handiwork, he was freshly shocked at the extent of the scribbling. No one was sitting in there, and he could understand why. He escorted Naomi to the wall where the scrawl was thickest.
"You see what happened?" he said, hoping she would share his outrage, even if the words meant nothing to her. "Clive did it. You wouldn't, would you?" He swept the air with his hands to reinforce the message.
She stood solemnly facing the vandalized wall. Troubled that he might have been too heavy-handed, he reached out impulsively to stroke her hair, then decided he shouldn't. An action like that could be misinterpreted, by others, if not the child. But his hand was already on her head, so he ruffled the dark hair instead—and still felt it was a liberty he shouldn't have taken.
The drawing pad he'd used earlier remained on the table, open at the picture he'd done of Naomi. He folded the pad and handed it to her. "This is for drawing. You can have it It's yours. Yours. All right?"
She appeared to understand. Her eyes briefly met his and she tucked the pad under her arm.
"Now let's find where you should be at this hour of the day."
He found the class in a lesson that was down on the timetable as music, and consisted of indiscriminate tambourine-banging while the teacher, a cool young girl wearing a black fedora, strummed something on the guitar. Naomi settled cross-legged on the floor away from the others, continuing to hold the drawing pad and marker. She declined to take the tambourine Diamond found for her. He nodded to the teacher and left.
Now Julia Musgrave had to be told of his decision to entrust the marker to Naomi. He didn't want the news to be passed on by Mrs. Straw, or anyone else for that matter. He believed he could make a persuasive case
Julia wasn't alone in her office, but she called him in. Her visitor was a bearded, balding man in a brown corduroy jacket with patched elbows. An envelope file rested across his thighs and from his neck a thick pencil hung on a cord, all of which suggested to Diamond that this was a social worker. He was mistaken.
"Dr. Dickinson is a child psychiatrist," Julia explained. "He's here to make an assessment of Naomi."
"Another assessment?" said Diamond, mildly enough considering the warning bells that were sounding in his head.
"On behalf of the Japanese Embassy," Dr. Dickinson put in, using the kind of we-all-understand-how-the-world-goes-round tone that expects no disagreement. "They want my opinion as to whether the child is autistic. The general idea is mat she'll be sent to the Hagashi School in Boston if it appears that she'd benefit She's a fortunate child."
"Why is that?"
Dickinson frowned. "The fees are out of most people's reach—about thirty thousand pounds a year."
"I'm not impressed by money."
Dickinson said cuttingly, "Well, I'm extremely impressed by everything I've read about the school. As Naomi, I gather, is Japanese, this must be a happy arrangement."
"You think so?"
"Mr. Diamond has some reservations," Julia Musgrave quickly added.
"Oh, and what's your specialism?" Dickinson asked witheringly.
"Testing the truth," said Diamond. "I'm a detective, or was until recently."
Dickinson caught his bream and turned to Julia Musgrave. "Really, I can't begin to understand why a detective..."
Julia Musgrave briefly explained the reason for Diamond's presence in the school and finished by remarking that only that morning his perseverance had paid a wonderful dividend.
"Oh, and what was that?"
"Naomi got up from her chair and held my hand," Diamond informed him. "It may not sound like much, but it's a real advance."
"Let us hope so," the psychiatrist commented in a tone that suggested the reverse. "Unfortunately the condition of autism is full of false dawns—not that I question the accuracy of what you experienced. It's so tempting with these children to draw unscientific assumptions from their behavior. You assumed when she took your hand that she wished to
"You see what happened?" he said, hoping she would share his outrage, even if the words meant nothing to her. "Clive did it. You wouldn't, would you?" He swept the air with his hands to reinforce the message.
She stood solemnly facing the vandalized wall. Troubled that he might have been too heavy-handed, he reached out impulsively to stroke her hair, then decided he shouldn't. An action like that could be misinterpreted, by others, if not the child. But his hand was already on her head, so he ruffled the dark hair instead—and still felt it was a liberty he shouldn't have taken.
The drawing pad he'd used earlier remained on the table, open at the picture he'd done of Naomi. He folded the pad and handed it to her. "This is for drawing. You can have it It's yours. Yours. All right?"
She appeared to understand. Her eyes briefly met his and she tucked the pad under her arm.
"Now let's find where you should be at this hour of the day."
He found the class in a lesson that was down on the timetable as music, and consisted of indiscriminate tambourine-banging while the teacher, a cool young girl wearing a black fedora, strummed something on the guitar. Naomi settled cross-legged on the floor away from the others, continuing to hold the drawing pad and marker. She declined to take the tambourine Diamond found for her. He nodded to the teacher and left.
Now Julia Musgrave had to be told of his decision to entrust the marker to Naomi. He didn't want the news to be passed on by Mrs. Straw, or anyone else for that matter. He believed he could make a persuasive case
Julia wasn't alone in her office, but she called him in. Her visitor was a bearded, balding man in a brown corduroy jacket with patched elbows. An envelope file rested across his thighs and from his neck a thick pencil hung on a cord, all of which suggested to Diamond that this was a social worker. He was mistaken.
"Dr. Dickinson is a child psychiatrist," Julia explained. "He's here to make an assessment of Naomi."
"Another assessment?" said Diamond, mildly enough considering the warning bells that were sounding in his head.
"On behalf of the Japanese Embassy," Dr. Dickinson put in, using the kind of we-all-understand-how-the-world-goes-round tone that expects no disagreement. "They want my opinion as to whether the child is autistic. The general idea is mat she'll be sent to the Hagashi School in Boston if it appears that she'd benefit She's a fortunate child."
"Why is that?"
Dickinson frowned. "The fees are out of most people's reach—about thirty thousand pounds a year."
"I'm not impressed by money."
Dickinson said cuttingly, "Well, I'm extremely impressed by everything I've read about the school. As Naomi, I gather, is Japanese, this must be a happy arrangement."
"You think so?"
"Mr. Diamond has some reservations," Julia Musgrave quickly added.
"Oh, and what's your specialism?" Dickinson asked witheringly.
"Testing the truth," said Diamond. "I'm a detective, or was until recently."
Dickinson caught his bream and turned to Julia Musgrave. "Really, I can't begin to understand why a detective..."
Julia Musgrave briefly explained the reason for Diamond's presence in the school and finished by remarking that only that morning his perseverance had paid a wonderful dividend.
"Oh, and what was that?"
"Naomi got up from her chair and held my hand," Diamond informed him. "It may not sound like much, but it's a real advance."
"Let us hope so," the psychiatrist commented in a tone that suggested the reverse. "Unfortunately the condition of autism is full of false dawns—not that I question the accuracy of what you experienced. It's so tempting with these children to draw unscientific assumptions from their behavior. You assumed when she took your hand that she wished to
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