At first Arnold didn't tell me about Andymond's quarantine. I just feel like I haven't seen him in a long time. During this period of time, Arnold seemed to have a lot of free time suddenly, and he started dating me in different ways.
I have moved back to my original place of residence. Every Sunday, I still go to the general's mansion to make up lessons for Young Master Qiao. The little boy is actually much more honest, he doesn't need me to look around the house, he sits in the study in advance and waits for me. Arnold was also in the study. He pretended to be busy, turned the book up and down, opened the window for a while to get some air, and asked "Is Alan hungry? I'll go to the kitchen and ask the servant to make some snacks." Finally, he pushed the little kid away from the desk and sat down. Next to me, spread out a book: "I'm very interested in mathematics recently, can you help me find out what this sentence means?"
The little kid tugged at his sleeve: "Cousin, your book is upside down."
Arnold coughed, silently put away Newton's "Mathematical Principles of Natural Philosophy", touched his nose, and sat back.
The fact that he stopped picking up girls made me extremely disturbed.
People are always looking for joy in dark days. The Cambridge Mathematics Club I was a member of held a small, private party with only professors and students from the mathematics department. I also went after receiving the invitation to see if I could meet people I knew and recommend job opportunities.
That party was in the back garden of a professor's house, and I met Arnold again. People chatted in small circles in twos and threes, and he walked towards where I was sitting with a glass of wine in his hand, smiling.
I asked him: "Why don't you pick up girls anymore, are you free to attend this kind of party?"
He raised his wine glass generously and winked at me in public: "Little Allen, I'm picking you up!"
I had to shrug to the person next to me: "He was joking."
There was a dessert at the party that is usually hard to find, so I found a small round table to sit down and concentrate on eating plum pudding. There are four or five people discussing calculus gathered around the garden fence five or six meters away. Suddenly I heard a girl say: "Then you work in the golf and chess club?"
The person who answered was hidden far behind the crowd, wearing a soft hat and a scarf, his voice was very cold: "It's about."
The girl's voice was very sweet: "My name is Emily Rotter, and I have published papers on abstract algebra in "Science and Logic."
I suddenly remembered who she was. We were in the math club together, and she recommended my group theory paper to Dr. Watt in London in the third grade.
"I'm staying at school to teach now," Emily continued, "Several friends have gone to the United States, Europe is not safe... Speaking of which, there is an Alan who is still in Cambridge and writes group theory—maybe you have heard of this name ?”
I looked over there in surprise.
The man also seemed taken aback: "You mean Alan Custer? What is he doing now?"
Emily raised her chin towards me, and raised her curly hair that covered her face: "That chestnut-haired one is. He doesn't seem to be doing anything now, and he is a tutor on weekends. Alan is actually quite talented. "
Although I was busy fighting with "fans", in the eyes of others, I really did nothing - I spent the last two years of college shutting myself in the activity room of the mathematics club to write an unpublished thesis, and I did not enter mathematics after graduation. Research or university institutions. I nodded in the direction they were speaking, but the man who asked the question stood up.
I couldn't see his face clearly through the crowd, but he took off his bonnet and bowed slightly to greet me.
Then he sat back and hid himself among the chatting crowd.
"For 'fans,'" he said.
The sound was not too loud, just enough to be heard.
Arnold sat next to me and chatted happily with the girl. After a while, he looked back in the direction of the man in confusion: "Alan, who is the man over there? I think he has been looking at you."
During this war, men over the age of seventeen all joined the army one after another. The conscription office lined up across a long street, and there were propaganda and speeches about fighting for Britain everywhere. There were constant conflicts between the black shirts who supported the Nazis and citizens, and rumors abounded. fly. The government brought scientists together and formed the Operations Research Group (OR Office). I have friends who work in government labs, studying the best configurations for torpedoes and how to fire anti-aircraft guns effectively. Anderson once told me that mathematics is a terrible subject. When mathematicians come out of paper and books and throw it into war as a weapon, it becomes the most terrible weapon.
In the later London air raids, we increased from one Nazi plane hit by every 200 anti-aircraft guns to one every 20 rounds, which is the result of the operations research team.
It's a battle without smoke, and I want to do something about it.
I told Arnold, and he would only comfort me like this: "Alan, you don't have to do anything, just calm down and have a relationship with me."
I tried it with him.
At that time, he already knew about Andermeng's isolation and review, and even the reason, but he didn't say a word to me. He just kept going on dates with me, taking me to the movies, to the park, to the concerts of Polish musicians in exile in the UK. In the darkness of the movie theater, he put his arms around my waist and asked me: "Little Alan, how about you dump Andymond and live with me for the rest of your life?"
I reminded him: "We broke up in the first place."
In the dark, Arnold ripped off the collar of my coat and kissed my neck. He whispered in my ear: "I want you to get rid of him from your heart and stay with me. I don't have as much responsibility as him. I have a job. I can give you a lifetime of mathematics. We can do it every week. They all go out to watch movies holding hands like this. What do you think?"
At that time, there was a couple in love kissing in the street on the screen. I stared at the screen and pretended not to hear it.
After a long time, Arnold moved his lips away and sighed.
The little kid is the most miserable, being forced by his cousin to show up in the study room on time for class, forcing to forward me roses, forcing to throw away the picture book and replace it all with an arithmetic book.
I held a rose and told Arnold expressionlessly: "You can give it to me yourself."
He put his hands in his pockets and came out from behind the door: "Honey, I like to surprise you."
He asked me, "Ellen, we've been dating for a month, do you feel it?"
I thought about it for a moment, and answered honestly: "No."
The psychiatrist seemed very disappointed. He slumped into the chair and raised his neck: "Damn it! But I have feelings, what should I do?!"
Arnold feels it every day when he picks up girls, so of course he knows what to do, so don't worry about it.
I received the invitation letter from MIH on a December afternoon.
The next morning I went to 367 Queen's Road in London and met Mr. Bruce. It was a top-secret institution, there was no sign on the house number, and everyone walking around in it wore military uniforms. Mr. Bruce is a senior officer and wears a navy uniform. He received me from behind his desk.
He highly praised my work of deciphering "fans" and asked me if I would like to join the "Golf and Chess Research Association".
"Alan Custer, will you go down the road of Mr and Mrs Custer? Serve His Majesty the King and the British people where no one can see?"
I swear I will.
A series of tedious qualification checks followed. I was quarantined for about three days. The naval officer named Bruce repeatedly confirmed whether my name was "Alan Custer", asked me a lot of experiences and details of being with my parents when I was a child, and compared me with the people in the portfolio. Photos double-checked.
The forty-year-old man smiled behind his spectacles: "I'll tell you one thing, Alan. We received your materials very early, and the materials show that you have excellent abilities. But Mr. Garcia has always thought that you You cannot be trusted, so I refuse to let you join Plimpton Manor. Now, our Sir C believes that you are worthy of trust. He not only trusts you, but also trusts your family."
At that moment, I was at a loss: "Who is Sir C?"
I later learned that Arnold was engaged in a life-and-death struggle while I was trying to get in a relationship with Andy and forget about him. On the surface, he looks like a leisurely swimmer, but in fact, he has been standing at the gate of hell, and if he is not careful, he will be dragged into the abyss. At that time, the Navy's independent intelligence agency was to be merged into MI6, and they wanted to introduce their own leader. The Linton incident happened to be a fuse. Thinking carefully, how could Linton bribe two internal spies with Linton's ability alone? Someone is secretly supporting him. No one knows how many people's interests have been affected by this matter.
What's more, there are powers that I can't see, such as Whitehall and Sir C. The latter's views can overturn the decision that Anderson made to me, and even decide that the highest boss of MI6 in the future will be Anderson. Or the Navy Department.
Going deeper, Linton is not the whole story. Andemont concealed the truth of one thing for me. It was the whole reason Andremund prevented me from entering Plimpton Park.
And the seriousness of this matter was enough to make him lose the trust of Whitehall and accept a severe three-month quarantine review.
During his absence, I obtained the right to enter the Plimpton Manor and a formal and honorable job-in charge of deciphering the ciphertext of the Seventh Office of the Translating and Translating Division.
The confidentiality of the ciphertext of the Seventh Office was not as high as that of the First Office that Lin Dun came into contact with, so the password system was relatively simple. I entered Plimpton Manor again, and walked through the winding path to the small building where the seventh office was located.
I pushed open the door, put my briefcase on the nearest desk, and greeted my new colleagues.
The new colleague is sitting on the window sill drinking coffee, shoulder-length black curly hair, aquiline nose.
He looked back at me lazily: "Hi, Alan."
I remember this slightly deserted voice I heard at math club meetings.
"For 'fan'" he raised his coffee cup and saluted me for the second time: "You are finally willing to do something serious."