A Lesson in Secrets_ A Maisie Dobbs Novel - Jacqueline Winspear [64]
“You have been most candid, Mr. Headley. I confess—if I may in turn be candid—I wondered about your support of the college. You do not seem to be the sort of person who would usually become so involved in such an undertaking—if you don’t mind me saying so.”
Headley shook his head. “I don’t mind you saying so—I applaud honesty. And you’re right, I’m not the sort of person who would normally get involved in a college, but I looked at Greville Liddicote and I saw someone who could build a place where Martin’s . . . Martin’s . . . ” He seemed to grapple for words. “Where Martin’s character, yes, character, would be honored. And I have more money than I need, and Robson has been well provided for, so it’s as good a place as any to funnel some funds into.”
“And does Robson share your enthusiasm for the college?”
“He is in favor of his brother’s memory being honored in such a way.”
Maisie felt a coolness in his response, as if a breeze had blown across the conversation.
“I understand that your son will be joining the debating team at the college.”
“My son is an educated man—he attended King’s College in London—and I believe he misses that sort of intellectual argument.”
“Do you approve?”
“I neither approve nor disapprove.”
“I see.”
Headley, who had barely met Maisie’s eyes throughout the conversation, now looked up at her for a brief moment. “Your questions have deviated away from Greville’s memory, haven’t they, Miss Dobbs?”
“You talked about your son and the war, and I confess, I became taken with your story. I served in the war myself—I was a nurse.”
Headley nodded. “And now you are a lecturer at the college?”
“I gave up a place at Girton to enlist for nursing service, though I returned later.”
“Brave girl.”
“There were many.”
Headley looked at Maisie again, as if gauging whether to share a confidence. He sighed, then spoke as he looked away, fingering his papers again. “I don’t suppose you know much about Miss Delphine Lang, do you?”
“She’s a teaching assistant. I know her parents traveled considerably when she was younger—her father was a diplomat, Austrian, I believe. She spent some time in China.”
“Yes, as did Robson—well, Hong Kong. That’s how it started, with them seeing each other.”
“I take it you do not approve.”
“She’ll be gone soon, that’s all I care about.”
“Liddicote liked her, at first.”
“She came with a good education behind her, but he didn’t know about her activities, did he?”
“Activities?”
“She belongs to a group—they meet in London—they’re supporters of the German National Socialist Party. They’re all younger people, for the most part. Some at university in this country, some working in commerce, a journalist here and there. She travels down to these meetings regularly, and now Robson is going with her.”
“You told Liddicote about the group?”
“Yes, and he thought it was nothing to worry about—said that it was a good thing that they felt enough freedom in our country to be able to conduct the meetings.”
“But you didn’t.”
“Martin would have said the same thing, and I would like to have that sort of confidence in the situation, but I am afraid I do not. I paid attention to the outcome of Versailles, Miss Dobbs, and I felt grave errors had been made, errors that would lead to a deep resentment among the German people. I am a man of commerce, it is my job to assess the mood in the countries in which I do business—buying this, selling that—because I cannot afford to have local politics get in the way of what I set out to do. I do business in Germany, and I have been paying attention. I do not care for some of the rhetoric I have been hearing.”
“You think that Britain is vulnerable?”
“Not the ordinary people—the common man, as you philosophers might say. No, the common man is too busy trying to make ends meet,