Jacqueline Winspear - The Mapping of Love and Death

"Maisie. I was just about to telephone you, counter to instructions from dear Maurice. He didn't want to worry you."

"Didn't want to worry me? Oh, dear…how is he?"

"The nurse summoned the doctor early this morning, and he arranged for Maurice to be transferred into the clinic. According to Maurice's specific instructions in such an eventuality, Dr. Dene has been asked to attend him. The news I've heard so far is that, all being well, he should be out in a few days. He's had some difficulty breathing, as you know, and his health simply continued to get worse."

"He seems to have gone downhill so quickly, Lady Rowan." Maisie heard the catch in her voice, the fear revealed with each word. "I-I will be on my way to Tunbridge Wells as soon as I hang up this call."

"I knew you would insist upon coming, despite Maurice's entreaty that you not be informed of his condition. He said you were very busy and that you should not be concerned about an old gentleman. I took it upon myself to inform him that he had just spoken a load of codswallop, probably for the first time in his life."

Maisie smiled and shook her head, trying to fight back the tears.

"In any case, you won't need to drive. I would imagine James will be knocking at your office door within minutes, he-"

"James?"

"Yes. James. The James who is my son." Lady Rowan's sense of humor could verge on the sarcastic in the best of circumstances. "I telephoned him with the news and suggested he escort you to the clinic as soon as possible."

" You told James?"

"Yes. Haven't given him an order in years that he actually chose to act upon, so there was a certain pleasure attached to it."

Maisie said nothing, her thoughts too confused to second-guess the situation.

"Don't worry, Maisie. Maurice is a tough old sort. He's clearly in difficulty, but I am assured by the doctor that he will get over this setback."

At that moment the bell sounded, and Billy went to answer the front door.

"I think that's James now, Lady Rowan. Thank you."

"Not at all. Just hold on. I'm told he drives like me, but frankly, he's far too sensible."

Maisie grabbed her shoulder bag, and automatically reached for her case files. Then she stopped. Her case was important, without doubt, but it paled when set against the ill health of one so cherished. She left the files behind, collected her coat and hat, and ran to the door just as Billy was showing James into the office. Even in a hurry, Maisie noticed that he seemed every inch the successful businessman, and in that moment he reminded her of his father. His hair was combed with a side parting, and he wore a well-cut charcoal suit of fine wool with the ease of one who is used to working at the highest levels of commerce. He had one hand in his pocket as he walked into the room, and he smiled when he saw Maisie.

"So this is where you-Maisie, what on earth have you done to your face?"

"Not now, James. I want to see just how fast that Aston Whatever-it-is of yours can go."

"Right you are." He stepped aside, nodded to Billy, and followed Maisie downstairs, then to his motor car, which was parked in Fitzroy Street.

"I should get you there in about three-quarters of an hour, all being well with the traffic." James held the door for Maisie to take the passenger seat. He ran around to the driver's side, slipped into his seat, and started the engine, setting off towards Tottenham Court Road. For just a moment he looked sideways as a single tear slid across her cheekbone. She wiped it away with her fingers. James reached across and took her hand in his. "It'll be all right, Maisie. We'll get the best doctors, the best care. We'll do everything we can for him."

She nodded and, looking out at the London traffic, squeezed his hand in return.

The Mount Pleasant Clinic was situated on a hill just behind The Pantiles, where in days gone by travelers were drawn to the healing spa waters of Tunbridge Wells. As soon as James parked the motor car, Maisie opened the door and dashed into the clinic, almost colliding with Andrew Dene, who had also once been a protege of Maurice Blanche. Though not as close to their mentor as Maisie, Dene was still involved in the running of clinics for the poor that had been set up by Maurice over thirty years before, and he was now directing his medical care.

"Good Lord, Maisie, slow down. I really don't want to have to admit you with a broken skull-and what have you been doing to your face?"

"A fall. Andrew, I'm so glad you're here with him. How is he?"

"He'll be kept in for observation for a couple of days, just to make sure." He brushed back his unruly fringe, a habit that at once touched Maisie. Though she knew he was not one she wanted to spend her life with, she had great affection for Dene, and had missed his easygoing personality and ready humor. "I've given him a sedative, so he's asleep at the moment."

"Can I see him?"

At that moment, James Compton stepped forward, held out his hand, and introduced himself.

"Ah, Chelstone's son and heir. Weren't you in Canada?"

James nodded. "Back here now, and doubt I will be returning in the foreseeable future."

Maisie was aware that James had become tense. She suspected that Dene's comment was meant to lighten the atmosphere, but at the same time, it could be misinterpreted as a goad-and she wasn't entirely sure that it wasn't. She changed the subject.

"I understand congratulations are in order, Andrew?"

Dene blushed and grinned. "Yes. Abigail is expecting a baby-not long to go now, end of May, all being well."

"That's wonderful-I'm happy for you."

"Thank you. Yes, thank you." Dene cleared his throat and turned towards the door that led to the corridor of patients' private rooms. "Come this way." He continued walking, and addressed James as he opened the door for the visitors. "I expect you know Maurice quite well yourself, James. He's a great friend of your parents, isn't he?"

James stepped past Dene, responding as he walked alongside Maisie. "I've known him all my life. He's been an enormous help to me. I don't know what I might have done without him."

Maisie looked at James, her curiosity piqued by his candor.

The conversation continued, this time with James questioning Dene about Maurice's care, and whether a specialist should be called. Dene was an orthopedic surgeon now, and though it was known that he was trusted by Blanche-his mentor since boyhood-James did not show any reticence when querying whether a consultant in respiratory illnesses might attend Maurice.

"If you wish to bring someone in, I would be more than willing to make my notes and Maurice's medical history available," said Dene.

As they reached Maurice's room, Maisie looked through the glass window. Maurice was asleep, his head to one side. He seemed rested, though she also noticed equipment at the ready should breathing become difficult once more.

"What do you think, Maisie?" said James. "Shall I bring in someone from Harley Street? It would take only minutes and I could have a man on his way to Tunbridge Wells."

Maisie looked at Dene, then at James Compton, and shook her head before placing her hand on James' arm. "Andrew loves Maurice as much as I, and as much as you, James. Let's leave things as they are for now." She turned to Andrew. "You'll let us know if you think otherwise, Andrew?"

Dene nodded. "Of course." He reached for the door handle. "In you go, Maisie. I know I have no need to give you instructions."

She nodded, and entered the room. She heard the door close behind her as she walked towards the bed where Maurice was resting. His breath at first seemed easy, but she could hear the occasional rasping in his chest, a sound that reminded her of two pieces of wood being rubbed together. She leaned across the bed and rested her hand on Maurice's forehead. He did not stir, but continued to breathe with some difficulty, as if with each inward breath he was searching for more air to sustain him. In that moment, Maisie reflected on the time when he had cared for her in France.