Chapter 12
Mabel's Carbon Copy

Mabel Price lived in a bungalow filled with clocks that did not agree.

She had been Philip Harlow's accounts clerk for twenty two years. Peter found her contact through the hotel's former staff records and, with her consent, arranged a meeting that included Lena, independent advisers, and the people needed to handle her documents properly.

Imani attended because Mabel asked whether the woman who read the letter could come.

“I don't like being made into a missing piece,” Mabel said when they arrived. “I was here the whole time.”

She served tea in cups decorated with different flowers and brought out a file secured with kitchen string.

Inside were copies of repair invoices, storage correspondence, and a carbon copy of an internal transfer note.

The note referred to five original panels and one substitute prepared for display.

“Five?” Lena asked.

Mabel adjusted her glasses.

“One was badly affected before the move. Mr. Harlow wanted the set to look complete for an event. There was an outside contractor. I paid the invoices.”

“What happened to the original?” Peter asked.

“I don't know.”

She said it firmly enough to discourage anyone from turning age into permission to improve her memory.

The file also contained a receipt acknowledging Philip's payment of repair and storage costs. On the back, someone had written that a final ownership arrangement remained to be discussed with the trust and workshop representatives.

Graham, who had joined by call, said nothing for a long moment.

“Why didn't this go into the collection file?”

“It went into accounts,” Mabel said. “That was my file.”

“Did my father know?”

She looked at the phone.

“He signed the payment.”

Imani watched Peter write down the distinction. Knowledge of a payment was not proof of every later intention. It was still part of a history that could no longer be presented as uncomplicated.

Mabel gave permission for the relevant copies to be made and kept the originals pending the agreed handling arrangements. Elena's team would examine the treatment references. The advisers would review the ownership correspondence.

Mabel remembered the day the damaged screens arrived because the hotel kitchen sent sandwiches to the storage workers and forgot her office.

“I made a fuss,” she said. “Philip said I'd remember the sandwich longer than the exhibition. He was right, as usual, about entirely the wrong point.”

Lena smiled and asked who had supervised the delivery.

Mabel supplied two names, then corrected one after checking her file. One man handled transport. The other had been called only after the damage was noticed. The distinction changed the sequence on the table.

Imani watched her trace each dated entry. The copy was pale, and the specialist arranging duplication would handle it. Mabel kept her hands away from the fragile sheet once that was explained.

“I used to press harder when I typed copies,” she said. “The machine sounded like an argument.”

“Did you like the job?” Imani asked.

Mabel considered the question.

“Parts. I liked knowing where things stood. I liked people getting paid on time. I didn't like being told the work happened in rooms I wasn't invited into.”

She looked at the people now sitting around her tea table.

“Apparently some of it happened in accounts.”

Lena thanked her for keeping the file. Mabel accepted the thanks, then asked that any public account describe her role accurately. She had handled payments and copied correspondence. She had not investigated the collection. There was dignity enough in the job she had actually done.

When the formal conversation ended, Mabel asked Imani to stay for another cup.

“You're younger than I thought.”

“People keep telling me what they thought.”

Mabel smiled ruefully.

“Then I should be more interesting.”

She asked about the conservation training. Imani described learning to slow down before touching something damaged.

“Useful work,” Mabel said. “I spent half my life being told a copy was enough. Now everyone wants the paper I was foolish enough to keep.”

“What made you keep it?”

“Habit. And sometimes worry.”

She pointed at the carbon copy.

“Don't make that into courage. I didn't challenge anyone then. I put things in a file and hoped someone else knew what they were doing.”

Imani thought of Aiko's photograph and Harold's missed meetings. Each person had held a portion of the story while assuming the whole existed somewhere safer.

At the door, Mabel gave her the name of the contractor's old workshop. It had closed years before. A relative might know what happened to the records.

Outside, Lena checked the name against an old invoice.

“This could help us find the panel.”

Imani looked back at the bungalow. Through the window, Mabel was winding a clock that was already running.

“We should ask before calling again,” she said. “She's done enough for one afternoon.”