“Eat a sandwich also. You will fade away!”
“Not I, alas.” But she ate one of the small crustless triangles, then emptied her cup and went back to the article. Turning to the next page, she exclaimed, “You went to a lecture on graphology? I don’t remember you talking about it.”
“A great deal of nonsense was spoken,” Sakari said severely.
“You didn’t believe any of it?”
“A little, perhaps, but to read a person’s entire history in a few scribbled words—balderdash.” The last word she pronounced with the relish she always took in her infrequent use of colloquialisms.
“All the same, I’d like you to look at the letter Tommy Pearson’s bringing to show me.”
“The lawyer? What letter is this?”
Daisy explained. “He already sent me a copy, but I want to look at the handwriting, just in case it can tell me something about the writer. There’s the doorbell now. That will be Tommy.”
A few moments later, Elsie came in to announce Mr. Pearson’s arrival. “He’d like a word with you, madam.”
“Ask him to join us, will you, Elsie?”
Tommy came in wearing his lawyer face. He greeted Sakari politely but unenthusiastically, and turned to Daisy. “Could we go to your office? I’m sorry to interrupt your revels but this won’t take a minute.”
“There’s been a change of plan.” Daisy smiled at his irritated expression. “Elsie, another cup, please. Do sit down, Tommy.”
“Daisy, I haven’t got time for a tea party.”
“But darling, I’ve just discovered that Sakari is an expert graphologist. She’s going to take a look at Martha’s letter and tell us her entire history.”
Sakari shook her head, laughing. “Nothing of the sort, Mr. Pearson. However, the handwriting may tell us a little about the character. May I propose that you show the letter to Daisy while I powder my nose? She will give you her opinion and then I will give you mine. Should they coincide—”
“Coincidence, Mrs. Prasad, sheer coincidence!”
“Possibly. It can do no harm to try, can it? I need to see only one line, so the letter will remain confidential.” Seeing him unconvinced, she heaved herself out of her armchair. “I will go, and you may decide when I return.”
Reluctantly, Tommy produced the letter from his briefcase. “I wondered why you wanted to see it. Surely you don’t buy that superstitious nonsense?”
“No more than Sakari does.”
“It’s no better than astrology!”
“Darling, I have friends who are quite convinced that their fate is written in the stars. I suspect there’s a bit more substance to graphology. Let me see the letter.”
He passed it to her and turned with obvious relief to the cup of tea Sakari had poured him before departing for the cloakroom.
The handwriting was round and schoolgirlish, suggesting that Martha didn’t write often enough to have formed her own style. She was probably young, not well-off, facing an unprecedented situation in her husband’s absence, not knowing when he would return to deal with it or what he would want her to do.
Daisy sympathised.
“She’s young, and probably naïve. Unsure of herself.”
“And so she should be, providing not the slightest hint of what her husband’s claim may rest on, apart from the name.”
“And he lives in Jamaica. We know Julian went there.”
“His offspring seems to have spread all over the world,” Tommy grumbled.
“You must admit this Samuel is very likely one of them who stayed put. Your investigator in Kingston is still investigating?”
“Yes, but he’s not getting any further.”
Daisy found the family branch in her notebook. “Samuel’s father, James, he was the one lost at sea?”
“That’s right. His ship was sunk by a U-boat. Samuel’s ship was torpedoed, too, but he survived. He even turns out to have been something of a hero; he saved the lives of several of the crew. In fact, he was decorated after the war, when they got round to the Merchant Navy.”
“Tommy, you can’t just ignore them and hope they’ll go away!”
“I’ve no intention of doing so,” he retorted looking, harassed, “but what am I supposed to do when the man seems to have vanished? He sailed from Kingston weeks ago.”
Sakari appeared in the doorway, winked at Daisy, and advanced into the room in her stately way. “Have you decided, Mr. Pearson, whether I am to be trusted to see the letter?”
Tommy stood up, slightly flustered, turning towards her. “Of course I don’t distrust you, Mrs. Prasad. However, I have a duty to my client, who, in this case, is Lord Dalrymple—or the estate, rather—not Daisy.”