Other details of this drawing puzzled him, however. There seemed to him to be a meaning in it which he could not grasp. To the right of Christophe’s tomb, Maria had drawn a sun; to the left, a crescent moon. Above his grave, drawn as boldly as if it were some biblical sign, there was a large multipointed star. The rest of the drawing was in black and white: as if to emphasize the star, and proclaim its significance, Maria had colored it gold.

Chapter 10

APPROACHING NOTTING HILL GATE that Sunday evening, Lindsay was beset with nerves. She signaled right, turned left, and narrowly missed a post. She stole a glance at Rowland, who sat beside her, his long legs stretched out as far as the confines of her small car permitted. He looked unperturbed.

She slammed on the brakes outside her own house and peered up at its façade. The couple who lived on the lower floor appeared to be out, but lights burned at the windows of her own apartment: Tom might be home, and Louise would certainly be in, she thought with a sinking heart.

“I’ll just run up and find that photograph and my article,” she said. “I can’t explain properly about Lazare until you see that picture. So I’ll just grab it, then I’ll run you home—where did you say you lived?”

“In Spitalfields,” said Rowland. “It’s in the East End. It’s miles away. Why don’t I just take the tube? Anyway, you can’t park here, you’re blocking the street.”

“Nonsense,” said Lindsay, who was only half listening, and whose knowledge of London’s East End was vague in the extreme. “It’ll take us—what? Fifteen minutes? I told you—this is exciting, Rowland, wait until I explain.”

“What about our lunch tomorrow? Why can’t you explain then?”

“Because this could be important—urgent. Besides, I’m—I’m not going to have time for lunch tomorrow, I realize now. It’s too much of a rush. I have to pack for Paris, and—Look, Rowland, just wait in the car, will you? Then if someone wants to get past, you can move it.”

She leapt out before Rowland could argue further, ran inside, and began charging up the four flights of stairs. Halfway there, she paused; she realized she might have sounded rude, inhospitable. Too bad, she decided. She had had the entire journey from Max’s house to make up her mind, and she was determined on two things: first, she was going to see Rowland McGuire’s home at all costs, and second, Rowland McGuire was not, under any circumstances, to encounter Louise.

She flung open the door of her apartment to a rich smell of frying onions and hamburgers. She could see Tom at the kitchen stove, and a sink piled high with unwashed dishes. She could see Louise on the living room sofa, her feet up. She was dressed to kill, and drinking a glass of wine.

“Hi, Mum,” said Tom.

“Where is he?” said Louise.

“He’s outside in the car, I told you,” Lindsay said, hugging Tom, then moving through the room at top speed. “I told you when I called. I just need to pick up a couple of things, then I’m giving him a quick lift home.”