She was eager to discover the name of the young man who had courted Usha in India, in her younger days. Had he returned to England? And had she chosen to work away from home as a governess to avoid contact with a man she might have loved, but who was an unacceptable suitor? From the information Maisie had garnered thus far, Usha was not one to allow family disapproval to stop her doing what she wanted, and imagined her swatting away the warnings of a cluster of interfering aunts as if they were annoying midges flying around her head on a warm summer’s eve. But she drew the line at being humiliated by the actions of a young man who did not appreciate the customs of her country or was too impulsive to believe they might apply to him.
“Do you think your Billy could come to the office to meet Bob Wilmott—he sorts out taking on staff and so on—for an interview next week?”
Maisie was standing by the window, looking out at the carefully tended shrubs, colorful late-blooming roses, and flower beds filled with chrysanthemums, asters, and her favorite daisies. She’d always loved the simple flowers—primroses, bluebells, and daffodils in spring, wild roses in summer, and all manner of daisies in autumn. Her thoughts were on the other side of the river, close to Addington Square; she was thinking about the Reverend Colin Griffith and his unruly yet colorful garden.
“Sorry, James—miles away. What did you say? About Billy?”
James set down his drink, stood up from the armchair, and came over to her. He put his arms around her waist and kissed her on the neck. “I do believe I’ve been talking to the wall for the last fifteen minutes. I asked about Billy Beale.”
“Au contraire, James—I may have been a bit distracted, but I believe I heard the words ‘Your Billy.’ ”
“Figure of speech. Now, what do you think? Could he come in?”
Maisie paused, considering the question. “Here’s what I think—this shouldn’t come through me. I think it’s best if your company’s usual protocol were followed.”
“We’re always snitching good people from otherwise worthy employers.”
“That’s not what I mean, James, and you know it.” She turned to face him, but did not move from his arms. “And I would suggest it’s best to wait a little while. Billy’s been under the weather. Then it would be a good idea if Bob Wilmott wrote to Billy, or telephoned him at his home, and asked him if he would be interested in coming in to discuss an open position. Billy knows that I’ve talked to you in the past about a job, so it won’t come as much of a surprise, yet, it would be better for his self-respect if he thought the actual landing of a job was up to him.”
“Well, it would be anyway, Maisie. If Bob or anyone else he would be working with didn’t think he was up to it, he wouldn’t be taken on. All we’ve done is open up the path