“And no, I’m not one of those who subscribes to the theory that he was a traitor. I don’t think he had a treacherous bone in his body. He was nothing like those buggers Amery and Joyce. They were cut from a completely different cloth. Amery was a fool and a tearaway, and Joyce was a nasty little Jew-hating fascist. Your father was a decent man—I don’t think he was capable of committing a single dishonorable act, let alone betraying his country.”

Since Amy had started at Oxford, she had sought out as many people as possible who had known her father. The picture that Massey was painting was a familiar one—everybody had testified to her father’s decency and charm, finding it inconceivable that he should be thought of as one of the war’s most despicable traitors.

“The problem I have, Professor Massey,” she began, “is whether I should just accept that my father was a traitor, and get on with my life, or whether I should fight against that, and end up making my life a misery. After all, it is possible that he was a traitor. How should I know any better? He left when I was six.”

Massey took a long draw from his pipe.

“Of course it’s possible,” he said. “But why him? Men from our generation, our background, would never have considered treachery. Yes, he wore an SS uniform, but I can’t believe that he didn’t have his reasons. Perhaps he took Forster’s words to heart, and decided that he would be better off betraying his country than a friend.”

Another draw, and then Massey leaned forward.

“But Miss Lockhart, you must find out. The truth is fundamental. Truth is one of the things we fought for. You owe it to your father—and to your family—to discover what happened, even if it hurts. You may be living on a false inheritance. You must not accept that! It would be too easy to give in to consensus. For heaven’s sake, please do not let the opinion of the mob rule your heart.”

Amy swallowed. She hadn’t expected such a speech.

“Do you think that all men should have a drop of treason in their veins?” she asked.

“Rebecca West?”

“Yes.”

Another draw.

“If by that she means that we citizens should keep questioning our country, challenging our leaders, then yes, yes we should have a drop or two. Maybe even a whole pint! They stopped questioning in Germany, and look what happened. And you must question too—otherwise it wasn’t worth me losing this.”

Massey rolled up his left trouser leg to reveal a wooden leg.

“Made out of oak. They tell me it’ll last longer than the one I’ve still got!”

Chapter Four

JANUARY–FEBRUARY 1944