My own darling C.,

Andrea tells me that he intends to travel to Rome, with the intention of going to Athens once he determines that he will be welcome there. My heart leaps in anticipation! Our world will open up with him away for so long …

My love,

I am going with him. Family and national affairs demand it …

Then came one terse note from her, devoid of salutation:

I must see you. Tonight. A.

It was dated the second of September 1920.

There was a small gap of time after that. A hastily scrawled note from him, apparently from Rome, describing their journey and safe arrival, with the postscript:

I cannot stop thinking about you, the loveliness of your nude, white form under the moonlight, like an alabaster statue of a goddess …

All right, never heard that from my husband, thought Gwen, grinning to herself. But we never ran naked in the moonlight.

And never will, more’s the pity.

She grabbed for a handkerchief as the tears caught her, couldn’t find one, and ended up running one gloved arm across her eyes, leaving two jagged wet streaks across the satin.

Damn you, Ronnie. Why did you have to be so heroic?

The next letter abandoned all pretense to poetry.

C.,

Our last encounter has had unintended consequences. I am with child. I had suspected as much before you left, and took the precaution of bedding my husband under the pretext of wanting one last time with him before he went on his dangerous journey. His ego overcame his long coldness towards me, and I feigned—well, he will be satisfied that it is his. But it is not, I am certain of it. The timing will be satisfactory to any prying eyes, but I had to tell you. It will be our secret, a symbol of our Love, binding us forever …

A.,

Speak no further of this. Write nothing of it. I am returning all of your letters—I wanted to burn them on the spot, but I couldn’t. The child belongs to my brother. I take no further responsibility for it, or for you …

C.,

This cannot be! We are destined to be lovers, on this and all higher planes …

C.,

Why do you no longer correspond?

C.,

I shall go mad …

That was the last one. Gwen folded it with a sigh and glanced at the clock. It was one thirty.

I shall go mad.

And she did, according to all reports. This could have been a plausible explanation for it, as well as for Andrea’s subsequent abandonment.

The letters would certainly destroy any hope of marriage between Elizabeth and Philip, should they come to the public’s attention. Or even the private attention of the Crown.

And they were fakes.

Archie walked casually up to a maintenance building on the grounds of the East Ham Jewish Cemetery and knocked on the door. The lid of the peephole slid aside. A second later, the door opened, and the caretaker looked at him.