Jacqueline Winspear - The Mapping of Love and Death

"But you've forgotten something." James slowed as they approached the entrance to Brooklands. "We were all no more than boys-eighteen, nineteen, twenty, for the most part-and we only thought of this big game in the sky and getting back at the Hun. It was a very serious game, though. You don't have any real conception of the possibility of your own death, not at that age. If I look at myself, all I cared about was flying. Bit like Priscilla's boys, only older. Then of course, you come down to earth with a bump if you're hit." He paused. "No, that bump comes when you fly over your own chaps in the trenches, and you see them going over the top straight into the machine guns. Not a scrap of innocence remains after that."

They were silent as James negotiated his way to park the motor car. He switched off the engine and turned to Maisie.

"Do you know what's so comfortable, talking about the war with you? I mean, it's not as if one wants to talk about it much, but when I mention it to you, I know that you know . We had very different wars, Maisie, but I-I don't have to explain anything."

Maisie nodded. Yes, she had experienced the same feeling, a sense of comfort that someone else understood. And as an image of Ella Casterman came into her mind's eye, she realized she'd had almost the same conversation earlier in the week.

It's so refreshing to speak to someone who knows.

James cleared his throat. "We should get going."

"What are we going to see today? Is there a special race-something like the motoring equivalent of the Derby, or the Grand National? You haven't told me."

"Maisie Dobbs, on this, your inaugural visit to a motor racing track-and I promise, there will be more-you'll be seeing some of the very best drivers in the world competing for the British Empire Trophy. There are fifty-mile heats for each engine capacity, and of course, for my money the big motor heat is the one to watch. John Cobb will be driving the Delage, then there's Birkin of course, and Jack Dunfee, and George Eyston in his Packard. Very exciting stuff!"

James stepped out of the motor car, then came around to open the passenger door for Maisie. He held her hand as she alighted from the vehicle and did not let go. As they walked towards the bank where they would stand to watch the races, he crooked his elbow so that she could put her arm through his. They wove their way past parked vehicles, some surrounded by friends having a picnic, their collars drawn up against a chill breeze while they helped themselves to treats from a hamper set in an open boot. There seemed to be plenty of flasks of hot tea to hand, possibly laced with brandy to bolster their stamina for watching the day's events.

"I'm glad you wore those stout shoes, Maisie. It can get a bit muddy up on the bank there, but it really is the best place from which to watch a race. Oh, I should have asked-do you want to place a bet? It's all part of the fun, if you want to."

"I have no idea what-or who-I would bet upon. I'm just happy to watch, James."

"But we should go down to the enclosure for a while, just to soak up the atmosphere; we can come back to the bank before the races. You'll find it's just like a horse race down there."

The day was lifting her spirits. James seemed to be having a good time, and though they had exchanged affections, neither had referred in conversation to the increasing closeness between them. For her part, Maisie realized that she had no immediate wish to embark upon a dialogue about yesterday, tomorrow, or the future. She simply wanted to enjoy today. But she could not avoid thinking about what he had said earlier-" and I promise, there will be more ." She blushed when she thought of more todays with James Compton.

The tic-tac men were already busy taking bets, and James had been accurate in his description of the atmosphere. Excitement grew as the race times drew nearer, with spectators lining up to place their bets. James stopped to talk to people he knew, introducing Maisie to each person in turn, most of whom seemed to be in groups. And each time they moved on, it was as if she could feel the hot breath of speculation at her neck as they left a mumble of conversation behind them. She wondered what they might be saying to each other, these acquaintances of James Compton, son and heir of Lord Julian Compton.

"Who do you think she is, that woman with James?"

"Haven't heard of her before, have you?"

"Wasn't she at that party…?"

"Didn't he break off an engagement…?"

"It could be one of his little maids-don't you remember, there was that rumor, in the war…"

She shook her head.

"Is everything all right?" James stopped and looked at Maisie.

"Oh, nothing, I just thought I had something in my eye and rubbed it-it's gone now, though."

James put his arm around her shoulder and laughed. "Come on, let's get a drink, then go back up to the bank."

Soon James and Maisie were standing at the top of a steep banked incline that would challenge the drivers as they came around one of the most testing bends at the Brooklands motor racing track. Spectators were huddled several rows deep, and all were straining to claim a good view. Maisie could not see the track very well, but found herself carried along with the growing excitement. The cheers, ooohs, and ahhhs of the crowd, along with the smell of motor oil and petrol, infused the Surrey air with mounting expectation, and it was the big car heat that crowned the race card.

"John Cobb's leading," said James, giving Maisie a second-by-second account. "Oh, now it's Eyston-that's something, the Panhard he's driving." He gasped. "Birkin's dropped back-looks like a tire-and Eyston's still in the lead. It's bound to be Eyston-look at that man drive! Cobb's coming in second, and yes, it looks like Birkin's third. What a race, what a race, Maisie." He laughed and kissed her on the cheek.

Following an aerobatic display organized to excite the spectators, a race of the finishers in each of the separate heats brought an end to the day's events, and the infectious thrill of the crowd had left Maisie feeling as if she had run each of the races herself in her bare feet.

As they walked back down to the enclosure, James suggested a hot beverage before they left Surrey for Chelstone. The crowd was dispersing in different directions, and as they entered the enclosure, James again nodded or waved to people he knew, but did not stop to talk. As the crowd began to thin, Maisie overheard a conversation between two men, one of whom, she thought, had not realized that the noise in the enclosure had lessened, so his words were louder than he might have expected.

"Bad luck, old chap. Lost rather a bit there, didn't you? Never mind. At least the pater-in-law has more where that came from." The voice seemed somewhat affected to Maisie, reminding her of a music hall performer emulating someone of a higher station.

She looked around, wondering how the other party to the conversation might reply, and then quickly turned back, so that she was not recognized.

"I'd better be on my way back to London now. My brother-in-law will be waiting for me at the Dorchester."

It was Thomas Libbert. And he had just lost "rather a bit."

Following a back-and-forth recounting of the day's racing, and a series of questions from James regarding Maisie's enjoyment of her first visit to Brooklands, they did not speak for a while during the drive down to Chelstone. Maisie once again felt a comfort in the silence, as she reflected upon the chance sighting of Libbert and the conversation she had overheard, which served to confirm her suspicion that he had been reckless with the family's company finances for some time. She planned to read sections of Michael Clifton's journal again, for she was sure Libbert had visited Michael in Paris to ask for financial help. It was clear that Libbert's wife, Anna, was the sister to whom Michael was closest, and from what she had read already, it seemed that Michael was intent upon protecting Anna and her children at all costs. She wondered about a will. Had Michael left his estate to Anna, as Thomas Libbert assumed? Could that be at the root of his interest, or was there something else? She was sure of one thing: Libbert was very interested in discovering the whereabouts of a final will and testament.