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students speak of him, at least not to me, and nor do the priests. His body was never returned to St. Anselm’s, even for the Requiem. Sir Alred wanted it to be cremated in London, so it was removed after the inquest by London undertakers. Father John packed up his clothes and Sir Alred sent two men in a car to collect the bundle and drive back Ronald’s Porsche. The bad dreams have begun to fade and I no longer wake up sweating, imagining that sand-caked, blind-eyed horror groping towards me
.
    But Father Martin was right. It has helped me, writing down all the details, and I shall go on writing. I find I look forward to that moment at the end of the day when I have tidied away my supper things and can sit down at the table with this notebook. I haven’t any other talent but I do enjoy using words, thinking about the past, trying to stand outside the things that have happened to me and make sense of them
.
    But today’s entry won’t be dull or routine. Yesterday was different. Something important did happen and I need to write it down to make the account complete. But I don’t know whether it would be right even to form the words. It isn’t my secret, after all, and although no one will ever read this account but me, I can’t help feeling that there are things which it’s unwise to put down on paper. When secrets are unspoken and unwritten they are lodged safely in the mind, but writing them down seems to let them loose and give them the power to spread like pollen on the air and enter into other minds. That sounds fanciful, but there must be some truth in it or why do I feel so strongly that I ought to stop writing now? But there’s no sense in carrying on with the diary if I leave out the most important facts. And there isn’t any real risk that these words will be read even if I place the book in an unlocked drawer. So few people come here and those that do wouldn’t rummage among my things. But perhaps I ought to take more care over privacy. Tomorrow I’ll give some thought to that, but now I shall write it down as completely as I dare
.
    The oddest thing is that I wouldn’t have remembered any of it if Eric Surtees hadn’t brought me a present of four of his home-grown leeks. He knows that I enjoy them for supper with a cheese sauce, and he often comes up with gifts of vegetables from the garden. I’m not the only one; he gives them to the other cottages as well as to the college. Before he arrived I had been rereading my account of the finding of Ronald’s body, and as I unwrapped the leeks that scene on the shore was fresh in my mind. And then things came together and I suddenly remembered. It all came back as clear as a photograph and I recalled every gesture, every word spoken, everything except the names—and I’m not sure I ever knew them. It was twelve years ago but it could have been yesterday
.
    I ate my supper and took the secret to bed with me. This morning I knew that I must tell the person most concerned. Once I’d done that I would keep silent. But first Imust check that what I remembered was right, and I made the telephone call when I went into Lowestoft this afternoon to shop. And then, two hours ago, I told what I knew. It isn’t really my business and now there’s nothing else I need do. And, after all, it was easy and simple and nothing to worry about. I’m glad I spoke. It would have been uncomfortable to go on living here knowing what I know and yet not speaking of it, wondering all the time if I was doing right. Now I needn’t worry. But it still seems so odd that things wouldn’t have come together and I wouldn’t have remembered if Eric hadn’t brought me a present of those leeks
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    This has been an exhausting day and I’m very tired, perhaps too tired to sleep. I think I’ll watch the beginning of
Newsnight,
and then to bed
.
    She carried her notebook from the table and placed it in the drawer of the bureau. Then she changed her spectacles for the pair most