Naomi slipped her hand free from Diamond's and ran inside and up the stairs in quick, light steps, still holding her drawing pad.
He raised his trilby to Mrs. Straw and went off to catch the tube.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Stephanie's advice across the breakfast table was eminently sensible, if totally unacceptable.
"Face up to it, Pete-you've run out of time. You can't solve that little girl's problem."
"Which problem is that?"
She sighed. "Oh, don't get pernickety, love. It's too early in the day."
To demonstrate good will, he offered to put a slice of bread in the toaster for her. "I was only asking you to explain what you're on about. Which of her problems am I incapable of solving?"
"The speech."
"You mean the absence of it."
She sighed, rested her chin on the bridge she had made of her hands and gave him a look that said he was being unreasonably reasonable.
He told her, "I never expected to restore her speech. All I've been trying to do is find her people. I'm a policeman, not a speech therapist."
"You're neither," she reminded him mildly.
"An ex-policeman, then."
"But you weren't dealing with abandoned kids."
"I've been through the training. I know the procedures. Look, Steph, you know me well enough. I'm not giving up now."
She got up from the table and carried her plate to the sink. "What can you do? It's Saturday morning. You told me they're flying her out to Boston tomorrow."
"Correct."
"Can't you see it may be the best possible thing, Pete? The school is run by the Japanese. They have a wonderful reputation."
He had nothing against the school. "You want to know what I can do?" he said. "I can get her to draw things. She is definitely trying to communicate through the drawing. I'm getting her confidence now. She holds my hand."
Stephanie looked down at the water she was running over the dishes. Unseen by Diamond, she was smiling. By the simple act of holding his hand, one small, silent girl had succeeded in taming the bear.
"Would you like to come with me?" he offered.
"To the school?"
"We could take her out together."
She thought for a moment, pleased that he'd suggested it, and then shook her head. "She doesn't know me. She's not going to open up if there's a stranger tagging along. She's seen too many well-meaning women already, social workers and embassy people and special teachers trying to coax something out of her-worthy, I'm sure, but not what the kid wants. Heaven knows how or why, but you seem to have reached an understanding with her. You go alone, love, only don't pin your hopes on it."
Knowing the school routine on Saturdays, he timed his arrival for just before ten, after breakfast was finished, the rooms cleared and the kids dressed and playing. It was one of those brilliant, cloudless London mornings that make urban pollution seem like a myth. He could hear the children outside in the garden at the rear, so he walked around the side of the house. Clive spotted him immediately and came running, holding the toy car Diamond had given him and making a convincing engine sound. Diamond stopped and spread his hands in welcome, but the boy veered off to the left, as if he had just remembered that he was autistic and didn't, after all, relate to adults.
Mrs. Straw was on duty, seated on the bench under the sycamore, sedulously knitting something in a revolting shade of green.
He greeted her civilly and asked if Miss Musgrave was about. When speaking to Mrs. Straw, everyone on the staff referred to everyone else as Miss, Mrs. or Mr.
"She's busy."
"In her study?"
"Busy, I said."
"Yes, but where can I find her?"
"She doesn't want disturbing."
"I understand that. I'm asking where she is."
"On the phone."
Some of Mrs. Straw's statements, if taken literally, had a surreal quality. Diamond had a mental picture of Julia doing a balancing act on top of the phone. "I didn't actually ask you what she was doing."
Silence.
"The one in her office?" he asked. There were three phones that he knew about.
Still no word.
"I'll go in and see for myself, then. Where's young Naomi this morning?"
If anything, Mrs. Straw pressed her lips more tightly shut. This morning she was even more unobliging than usual. She continued to knit with tight, tense movements.
"Aren't you in charge?" Diamond asked, nettled by the dumb show. "Shouldn't she be out here with the others?"
"She's gone."
He tensed. "What do you mean-gone?"
"It's plain English, isn't it?"
"Gone away?"
She gave a nod.
"Left altogether, do you mean?"
"Collected this morning."
Mrs. Straw hadn't even looked up from her knitting. She gave the information casually, as if it were common knowledge, and now she had started the next row.
Diamond was so astounded that he could only say an inane, "What?"
"Are you deaf?"
He turned away and went to look for Julia Musgrave.
Just as Mrs. Straw had said, Julia was on the phone. Seeing him in the doorway of her office, she said into the phone, "It's all right. He's just walked in. I can tell him myself." She put down the phone and said, "I was talking to your wife."
"My wife
"Trying to contact you. I didn't know you were coming in. I have some news that might upset you."
"Mrs. Straw just told me about Naomi."
Her face tightened. "That woman! She handed the child over without informing me or the social services or anyone else."
"Weren't you here?"
"It all happened before I arrived. About eight this morning, when the children were having breakfast. The only staff here were Mrs. Straw and the Malaysian girl who cooks. I gather that this Japanese woman knocked at the door and announced that she was the mother and had come to collect her child. As proof of identity, she produced a passport and a photo of Naomi and Naomi definitely recognized her, according to Mrs. Straw."
He was trying to assimilate the information. "A passport and a photo, or a passport containing a photo?"
Julia shook her head. "The photo was separate. The passport belonged to the woman, but the child was mentioned in it."
"Naomi?"
"Some other name. Naomi was the name we gave her, if you remember."
"What was this woman like?"
She shook her head. "You know what it's like trying to drag information out of Mrs. Straw. I was so incensed when she told me that she'd handed Naomi over without reference to anyone that I lost my chance of a normal conversation with her."
"We'd better have her in here immediately," said Diamond. "She's got to give a proper account of what happened."
"All right. You'll stay?"
"You bet I will. I'll fetch her now."
In the garden he got a glare fit to petrify, but Mrs. Straw folded her knitting and went with him.
They sat stiffly among the children's toys and pictures in Julia's office, Diamond on the wooden trunk, Mrs. Straw on a chair just inside the door, as if poised for a quick exit.
Julia explained that she wanted to go over the details of what had happened that morning.
Pointedly ignoring what was said to her, and thrusting out her chin defiantly, Mrs. Straw demanded, "What's he doing here?"
Diamond drew breath to lambaste her, but Julia got in first, and her rebuke was the more effective for being spoken in a soft, measured voice. "Mr. Diamond, as you very well know, takes a special interest in Naomi. He has worked for the police."
"It's nothing to do with the police."
"I didn't say it was, but I have to be sure about this woman who claims to be Naomi's mother. She could be an impostor."
"Impossible," said Mrs. Straw.
"Not at all. It's quite possible that some childless woman could have seen Naomi on television and decided that she could pose as the mother."