Edgar spent one day doing business in London, and on the third day we boarded the bus back to Cambridge, prepared to stay overnight in a small hotel at night, and returned to London the next afternoon.
Except for the shortage of supplies, Cambridge was almost unchanged from before the war. You can neither hear the sound of roaring bombers, nor see the heavily armed National Guard on duty in shifts. The domed academic halls and churches are spread out under the blue sky, and the stone statues on the side of the street remain as they were in the last century. In the summer of August, unknown white flowers bloom in the dense green shade of the roadside trees, dyeing the air with a sweet and greasy fragrance.
Looking at the young people hurrying by on the street, I almost forgot that we were fighting a war.
Carrying the drawing board on his back, Edgar walked through the cafes and bars we used to frequent, taking pencils to draw rows of polished goblets on the bar counter and the wind chimes hanging by the windows. He sketched for me, sitting under the leafy oak tree, smiling gently: "Alan, you are still so pretty."
He asked me: "Are you and Andy Meng happy?"
I held the book: "Happiness."
He put away the sketchbook, carefully put it into the backpack, and said, "This contains my happiness."
I accompanied Edgar to see the rental apartment where he used to live. The landlord opened the door with a key, and the rusty lock creaked. Everything was cleared after he left, except for a bed and a lame desk. There are four tiny depressions in the floor in front of the window, where he has long kept his easel.
I looked around and saw the square marks of the picture frame left on the wallpaper, which had been mottled by time.
When Edgar left, I came here to pack up the things he left behind, and saw oil paintings all over the wall, each of which was me. I'm laughing, I'm sitting under a tree reading, I'm solving math problems, I'm flirting with pretty girls. My hair is not light blond, and my gray-blue eyes have never looked so good on canvas, but Andermond's me is the center of the canvas, eclipsing everything around me.
Ed was standing in the middle of the empty room, pointing to the brown marks left by the picture frame and smiling at me: "It used to be full of my happiness today."
"I came back this time to collect happiness." He said, "Ellen, you will always remember our time together, won't you?"
At that moment I didn't know what to say.
"Don't say that, it sounds like you'll never come back after leaving this time! You can come back when the war is over. If you like this place, you can buy a small house to live in. You'll meet here The girl I really like is just like when I met me..." I was a little overwhelmed: "I just saw the notice of the house for sale. It's a very beautiful neighborhood. If you like it, we can go and see it now."
He came over and hugged me gently: "I may never come back."
"No, you'll survive. You're saying German planes are too stupid to hit you, are you?" I demanded, grabbing his arm.
Edgar didn't answer, he just looked at my face intently.
His expression looked a little sad.
After a long, long time, I sighed: "Alan, you will never understand. I sincerely hope that things end differently."
During the vacation time, I was able to calm down and think about the code that the decryption machine could not decipher by myself. I wrote the password silently in a notebook, and I took it out to read when Edgar was drawing. It makes one feel like stepping back in time to a few years ago, when I first met Andrémon. At that time, Edgar and I got along in the same way. He painted oil paintings, and I studied Andermond's cipher, spending all day and all day in the open-air cafe by the River Cam.
He asked me, "A math problem again?"
I nodded: "It's hard to die."
It was evening, on the large terrace of our hotel. The food during the war was not very good. After dinner, we leaned on the railing and watched the scenery.
I don't know if it's an illusion, but I think Edgar's face suddenly darkened.
I considered countless variations of "fan", none of which could piece together a complete meaning. I began to speculate on what system needed a new cipher—unfortunately, only one copy was in hand, and it might be a lot better if I could intercept some more of these ciphertexts.
While drinking coffee the next day, I dialed the switchboard at Plimpton Manor from the hotel phone booth, and asked the operator to transfer to Captain Colin, the Air Force liaison officer, and asked him if there was any trend for the Luftwaffe to replace the new intelligence system.
Captain Colin's voice was muffled, and he sounded like he was trying to bite into the fried meat for breakfast. He complained: "...Damn it, it's so hard. Can't you get some good beef? I'll go to office No. 1 to deliver today's flight schedule later, and I'll tell you when the time comes."
"I'm on leave," I said. "My friend is back from the RAF base and I'm on leave with him."
"It's the one who communicates with you often... what's his name?"
"Edgar. Edgar. Hierrat. I'm going to be terribly nervous if I don't see the red-bottomed letterhead for two months."
"Letter paper with a red background?" Colin raised his voice.
"Air Force special letterhead, the kind with the queen's crown on the lower right corner." I replied nonchalantly.
There was no sound on the other end of the phone. After a while, Captain Colin reminded me hesitantly: "Alan, no one has used the red letter paper for a long time. We are using the blue version now, with a small line at the bottom: Long Live Britain."
In the warm English summer, I feel as if a basin of cold water has been poured down.
"The letterhead you mentioned, we didn't use it three years ago."
In other words, when Edgar reported to the air force base, this letterhead had already been withdrawn from use.
My voice was a little trembling: "Can you check the list of active pilots here? Help me check Edgar. Hillrat. He was enlisted in the summer of 1939."
Pushing away the room, breakfast is already on the table in the living room, simple sandwiches, fried eggs and coffee. We shared a suite, and Edgar picked up the coffee pot and poured me a cup of black coffee, a little regretful: "There are only these, you can't expect better ones. The kitchen said that steak can only be served at noon and evening."
I picked up my coffee cup and sat on the sofa, watching Edgar open the fitting room and change into a black dress. It was the wide neckline style I liked, adorned with a diamond brooch, and it looked heroic with his Greek-ish face and curly hair.
I feel chills all over.
"Honey, isn't it pretty?" He turned to look at me.
"It matches your figure and looks great." I said, "Where do you want to go today?"
He came over and kissed my forehead: "I'm not going anywhere, just stay with me in the hotel for a day. Oh, Alan, you look beautiful today too."
"I want to visit the old library."
"Don't go, honey." He looked at me: "Why don't you drink coffee?"
"Because it's poisonous."
Edgar's body shook suddenly, he took a step back, and folded his arms defensively. His face suddenly changed, unbelievable: "How do you know?"
"I guess." I pointed to his suit: "You all changed into black suits to mourn for me. I just called my friend at the Royal Air Force Command, and he said that the 11th Brigade and 13th Squadron commanded by Major General Parker did not have Ed. Jia. The name Hilrat. My dear, where have you been these two years?"
I heard Edgar curse: "Damn the intelligence agency."
He quickly recovered his expression and walked towards me firmly: "Allen, drink up the coffee. Be good, I'll tell you when I'm done."
I went to the window and poured the coffee. Buildings in Cambridgeshire are generally not tall, but our room was on the top floor, and the pedestrians looking down on the street from here were the size of chess pieces.
I pretended to be calm: "Do you know the intelligence agency?"
"I know you work for the intelligence system."
"When?" I asked.
"From the very beginning. From the moment you chased after Andrémon Garcia." He sighed. "You should really have read my letter and accepted that position at the Institute of Mathematics, Alan. If you had quit British intelligence, things can't get that bad."
"You work for the Germans?"
"My name is Schilrath. If you haven't noticed, it's a German surname. My father is German."
Wearing a black dress, Edgar walked step by step from the shadow of the room to the sunny windowsill.
He was comforting me, his voice was gentle all the time.
"Alan, your hands are shaking."
"It's actually not terrible. Drink it, and it will be over soon."
"...you'll experience a wonderful sleep."
Edgar was only a head taller than I was, and I thought we could have had a fair fight. When I got very close, I suddenly arched and punched him in the stomach. He sideways away. My center of gravity was unstable, I staggered a few steps forward, and suddenly felt a stabbing pain in the back of my neck.
The tingling sensation quickly spread throughout my body, paralyzing my muscles, making me unable to stand still and throwing my body forward. As if the lungs were resisting paralysis, they gasped involuntarily.
Edgar reached out and caught me just in time.
He put away the electric shock device and stroked my back in a comforting way: "The current exceeds 10 milliamps, and you will be weak for a while."
All the muscles were collectively paralyzed after a momentary twitch. I could only let Edgar hug me by the shoulders, and with the other hand, he raised his knees and hugged me horizontally. He carried me into the bedroom, pushed away the crumpled sheep blanket, and put me on the bed.
He refilled a cup of black coffee, took a sip himself, and then lowered his head to meet my lips. The oral muscles have been paralyzed, and the brown coffee flows down the corners of the mouth onto the white sheets. Edgar persevered and took a few sips in a row, then took out a handkerchief and patiently wiped the water marks for me.
"I warned you about the black shirts, Alan. You shouldn't have anything to do with them."
"Don't worry, it's just sleeping pills, you won't die. I can't disobey the orders of my superiors, but I can take you to a place where no one will ever find you. You won't suffer, and you won't leave me."
"If you just drank coffee without knowing anything, what a perfect ending. You will sleep innocently, oh, Ellen." He kissed my forehead: "My sleeping Beauty."
Sleepiness overwhelmed me. I could feel Edgar unbuttoning my dressing gown, his thick lips down my neck. However, I can't do anything, I can only sink into nothingness in a daze.
In the last moment of consciousness, I sadly thought that I might never see Andremon again.
My Andrew.