Jacqueline Winspear - The Mapping of Love and Death

"It would be like you trying to remember another nurse, Miss Dobbs. At first blush, it might seem as if you should know every young woman who served, but on the other hand, how could you possibly? If you did, you would know exactly where to go to find the young man's lover."

Maisie looked away, determined that Whitting not see how his choice of words had unsettled her. Turning back, she held out her hand, thanked him once more, and bid him farewell.

Maisie was leaving Hampstead when she turned off the High Street towards Belsize Park, stopping outside a mansion similar in style to Whitting's. Yet whereas the major's home was flanked by other houses, this four-story property was at the end of a terrace, and partially hidden by surrounding lush green gardens. She breathed deeply, knowing that the sudden decision to come to this place had been welling up inside her for some time.

It was the home of Basil Khan, Maurice's old friend and mentor. Years before, in Maisie's girlhood, Khan had taught her that in silence, with body and mind still, a depth of understanding may be achieved that is not available to one who languishes at the mercy of life's relentless chatter. At first Maisie found such lessons embarrassing, and wondered how she could ever remain motionless for hours without the itch to move. But Khan's quiet expectation that she sit in silence and stillness until he touched the brass bowl with a piece of wood and a mellow ringing sound echoed around the room, together with the kindness in his eyes when he took both her hands in his and said she had done well, inspired her to continue. She had drawn upon those lessons in the war when she was a nurse in France, when the screams of men dying did not end with the working day, but echoed back and forth in her head and were not silenced until she saw Khan in her mind's eye and heard his words: "Be still, until there is nothing…"

Though an old man-indeed, Maisie could not guess Khan's age, for he had always seemed old, yet had not appeared to age since their first meeting when she was but fourteen-Khan was much in demand. Among visitors to the mansion, where Khan's students also lived, were political leaders, men of commerce and the cloth, academics, artists, and writers. Many had known Khan for years, many came to hear him speak, but only a few gained a personal audience. Maisie was shown into the same room where he had first greeted her so long ago, and there, alongside the window, Khan sat cross-legged with his eyes to the light, as if he were not blind. It was from Khan that Maisie learned that seeing was not something that necessarily required the faculty of ocular vision.

"You have not come for so long, Maisie." He patted a large square cushion set on the floor close to him. "Come, let us talk."

Maisie bowed before Khan, then took her place on the cushion.

"Have you seen Maurice of late?"

"You know he has been unwell, a bronchial affliction." Maisie looked into the pale eyes and felt her own brim with tears.

Khan nodded. "Yes. He is not a young man, and he has given much in the service of peace, and of those who do not have a voice because it has been silenced."

"Will he get better?"

Khan smiled, and as he turned to her, Maisie saw the wide blind eyes filled with grief. Instead of answering her question, he responded to her thoughts.

"Extremes live within us all. The joy of association resides alongside the anticipation of loss. What is given will be taken, what we have is often only of value to us when it is gone." He paused, his face now held to the light once more. "Maurice knows this. Whatever is to be, Maurice is at peace."

Maisie shook her head. "I am sure he will be all right. As soon as the weather gets better and he can sit outside, that will clear his chest."

Khan's voice was soft. "Yes."

"Shall I bring Maurice to you? I am sure he would like to speak to you."

"Oh, but we do speak, Maisie. We may not be in the same room, but we speak."

Maisie looked at the light as it began to diminish. "I'd better go now, Khan." She moved as if to stand, but Khan reached out and placed a hand on her arm.

"No, stay. Sit with me as I taught you when you were a girl. Sit with me here. Tell me about your work. It is such hard work, though I know Maurice instructed you well."

"Yes, he did. Very well." Maisie sighed. "My work at the moment involves a young man-a mapmaker-who was killed in the war. He was very skilled, apparently, and had loved maps from the time he was a boy. There is evidence to suggest he had been murdered, and not by the circumstance of war."

Khan nodded, his head now lowered.

"A map is a conduit for wonder, a tool for adventure. But it is also an instrument of power-and like all things, power has two faces."

Maisie sat with Khan for some time, and was so deep in thought-or not-thought, as he might say-that when she opened her eyes he was gone and the empty room was illuminated by just one candle. She slipped her shoes on, then made her way to the hexagonal entrance hall, where she stopped to say good-bye to one of Khan's helpers. As she turned to walk towards the front door, it opened. The visitor was James Compton. His color rose when he saw Maisie, whose surprise was marked by a half-smile, and she herself blushed.

"James, what are you doing-"

"Oh, hello, Maisie. Didn't expect to see you here."

"But-"

"Sorry, I'm a bit late for an appointment. Business. Lovely to see you, Maisie." He nodded towards Khan's helper, who inclined his head in return, and walked towards the door that Maisie knew led to Khan's inner sanctum.

Maisie could not disguise her fluster, and engaged in dialogue with herself all the way to collect her MG. What on earth was he doing there? He was nothing but a dilettante, a light, party-bound…She opened the door of the motor car and sat down in the driver's seat, slamming the door behind her. It occurred to her that she didn't know James Compton very well at all; though she had accepted an assignment from him of late, her understanding of his character was based on her memory of a young man referred to as "Master James" in his parents' household. He was the happy-go-lucky wartime aviator who some eighteen years earlier had been in love with her friend Enid. He had seemed to lose his way after the war, as a result of both his wounds and the loss of Enid, who was killed in a munitions factory explosion. A round of parties would often be followed by self-imposed exile, as if James were trying to find a place where he might belong in a changed world. In sending him to work for the family corporation in Canada, his parents had hoped he would regain some sense of himself and his responsibilities-or as his father was heard to say, "He's got to get a grip!"

No, Maisie clearly did not know James Compton as well as she thought, and found herself a little unsettled to learn that he, too, was a visitor to Khan. She started the engine, and as she drove away, her thoughts moved to her conversation with Khan, and she reflected upon his words.

A map is a conduit for wonder, a tool for adventure. But it is also an instrument of power-and like all things, power has two faces.

Billy had gone home by the time Maisie returned to the office in Fitzroy Square. The thick smog of winter, encroaching to envelop the square and barely lifting all day, had given way to a thin fog with just a tinge of yellow as town dwellers began to do without coal fires with the onset of spring. Maisie looked out at the cloudy swirls and thought about the Beale family, about the challenges they had faced, and those still before them with Doreen's homecoming from the psychiatric hospital. She had heard the tension in Billy's voice as he spoke of his concern, especially for young Billy and Bobby, who had borne the slings and arrows of their mother's distress. And Maisie knew that now, with Doreen at home, and with the family used to a new rhythm to their days, every moment, every word spoken, would represent a step into the unknown through a blanket of fog, with Billy and the boys haunted by the specter of Doreen's damaged mind. She wondered how she might help the family, but realized that this part of their journey was theirs alone, that they had to come together to regain the ground lost-only then could Billy lead them forward into his dream of a new life in Canada.