The Return of Captain John Emmett

have contributed to John's state of mind.'

'When did you hear from John for the last time?'

She thought for a minute. 'I had a letter from him about this time last year. He sounded better. I think because he was in London, meeting someone who he thought would help him. He'd been moved or disturbed—I'm not sure which realy—by al the hoo-ha in the papers about the Unknown Warrior. He was more open, more reflective. I was surprised he'd got away though.'

'Was that alowed, generaly?'

'Rarely, I think. It must have meant he'd eased himself from George Chilvers' clutches. Dr Chilvers used to encourage patients to walk localy with family or friends who visited, as long as they were wel. We had gone out to walk along the river together on that first visit eighteen months ago. Nicholas was very little. It was lovely. George was away.'

Again, Laurence found this picture of normality comforting.

'But of course they were very careful at Holmwood and I can't think they would have countenanced a trip away unless it was crucial—a family funeral, perhaps

—and, I imagine, accompanied by a trusted family member. I suppose he simply picked his moment and left.'

'Do you know what he was doing in London at al?'

'No. I have a sense that the other person wasn't a close friend but I don't think that's because of anything specific. He thought it would be a turning point. But who knows what of?' She screwed up her eyes, thinking, then jumped to her feet. 'Wait. I've got some letters in the other room.'

She disappeared out of the door but was gone only a short time. She came back carrying a smal box, set it down on the table and began rifling through it. She took out a tied packet of letters, puled out one, then another, read a couple of lines and smiled. Laurence longed to be able to read some but knew he couldn't ask.

They were part of an intimacy she had struggled to maintain. She held one up and he saw the large, slightly childish script.

'He had pretty dreadful writing,' she said. Very quickly she picked one out. 'He went to a hotel, I remember now, though I've no idea if he actualy got there.

The Connaught. That's it. Hotel writing paper.' She looked down. 'He just says he's looking forward to a good tea. He's almost joly. But then I never heard from him again and he kiled himself a few weeks later.'

Laurence could hear in her voice her attempt to be matter-of-fact.

'He could have been seeing lawyers or something, I suppose?' he said, although Mary had said he'd remade his wil after the war and there was no indication he had revised it. He tried to picture the hotel. 'Where is it?' he said. The name rang a bel.

'Carlos Place, it says, Mayfair.'

He shook his head, trying to remember where Brabourne had been interviewed about Hart's execution.

'It's caled the Connaught now, after some useless princeling,' she said. 'But before the war it was the Coburg. Do you remember? They had to change it because it was German. Pretending al the time that the veins and arteries of our own dear royal family weren't running with German blood. I stil think of it as the Coburg, though.'

'The Coburg?' he said.

Eleanor was stil looking at the letters.

'The Coburg. Of course.' He almost laughed. 'John wrote down the name on a note in his room at Holmwood —Mary had it—and there I was dreaming up an international conspiracy.'

'You idiot,' she said, visibly amused.

'Wel, it was always possible he might have drifted into something through Minna. Or through other people he met through her in Germany.'

'Possible, Laurence, but not realy very likely,' said Eleanor. 'Did he seem like a spy to you? Minna died young and, anyway, he didn't meet her in Germany; he was at university with her brother.'

At Oxford?'

'Yes. Her brother was a philosopher, I think. The two men met through a love of rowing, as far as I can remember. There were plenty of Germans there before the war and the Baumeisters were a very pro-English family, John said. Minna was visiting her brother, she met John and they fel in love.'

'I hadn't realised.'

Laurence was thinking that, if they had met in England, the fact that none of the Emmetts had ever met John's fiancee spoke of a wider estrangement than he'd understood from Mary.

'Minna died not long after they broke off their engagement. He felt very bad about it. And her brother was kiled in the war. John felt bad about that too. But then he'd reached the point of carrying the whole world's troubles on his shoulders. And there were plenty to carry.'

'There was something else, in German,' he said, trying not to sound defensive. '' Gottes Muhle mahle...' is al I can remember now.'

'' Gottes Muhle mahle langsam ...' I expect?' Laurence smiled at her. 'It's a film,' she said. 'But also a German proverb that means something like God comes at last when we think him furthest off.'

He sensed she was about to speak again but they heard Wiliam coughing from down the corridor, so she left the room. Although he had been caught out by the relevance of the name Coburg having a more innocent explanation than he'd dreamed, the location connected it unequivocaly with the execution of Edmund Hart. Was John giving evidence as Brabourne had? It was the same hotel.