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lost Major-General Hopkinson in the fight and I think Edward and his unit must have had it pretty rough.  In November most of the division were sent home.  He wrote and said he needed to see me, but he couldn’t get away so I pulled a few strings and went to him.  He came here today so he could ask Pop.”
    “Why didn’t you tell me, or write to Mother?”
    “Some things are private,” Mary said.  “Even between us.  And I wanted it to be a surprise.”  She laughed.  “I’m sure Mother’s been waiting for Edward to propose to me longer than I have.  I wanted to see her face.  Can you understand that?  Can you forgive me?”
    Mena sat up and threw her arms around Mary.  “It’s me who needs forgiveness.  I’ve been selfish and I’m sorry.  I didn’t even offer my congratulations.  I wish you both every happiness, of course I do.”
    “Friends again then?”
    Mena nodded.
    “Anyway,” Mary said.  “The way things are it’s not likely to happen any time soon.  You’ll feel different by the time the war’s over, I’m sure.”
    Mena smiled at last.  “Maybe I’ll have my own husband by then,” she said.  “Someone to carry me away.”
    “Maybe you will.  But you’re too young to worry about all that, aren’t you?”
    Mena didn’t think so.

 
      
      
      
    Chapter Five
      
    J efferson Tayte was in England on a train heading north out of London’s St Pancras station.  He hadn’t expected to be back again so soon, but he was glad to be there without really knowing why.  Perhaps it was that he felt some connection through what little he knew about his mother, or maybe it was just because it meant that he’d survived the flight.  He’d called his client to let her know he’d arrived safely and now he had his phone pressed to his ear again, trying hard to follow his own conversation over the noise around him.  It was Saturday afternoon and he was sharing the carriage with a host of jubilant football fans returning from what was evidently a win for the away team.
    “Toulouse?” he said.  He wasn’t sure he’d heard right.  “What’s Marcus doing in France?”
    He listened to the answer with one finger pressed to his other ear to block out the chant that had just started up further along the carriage.  He thought that must be why he couldn’t reach his friend on his cellphone - Marcus didn’t want to pay extra for international calls. 
    “What was that, Emmy?” he said.  “Research?”
    He listened as Marcus’s wife told him that her husband had been so wrapped up in his latest project that she’d hardly seen him lately.  Tayte understood that lifestyle only too well.
    "Okay, he said.  “Well, I’ll try and call again.  I just wanted to thank him for helping me out the other week.  I know he must have called in a few favours at the GRO to speed things up with the documents.  I thought it would be great to see you both before I head home.”  He paused, listening.  “Yeah, I know.  It has been far too long.”
    He said goodbye and put his phone back in his jacket, wondering whose family history his good friend Marcus Brown was working on in France.  He was curious, but as Marcus was incommunicado there wasn’t much he could do about it.
    “American?”
    The man sitting too snuggly in the aisle seat next to Tayte pulled him from his thoughts and Tayte smiled and nodded back.  The man’s wife and daughter were sitting opposite them: wife reading a book, daughter buried in a handheld video game with the earphones thankfully plugged in.  Judging from the Harrod’s bag on the table and the other assorted bags at their feet they were returning from a shopping trip.
    The man put his newspaper down.  “Don’t mind this rabble,” he said, indicating the  white and red football shirts that lined the carriage. “We’ve had a win, that’s all.  Sheffield United that is.  So are you on holiday?  Vacation?”
    Tayte was still a little wired