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Chapters (46)
  1. Cover
  2. Dedication
  3. Maps
  4. 1
  5. 2
  6. 3
  7. 4
  8. 5
  9. 6
  10. 7
  11. 8
  12. 9
  13. 10
  14. 11
  15. 12
  16. 13
  17. 14
  18. 15
  19. 16
  20. 17
  21. 18
  22. 19
  23. 20
  24. 21
  25. 22
  26. 23
  27. 24
  28. 25
  29. 26
  30. 27
  31. 28
  32. 29
  33. 30
  34. 31
  35. 32
  36. 33
  37. 34
  38. 35
  39. 36
  40. 37
  41. 38
  42. 39
  43. Chronology
  44. Historical Notes
  45. Acknowledgements
  46. THE BEGINNING

He looked at me with a furrowed brow, as if there were something wrong, but he couldn’t work out what it was. Then he dismissed the thought and took off his tie and jacket. I realized that I had been speaking in Lorelei’s voice.

Penguin Books

31

The next day moved past, the clouds rolling listlessly across the sky, and I pulled my coat tighter as I stepped from a train on to the platform at a village railway station in Surrey. The electric light above barely penetrated more than a metre of the night.

You are cordially invited to join the party at Mansford Hall, Fetcham, Surrey. Masques from eight until midnight. Tuesday, the 25th of November 1952.

The invitation had read. And then the words scrawled wildly at the bottom:

Nick knows you’re selling him out

I could hardly believe I was there – that I had had the nerve to dress for it, buy the ticket, board the train. Each point had seemed like a border I was crossing. But whoever had sent Lorelei that card knew her secrets and Nick’s, so they might know the nature of Nick’s hidden work – and whether that drug really had found its way into my veins. In a strange way, that knowledge would map out the rest of my life. It’s an uncomfortable feeling to realize that such knowledge exists and someone other than you possesses it. Nick had it, of course, but he was the one person I couldn’t ask. I had considered confronting him with the question, but to what end? Denials that I wouldn’t be able to believe anyway? No matter what he said, it would bring nothing but sorrow.

So I was looking for the sender of that note, in the hope that the secrets they knew included what had happened to me.

I walked out of the desolate station to find two unlit lanes. I didn’t know which to take, so I picked the left-hand path and walked, nervously gripping the small evening bag I was carrying as if it were a talisman and hearing nothing but my footsteps. I could only trust that the glint of light ahead was the village, and not an isolated farm building. The light grew as I walked and gradually I began to feel the path ahead was solid and open. It became the village high street, where the glint became a glow, the glow became a light, the light became a bright window.