CHAPTER ELEVEN

Maisie kept her speed low as she drove back towards the centre of Hallarden. Despite the fact that she had come to a conclusion about the chain of events leading to the death of Jonathan Hawkin-Price, the question of whether Mary, Jim, Archie and Grace were out of the woods remained worrisome. They had witnessed a murder – yet it was a killing that came with a question mark, and the man she suspected would have all the answers was indeed Robert MacFarlane.

Driving through the town, resplendent on an autumnal sunny day, Maisie took account of the medieval buildings set among later Georgian and Victorian houses, some converted into shops on the ground floor with flats or an office above. Trees lined the high street, which was not as busy as it would have been on a Saturday morning, though there was a smattering of people going about their business, mainly shopping, and shopping still amounted to a good deal of standing and shuffling along, ration book in hand, 209after joining a queue for the butcher or the bakery.

As planned, Sandra was waiting alongside the telephone kiosk on the other side of town, so Maisie pulled the motor car into a lay-by and turned off the engine, reaching across to open the passenger door.

‘Well, that was interesting,' said Sandra, settling into the seat next to Maisie.

‘I'm sure it was – what did you find out?'

‘The news of "the man at the big house" taking his own life is making the rounds, and of course it seems people are speculating about what will happen to the estate, especially as it was halved to pay death duties when the owner's father died. I didn't even have to ask many questions – I just sort of lingered in the little shop you told me about and kept my ears sharp. That woman behind the counter really is the holder of town gossip, isn't she?' Sandra shook her head. ‘I reckon there's one like her in every small town or village – the disseminator of all local news. Anyway, I don't think people had too many opinions about Hawkin-Price either way – he wasn't loved, nor was he treated with scorn – and it seems whenever someone mentioned "that German woman" he had taken up with, another person reminded the gathered tattletales that the poor man fought in the last war, and only inherited because his brother perished.'

‘It's the sort of talk I would have expected. Go on – what else did you hear?'

‘They can't wait to find out what is going to happen to the mansion, and people are worried that it will be used to provide shelter for the homeless, and there's a belief it will be broken up into flats – or worse, the land will be sold for even more houses to be built.' 210

‘Anything else about the fact that death by suicide has been recorded?'

‘As I said, lots of "poor man" and a couple of "I always thought that might happen". But the interesting thing is that one person said, "He did it because we won the war and he was a blimmin' Nazi!" And there were a number of heads nodding in agreement, though that's when it went quiet and people started saying, "I'd better be getting along" and "I can't stand here jawing all day," so off they went. I grabbed a toy motor car to put away for Martin's Christmas stocking, and paid Miss Rowe, but I didn't want to ask any questions, because I thought I had quite a lot of information to be going on with, and after all, I am a stranger to her – mind you, I think she would have liked to chat a bit more. She seemed quite lonely when I left and there was no one remaining in the shop to talk to.' Sandra shook her head, and sighed. ‘Anyway, I went along to the police station. I pretended I was a reporter with the Daily Mail – I thought I might as well go for a big London paper, because I reckoned they knew all the local press bods.'

‘Good idea.'

‘To warm up the desk sergeant, I asked about the proposed house-building on the edge of town – I said I was writing about the government plans for new towns across the country, you know, to take in overspills after the war. Opinion is definitely against that. I received an earful about how the government is in league with the builders and everyone is profiteering, taking backhanders – so I moved the chat towards the Hawkin-Price mansion, and whether he thought it would be converted for homeless, now that the owner was dead. He went a bit quiet, then asked how I knew about it, and I said, "Seems to be common knowledge in the town". I asked 211whether there was any doubt about suicide, and he was a bit slow to answer, but then he said, "It's what the coroner reported, so who am I to doubt him?'''

‘Interesting,' said Maisie.

‘I dived in on that one and asked if he had any thoughts about the coroner's conclusion. He shrugged his shoulders and said, "You're a reporter, you know there's always a few questions where a gun is concerned – he shouldn't have had a pistol like that anyway. Owning a hunting rifle is alright, but not a Luger". And you know, it was the way he stared at me – I knew he had his suspicions, then he looked around and said, "We're all a bit surprised around here. He wasn't the sort to commit suicide – too bloody-minded and cocky by half". I wanted to dig a bit deeper, but another copper came along – plain clothes man; you can always tell them – and so the desk sergeant told me that was all he had to say about the new estate on the edge of town, and that I should go to the council offices for more information.'

‘Good work,' said Maisie. ‘Everything you've said provides more for me to go on – you've done well, Sandra. We should form an enquiry team more often.'

‘Oh, there was one more thing. He told me there was some talk about the house being left to the children's home, so they could expand their services to include older children. But he didn't like that.'

‘Did he say why?'

‘He said the older ones were trouble, and that after a certain age, the supervisors there just gave up on them, so all they learnt in that home was how to get up to mischief in the town. But all the same, he felt sorry for them. "Direction," he said. "They need 212direction or they'll all turn out to be villains." But then he sort of went soft, and told me about one of the boys – by the name of Archie – who was always getting up to no good, but who he had sympathy for because when he was caught scrumping apples from a local farm, the lad just burst into tears".' Sandra looked down at her notebook. ‘The sergeant said, "At that age, if no one cares and they don't have a purpose, they're like half-formed vines left to grow wild without a trellis to steer them up straight."'

‘He's got a point,' said Maisie, as she started the engine.

‘Where are we going next?' asked Sandra, pushing the notebook into her shoulder bag.

‘You know, I think we'll just go home now. I wanted to pop into a firm of solicitors; however, not only are they closed, but I believe I have enough information to be going on with so I can decide upon my next move. And to be honest, I want to get back to Chelstone to place a call or two and meet Anna from school. I've promised to go with her to look at a horse.'

‘Such a shame Lady had to be put down – Anna took it hard, didn't she?'

‘Yes, she did. And she was always very responsible – she would get up early to do the feed and went down there as soon as she could after school to muck out again and bring round the evening hay. And that little pony was brushed within an inch of her life.' Maisie changed gear as they passed through the town. ‘Anna's schoolwork will increase soon enough, so we have to be careful and ensure she can still make a contribution to the welfare of her horse and not have it all handed to her – it's not healthy for a child.'

‘She deserved some spoiling though, didn't she? Poor little mite was bereft when she came to you. She wouldn't even talk.' 213

‘Oh, Sandra, she deserved everything I could possibly give her – she's such a lovely child. We managed to get her past that bullying upset at Chelstone Primary, and she's flourishing at the international school. Now we want to do all we can to ensure she grows into a wonderful young woman. I've seen too many who have been spoilt by indulgence, and it's not attractive. The police sergeant got it right, about vines growing without a trellis.' Maisie felt her eyes moisten. ‘I want her to dream, Sandra. I want to give her wings, so she can go far and continue to be a good, compassionate and considerate young person at the same time.'

As they passed Sandstone Avenue, Maisie noticed another motor car emerging to join the main road into the town. She continued on for a short distance, and after checking in her rearview mirror, without warning, she swung the Alvis around and retraced their route, once again stopping close to the Hawkin-Price mansion – but not too close.

‘Changed your mind about something, eh?' asked Sandra, raising her eyebrows.

‘I've had enough of this – I want to make one more call to speak to the staff – specifically the chauffeur's wife, as I think he's just left the estate. If he's there, I'll just have to put it to him. I have but one question.'

‘I think you'll end up asking more than one,' said Sandra.

‘You could well be right, Sandra – you've known me too long!'

Leaving Sandra in the motor car, once again Maisie walked a short distance along the avenue and entered the estate via the unlocked entrance adjacent to the grand padlocked iron gates that, when drawn back, allowed vehicular entry and exit. There was no sign of either the gardener or anyone else in the distance, so 214she proceeded to the side of the house. She could not help turning the handle on the kitchen door, but it was locked. Directing her gaze through the rhododendron bushes, she could see the garage, which she estimated could house four motor cars with ease, and she was able to note that the upstairs flat could be accessed from the outside. She suspected there was an interior door and flight of stairs within the garage. She proceeded walking towards the smaller door to the garage, and rapped on the windowpane set into wood – just to make sure she had indeed seen the chauffeur driving and was not mistaken. There was no answer. Walking around to the front of the garage, she discovered the double doors open and one motor car was missing – she was right, it was the chauffeur she had seen driving a motor car and merging onto the main road from Sandstone Avenue.

Taking a deep breath, she made her way up the outer staircase leading to the flat and lifted the door knocker, but before she could summon whoever was at home, the door opened.

‘I thought I could hear someone. Who are you? We don't allow hawkers on the estate, you know.'

Maisie offered a broad smile and extended her hand. ‘My name is Maisie Dobbs – your husband may have mentioned that I visited earlier, when I came to enquire about the house and whether it was for sale.'

The woman waved as if swatting a fly, a dismissive gesture instead of taking Maisie's hand. ‘That poor man isn't cold in his grave, and you're asking about the house?'

‘To be honest, I didn't know about the exact circumstances of his passing – I've only just found out while in the town. And Mr King may have mentioned to you that I confused the house for sale 215next door with this one – the sign is on the property line.'

‘I suppose it's an easy enough mistake, but here you are again.'

‘Yes, here I am. And before I ask a very quick question, may I say how sorry I am to hear about your son? He gave his life for his country, and I think for the entire world, because he fought the terror of Fascism.' Maisie did not withdraw her focus on the woman as she stared back. ‘In case you wondered, I saw his name on the memorial. As I explained to your husband and Mr Chalmers, I always stop at a memorial. I was a nurse, you see, in the last war, and I drove an ambulance in London, during the Blitz. I know what it is to lose someone.'

The woman looked at Maisie as if she were reconsidering her initial poor impression, then folded her arms as if dismissing the thought. ‘Yes, thank you. But be that as it may – what do you want with me and my husband?'

‘Very simple. You see, I live in Chelstone and the Compton family – you probably know the name – are very dear to me. I am the widow of their son, James. I believe you may have heard he was killed testing a new fighter aeroplane before the war – it was mentioned in all the county newspapers when it happened. Anyway, I really wanted to know if your husband was acquainted with George, the chauffeur there.' Maisie smiled. ‘I don't know what I would do if George wasn't on the estate to keep my motor car in tip-top condition. I thought that, if he's known to you, I could pass on your regards, because I would hate to mention I'd visited the house only to have him say, "I wish I'd known you were there".'

‘We know George,' Mrs King replied, showing no change in demeanour. ‘The men met years ago in London, both of them 216starting out working in them big houses at a time when the masters were giving up their horses and taking up with motor cars. The engines weren't as reliable as they are now, so there was a lot to learn, I suppose. They've kept in touch – and Ted who runs the garage in town is another one they knew when they were up in London. So, there you have it.'

‘Thank you, Mrs King,' said Maisie, smiling despite the lack of warmth emanating from the woman. ‘Do you have a message for George? I'll be seeing him as soon as I'm home.' She consulted her watch. ‘In about three-quarters of an hour, if I have a good journey.'

She noticed the woman's attitude change, her stern stoicism replaced by a fluster as she rubbed her hands together, and then across her neck, as if she were suffering a muscle strain. ‘Well, I don't know. I've not talked to him much personally since he lost his wife, but … well, you could tell him we send our regards and I daresay Mr King looks forward to seeing him again soon.'

‘I'll tell him.' Maisie thanked the woman and, as she turned as if to leave, added one more comment. ‘At least you'll now be able to talk about more than just the invasion if it comes, won't you?'

Maisie looked back once. The chauffeur's wife had not moved from the top of the steps and was staring at Maisie as she continued on towards the iron gates, watching her departure from the house belonging to a man who, she now believed, might have had many guises.

‘That horse is more than fifteen hands,' said Maisie, using her palms to measure the height of the horse standing before them.

‘Only just, love,' said Frankie.

‘Dad, admit it, you've wanted another horse to look after ever 217since Chelstone's hunters were sold.'

‘Mummy, I think Daddy would love this horse,' said Anna.

‘Why do you say that?'

‘His name. It's Theodore.'

Maisie sighed. ‘I don't think your father is so easily swayed by the name of a dead president.'

Anna giggled. ‘Mum, he—'

‘Alright, perhaps just a bit. But he will want to know you're safe, that's the main concern.'

‘Let's get her up on this here Theo, and you can see how she does,' said Frankie.

Maisie took a deep breath, closed her eyes and exhaled. ‘Oh dear, he's "Theo" already. Alright, just for a few minutes.' She looked at the groom standing nearby. ‘Has he been warmed up? I'd like to see someone else ride him first. I want to know what he's like from cold, and I don't want Anna to do it.'

Maisie, her father and daughter stood alongside the fence to watch the groom put Theodore – who Anna was now calling ‘my boy' – through his paces.

‘He's nicely warmed up, Mrs Scott. Very easy-going lad, this one,' said the groom as she dismounted. ‘A true schoolmaster.'

Frankie gave his granddaughter a leg up into the saddle and adjusted the stirrups.

‘Right, Anna,' said Maisie. ‘Off you go – and only around the outside of that manège.'

‘Can't I just—?'

‘No, just on the flat, walk and trot. No canter. We'll save anything more for when Daddy's here, you know how he hates to miss anything.' 218

Maisie watched as Anna began walking the horse around the outside of the manège.

‘She's got a twinkle in her eye,' said Maisie, as Anna nudged the horse into a trot. ‘I hope she doesn't push her luck.'

‘Love, just concentrate on how she rides, her seat and her hands. She's a good little horsewoman. I know you're anxious – your mother was the same with you when I let you ride old Persephone around the streets after I was home from work.'

Maisie felt her father's arm around her shoulders.

‘Theodore doesn't look so big when she's on him, does he?' said Maisie.

‘She carries herself well,' added Frankie.

‘Yes, I know that, but—' Maisie put her hands to her mouth as Anna took her prospective new horse from a trot to a canter, and then looked towards jumps set up in the centre of the manège.

‘I had a feeling she wouldn't be able to resist that jump,' said Frankie.

‘I can't look,' said Maisie, holding her hands over her eyes.

The following morning, Maisie walked a very quiet Anna to the bus stop.

‘Was Daddy very annoyed with me when you told him?'

‘He wasn't best pleased, Anna.' She reached for her daughter's hand. ‘But to be honest, I think he was just a bit upset at having missed you taking that jump, and he was probably rather scared too.'

‘I shouldn't have done it, should I?'

‘Well, you were asked not to. But the main thing is that your father was able to get through on the telephone and he said he's 219hoping to fly home soon. He can't wait to see you ride Theo, but remember, buying a horse is a big decision, and big decisions are family decisions. And I doubt anyone is going to rush to buy Theo in the meantime.'

‘I'm sorry, Mummy. But I knew he wouldn't do anything bad – I could see into Theo's mind, and we both knew we wanted to go over the jump.'

‘Let's put yesterday behind us, shall we? You've some important tests today, so best to concentrate on those.'

‘I've done all the work.'

Maisie leant down to kiss Anna, and held on to her for a moment.

‘Mum – everyone will laugh at me. You're the only mother who kisses and cuddles when you take me to the bus stop.'

Maisie felt her daughter wriggle away from her embrace.

‘Give my love to Uncle Robbie.' Anna waved as she ran towards her friends. ‘Bye!'

Maisie sighed. Mum? ‘I'm no longer "Mummy" – I've become "Mum,"' she whispered to herself, and was surprised to feel quite bereft as she walked towards Chelstone railway station. Time was passing at a greater speed than she had bargained for – she didn't have to bend down very far to kiss Anna any more, but instead only had to lean her head forward. The thought of Anna's recent growth spurt led Maisie to segue towards the fate of the four young people lodging with Priscilla. Time was passing for them, too, and she felt it was now imperative to move at speed to secure their safety and their futures – a responsibility she had assumed the minute she refused to reveal their whereabouts to Robert MacFarlane. With any luck, today's confrontation would 220release her for another step in the direction of their best interests.

‘Well, well, well, if the mountain hasn't come to Muhammad, as the saying goes,' said MacFarlane, leaning back in his chair when Maisie was shown into his Baker Street office.

Maisie looked around. ‘Seems you're all moving out of here now – I was surprised not to be sent off to another part of London to find you.'

MacFarlane allowed his chair to fall forward. ‘They've got to put me somewhere before I'm posted off into the sunset with a few bob in the retirement account, haven't they? And as you know, I've still a lot of work to do.' He pulled a buff-coloured folder from the top of an unsteady pile of papers and nodded towards the chair in front of his desk. ‘Take a seat and let's have a blether about your antics, shall we?'

‘My antics? I was hoping to discuss your capers.'

He leant towards her, folding his arms across the file. ‘Let's not waste time quipping, Maisie. Neither of us likes messing around, so cards on the table – what do you know?'

Maisie stared out of the window to settle herself for a second, then turned to face MacFarlane.

‘Funny, isn't it? This is like so many buildings in London – or I suppose in a number of places around the country,' said Maisie. ‘It seems so benign from the outside, yet until not so long ago, on the inside people were scurrying along corridors and into soundproof rooms planning death, double-checking security and trying to work out how to win the war, whether their methods were above board, or well below it.'

‘Brave souls have darkened the doors of these offices.' 221

Maisie shook her head. ‘As I know only too well – I approved a number of them for service, or did you forget? No, of course you wouldn't forget that I knew two of the women particularly well.'

MacFarlane rubbed his forehead. ‘That was always the hard part, wasn't it? You knew what was being asked of them – and they knew too – but they went over to France, or Denmark, or Belgium or wherever, and they laid down their lives knowing we would have to deny all knowledge of their activities if they were captured. Heaven only knows how I managed to go from being a Scotland Yard detective, to Special Branch, then to the security services and the Special Operations Executive – and now this, doing my bit to mop up the aftermath of a massive bloody mess from here to Nuremberg.' He looked down and moved his arms away from the folder, though he brought his attention back to Maisie. ‘And just to make one aspect of my job even harder, you were avoiding me. I could have done without the trouble, Maisie.'

‘Robbie, to be honest, I didn't know if I could trust you. I'm a bit more sure that I can now, but I had to keep four young people safe for a while at least.'

MacFarlane opened his mouth to speak, but Maisie held up her hand.

‘Let me finish, Robbie.' She swallowed to ease the dryness in her throat and began again. ‘We both played a part in sending operatives into the field, and with a full understanding of their possible outcome. Even as we speak, I know there are people here – or wherever they are now situated – who are trying to pin down the whereabouts of missing agents. Or their remains. And now I know the four youngsters were part of what was effectively a resistance line situated across Britain, enlisted from all walks of 222life and ages – including adolescents – who were trained to undermine the Nazis in the case of an invasion. From what I can ascertain, they conducted themselves honourably and were trained well.' She paused, shaking her head. ‘Were those four young people "dispensable" because they had no family to speak of? I think perhaps yes, they were considered expendable. And I believe they received instructions to continue being ready for service even after all risk of an invasion had been more or less curtailed and the pressure diminished – and let's admit, it was a relief for us all that Hitler went off to have a go at the Russians instead of trying to cross the English Channel.'

‘Yes, yes, we know all that, Maisie – but you finish making your points, and then I'll make mine.'

‘Right you are. They were trained to be observant above all else. To report what they saw and they thought they saw a Nazi-sympathising member of the aristocracy in his element, and then they thought they saw him killed. So they ran. They ran to someone who they assumed could help them – and he did, which of course undermined you and your fellow people in this … this circus, didn't it? Because these local guerrilla groups represent another set of pies you have a finger in, don't they?'

‘Excellent work, Your Ladyship – go on.'

Maisie was quick to nip MacFarlane's goading in the bud. ‘Robbie, I've seen that look on many men in my time and that comment went beyond your usual cynical banter, so don't even think of trying to belittle me because I'm a woman, or so help me I'll … I'm not in the mood for it, and I'm trained too, remember? So at this very moment, don't push me. You know only too well that a good number of the missing agents you're now looking for 223were women, and they came into this building to be interviewed and "processed" for one of the most dangerous active service jobs.' She took a breath, placing her hand against her chest to settle her racing heart. ‘It's not like you to engage in that sort of repartee, so don't start it now.'

‘Alright, Maisie, carry on – and sorry for that. You're right, I was out of order. Mind you, I'm enjoying the story.'

Maisie felt the red flush of anger that had bloomed across her cheeks begin to subside. The tide was going out on her temper, though she did not care for Robert MacFarlane's use of the word ‘story.' She continued to stare at him, and drew breath before pressing on.

‘I'm not going to ask who planned the training of these civilians, though it's probably one of your M departments, but not MI5 or even the Secret Intelligence Service. Anyway, the younger civilians in this army were trained, they were allowed to keep their hands in just in case, so to speak, and along the way their loyalty to their superiors was never diminished, and they grew up a bit – so when one of their number witnessed a Nazi get-together, off he went to tell the others. They returned to the house and were just in time to witness the murder of Jonathan Hawkin-Price. They took action and reported what they had seen to the man who was in charge of their training, because they had limited knowledge of others who belonged to the same group – intentional, because if there had indeed been an invasion, the powers that be did not want a captured local operative spilling the beans on a local solicitor, eh? Or even the vicar?'

MacFarlane nodded, his eyes focused on Maisie.

‘But I believe that what they saw was a planned assassination 224by a trained killer who knew they had more to lose than him.' She paused, waiting for MacFarlane to interject, but he said nothing, so she took up her account again. ‘There was an accomplice, and having been to the house and into the town to ask a few questions here and there, I believe the assassin was the chauffeur and the man at his side was the gardener, who also played a part. All very nice and local, like one of those potboilers people took down to the shelters to take their minds off the fact that their homes were being blown apart. And what was their reason for killing Hawkin-Price? I wondered about that, and I think the revelation that their employer was a Nazi weighed heavy on two men who had lost their sons. They had no need to chase after the four witnesses, because due to their contacts – and they were also part of one of these rural resistance groups who made ready to take on the German invaders – they could get the whole thing nice and tidily swept away with a story about suicide. And you helped.'

‘Any more? Or is that the end of your grand summation of what came to pass?'

Maisie at once felt unsteady, as if someone were moving a carpet under her feet and she might lose her balance. She stared out of the window, again gazing out over the rooftops, for a second remembering Will Beale and his comment that if you looked at the roofline or the trees, you could imagine the streets below had not been blasted apart. Without turning back to MacFarlane, she offered another explanation.

‘I confess, Robbie, that it was all too easy to jump to that conclusion, so I am faced with a few varying scenarios. Was Hawkin-Price on our side all the time? Was he a plant? Was his German lady friend for us or against us? And did that man 225harbour his own bitterness about the terrible state of affairs our country was left in after the last war, so his allegiance turned to the man who was bent upon changing Germany's fortunes?' Again she waited, wondering if MacFarlane would interrupt, but when he made no comment, she picked up the thread again. ‘I thought he might have been playing both sides, only to face the fate of the double agent, although some of the clever ones made it through quite nicely, didn't they?'

MacFarlane smiled, though it was one of indulgence, not of good humour. ‘Very good. All sterling thoughts, Maisie – and I would have expected nothing less from you. I like to see a mind whirring around, not accepting the first easy answer to the question.'

‘I was taught that the power of the question—'

‘Yes, yes, I know all that, hen,' MacFarlane interrupted. ‘I know almost every single lesson your Maurice Blanche taught you, because I would lay money on the fact that you've quoted them to me at one time or another. I could write a bloody book about them!'

Maisie stared at MacFarlane, and began to speak in a low, measured tone and with a calm demeanour, all the better to holster any power she had remaining. ‘What I really want from you is a promise that Mary, Jim, Archie and Grace are protected from any repercussions associated with their wartime activities. I must know they are safe.'

‘I'm not in the business of taking the lives of children, Maisie. But I had to make sure no one else would – and that I've done. Suffice it to say, there are people in other departments who have become so used to killing to save others, they would be able to remove the threat of your four kiddies without any trouble at all.' 226MacFarlane sighed. ‘But I promise you now, they will be safe and will live good long lives, though they must also be reminded of their responsibility to the Official Secrets Act and their country.'

Maisie did not respond, and did not look away when MacFarlane stared at her as if to add weight to his words.

‘It's my promise, Maisie,' said MacFarlane. ‘And if there's one thing you know about me, I never break a promise.'

Maisie waited, watching MacFarlane. ‘Yes, you're right, Robbie – you've never broken a promise made to me. I will take steps to ensure the youngsters doubly understand the situation and need for secrecy – but I have confidence in them. They have a level of fear that will keep their mouths shut on the subject. And they also have a respect for the work they were engaged in. I think we both know that's something Lord Julian understood, even though he was in far from good health.' Maisie reached forward and tapped the folder in front of MacFarlane. ‘So, are you going to tell the story, or am I going to have to read it?'

MacFarlane stood up, opened a filing cabinet and took out a bottle of single malt whisky and two tot glasses.

‘Sun's over the yardarm somewhere in the world.'

‘That's what my friend Priscilla says – but nothing for me, Robbie.'

‘It's going on for twelve now, so it's either a drink here or we go down to the pub, and I can't talk freely there, so have a belt with me, for old time's sake. It'll do you more good than that usual tiny cream sherry tipple of yours.'

‘Do I have to remind you, yet again, about the last time I joined you in a single malt?'

MacFarlane laughed. ‘I know – I ended up losing you to a Yank.'

‘Robbie?' 227

‘Nothing – never said a word.' He poured two glasses of the smooth, coppery malt whisky and set one in front of Maisie, then lifted the folder and passed it to her. ‘There, let's sit back, have a sip and both of us take a deep breath while you read this. I'm so worn out, I might even close my eyes for a bit.'