CHAPTER SIXTEEN

The journey by motor car from Bromley to Chislehurst was indeed more swift than Maisie might have hoped; just over three miles, taking her past the famous Chislehurst caves where some fifteen thousand local people took refuge during the war. The notorious V-1 and V-2 rockets often failed before reaching their London target, instead falling on suburban towns and rural villages in Kent, the widespread explosions decimating whole rows of houses as the bombs fell to earth. But now those caves, man-made from Saxon times for the mining of flint and chalk, had been closed since V-E Day. Maisie wondered if her decision to locate the now grown child of Enid and James was not leading her into her own very dark cavern of misjudgement.

Driving along one of the newer wide boulevards that were a hallmark of the well-to-do ‘commuter belt' part of town, Maisie located Romney Gardens with ease, and drew up a few houses 303away from number twelve. She turned off the engine and reached for her scarf. It was one of those days that had started off cold and was becoming more bitter as the hours progressed and she felt the chill – though it was without doubt a feeling compounded by a shiver of anticipation. But what to do next? As Mark had pointed out, she could not walk to the front door and announce herself. She sighed and felt at once overwhelmed. Her husband was right – she should not have come this far. The past was the past, wasn't it? And what were those words in the novel Grace the bookworm had been reading? Yes, The Great Gatsby. Maisie had leafed through a copy and, as was her habit, skipped to the final paragraphs – she was not sure why she always did this, though it never spoilt a story for her. The author had written something that intrigued Maisie, that people were ‘Borne back ceaselessly into the past.'She gave a half-laugh as she considered the words, for the truth was that she had not been borne back as if on a slow rolling wave of nostalgia, but instead had stood at the precipice of her yesterdays and jumped. Now she had to crawl back out on hands and knees. You stupid woman. She shook her head and reached for the ignition, again admonishing herself for her decision to come to Chislehurst. She started the engine, releasing the hand brake to leave Romney Gardens, never to return. Then she saw him.

She watched as the man – tall, yes, the same height as his grandfather, perhaps taller than James – pulled up his collar with one hand and bent down to secure the leash on a young, well-brushed Golden Retriever. Maisie held her breath. Was this her chance? ‘What a lovely dog' she could say, or perhaps ‘Do you know the way to …' Where? How many times would she lie about looking at a house for sale? ‘Chilly this morning, isn't it?' might sound more 304authentic. Or, ‘Oh, you must be the new people.' But were they? She glanced at the house, at the garden and the man, walking towards her with shoulders hunched against the cold. He did not wear a hat, and as he came closer, she held her breath. He had Enid's coppery hair, with sun streaks as if he had been in a warm climate. Then he stopped.

She watched as the man she knew was without doubt Robin James Davidson – the son her late husband had sired – stood quite still. The Retriever wagged its tail and looked up, as if questioning the decision to halt their foray out of the warm house. The man slipped the glove from his free hand and rubbed his eyes. Knowing what was about to happen, Maisie reached for the door handle as the man fell to his knees and keeled over sideways, the dog now wagging its tail even more, as if the collapse were a game – though the attempt at play became a fierce licking around his owner's face as if to revive him.

It took only seconds for Maisie to leave the motor car, slam the door and run across the street. She knelt down, the dog licking her ears as if she, too, were in on the sport.

‘Sir, sir,' she said, lifting the man's head. ‘Sir, it's alright, I'm here, come on, that's it, open your eyes.'

The man blinked several times, then began to move.

‘I don't know what happened,' he said, shaking his head.

‘Don't do that,' said Maisie. ‘Hold your head still. And don't rush or you'll fall again. Now then, take a deep breath through your nose – the cold will make you cough if you inhale through your mouth.'

Brushing away the dog, who was now licking the side of his face, Robin Davidson took a few deep breaths. ‘I'm feeling better now.' 305

‘Right you are. Now then, I'm going to support you, but be careful – and you can lean on me, I can take the weight.'

Maisie braced, slipping an arm under his shoulder as he came first to his knees and then to his feet.

‘How do you feel?'

‘Still a little … a little unsteady. I really don't know what happened.'

‘Did you eat this morning?'

He shook his head.

‘Last evening?'

‘I took a few bites.'

‘That explains a lot. Come on, I'll help you back to your house.' Maisie faltered, knowing she would feign ignorance. ‘Which one is it?'

‘Just along here.'

Maisie supported the man as they walked at a slow pace towards the property. The dog ran ahead and waited until the gate was opened and then bounded along the path, barking as he approached the front door.

‘He's a happy hound,' said Maisie.

‘He thinks there will be someone to open the door, but my wife is away visiting her mother.'

‘Ah, so you've been left alone to cook and thought better of it.'

‘I can't say I was that hungry.'

Davidson opened the front door, which he had left unlocked. He turned to look at Maisie, and it was then that she saw the sadness in his eyes.

‘What's wrong?' She rested her hand on his shoulder. ‘I know that's a very personal question, sir, but—' Should she say more? 306Would it not be better if she just turned and left the man, having helped him into his house? This was none of her business – but in the moment, she knew the tide of questions would overpower her will. ‘You are carrying a burden – I can see it in your eyes.'

Davidson stared at Maisie. ‘Who are you? I don't know my neighbours because we're new here, and I'm sorry, but … I just forget names anyway. Never been able to … and I … I really must sit down.'

‘I'll see you to an armchair, come on, point the way.'

Holding the man's arm as they walked along the hallway, Maisie kept him steady until he was seated in an armchair in the drawing room. When he was settled, she stepped back and looked around her.

‘Sir, this is none of my business, but … but this is a very cold house. You should have a fire in the grate. I see you have radiators, so if you are sickening for something, a little more warmth would help.'

The man nodded, his eyes staring into the cold fireplace.

‘Would you like me to make you a cup of tea?'

He turned his head, his eyes red, moistened with tears. ‘You're very kind – please, don't bother. I'll sit for a while then—'

‘Sir, I can see that all is not well. First of all, I will get you a cup of tea – I can find the kitchen, don't worry. Just sit there. Then we'll talk about getting you warm.'

The dog, who had been lying at his master's feet, followed Maisie into the kitchen, whereupon he slumped next to the visitor with an audible sigh.

‘So you're down in the dumps too, eh? Let's see what we can do about it.' She looked around at the brand-new kitchen, with modern 307fitted cabinetry and a gas cooker that seemed almost unused. In addition, it appeared a coal-fired stove was the source of power for the radiators, but with fuel rationed, it had been turned off. She filled a kettle, set it on a gas burner and found tea in the pantry. There was milk in a refrigerator, which surprised her as few homes had the appliance – she considered herself fortunate enough to afford one for the flat, even though she was not fond of the constant hum from the compressor.

She found the coal bunker just outside the back door. While the bunker was not full, there was no doubt enough fuel to keep the house warm. She filled a scuttle that had been left next to the door, and brought it in. While making the tea, she considered Robin Davidson; no doubt he was a troubled man, though she knew that while she was still acting within the boundary of neighbourly concern, she should see him comfortable then take her leave.

‘There you are – there's nothing that cannot be healed by a nice cup of tea,' said Maisie, returning to the drawing room. She pulled out a side table and placed the cup of tea next to Davidson. ‘Now, this won't take me five minutes. I'm very good at lighting fires, so I will just get this one going and then be on my way and out of your hair – thank goodness someone has already laid the paper and kindling.'

‘You are very kind, Mrs—'

‘Scott. Mrs Scott.' She smiled, then knelt down by the fireplace and set coals on the kindling before taking a match to the paper. ‘I'll just wash my hands and make sure it's caught and warming you up before I go.'

Maisie returned to the kitchen and washed her hands, though as she turned towards the hallway again, she saw a series of notes and 308cards pinned to a board alongside the door. There were reminders to buy certain groceries and messages to order this or that. The name of the local plumber was on another piece of paper, and then a postcard filled with colour, heralding Greetings from New Mexico. New Mexico? She had a vague memory of Mark mentioning New Mexico, then stopping when some other topic of conversation came up, but she could not recall the context. Perhaps it was just somewhere he had visited. Giving in to temptation, she unpinned the card and looked at the message, penned in a small hand to account for the limited space.

Hey Buddy. Hope you're feeling better now you're back in England. It's been a long haul, but never forget, you helped bring an end to the war. Good luck teaching the next generation to take over from us. Maybe see you again Stateside sometime.

Maisie could not read the name of the friend who sent the card, but as she pinned it on the noticeboard, words echoed in her mind. You helped us bring an end to the war. She understood, then, that Robin Davidson was a man of secrets, and in her heart she knew one of them might well be feasting on his soul.

‘How are you feeling? Better?' asked Maisie as she returned to the drawing room. She had been followed by the dog, who settled alongside her master once more.

‘Yes, thank you, Mrs Scott – I was taken quite unwell.'

He began to move, but Maisie set a hand on his shoulder. ‘I was a nurse in the first war and again in Spain. I have something all nurses have – the instinct that tells me someone is ailing even before they fall. I was in my motor car and could see you were in some distress.' 309

He nodded, reaching down to stroke the dog's head. ‘I think I'm just tired.'

‘Do please make sure you eat. If your wife is expecting your first child, she will need you to be hale and hearty.'

‘Yes, of course.'

‘I'll see myself out, but do take care.'

‘Thank you, Mrs Scott.'

Maisie turned to look back as she reached the door leading out to the hallway and watched as James's son stared into the fire. She took a deep breath, then stepped towards him. Reaching into her shoulder bag she took out a calling card.

‘Mr Davidson?'

He looked up at her, almost as if he were seeing her for the first time.

‘Mr Davidson, I know this is going to sound very presumptuous, but it would not be the first time in my life I have done something … something my heart has inspired me to do. However, do take this card – it bears my profession and the name by which I do my work. I am a psychologist. I help people who are facing life's most troubling moments. If you feel the desire to discuss your situation, do not hesitate to place a call to my office. Everything I do is in the strictest confidence.' She handed him her calling card.

Davidson stared at the card. ‘It says here you're also an investigator.'

Maisie nodded, smiling. ‘Sometimes the two go together – in fact, more often than not. Do take care.'

She turned away, but was startled when he called out.

‘Mrs Scott.'

‘Yes?' 310

‘How do you know my name? And you know my wife is pregnant.'

She shrugged, though fearful of her error. ‘I believe you mentioned it when I brought you in.'

He shook his head. ‘I don't think I did.' He sighed and his shoulders slumped again. ‘But it doesn't matter.'

Maisie left the house, feeling foolish. The fact that she had made such an error was testament to the emotional pressure she had brought upon herself. She had revealed prior knowledge of the man's circumstances – a slip she had never made in the course of her work. As she walked across the wide boulevard, she stopped for a moment and stared back at the home of Robin Davidson; at the garden with roses covered in gauze, protection from winter's frost, at the shrubs and flower beds, the wide lawn with a sundial at its centre. The son Enid had given birth to now had so much more than his mother might ever have imagined, given her station in life. She would have been so proud, filled with admiration for the man he had become – yet she might also have wondered if the darkness within him was worth whatever sacrifice he had made to reach this pinnacle of success.

Over the next two days, Maisie did her best to put all thoughts of Robin Davidson out of her mind. She orchestrated Lady Rowan's move to the older part of the mansion at the heart of Chelstone Manor, and made final accommodation arrangements for not only the four former squatters, but the eventual arrival of refugees in the new year. Priscilla planned to stay at her nearby cottage to help in situating the young people, and was already discussing entrance requirements with a new technical college in Tonbridge.

‘I am a woman with a mission, Maisie,' said Priscilla in a 311telephone call. ‘I have a purpose and I am at full Partridge speed.'

‘Good news, Pris, but—'

‘And I must tell you the excellent news Mary received today.'

Maisie smiled. Her friend was revelling in what Mark termed ‘Your pal's rocket force.'

‘Go on, I'm all ears,' said Maisie.

‘Despite the fact that it took all my powers of persuasion to get Mary to wipe the grimace from her face, she made a very good account of herself with two couturiers. I will add the pout was well disguised by a very wide brimmed hat, and she soon spread a smile when she noted the amount of payment for her trouble – not a bad day's outing for a girl of that age.'

‘Oh that's good, I wonder—'

‘There's more. The photographer – quite well known, you know – suggested she had the "bone structure" to be on the cover of Vogue. He intends to do all he can to ensure she gets there. Vogue, Maisie! She has two sittings – well, standings I suppose – lined up and already the telephone has been ringing for her. She may well be back and forth to London a fair bit.'

‘I think she needs some stability living here at Chelstone, so she can use the train service.'

‘I don't think she wants to leave her friends, so that will fit in nicely. She's too young to live alone in London anyway. I'll accompany her on a couple more outings, just until I know she can be trusted not to scowl – or put anyone who annoys her into a headlock!'

‘Right you are, though—'

‘One more thing – and I forgot the most important family news.'

‘And that is?' encouraged Maisie, knowing any attempt to say more would fail. 312

‘My American future daughter-in-law has received orders and will be "shipping out" – as she terms it – back to the United States in late January-ish. Tom will be demobilised from the RAF at the end of this year, and they have decided upon two marriage ceremonies, which is wonderful. Her parents – Charles and Pauline, along with Patty's sisters – will be coming over to spend Christmas and New Year with us, and then after Patty is back on home turf, Tom will join her and they'll have another sort of ceremony for all their people over there.' Priscilla stopped speaking. Maisie heard the click-click-click of her cigarette lighter. ‘I'm sure the American affair will be much better catered, and her mother is bringing over a dress because goodness knows, she won't get something that nice in London, but it's very exciting, isn't it?'

‘And at least I'll be there to see my godson get married.'

‘But isn't it wonderful? I mean, I suppose it's the bright side of it all coming full circle, isn't it? Not so dark after all. Simon introduced you to Charles, and then they … well, they looked after you, didn't they, when … Well, following all that happened to you in Canada. Pauline is a dear, and I must say, I think it won't be so bad, my son living that far away, especially if he gets into this airline business. And who knows, you might even be living there one day!'

Maisie smiled. ‘I doubt it, Pris – Mark loves it here in England, and there's my father and Brenda, and Lady Rowan to think about.'

‘Of course – jumping too far ahead as usual. Anyway, must dash. I've to shoot over to Harvey Nichols with Mary. Truly, I feel as if I have a daughter.'

With no opportunity to say goodbye, Maisie replaced the receiver, but had only just reached the door when the telephone began ringing again. She lifted the receiver. 313

‘Hallo, miss.'

‘Billy – how are you? How's Will?'

‘Slowly but surely. He hadn't talked much since coming home, but last night his mum went to bed early, so I was in the kitchen, you know, just doing a bit of tidying up – can't leave it all to Doreen, can I? – when he walks in and says, "Want to go for a walk, Dad?" It was blimmin' freezing out there, but I remembered when I came back from the first war, I walked a lot at night. Couldn't sleep, see, and you know, every now and again I'd pass another bloke in the same boat. I mean, we all knew who we were – soldiers back from over there who kept seeing it all every time we closed our eyes. Anyway, me and Will wrapped up warm and off we went, over towards the park. It's left me tired, no two ways about it, but my boy just opened the flood gates.' Maisie heard Billy's throat catch. ‘I don't know how he made it out of there. The things he told me – terrible, terrible things about that place, Changi, and then some of what happened when they were taken to Burma to build that blimmin' Japanese railway.'

‘How is he today?'

‘Still in bed when I left, but Doreen got on the blower to me as soon as I was here in the office. She said he'd gone out for another walk and came home telling her he was starving, so she used the eggs we had left and made him a fry-up. She shouldn't have, what with all that fat, but he kept it down. I know he's got a long way to go, and it's not over by a long chalk, but I think he's on his way out of the tunnel. Slowly but surely, as you said.'

‘All good news, Billy. Do let Dr Dene know – he may have some advice for you.'

‘Will do – but talking about being on the blower, a bloke 314telephoned about ten minutes ago to speak to you, said he'd like to make an appointment.'

Maisie placed her hand against her chest and closed her eyes. It's him. She tempered her breathing. ‘Go on, Billy – I've a pencil and paper. Name and telephone number.'

‘Mr Robin Davidson. Seemed a nice bloke. He asked if he should call you Mrs Scott or Miss Dobbs, so I reckoned he already knew you. I pencilled him in and can confirm the appointment, if you like.'

The appointment was made for Friday at ten in the morning. Maisie planned to travel to London on Thursday afternoon, spend the night at the flat with Mark and then both would catch the train home to Chelstone on Saturday morning. Priscilla and Douglas would be accompanying Mary, Jim, Grace and Archie to the manor on Sunday. It was all falling into place – to a point. In proceeding with the appointment to see Robin Davidson, Maisie knew she would in effect be lying to her husband if she did not reveal her plan. And there was something else – Mark had been troubled since returning from Washington. Maisie suspected there was something he wanted to get off his chest – something he wanted his wife to know.

‘Your Shepherd's pie, Maisie – that's what I need. All I can say is, thank heavens for supplies from Chelstone's kitchen garden.' Mark Scott took a bite of the food in front of him and reached for his wine glass. He leant back.

‘Not hungry?' asked Maisie. She was used to seeing her husband tuck into every meal with gusto.

‘Just worn out, hon. Just really worn out. Too much travelling, 315too much on my plate – the professional one – and like I said, too many people thinking I have miracle ideas.' He took another sip of wine. ‘And too many changes coming too fast and not the ones I want.'

Maisie rested her knife and fork, reaching for Mark's free hand. ‘What do you mean?'

He shook his head. ‘Back in Washington, everything's different now. So much has changed since I left – and remember, I'm the guy who always thrived on the next big thing. Send me here, send me there – I was all over the darn globe for the Justice Department. It was exciting – and dangerous at times, as you know only too well. Take Munich.'

‘Oh, yes, Munich.'

‘Found my girl there, so I don't mind!' He squeezed her hand.

Maisie smiled. ‘Even though I put a gun to your neck?'

‘Yeah, well, at least you didn't pull the trigger.'

They were silent for another moment.

‘Tell me more about Washington, Mark.'

‘For a start the population has doubled since the war began. It's full steam ahead into a new America. They finished the Pentagon, and—'

‘The what?'

‘Remember, I told you about it? The Pentagon. Big building complex with five sides, full of almost two thousand military. And there are so many working for the government now, all to take us into the rest of this century and onward into the next. There's even a word I've heard so many times now, it's creepy – "superpower". That's what our world has become. Big guys throwing their weight around – and I'm one of them.' 316

‘What do you want to do, Mark? I know it's troubling you.'

‘Something simpler than being part of what's next. If I was thirty, maybe I'd be jumping in with both feet. But this business with the loan to Britain has worn me thin, and I'm just a small cog in the big wheel of diplomacy. Like I said a few weeks ago – Britain needs that money, and it'll get it, but your people—'

‘But Mark – I'm asking what do you want?'

‘Me? What do I want?' He sighed. ‘Maisie, I want to finish my work here – I've only a couple more years at the embassy. Back in Washington they like what I do, so my job is settled. After that, I don't know. Maybe spend some time Stateside so Anna can see where her old dad comes from. But more than anything I just want to be happy. Content. The war's over and I don't want any more battles living inside members of my family either.' He took a deep breath. ‘You could say that in all kinds of ways I want to build my own house.'

‘Then we'll do our best to bring it all to fruition,' said Maisie. ‘We'll make things a bit simpler or we might be able to spend more time in London or go to America over the summer. I want to be here at the Dower House every day when Anna comes home from school, that's a given. But as you often say, we can figure it out.'

‘We can.' He smiled, though Maisie could see it took some effort. ‘But hey, this dinner is getting cold. Let's eat.'

They continued the meal in silence for a while, the only sound coming from a fire crackling in the grate.

‘Mark, talking about "Stateside" – interesting word – I was wondering what sort of significance a place called New Mexico might have had during the war. I think I know, but—'

‘What?' Mark pushed his plate away and stared at Maisie. 317

‘I just wondered, you know, about a place called New Mexico. I'm not really sure where it is.'

‘Maisie, forgive me, but – what's going on?'

Maisie rubbed her forehead and reached for her wine glass. ‘I must tell you about something that's happened. Something I've done. I know you might be … might be … disappointed, but I just had to do it.'

‘Okay, cards on the table, Maisie.' Mark reached for her hand. ‘And just so you know, you shock me sometimes, my love, but you don't disappoint.'

‘There's always a first time, Mark.'