The trouble was that, like so many bright ideas, it was proving very difficult to translate into words. For one thing, it appeared to be quite impossible to make a start. The torn-up sheets on which he had tried to get going littered not only his table but the floor. He wrote, ‘Darling,’ and blushed for his own temerity. He wrote, ‘Miss Eversley,’ and thought how cold it looked, and how unlike everything he felt for Katharine. When he had tried several other openings and torn them up, he took a new sheet and began without any beginning at all.

‘I am writing to you because I want you to know that I love you. I hope this will not make you feel uncomfortable in any way, because I should hate to do that, but it seems fairer to let you know how I feel. I do not like to think of your having to work, but if you are going to work anywhere, I would naturally like you to go on doing it here. I hope you will not feel I have made this difficult by writing to tell you how much I love you.

‘As far as I know, I am about thirty years old – it might be a year or two more or a year or two less, but that doesn’t make much difference. I had a head wound which was the cause of my loss of memory, but except for that it doesn’t give me any trouble now. I am very strong and healthy, and never have anything the matter with me, I am glad to say.

‘I cannot say anything about my family because my memory only goes back to ’42 as I told you, but I seem to have had quite a reasonable education. I don’t know at all what I did before the war, but one of the reasons why I feel sure I am not William Smith is that he worked in a tannery, and I am quite sure that I could not work in a tannery without being sick. I went to the place where he worked to see, and I was sick. If I was William Smith I should think I would have got over it – wouldn’t you? That is only one of the reasons why I don’t think I am William Smith, but I feel quite sure about it myself.

‘It is of course a great drawback my not being able to remember anything before I came out of hospital – I mean the German one in ’42. When I went to see Mr. Tattlecombe the other day he asked whether I had ever thought about getting married. I told him that I did not know whether I could think about it, because I might have been engaged to someone, or even married, before I lost my memory. I feel I must put this to you because I put it to him, but on thinking it over I do not think it could be so, because I would not be engaged to anyone, or married, unless I was in love with her, and I do not think I could forget anyone I loved like that. I know that I could never forget you, because all the feelings I have are mixed up with loving you, and as long as I felt anything at all I should have those feelings. It would not be a case of remembering or not remembering, it would just be knowing that I loved you. I have thought about this a lot, and I feel quite sure that I never have loved anyone but you. I hope I have put this quite fairly.

‘I am not in a very good position as regards money, but I think the prospects are good. I am sure that the animals will bring in a steady income as soon as we can get them manufactured under licence and on the market in sufficient quantities. In a year’s time I ought to be very much better off. Through Mr. Tattlecombe’s kindness in allowing me to board with him I live very cheaply, and I have been able to save two hundred and fifty pounds. I would look after you and work for you, and I will always love you. I do not know whether you will have had any idea that I have been thinking of you in this way. It was love at first sight. As soon as I saw you I knew there wasn’t anyone else and never could be. You were everything in the world. I love you very much.

William Smith.’

This letter he put into Katharine’s hand as she was leaving at the end of the day. She did not read it until she got home,

but every now and then she put her hand into her bag and felt it to make sure that it was there. It was a thick letter. There was only one explanation of a letter like that, put into her hand without a word as she turned to go. You don’t read that sort of letter in the street or on a bus.

She came into her dark flat, put on the light, set a match to the gas fire, and took off her coat and hat. Then she sat down on the hearth-rug and read William’s letter. It might have touched any woman’s heart. It took Katharine’s heart and wrung it. Everything she knew about William was there – his simplicity, his honesty, his directness, and the way he loved her. She read the letter a great many times, and cried over it with the sort of tears which leave the eyes bright and the cheeks glowing. What seemed like quite a long time went by. Then the telephone bell rang. Katharine jumped up with her heart beating and her breath coming quickly. It couldn’t possibly be William – it couldn’t possibly-

But it was. She said, ‘Hullo!’ and heard him say, ‘Is that you?’

‘Yes.’

‘Have you read my letter?’

‘Yes, William.’

‘I’m not asking you to answer it, or anything like that. You might want to think about it quite a lot – I don’t want to hurry you. I just thought I’d say you mustn’t think I’d make it difficult for you if you felt you had to say no – I mean I wouldn’t bother you.’

‘Thank you, William – ’ Her voice gave out.

She heard him say, ‘That’s all. I’m ringing up from a call-box,’ and all of a sudden she couldn’t let him go. She said,

‘Wait!’

William waited. He heard her catch her breath.

‘William – ’

‘Katharine – ’

‘William – would you like to come round and have supper with me?’

He arrived in the tin kettle. When Katharine heard it she went out into the passage and stood ready to let him in. She had put on the blue dress. The moment she heard his step she opened the door. He came in with the cold night air and the smell of frost. The door shut behind him and she was in his arms.

Chapter Eight

On the Wednesday morning about half an hour before Admiral Holden arrived, Miss Jones was bracing her employer for the interview. Properly speaking, she was no longer Miss Jones, having become Mrs. Cyril Eversley at a register office on the previous Saturday. The fact gave her an added touch of assurance.

‘Now there’s really nothing to be nervous about. It’s all fixed. If he gets at all awkward, you’ll put the whole thing on Mr. Davies. You’ve only got to say he’d been failing for some time but you didn’t like to supersede him after thirty years’ service. Then you put in about his dying suddenly six weeks ago, and say it’s taken us quite a while to get everything sorted out. If he asks anything you can’t answer, ring for me. You can tell him I’ve been straightening out the muddle.’

Cyril Eversley frowned.

‘It doesn’t seem fair. I don’t like it.’

She said a thought impatiently,

‘It won’t go outside this room. And who is it going to hurt? Not old Davies. Anyhow there’s no need to say anything about him unless the Admiral gets tiresome. If you have to, it will be all the better if you’re a bit embarrassed at bringing it out. Old servant of the firm and all that sort of thing – it’s quite a good touch.’

He said, ‘Don’t!’ so sharply that she stared for a moment, then came round to drop a kiss on the top of his head.

‘Cheer up, darling! It will go with a bang – you see if it doesn’t.’ She bent over to touch the papers lying in front of him. ‘You say your piece first, and then you show him this. Don’t bring in Davies unless you have to, and if you feel you’re getting bogged, just say, “I think Miss Jones knows about that,” and put your finger on the bell.’

She turned to smile at him from the doorway, and went out and along a piece of straight passage to Brett Eversley’s room.

He looked up as she came in, and said,