Текст книги "Gossamer Cord"

Автор книги: Philippa Carr

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Текущая страница: 18 (всего у книги 20 страниц)

There were times when I was faintly regretful that I had lost Richard, but others when I felt relieved. If his affection had failed on that issue, it could not have been very firmly implanted. I was beginning to see that we should not have been well suited to each other.

Poor Dermot’s condition had not improved and the doctor had hinted that it could be permanent, although naturally Dermot had not been told this. He had changed. The carefree young man had become moody. I could understand that. He was not a man with inner resources. He had enjoyed an active life. He liked to travel, to be with people. I was sorry for him. He was often melancholy during those dark days of winter.

The climate in Cornwall is a little milder than elsewhere in England. Snow was rare but the rainfall was heavy, and sometimes the winds would blow at gale force from the southwest. There were sunny days now and then, and Jack would wheel Dermot out in his chair and take him to the gardens, help him from the chair, and he would sit for a while on one of the seats looking down on the beach. I always thought that was not a good spot to be, where he could see the rocks on which Dorabella’s bathrobe had been found.

His father would sometimes sit with him. That showed a change in the old man. I was glad and liked him better because I realized that he really cared for his son.

March had come and the first signs of spring were in the fields and hedgerows. The news suddenly grew more serious. The respite since those days when Neville Chamberlain had returned from Munich brandishing his little piece of paper and declaring there was to be peace in our time was over.

Hitler disregarded his promise and marched into Czechoslovakia.

This was alarming. It confirmed that which many people had thought possible and what must have been in the mind of the Prime Minister when he had returned from Munich and had immediately set about rearmament.

Now even those who had been opposing preparation for war realized the necessity of doing so.

Where would the German dictator turn next? The policy of appeasement was over. There could be no more standing aside. The Prime Minister had a meeting with the French premier and an agreement between the two countries was announced. They would support Poland, Rumania, and Greece if Hitler should attack them.

No longer could people run away from the truth. The storm clouds were gathering fast over Europe. How long would it be before Hitler decided to move into Poland?

He was already stating his claims to that country.

We waited for the news every day and there was a feeling of intense relief when nothing happened.

I rode often with Jowan. We loved to go onto the moors and, if the weather was warm enough, would tether our horses and sit close to an old disused mine while Jowan told me of some of the old legends of Cornwall. He would point out the prehistoric stones, so many of which had a story attached to them.

I arranged to meet him one day and when I went into the stables Seth was there.

He was always interested in me. I think it was because I was Dorabella’s sister and he believed she was one of the victims of the ghostly lady of the house of Jermyn.

Only the day before, I had walked down to the beach. I found a certain fascination there. I liked to stand close to the sea and watch the waves advance and recede, while I thought of Dorabella.

Seth had seen me there. I had looked up and there he was in the gardens looking down at me. I lifted my hand in greeting. He had returned the gesture, shaking his head at me. I think he must have meant it as a warning, telling me I should not be there.

I realized that afternoon in the stables that he was referring to this incident when he said: “Shouldn’t go down there, Miss. ’Tain’t good.”

“Do you mean the beach?” I asked. “I always make sure that the tide is not coming in and in any case I could get back into the garden. It was quite different on that day I was caught.”

He shook his head. “ ’Tain’t right. One day ’er’ll be after you. You was the one as brought him here.”

Knowing the way his mind worked, I realized that he was talking about Jowan and my breaking the feud between the houses of Tregarland and Jermyn.

“I’m all right, Seth,” I said.

He shook his head and I thought for a moment that he was going to burst into tears.

“ ’Tweren’t I,” he said. “I had naught to do with it. Not really like…”

I had lost the train of his thought, but he looked so worried that I wanted to pursue it.

“Didn’t do what, Seth?” I asked.

“I didn’t ’elp to get ’er in, like. Not really, only…”

Something was worrying him very much. This was a different turn to the conversation.

“Who, Seth?” I asked. “Who was the one you did not help?”

He was silent for a moment. Then he murmured: “Not to say. Not to tell. It’s a secret.”

“Do you mean….my sister…?”

“No. Don’t know naught about her. T’other.”

“The first Mrs. Tregarland?”

He looked at me and half nodded. “Not to say,” he went on. “ ’Er was beckoned, ’er was. ’Er had to go in. It was what ’er wanted.”

“I don’t understand, Seth. Who wanted what?”

“Wasn’t what ’er wanted. ’Er had to, didn’t ’er? But ’tweren’t I, Miss. ’Er ’ad to and ’er went.”

Gordon had come into the stable. I wondered how much of this conversation he had heard.

“Oh, hello, Violetta,” he said. “Are you going for a ride?”

“Yes.”

“It’s a good day for it.”

I wondered whether he would understand what Seth was trying to say.

I began: “Seth was telling me…”

A look of terror came into Seth’s face.

“I didn’t say nothing,” he mumbled. “I didn’t know nothing.”

“About the first Mrs. Tregarland’s accident, I think it was, Seth,” I said.

“No. No, I didn’t say nothing.”

Gordon was watching him intently. Seth lowered his eyes and shuffled away.

Gordon turned to me. He patted Starlight’s flank and helped me to mount.

“Poor Seth,” he said quietly. “He’s worse some days than others. Enjoy your ride.”

As I went out I heard him say to Seth: “I want to have a look at Black Eagle. I thought there might be something wrong.”

I rode on, thinking of Seth’s words. It was a pity he was so incoherent. One could never be sure whether what he said was actual fact or some figment of his addled mind; but I did feel he was trying to say something which was worrying him and for which he must make excuses.

Jowan was waiting for me. As always he looked delighted to see me. We rode onto the moors and, finding a sheltered spot, tethered our horses.

We sat leaning against a stone—one of a little group of six clustered round one of a much larger size. I remarked that they looked like sheep around the shepherd.

I could not forget my conversation with Seth and, as Jowan noticed my preoccupation, I told him about it.

“Poor Seth,” said Jowan. “It is sad that he had that accident. He would have been a bright young boy but for that.”

“It is sobering to think that one small incident can change our lives. I wish I knew what he was trying to say. It was almost as though he were making excuses.”

“For what?”

“Something he had done in connection with the first Mrs. Tregarland.”

“Oh…what did he say exactly?”

“It’s hard to tell what. Something he didn’t do. It was almost as though he were making excuses for some action. He kept saying it was the ghost who called her into the water.”

“He was excusing himself?”

“Well, it was so muddled, almost as though he were being blamed for something he hadn’t done.”

“Did he say he was there?”

“He never says anything as straightforward as that.”

“Did he sound as though he had been there?”

“Well, yes. And he might have gone on but Gordon came into the stables just then and he stopped.”

“Did Gordon hear?”

“Some of it, I suppose.”

“I wonder what he thought of it.”

“Well, no one takes much notice of Seth.”

“Sometimes people like that know more than you think they would. It is just possible that he might have some information, something the rest of us don’t know.”

“You mean about Annette’s death?”

“H’m. It always seemed a bit odd to me…that the champion swimmer should be drowned. It was not as though there was a gale.”

“I thought it might have been cramp.”

“Possibly. But why should Seth say it wasn’t his fault?”

“He’s obsessed by it.”

“Why?”

“Because he believes that ancestress of yours who drowned herself wants other young women to do the same…if they are connected with Tregarland. It’s a sort of revenge on the family.”

“I suppose that’s so. It mightn’t be a bad idea to find out what is in Seth’s mind.”

“I’ll see what I can do. What is happening in the outside world?”

“You mean that part in which we are all extremely interested at the moment?”

“I do indeed.”

“Well, things don’t get better. They are moving toward some climax. The latest news is that, for the first time in British history, there is to be military conscription in peacetime.”

“That sounds as though they are really expecting war.”

“If Hitler moves into Poland, there will be. I don’t think there is any doubt about his intentions, and now the days of appeasement are over, equally there can be no doubt about ours and those of the French.”

“Conscription? Does that mean…?”

“Able-bodied young men will be called up for military service.”

I looked at him in dismay.

“I expect they would say I was doing useful work by running the estate. On the other hand, if it came to conflict, I should have to be there.”

I continued to look at him. He laughed suddenly and, taking my hand, kissed it.

“It is nice to know you care,” he said.

It was a beautiful day. May had come and there was warmth in the air. When I came out of the house I saw Dermot sitting on a seat in the garden. I went over and sat beside him.

“It’s a lovely day,” I said.

He agreed. He was looking down on the beach with that infinitely sad expression, thinking, I knew, of Dorabella.

“I wonder what’s going to happen,” I said, trying to turn his thoughts to other things. “Do you think there’s going to be war?”

“I suppose so.”

“There is such uncertainty everywhere.”

He nodded and we fell into silence. I could see it was useless to try to lift him out of his melancholy.

He said suddenly: “The time goes on. They will never find her. She’s gone…forever.”

I put my hand over his and he went on: “You and I—we were the ones who loved her most.”

I said: “There are my parents. They loved her dearly, too.”

“It is not quite the same.”

“My mother hides her grief but it is there. I never found that miniature I gave her.”

“She thought a great deal of it. She often told me how she felt about you. She used to laugh about the way in which you helped her out of trouble. She said she was a monster who thought up the wildest adventures and always at the back of her mind was the thought, Violetta will have to get me out of this.”

“Yes, it was like that with us.”

“She said you were her other self. She called it a cord between you. She said you were the better half.”

“Oh, Dermot, I can’t bear to think of her.”

“Nor I.”

After that we were silent. It was no use trying to talk of other things. She was uppermost in our minds and she would keep intruding. She had once said, “Don’t ever think you’ll be rid of me. I shall always be there.”

It was true, of course.

I sat with him until Jack came to take him in.

I watched them. Jack was strong and gentle and helped Dermot into his chair. He lifted his hand to me as Jack wheeled him into the house.

I went down the slope to the beach and stood there watching the waves.

“Dorabella,” I said. “Where are you?”

Next morning, when Jack went into Dermot’s room, he found that he was dead.

The Ghost on the Cliff

THE HOUSEHOLD WAS IN turmoil. The first I knew of it was when Matilda came to my room while I was preparing to go down to breakfast. She was very pale and obviously trembling.

“Something terrible has happened,” she said; and she told me how Jack had gone into Dermot’s room to wake him with his early morning cup of tea.

“He said he knocked on the door and when there was no answer he went in. He said good morning and, as there was no response, he went to the bed and saw at once what had happened. The bottle of pills was near the bed and it was empty. Jack knew at once what he had done. There was a glass which had contained whisky. Poor Jack, he is in a terrible state. We all are.”

“Oh, poor Dermot,” I said. “He was so unhappy.”

“He never got over Dorabella’s death. I can’t believe this has happened. Gordon is taking charge of everything. He has sent for the doctor. Oh, Violetta, this is terrible. What else is going to happen in this house?”

That was a bewildering day: the comings and goings, the whispered conversations, the terrible knowledge that another tragedy had struck us and that there was death in the house.

I kept thinking of our conversation in the garden. I was not surprised in a way. I should have seen it coming. He was in despair. That had been clear. I could understand this. His marriage had been brief and fruitful…and then she had gone, stupidly, foolishly, because of an impetuous whim she had been taken away.

The entire house was in a state of shock. Matilda’s usual calm had deserted her. She was so shaken that the doctor gave her a sedative and advised her to take a rest.

Gordon was calm and essentially practical. The doctor talked to him—obviously relieved to be able to discuss what must be done with someone who was capable of doing it.

It was a nightmare day.

I had a talk with Gordon in the evening.

“There will be an inquest, of course,” he said. “The doctor obviously knows what happened. He is not altogether surprised. He said Dermot was very depressed. Before all this started, he could be high spirited at times and right down at others. He was not the sort who could cope with tragedy. When he heard that it was unlikely that he would walk again, the doctor was afraid he might attempt to take his life. He had been about to suggest that the pain-killing pills should only be administered by Jack or someone near at the time he needed them, but that would have had its difficulties. He might have wanted to take them in the night. It was a very sad case but, as the doctor said, not altogether unexpected in the circumstances.”

It was a household in mourning.

Matilda was too shaken to leave her bed that day and it was Gordon who had had to break the news to old Mr. Tregarland.

When he came out of the old man’s bedroom he was clearly disturbed. I was waiting to hear how the father had received the news of his son’s death. He was stricken with grief and horror.

“I thought,” said Gordon, “that we were going to have another death in the house. His face turned purple and he opened his mouth to speak but there was no sound. He just stared at me and he was shaking in every limb. I thought he was going to have a stroke. This has been a terrible blow, coming after everything else. He has taken it very badly. We shall have to be very careful with him. The shock has been too much.”

Mr. Tregarland stayed in his room for several days. Matilda went about as though in a bad dream. I did not go into the town. I could imagine what people were saying. There was a curse on Tregarland’s. It went back a hundred years to when the Tregarlands and the Jermyns were such enemies.

There was no question of the verdict that Dermot had committed suicide while the balance of his mind had been disturbed.

Gloom descended on the house. And not only there. The possibility of war was the constant topic. It was certain that the Germans were preparing to take some action.

Jowan and I met as usual, but I felt uneasy about that. The servants whispered together. Look at what is happening. It was one blow after another for the Tregarlands.

Jowan said: “It is certainly mysterious. I wish you weren’t there, and on the other hand I wouldn’t want you to go away.”

“These disasters are a string of coincidences,” I said. “Life is so strange. Dermot’s death is explainable. I know how miserable he was. He had lost both of his wives and it is certainly odd that they should both die by drowning. As for Dermot himself, he was so miserable, his horse was out of control, and there was a suggestion that he was not quite sober. There is an explanation for that.”

“It’s true. I wonder what will happen next. I believe there may well be a war. That will change things for all of us.”

“You seem certain…”

“It is the way things are going. This alliance…what is it they call it? The Pact of Steel, which Hitler is making with Italy. It looks as though he wants to be sure he has a strong ally before he makes some move.”

“Surely he will not act against the British and the French?”

“That remains to be seen. There has been too much appeasement in the past. He may think it will continue. Let us hope that he stops in time to prevent our all being plunged into war.”

“This is all very depressing and I was looking to you to cheer me up!”

“Oh, dear! I’m sorry. Is it so very bad at Tregarland’s?”

“Naturally. Old Mr. Tregarland seems to have changed. He is so overcome with grief at Dermot’s death. He stares into space. It is as though he is trying to understand, as though he is searching for some explanation for all these disasters.”

“Poor old man! It is a good thing he has Gordon Lewyth to look after everything.”

“He is the great bulwark. Matilda, who is usually so calm and practical, seems to be utterly shaken by all this.”

“Well, let’s look on the bright side, eh? Let’s try and forget what has happened. After all, there has to be a turning point somewhere.”

We had come to an open space.

“Let’s give the horses a bit of fun,” he said, and started to gallop across the field. I followed him.

There seemed to be no end to the melancholy.

That night, at dinner, Matilda told us that Mrs. Pengelly’s baby had been found dead in her cot. “The poor woman is prostrate with grief,” she said. “The shock was terrible. She had fed the baby, put her in her pram in the garden, and left her. Then she had gone into the house and came out twenty minutes later to find her dead.”

“But what happened?” I asked.

“They don’t know yet. The child was suffocated in some way. She was blue in the face and not breathing.”

“But there must have been some reason,” I said.

Gordon said: “It is not the first time this sort of thing has happened. The doctors cannot give an explanation. The child just ceases to breathe…and in a few moments is dead.”

“But…” I began.

“There must be some reason, of course,” went on Gordon. “But the doctors don’t know what it is. These child deaths are not exactly common, but several babies have died in that way. The medical profession is researching it, and I expect they will find the cause, but so far it is a mystery.”

“There was a case over at St. Ives only a few months ago,” added Matilda. “Poor Mrs. Pengelly. It’s no consolation to her, but at least she knows it is no fault of hers.”

“You mean to say that babies can really die like this?” I asked.

“Yes. They die in their cots. They are usually round about three months old, but they can, I believe, die this way up to two or three years. The strange thing is that the doctors don’t know what happens to cause it.”

“But while they don’t know, how can people take precautions against its happening?” said Matilda.

“I have never heard of it before,” I added. I was thinking fearfully of Tristan.

As soon as the meal was over I went to the nursery.

“He’s asleep,” said Nanny. “Come in and have a chat.”

“I want first of all to make sure Tristan is all right,” I said.

“All right? He’s sleeping the sleep of the innocent, bless him.”

I looked down on him. He was hugging his teddy bear. He looked angelic, and I was relieved to see he was breathing rhythmically.

“What did you expect?” demanded Nanny Crabtree. “I’m glad he’s got that teddy. It’s a change from the old blanket he used to suck. My goodness, it was difficult to wean him from that. And what a fuss there was when I washed it. It nearly broke his little heart. But I got him on to this teddy. I’m a bit scared though of those bootbutton eyes. I wonder if they’ll come off?”

I sat down and told Nanny about the Pengelly baby.

“I heard about that one in St. Ives,” she said. “It makes you wonder.”

“I immediately thought of Tristan.”

“He’ll be all right. I’m going to keep my eyes on him. Why, what’s the matter with you?”

“I don’t know, Nanny. So many terrible things are happening here…”

She came to me and put her arms round me. It was as though I were a child again.

“There,” she said. “It’s all right. Nothing’s going to happen to our baby or to you…not now that you’ve got Nanny Crabtree to look after you.”

I just stayed there close to her and I felt like a child again. It would be all right because the all-powerful Nanny Crabtree would make sure of that.

There was a great deal of excitement when Polly Rowe, one of the kitchen maids, came in one afternoon and declared she had seen a ghost.

She was brought to me by the housekeeper, who said: “You’d better hear this, Miss. It sort of concerns you like.”

Polly, flushed and very conscious of her newly acquired importance since she had been the one to see this amazing phenomenon, could scarcely speak, so great was her excitement.

“There on the cliff, Miss,” she said. “On the west side…I was coming back after going to see my mother—over there to Millingarth—and I did see this…ghost. Her were coming straight to me. So close we was…we passed on that narrow path where it drops down to the sea.”

She shivered at the memory.

“Her were wearing something over ’er ’ead…so you couldn’t see her face like. But I knew her. There weren’t no mistake…’twere her all right. Her were looking for something, looking out to sea, ’er was. Her looked like her used to…but different…”

“Who was it?” I asked.

“It were a ghost, Miss. She were all shadowy like. She looked straight at me. I believe she knew me. Well, I’d seen her now and then, hadn’t I? She walked past me, floated as they ghosts do, and then she was gone. I was all shaken up…I couldn’t move. And then her’d gone.”

“But who was it?”

She looked at me fearfully. “It were ’er. It were Mrs. Tregarland, that’s who ’twas.”

“You mean …the first Mrs. Tregarland?”

She shook her head. “Oh, no, Miss, it were the second…the second Mrs. Tregarland.”

“My sister…?”

She looked at me fearfully…nodding.

I put out a hand to steady myself and leaned against a table.

“You all right, Miss?” said the housekeeper.

“Yes, yes, thank you. Where were you when you saw this, Polly?” I asked.

“Out there on the west cliff, Miss…not far from Cliff Cottage.”

“And you are sure you recognized her?”

“Well, Miss, she had this scarf over her head, hid her face like…a bit. But it was her all right. She was quite close. We was almost touching on that narrow bit. There she was, and when I turned round she was gone.”

“Gone? Gone where?”

“I don’t know, Miss. They ghosts do come and go as they’ve a mind to. They’ll go through walls and cliffs if they want to.”

“I think you must have been mistaken, Polly.”

Polly shook her head. “ ’Twere her all right…only in ghost form. That was the only difference.”

“What does it mean?” I was talking to myself really, but Polly answered:

“Her can’t rest. ’Tis because of Mr. Dermot, sure enough. He’s gone, too. Reckon they’re looking for each other. They do say it is like that when you get to the other side.”

I said: “Thank you for telling me, Polly.”

“I thought ’twere due to ’ee, Miss. You being her sister like.”

When she had gone I sat down to do battle with my emotions. Dorabella seen on the cliffs. Then I told myself not to be foolish. Polly had seen someone who had borne a resemblance to her and had imagined the rest. The whole household was in a nervous state. It was reasonable to believe that Polly had seen someone like Dorabella on the cliff and that had given rise to her speculations.

In the kitchens they would all be talking of what Polly had seen. She would be reveling in her new importance and no doubt embellishing her story.

I could not sleep that night. I could see Dorabella’s mischievous face before me. I remembered an occasion when we were about eleven years old. There was a house in the neighborhood which was reputed to be haunted. Terrified, we often prowled through it, for there was a broken window through which we could climb. Once we had been there when some other children must have decided to do the same. We cowered in one of the rooms, listening to the sound of stealthy, cautious footsteps.

“Let’s play ghosts,” Dorabella had said. We were wearing light capes and we took them off and covered our faces with them. Then we confronted the other children.

“Go away or we’ll get you,” chanted Dorabella in hollow tones. “We are ghosts.”

The children turned and fled while Dorabella and I collapsed on the floor in helpless laughter.

And now…Polly had seen her ghost on the cliff…or thought she had.

What a long night it was! It was nonsense, I kept telling myself. There was no substance in the story. It was just typical of the superstitions which were never far from people’s thoughts in this place.

It was not until dawn that I slept.

I wanted to talk to someone and the only one I really wanted to see was Jowan. I telephoned his number which took me through to his office quarters.

“Mr. Jermyn is not here,” I was told.

I asked if they knew what time he would be back.

“This is Miss Denver speaking,” I added.

“Oh, Miss Denver, he’s gone to London.”

“Oh? When will he be back?”

“I’m not sure. It depends how long his business keeps him there. I’ll leave a note to say you called.”

I thanked him and rang off.

I felt desolate. He had not mentioned to me that he was going. But then, why should he keep me informed of his business arrangements?

I was deflated, for when I was troubled I had made a point of consulting him.

I could not stop myself brooding. She had been seen on the west cliff. It was nonsense, of course. Just the wild imaginings of a hysterical girl who was now enjoying the notoriety of someone singled out by the powers that be for contact with the supernatural.

If there were such things as ghosts and Dorabella was one of them, surely I was the one she would want to visit?

How I missed Jowan! I wanted so much to talk to him, to listen to his sane views; perhaps I was relying on him too much. I was deeply hurt that he had not told me he was going to London. I wondered if I had let myself believe he was more interested in my affairs than he actually was.

He was amused by the local disapproval of our relationship, of course, and was interested in the old customs and superstitions—and what had been happening at Tregarland’s was all part of that. But his main care was the Jermyn estate, and if he had had to go to London urgently, it would not occur to him to tell me.

I wanted so much to talk to someone. I thought of Mrs. Pardell. Her cottage was close by. I would go to see her and ask what she thought about the story of the ghost.

I wondered whether an account of this had reached her already. If it had, it would be interesting to get her views of the subject.

I came to the cottage and paused for a while to look at the neat garden. I opened the gate and, glancing up, I saw a figure behind the lace curtains. She would have heard the faint creaking of the gate. I stood by the door, expecting her to open it. When she did not, I knocked.

Nothing happened.

I lifted the heavy knocker and knocked again. I could hear the sound of it reverberating. Still I waited. Then I thought I heard footsteps, but no one came to the door.

I stood back and looked up at the windows. There was a shadow at one of them…someone was standing behind the lace curtains. I was sure of it. What could it mean? She knew I was here and did not want to let me in.

I walked down the path and turned back to look. Was it fancy or did I again see that shape behind the curtains? It was there…and it was gone.

This was strange. I believed Mrs. Pardell had been in the house. Well, I supposed, it must be that she did not want to see me.

A few days passed. The story of Dorabella’s ghost was discussed frequently.

“She have come back,” people said. “Her be looking for her husband. He’ll have gone over, and she be searching for him.”

One might have asked why search here if he had “gone over” to join her.

I was expecting to hear that someone else had seen her, but so far no one came forward to say so. When I went into the town people looked at me with interest. I was at the center of the drama, and they did not forget that I had brought myself into this by trying to patch up the quarrel between Tregarland and Jermyn.

More than ever I wished that Jowan was here. I felt lonely without him. I wanted to discuss Dorabella’s “ghost” and the unwillingness of Mrs. Pardell to see me. That had surprised and hurt me. I knew that she prided herself on her bluff honesty, which made it all the more strange. She was not the sort to hide behind curtains. Rather I should have expected her to open the door and say, I don’t want to see you, and then tell me why.

Her behavior after Jowan’s going to London without telling me added to my bewilderment.

Then there was a call from Jowan. My spirits rose at the sound of his voice.

“I’m back,” he said, “and I want to talk to you.”

“Yes, yes,” I said eagerly. “When?”

“Suppose I pick you up in an hour. We’ll have lunch at the Stag’s Head on the moor. I’ll tell you all about it then.”

I was excited. The pall of gloom had lifted.

He came on time and greeted me affectionately, but said nothing of significance until we were at the inn. He had chosen a secluded table where we could talk in peace.

I found it hard to contain my impatience, but it was clear to me that he would say nothing until he was ready to do so.

We ordered our food and it was only when it was on the table that he leaned toward me and said: “I’ve made a discovery. I think it may be significant.”

“In London?” I asked.

He nodded. “It was the only place where I could get it. I wanted to keep it to myself in case it came to nothing. It was not easy. I was not sure of dates and could only guess. It would have taken less time if I had had more details.”