Returning to College, he was greeted by the news that Wilberforce had caught a sparrow during his morning perambulation, which he appeared to have partly eaten, before losing interest and leaving the remains in a pink suede boot belonging to a second year. The second year, who hailed from Kensington and seldom let people forget this, complained vociferously to Michael. The boots, it seemed, were Philip Plein, they had cost an absolute fortune, and Mummy and Daddy were going to be seriously furious over the entire thing.
Michael, who had never heard of Philip Plein, made a mental note to check his provenance with Nell and rather fruitlessly explained to the second year that cats only left these offerings to people they liked. The second year was having none of this. She said it was a disgrace the way flesh-eating predators preyed on poor defenceless little birds and ripped them to shreds, in fact Mummy was president of half-a-dozen wildlife societies and it so happened that the second year was currently canvassing for contributions on Mummy’s behalf.
Michael promised to invoke various insurances for the replacement of the boots, after which he signed up for a twelve-month donation to one of the wildlife societies. The second year was somewhat mollified at this, thought she would replace the pink suede, which was rather last-year, with grey, and helped Michael dispose of the corpse in one of the flower beds.
Honour being satisfied all round, Michael escaped to his rooms to immerse himself in the relative sanity of the essays on the metaphysical poets.
He put what he was already calling the Porringer letters into a drawer, ready to show to Professor Rosendale, and started to read the first of the essays which was by a particularly promising first-year student who was already showing signs of heading for a Double First, providing he could stay on track.
NINE
London
Spring 1944
Dear J.W.
I think I may have been slightly mad or possibly even a little inebriated when I agreed to travel to London to meet Sch?nbrunn. But Sch?nbrunn has that effect on people, so, as you see, here I am and we shall start the search for the Reiss twins at once. I will try to leave poste restante addresses for you, so that if the twins do send a message to their parents (and I pray they will), you can let me know. For the moment, any correspondence sent in care of Drummonds Bank in Charing Cross will reach me.
London is war-torn – not quite as badly as our own Warsaw and Prague, but certainly battered. I have always liked this city, just as I have always liked this country. The British are a resilient race, with a truly remarkable way of seeing humour in misfortune and tragedy. They have made up raucous and very derogatory songs about Hitler, which they sing in their theatres and public houses. Even during an air raid, people in the shelters will make rude gestures to the Luftwaffe, making light of the fact that German bombs might be exploding their homes to splinters as they do so.
I am hoping I pass as sufficiently English not to arouse any suspicion. My knowledge of the language is fairly good, I think, although I am careful not to speak unless necessary, because my accent could so easily be taken to be German. Sch?nbrunn, on the other hand, could pass in almost any country in the world as a native, and he has the most extraordinary gift for blending into any company. I have now been with him into several public houses, and incredibly in each one there is someone who puts up a hand in a gesture of greeting and recognition. Or, of course, it may be that he is simply choosing places where he knows there will be contacts.
You are right not to tell the twins’ parents yet that they have vanished. We should not worry them until we know the truth.
Tomorrow Sch?nbrunn is taking me to a small village in Oxfordshire. This is where the twins and also Leo Rosendale were originally placed – Leo is still there, we believe – so Sch?nbrunn feels that is where we must begin.