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.
James cleared his throat. "About Khan."
"Yes, about Khan." Maisie turned to James. Dusk dimmed the light in the motor car as James drove, and she knew he had chosen this moment to talk about their chance meeting at Khan's home because she could see only his silhouette.
"I wanted you to know why I was there, seeing him."
"You don't have to, you know. It really is all right if you don't tell me."
"But I want to. I want you to know why I was there." James cleared his throat again, as if the words were stuck and could barely be spoken. "I haven't been well, not really, for a long time. I-I mean, I am well in my body-very fit, actually. But I knew I had to sort myself out. The truth is, at first I didn't realize I knew that, but I was talking to Maurice one day and I began telling him all sorts of things, and-you know, there's something about Maurice that makes you want to just tell him everything as soon as you sit down."
"I know," said Maisie. "It's his way."
"That must be where you got it from." James sighed, then continued. "I know this sounds mad, but I felt as if I was shedding a skin, a bit like a snake, and I told Maurice that very thing. He agreed with me and pointed out that when a snake sheds its skin, it's in fact very vulnerable, not least due to the fact that it can't see. So he suggested I spend time with Khan."
"Because Khan could teach you that seeing is not something you necessarily do with your eyes."
James slowed the motor car and pulled onto a grass verge. There were no other vehicles on the road, and they were in silence until James continued. "You see, you know. You've spent so much time with him."
"Since I was about fourteen."
James nodded. "Seeing Khan has helped me to…I don't know how to explain it. He's helped me to feel as if I'm…I'm…as if I'm all there again. After the war, after all that happened, I felt as if parts of me were missing, and I now know that it wasn't all the war, because part of me had been missing since Emily died. I'm not very good at all this, talking about these things, but it's as if I now know more about who I am and what I want in my life, rather than just being swept back and forth."
"I understand, James, really I do."
"I know you do."
They were silent for a few moments before James reached across and took Maisie's hand.
"And I know that I want to spend more time with you, Maisie. If that's all right with you."
Maisie nodded, though James could not see her gesture. "Yes, James. I'd like that too."
"And I don't want to do it in secret either. I will not hide my affection or my regard for you from my mother and father, or from anyone else, for that matter."
Maisie did not reply. Was she prepared for such a thing? That Lady Rowan, Carter, her father-Maurice-might know of the fondness between James and herself? She had never set out to be an example of social climbing, nor would she want her feelings for James to be interpreted as such. Perhaps she should nip this liaison in the bud, before it had time to bloom in full view of all who might judge if it began to fade.