Jenkins suddenly directed his attention away from Maisie, toward Billy. "My dear man. How remiss of me. How utterly stupid. Move over to this other chair and into the cool of the room immediately."
Jenkins put down his cup and used one hand to beckon Billy away from the window seat, and the other to indicate another seat.
Interesting, thought Maisie. A small gesture, but a subtle and significant one. Was it a ploy to begin to inspire Billy's trust? Placing himself immediately in the role of savior, and of one prepared to acknowledge a mistake. Or was Adam Jenkins genuinely admitting an error of judgment? Was this opening of his outstretched arms a move to render Billy more comfortable in another seat, an act of genuine concern? Or was it perhaps a deliberate action to draw Billy into his circle of admirers? Arms spread wide to bring him within the force of his influence.
Maisie watched Jenkins carefully, while attending to the business of afternoon tea. In her work with Maurice, Maisie had learned much about the charm and charisma of the natural leader, which, taken to an extreme, can become dictatorial and vindictive. Was Adam Jenkins such a man? Or an enlightened and concerned soul?
"Well, it's time to get some pawprints on the page, don't you think?" said Jenkins. He glanced at his watch, stood up, and walked over to a large heavily carved desk. The top was covered in rich brown leather, and only one plain manila file sat waiting for attention on top of a wooden board. He opened the file, checked the papers within, took a fountain pen from the inside pocket of his light linen jacket, and returned to the chair next to Maisie.
"We have received the necessary documents--thank you, Miss Dobbs--pertaining to the financial arrangements." He turned to Billy. "And I know you completely understand the commitment we request upon taking up residency at The Retreat, William. Now, perhaps you would be so kind as to sign here."
He placed the papers on the wooden board to provide a stable writing surface, and passed them to Billy, tapping the place for signature with his forefinger.
After Billy carefully wrote "William Dobbs" in the space indicated, Jenkins rang the bell for an assistant to escort Billy to his quarters, and as he did so, Billy winked at Maisie. Yet when Jenkins turned back to the two supposed siblings, he saw only the blank resignation of the man, and the worry etched in the face of his sister. But Maisie's concern was no act. She was worried for Billy. She had to ensure that he was at The Retreat not a moment longer than necessary.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Maisie waited anxiously at Maurice Blanche's cottage. Billy had been at The Retreat for three days, and each evening at seven o'clock, Maisie set off in Lady Rowan's MG, along country lanes filled with the lingering aroma of Queen Anne's Lace and privet, to meet Billy Beale by the perimeter fence, across the road from the ancient beech tree.
Each evening, with summer midges buzzing around her head, she watched as Billy approached. First she would see his head, bobbing up and down in the distance, as he walked across the fallow fields of tall grass. Then as he came closer, his wheaten hair reflected the setting sun, and Maisie wondered why no one noticed Billy Beale taking a walk each evening.
"Evenin', Miss," said Billy as he curled back the fence wire and clambered through.
"Billy, how are you?" As always, Maisie was both relieved and delighted to see Billy."You've caught the sun, Billy," she remarked.
"Reckon I 'ave at that, Miss." Billy rubbed at his cheeks. "All this working on the land, that's what's done it."
"And how is it, the working on the land?"
"'Not bad at all, Miss. And it seems to do these lads good. You should see some of them. Seems that they were right down in the dumps when they came 'ere. Then slowly, like, the work and the fact that no one looks twice at them starts to give them the, you know, the sort of confidence they need."
"Nothing unusual, Billy?"
"Can't say as there is, Miss. O' course, not that I can go around asking questions, but I keep my eyes open, and it seems like it's all on the up and up. The major is a funny bloke, but 'e's doing 'is bit, i'n'e? And now that there's space 'ere, what with some fellas gone, they're taking other blokes, with other injuries, not just to the face and 'ead, like. But you know that, don't you, otherwise I wouldn't be 'ere, not with this fine lookin' physog."
Billy grinned at Maisie and rubbed his chin.
"Quite, Billy. So is everyone happy there?"
"I should say so, Miss. Not much to dislike, is there? Mind you, there is one bloke, has some terrible scars on his face, just 'ere."
Billy turned his head to the right, and with the forefinger of his left hand indicated a line going from his ear, to his jaw, then to his chest. He grimaced, then continued.
"I think 'e's 'ad enough of being out 'ere--says that he feels good and well enough to get back to the real world."
"And what does the major say to that?"
"I don't know that 'e's said anything, Miss. I think they like 'em to give it some thought, you know, them as wants to leave."
"What makes you say that? What would stop someone from just leaving? It's in the contract that you can leave when you want."
"Well, what I've 'eard is that some blokes get back their confidence and next thing you know, they want to go back out, face the world. Then when they get back out, they find that it ain't all that rosy, that they get the stares an' all. Apparently that's 'appened a few times, and the blokes topped themselves."
"Is that what you've heard, Billy?"
"'ere and there. You 'ear talk. They think that this fella, who's wanting to get back to what 'e calls the 'real world,' is worrying the major. Seems the major has said 'e's . . . What was it 'e was supposed to 'ave said?"
Billy closed his eyes and scratched the back of his head. As he did so, Maisie saw the red sunburn at his neck, the farm laborer's "collar."
"That's it. The major 'as said 'e's suspectible."
"Do you mean susceptible, Billy?"
Billy smiled again."Yes, reckon that's it, Miss."
"Anything else, Billy?"
"Not really, Miss. The major seems a really good bloke, Miss. I don't know what 'appened to those fellas you found out about. P'raps they left and then was the type what couldn't stand up to bein' on the outside. But I will say this. There's blokes 'ere what love the major, you know. Think 'e's a lifesaver. And I s'pose 'e is really, when you think about it. Given some boys a way of life since the war, boys who thought they 'ad none."
Maisie noted Billy's comments on index cards and nodded her head. Slipping the cards and the pencil into her work-worn black document case with the silver clasp, she looked directly at Billy.
"Same time tomorrow evening, Billy?"
"Yes, Miss. Although, Miss . . . can we make it a bit earlier? 'bout 'alf past six? Some of the boys are 'aving a snooker tournament. Like to give it a go if I can. Join in with a bit of fun, like."
Maisie was silent for some seconds before replying."Right you are, Billy. But keep your eyes open, won't you?"
"Don't worry, Miss. If there's anything funny goin' on 'ere I'll find out all about it."
Maisie watched as Billy turned and walked through the field again. She walked back across the road, opened the car door, and sat down in the driver's seat, leaving the door ajar to watch Billy become but a speck in the distance.
Had she made a mistake? Had her gift, her intuition, played tricks on her? Were the deaths of Vincent--and the other boys who used only one name--suicide? Or simply coincidence? She sighed as she started up the MG again.
Maisie spent her days at Chelstone close to the telephone. She would pass a precious hour or two with her father each day, but quickly returned to the dower house in case she was needed. Together she and Maurice went over old cases for clues and inspiration, and speculated over the details of life at The Retreat.