Chapter 2 Chapter two

It was more than two years before I returned to England.It's been a rough time.I wrote to Sophia and often heard back from her.Her letter, like my letter to her, was not a love letter.It is a letter between some close friends-talking about some personal thoughts and feelings of daily life.Yet I know that on my part, and I believe Sophia's as well, our mutual affection has grown stronger. I returned to England on a cloudy day in September.The leaves of the trees shone golden in the evening light.The wind blows in gusts.I sent a telegram to Sofia from the airport. "Just got back. Dinner with you at 'Mario' tonight at nine o'clock. Charlie."

A few hours later, I sat reading The Times; scanning the Births, Marriages, and Funerals columns, my eye was caught by the name "Leonides": Her late husband Aristotle Rimonez mourned in Svenli on September 19th, at the age of eighty-five.Widow Brenda Leonides is in charge. Then came another obituary: Xianyan Reed Leonides unfortunately died suddenly in his own house in the three-story gabled house in Svenli, and his unfilial son led all his grandchildren to weep blood.Please send the flower basket (circle) to St. Wendry Church in Svenli. I found these two obituaries a bit odd.It seems that the newspaper office failed to check for a while, so it was published repeatedly.But all I could think about was Sophia.I hastily sent her a second telegram:

"Just read about the passing of my great-grandfather. Deeply saddened. Tell me when I can see you, Charlie." At six o'clock I received a telegram from Sophia at my father's house: "I'll be at 'Mario' at nine. Sophia." The thought of seeing Sophia again made me both nervous and excited.The hours that followed were maddeningly long.I was waiting at "Mario" twenty minutes early.Sophia was only five minutes late. It's always a shock to meet again someone you haven't seen in a long time but who's always been on your mind.When Sofia finally walks through the revolving door of the restaurant, it feels as if our meeting wasn't real.She was dressed in black, which was a bit odd, which took me by surprise!Most of the other women were also dressed in black, but I thought it was actual mourning - and I was surprised that Sophia would be the kind of person who would actually wear mourning - even for a close relative.

We drank cocktails - then went to find a table and sat down.Our conversations were quick and eager—asking each other how some of the friends we'd met in Cairo were up to.It was some artificial conversation, but it saved us from the embarrassment of first meeting.I offer my condolences on the passing of her grandfather, and Sofia calmly says it happened "very suddenly".Then we talked about the past again.I began to feel uncomfortably that something was wrong--I mean, something other than the natural awkwardness of seeing each other again at first.There was something wrong with Sophia herself, something really wrong.Maybe she'll tell me she's found someone she likes better?Told me that her feelings for me were "all just a mistake"?

I can't help but think that's not the case - I don't know what's wrong.We continued our artificial conversation. Then, quite suddenly, after the waiter brought the coffee to the table and bowed away, everything came into focus.Sofia and I are sitting here, as before, at a small table in a restaurant.Years of separation, as if never happened. "Sophia," I said. And she said quickly, "Charlie!" I breathed a sigh of relief. "Thank goodness it's over," I said. "What's going on between us?" "Maybe it's my fault. I'm stupid."

"But it's all right now?" "Yes, it's all right now." We smile at each other. "Honey!" I said. "How soon will you marry me?" Her smile disappeared.What was wrong came back. "I don't know," she said. "Charlie, I'm not sure if I can marry you." "But, Sophia! Why not? Because I'm a stranger to you? You need time to get used to me again? Someone else? No—" I broke off. "I'm a fool. There's no such thing." "No such thing." She shook her head.I am waiting.She said in a low voice:

"It's because my grandfather died." "Your grandfather died? But why? What difference does it make? You don't mean—of course you don't mean—a question of money? He didn't leave any money? But, of course, my dearest— —” "It's not about the money," she smiled softly. "I think you'd quite like to marry me, even if I was poor enough to wear underwear. As the old saying goes. Besides, Grandpa never lost a dime in his life." "Then why?" "Just because he died--you know, Charlie, I don't think he just--died. I think he might have been--killed..."

I stared at her with wide open eyes. "But—that's too much imagination. How could you think so?" "I'm not just imagining it. First the doctor was weird. He wouldn't sign the death certificate. They're going to do an autopsy. Obviously they suspect there's something wrong." I didn't argue with her.Sophia has plenty of brains; any conclusions she draws are solid. The opposite of.I said eagerly: "Their suspicions may not be correct. But aside from that, if they are correct, how does it affect things between you and me?" "It may affect under certain circumstances. You serve in the diplomatic service. They pay special attention to the wives of diplomatic staff. No - please don't say what you are trying to say, I know what you are going to say. You must would say that - and I believe you mean it - and theoretically, I quite agree. But I have dignity - tough dignity. I want our marriage to be a good thing for everyone ──I will never ask you to sacrifice for love! Besides, as I said, maybe it will be all right..."

"You mean the doctor—perhaps misjudged?" "Even if he's wrong, it doesn't matter - as long as the right people killed him." "What do you mean, Sophia?" "It's a nasty thing to say. But, after all, one has to be honest." She continued ahead of me. "No, Charlie, I won't say any more. Maybe I've said too much. But I'm determined to come to you tonight--to see you and to make you understand. There's nothing we can do until the matter is cleared up." decide anything." "At least you have to tell me."

She shook her head. "I do not want to say." "But—Sophia—" "No, Charlie. I don't want you to see us from my perspective. I want you to see us through the unbiased eyes of outsiders." "So what should I do?" She looked at me, an eerie gleam in her bright blue eyes. "You'll know from your father," she said. I told Sophia in Cairo that my father was Deputy Superintendent of Scotland Yard.He is still employed.Hearing what she said, I felt a chill in my heart. "Is it that serious?" "I suppose so. Do you see a man sitting alone at the table by the door?—somewhat handsome, stocky veteran?"

"Ok." "I saw him on the platform at Svenley this evening when I got on the train." "You mean he followed you here?" "Yes. I think we're all—how should I put it?—under their watch. They've hinted at us more or less not to leave the house. But I want to see you." Her small, square jaw moved defiantly. A sudden. "I climbed down the pipe from the bathroom window." "Dear!" "The police are efficient, though, and, of course. There's that telegram I sent you. Oh—whatever—we're here—together . . . but from now on, we'll go our separate ways." She paused, then added: "Unfortunately—and without a doubt—we love each other." "Without a doubt," I said. "Don't call it misfortune. You and I have been through the world wars, and we have survived too many sudden deaths--I don't know why just because of an old man's sudden death-by the way, how old is he?" "Eighty-five." "Certainly. It's in the Times. If you ask me, he's at the end of his life, and any decent doctor should accept that fact." "If you knew my grandfather," said Sophia, "you'd be surprised how he could have died!"