"I guess this is the place."
Danny peered through the windscreen as the Ferrari, more slowly than it was accustomed to, rolled down a narrow street running between a slightly overgrown garden square on one side, and on the other a solid row of brick and stucco terrace buildings, three or four floors high and designed in a kind of mock-Italian style, with various columns, bay windows and balustrades apparently stuck on at random. He managed to wedge the car into a parking space barely large enough to accommodate it, and turned to Brett. "Are you sure you want to go through with it?"
"No." Brett gazed out at the building opposite. "No, I'm not sure at all."
That figured. He'd been way too cheerful all morning; had gotten up ridiculously early to prepare enough breakfast to feed an army, and had met with unshakeable courtesy Foley's obvious disapproval of his intended course of action. It would have been real good fun watching the pair of them, if it hadn't been so damned obvious that Brett's apparent good humour was just a front.
Foley didn't fold easily, but instead of trying to talk Brett round, she'd called in DCI Greenwood to do it. That hadn't worked out. Greenwood had turned up in the middle of breakfast, and while he hadn't exactly given his blessing to the plan, he hadn't vetoed it either.
"Unless his Lordship gets his memory back" he'd said, "we'll never be able to put him in the witness stand. So he might as well give it a go, just as long as we all keep in mind that if anything comes of it, it won't be admissible in evidence."
Brett's smug reaction must have gotten on Foley's nerves. "Your logic is impeccable, Chief Inspector. Would you care for some kedgeree? I seem to have made more than our friends here can manage."
For such a skinny guy, Danny reflected afterwards, Greenwood could sure pack it away.
Brett's cousin Juliet had arranged everything. She'd called her friend to set up a meeting, then called Brett, given him the address and told him to be there at about eleven in the morning. At first he'd seemed pretty calm about it, but he had gotten quieter on the way, and now, when they'd reached their destination, it was easy to tell from the look on his face that he was having second thoughts. Either that, or the kedgeree wasn't sitting so good.
"Okay, so let's skip it," said Danny.
"And do what?" Brett snapped back. "Sit at home, hoping something helpful will suddenly come back to me? I daresay I might wake up tomorrow morning and remember that I left the wretched thing in some perfectly obvious place, or I might never remember anything. In the meantime, the gentlemen who are looking for it are liable to lose patience at any moment, and they seem to have few, if any, moral boundaries. Waiting for them to make the next move is not acceptable."
He opened the door and got out of the car. "I trust Juliet," he added. "Surely that's sufficient reason to trust her friend."
Without a word, Danny followed him as he crossed the street and approached the entrance of the house where Juliet's friend lived. It was a little less fancy than its neighbours, although it probably would have looked better without the portico.
Brett didn't hesitate any more. He went up the stairs to the second floor without faltering, found the correct flat and rang the doorbell. Danny stood back, curious and prepared to be critical. Whatever this chick was like...
His train of thought stopped in its tracks as the door opened.
"Miss Rose?" Brett was at his most formally polite.
"Yes. It's Lord Sinclair, isn't it? Please, come in."
She wasn't what Danny would have expected, anyway. Below average height, slenderly built, dressed conservatively in a skirt and cardigan, the only ornament a pendant of thin silver wire woven around what looked like a roughly-shaped piece of jade. Long, straight black hair drawn back and plaited to below her waist; dark eyes under heavy black brows; and very smooth, soft dark skin.
She didn't give much away at first glance, that was for sure.
The room she admitted them to didn't tell much about her either, though it was nice enough; the walls colour-washed a very pale cream, with soft voile curtains at the windows admitting plenty of light, and the furniture consisting of a couple of armchairs and a chaise longue, none of them quite matching but all in good taste, and several well-stocked bookcases.
She glanced at Danny when Brett introduced him, with an oddly analytical look in her eye, but then turned back to Brett. "I feel like I'm already acquainted with you. When we were at Cambridge together, Juliet used to tell me all kinds of stories about her family. She talked about you a lot."
"Did she? I wish I could return the compliment, but I don't believe Juliet has ever mentioned any of her university friends."
"She wouldn't have much to say about me," Miss Rose replied. "I'm not very interesting."
"I find that hard to believe," observed Brett.
She shook her head. "Born in India, adopted by an English family, brought up in Cheltenham. That's about the limit of my adventures. Whereas your Lordship..."
"Yes, we don't need to go into that," Brett interrupted, urbanely but quite firmly. He went to the window, and stood looking out. "There's something I should clear up, before we go on. When I phoned Juliet yesterday, I said I was making enquiries for a friend. It wasn't entirely true."
"I see." Miss Rose regarded him for a few seconds, with her head slightly tilted. "Would you like to sit down and tell me what it's all about?"
He glanced at her, then went back to studying the street outside. "I'm afraid I can't. Daniel, will you explain?"
He stayed where he was, while Danny drew Miss Rose aside and gave her as much of the story as he thought she ought to know, which wasn't much. When he'd done, she considered for a moment before speaking. "So, this watch was sent by mistake?"
"Not exactly." Danny glanced at Brett before he went on. "We thought it was at first, because Brett had left his Aunt Sophie's watch at the shop – "
"Great-aunt," Brett put in over his shoulder.
"But it turned out the watchmaker sent it to him on purpose," Danny concluded.
She nodded, apparently filing it away with the other information. "All right, I think that's all I need to know. Before we start, I'd better explain that I'm a researcher, not a therapist. I hope I can help you find what you're looking for, but if what you want is someone to fix whatever's happened to you, I'm not the right person."
Danny felt his temper rising. "So what do you do?"
"I ask questions," she replied, "and I try not to do more damage. I know from my own experience how easily that can happen."
She paused, as if hoping she'd said enough, but Danny wasn't about to cut her any slack: "Go on."
Miss Rose's fingers brushed against the little silver wire pendant on her breast. "As I said before, I was adopted by an English couple. I was four years old, and had been in an orphanage in Jaipur since I was born. This was all I had to remind me of where I came from. For many years I believed my natural mother had given it to me before she left me at the orphanage. In fact, I knew she had, because I remembered having had it all my life. Then, a few years ago, my adopted mother told me she'd bought it from a market, on a visit to Singapore. It isn't even Indian. I still remember, very clearly, showing it to the other children at the orphanage, and how envious they were. It's absolutely real to me, but it never happened."
"That must be painful for you," said Brett.
"It's what it is. But at least it's helped me to understand something about how memory works. It's not fixed, it's changeable, and inconsistent, and fragile. That's why I keep this silly little thing, so I won't ever forget how careful I have to be when I'm dealing with other people's memories."
She met his eyes unflinchingly, but she was breathing a little faster, and her lips were quivering slightly.
"Satisfied, Daniel?" asked Brett. Receiving only an irritable grunt in response, he nodded to Miss Rose. "Shall we begin?"
She gestured towards the chaise longue. "If you'd like to make yourself comfortable... Mr Wilde, perhaps it would be better if you left the room."
"Uh-uh. I'm not going anywhere." Danny folded his arms, and glared at her. "If he says anything once he's under, I gotta hear it, in case he doesn't remember when he wakes up."
"He's right," Brett sighed. "It has occurred to me that whatever happened when I was taken, it's entirely possible the reason I can't remember is because I don't want to. Even if this works, there's no guarantee that I won't forget again as soon as you bring me round. If nothing else, Daniel can take note of any... let's say, developments.
Miss Rose considered, a tiny crease forming between her eyebrows. Danny had to admit to himself, that was distracting. Then she pointed towards one of the chairs. "All right. Sit over there, and no matter what you hear, don't make a sound unless I give you permission. Now, Lord Sinclair, are you sure you're ready?"
"As ready as I'm likely to be."
"Give me your hands." She sat on the edge of the couch, and took both his hands, gently rubbing her thumbs back and forth across his knuckles. "Close your eyes."
"No watch the watch?" asked Brett, with a slight flicker of a smile. "No, I suppose under the circumstances, it wouldn't do, would it?"
An answering smile briefly illuminated her face. "I'm not a stage hypnotist. Please, close your eyes, and concentrate on your breathing. Slow and steady, that's right. There's no hurry, you have plenty of time."
For a few minutes, the room was quiet, apart from the occasional car passing in the street outside. Miss Rose continued stroking Brett's hands, and slowly the tension eased in his shoulders. Danny leaned forward, interlinking his fingers and resting his forearms on his knees, determined not to miss anything.
At last, Miss Rose shifted slightly, took a long, leisurely inward breath, and spoke: "Lord Sinclair, is it all right if we talk?"
"Yes." Brett sounded just as usual, if a little sleepy.
"Will you tell me what you have been doing today?"
Why today? thought Danny. It's Tuesday we're interested in.
His impatience must have found outward expression, because Miss Rose shot him an admonitory look. It was kind of attractive, but he didn't have long to enjoy it as she turned her attention back to Brett. "Lord Sinclair? Tell me about your day. How did you spend the morning?"
"I woke early, made breakfast... read the Times... share prices are up... phoned my tailor to make a new appointment for next week. Apparently I missed the last one, for some reason... We left at around half past ten and came straight here. "
"Was there anything out of the ordinary?"
"Apart from the police presence? No, just an average morning."
"When was the last time something unusual happened?"
"Oh, nothing unusual ever happens."
Once again, Danny had to restrain himself. That wasn't exactly true. Well, not unless they'd gotten so used to the unusual that it was now usual. In which case, anything usual would actually be unusual. No question about it, his life had gotten way too complicated.
Miss Rose spoke again. "What about earlier in the week?" So now she was getting to it.
"What about it?" Was it Danny's imagination, or had Brett's voice taken on an edge?
"Tuesday evening, for instance, and Wednesday. Would you like to tell me what happened then?"
"No." This time there was no mistaking it; the abrupt syllable, spoken even lower than his Lordship's regular suave baritone, left no room for doubt. Danny straightened up and opened his mouth, but this time she held up a finger to silence him. Then, as she reached for Brett's hand again, he moved it away.
She seemed momentarily at a loss. "Of course. We needn't talk about anything you don't want to. Just remember, you're safe here. You are with me, and nobody else, except your friend Mr Wilde."
"Daniel... Daniel's here?"
Danny glanced at Miss Rose for permission before he replied, "Yeah, I'm here, Brett."
Brett relaxed. "Of course you are. So that's all right."
This time he submitted as she took his hand again, and for a minute or so nothing was said. Finally, again giving warning with a slow inward breath, she spoke again. "Lord Sinclair, Juliet used to tell me the most fascinating stories about your family. I've always wished I could hear more. You wouldn't like to indulge my curiosity, would you?"
Don't set him off, thought Danny.
But Brett, now almost completely at his ease, seemed touchingly gratified at her interest. "I would be delighted, Miss Rose. Where would you like me to start?"
"Jules always hinted that your maternal grandmother led a colourful life."
"Lady Eckersley? Oh, she did indeed. Before she married my grandfather, she was an artist's model in Montmartre. As a matter of fact, if you look closely at the Renoir painting of the naked bather – you know, the slightly plump one with the dimples – well, you might just notice she has the family nose..."
Danny let his attention wander. This story was likely to go on for a while. Instead of listening, he fell to studying Miss Rose. In spite of her unobtrusive style and lack of pizzazz, she had something. All her movements were slow and graceful; she spoke softly in a low pitch, with an almost rhythmic rise and fall. Nothing about her distracted from the air of calm deliberation. She could be beautiful, if she wanted; there was something in the angle of her cheekbones, and the way her hair fell against the curve of her neck; let alone the liquid depths of those eyes, and the soft rose-petal delicacy of her skin. She could be a real stunner, if she chose to, but she didn't. He couldn't figure it out.
He suddenly realised they weren't talking about Lady Eckersley any more: "...but Sophie decided it was up to her. So she locked her brother in his dressing room, and went to see the Count herself, to resolve the matter."
"And was it resolved?"
"Oh, yes. They fought a duel. Sophie won, and the Count was so extremely smitten as a result that as soon as he recovered from his wounds, he proposed marriage. Of course, she turned him down. She couldn't possibly become the wife of such a very inferior swordsman."
Miss Rose's lips pinched together as if she were planning her next move. When she spoke, it was in a very even, neutral voice: "Was it the Count who gave her the beautiful watch? The one she left to you?"
Brett's eyebrows had twitched at the mention of the watch; but his eyes stayed closed. "N-no... no, she won it from a Russian nobleman in a card game in Vienna."
"Where is the watch now?"
"I have no idea what you're talking about." It was the same cool, bantering tone Danny had heard a hundred times, usually just before the trouble started. But something wasn't right. It felt as if somewhere along the line, Brett had skipped a couple of pages and ended up in the wrong part of the story.
"Try to remember. It's very important. The watch you received on Monday. Can you tell me where it is?
His only response was a swift, involuntary shake of the head. Danny held his breath. Would she push it?
She did. "The watch, Lord Sinclair. What happened to it?"
"Don't..." The word was almost a whisper.
"Lord Sinclair?"
Brett's hands clenched beneath her touch. "No… no, don't say it… " He drew in a sharp breath. "Danny…" he muttered. Then in a stronger voice: "Danny – Danny – Don't tell them!"
He snatched his hands from hers, and drew away, gasping. Danny started up, then froze, glaring at Miss Rose. He made a cutting-off gesture.
She seemed to agree. "It's all right. You don't have to answer if you don't want to. Would you like to leave it there for now?"
"Daniel..."
"He's here." She beckoned Danny forward, and stood up to let him take her place.
Not sure how to proceed, he cleared his throat. "Say, pal," he began, "you wanna think about coming out of it now? 'Cause if you're thinking it's traditional to wake a sleeping prince with a kiss, boy, have I got news for you." He stammered to a halt, wondering if that was a dumb thing to say; but Brett's breathing was already slower and more regular.
"In your own time, Lord Sinclair," added Miss Rose. "You're quite safe here, and there's no hurry."
For a minute or so, they waited. Brett's eyelids flickered, then opened. He gazed at Danny, then at Miss Rose. He gave a soft, uneasy laugh. "You both look very serious. Is there anything I should know?"
"You mean, like where's the watch?" asked Danny. "Nothing doing. If you know where it is, you're not telling."
"Bad luck." Brett sat up slowly. "You mean I didn't say anything relevant?"
"You don't remember?" asked Miss Rose.
"No, I don't. One moment we were talking about breakfast, and the next I found myself looking at this oaf. No offence, Daniel."
"None taken," growled Danny. "All you said was... "
"You got a little agitated," Miss Rose interrupted. "I thought I shouldn't press it any further."
"Ah, well," said Brett, trying, but failing, to hide his disappointment. "It was worth a try. I'm sorry for taking up your time, Miss Rose. Come, Daniel, we'd better get back to the apartment before Sergeant Kelly gets into the kitchen again. Thank you, Miss Rose, and I'm sorry for wasting your time."
He was just as quiet during the drive home as he'd been on the way out, but this time it was the silence of dejection. Danny didn't say much either, but he came to a decision, and when he pulled the car up in front of Brett's place, he didn't kill the engine.
"You mind if I don't come in?" he asked.
"Of course not," Brett replied. "I'm sure I've taken up more than enough of your time this week, so if there's something you need to do..."
"Yeah. It can't wait. I'll see you later." Danny waved his hand, and took off again.
He wasn't kidding when he said it couldn't wait. Something had, after all, come out of this morning's session. He had to know what it meant, and there was only one person he could ask.
He was going back to Miss Rose, and this time he wasn't leaving till he had some answers.