6
Adam steadily blinks at me while he tries to process what I’ve just said.
‘Are you suggesting that this is a photograph of my great-grandfather and your great-grandmother?’ he asks, his eyes now wide. ‘It can’t be … can it?’
‘I know, it sounds crazy, but I’m sure this is her. I have seen a few photos before and even you said she looked a bit like me.’
Adam takes hold of the photo again and studies it. ‘She does look like you. What are the odds they both knew each other?’
‘Bit crazy, isn’t it?’
‘Too right considering we’ve only just met. So this really is your great-grandmother?’ He looks up at me.
‘It is.’
‘We definitely know this is my great-grandfather, because the other photos say Archibald Darcy on the back and there’s the newspaper clippings too.’
‘What newspaper clippings?’
Adam reaches behind him and pulls an old scrapbook out of the suitcase. ‘Here, I had a quick flick through when we were first looking at the photos.’
He passes me the scrapbook and I open the front cover. Inside are pages of newspaper clippings, mainly from the 1930s and 1940s.
Professor Archibald Darcy – a clipping from the Cambridge Daily News states – of the Cavendish Laboratory, Cambridge, welcomes new students at the beginning of the Michaelmas Term. And there’s a photo of Archie in a tweed suit, a long gown and a mortar board.
Professor Archibald Darcy opens the new wing of the Cavendish Laboratory.
Professor Archibald Darcy on why Cambridge University is the best in the world for the study of Physics – and it goes on, with clipping after clipping from mainly local newspapers, until the surprising headline in The Times newspaper of Professor Archibald Darcy, formally of the Cavendish Laboratory in Cambridge, goes missing .
‘Have you seen this?’ I ask Adam as I tap the page. ‘It says your great-grandfather went missing in 1945. Did you know?’
‘It does ring a bell,’ Adam says, screwing up his face trying to remember. ‘Someone might have mentioned it to me at some stage – I can’t really recall. What else does it say?’
‘ Professor Archibald Darcy has been reported as missing by his wife, Violet. The professor was last seen leaving the university grounds on Thursday. Cambridge police are investigating the matter, but there are currently not thought to be suspicious circumstances surrounding the professor’s disappearance. ’
‘Can I see?’ Adam has a quick read, then looks back through a few pages of the album. ‘It says on this newspaper clipping that he resigned from the Cavendish Laboratory in 1940, but they didn’t know what he was going on to do.’
‘Bit odd, isn’t it?’ I ask. ‘He left a distinguished and I imagine well-paid job that was clearly very well respected both within the university and the city, and then a few years later he disappeared?’
‘I don’t know – these things happen, don’t they?
’ Adam says, clearly not quite as intrigued by the possible mystery as I am.
‘Perhaps he had a breakdown or something, and went off the rails for a bit. It was wartime after all. Today we’d be more likely to recognise it as mental illness and he’d be given help.
But back then it was either covered up or just not diagnosed as such. ’
I shouldn’t be, but I’m surprised at Adam’s empathetic and informed reaction.
‘What?’ he asks, making me jump as I realise I’ve been simply gazing at him while I think.
‘Nothing … I’m just trying to think what this could all mean?’
‘Maybe it’s as simple as they knew each other back then and it’s just coincidence that we’ve bumped into each other now all these years later? They both lived in Cambridge then, didn’t they? I doubt Cambridge was as big a city in the forties as it is now.’
‘Perhaps …’ I reply to be polite, but I’m not happy with this explanation.
I want to know why and how they knew each other.
Whereas Adam just seems happy to let it go.
As always, he seems relaxed and chilled about this new discovery, whereas I want to get to the bottom of the mystery. ‘You don’t suppose …’ I say casually.
‘I don’t suppose what?’ Adam asks.
‘You don’t suppose they might have had an affair or something like that? I mean, the photo in itself wouldn’t suggest that – it is quite a formal composition. But the fact it was hidden away in this photograph album suggests there might be more to it?’
Adam grins. ‘I thought that too, but I thought you might take offence if I suggested your great-grandmother had had an affair. She seems like quite the folklore hero within your family.’
‘I didn’t say she was that. Just that no one knew exactly what happened to her.’
‘So you think she could have had an affair and then disappeared?’
I don’t want to think that, but I have to admit it’s a possibility.
‘Perhaps. But would she really leave her young child? I’m not a mother, but I could only imagine what a wrench that would be. I can’t see her just upping and leaving her daughter over an affair, especially not back then.’
‘True.’
‘What about your great-grandfather – would he be capable of having an affair?’
‘I have no idea, I never met him. Most of what I know about him I’ve discovered today with you. As far as I’m aware, he was happily married to his wife, Violet.’
‘I guess we can never truly know, and really, what does it matter now? It makes no difference to us, does it?’
‘Unless we are distantly related, of course?’ Adam says, raising an eyebrow.
I stare at him for a moment, but I don’t have time to work out why the thought of that possibility makes me panic so, because my rational brain kicks in.
‘Impossible. Dotty only had one child – my grandmother.’
‘So … it’s possible she was Archie’s child. If they did have an affair.’
‘But my grandmother was born in 1943. That photo of them together was taken in 1940.’
‘Affairs can go on for some time.’
‘I’ve seen my grandmother’s birth certificate. I saw everything when she died. My great-grandfather was called Harrison; Harry was definitely listed as her father.’
‘OK, fair enough,’ Adam says, shrugging. ‘We’ll go with it’s highly unlikely we’re related.’
‘What do you mean unlikely ? Are you saying Dotty lied on my grandmother’s birth certificate? Why would she do that? Do you want us to be related?’
‘No, I most certainly do not,’ he says quickly. ‘Do you?’
‘No, of course not.’
We sit on the floor in silence for a few seconds. Both of us thinking this through.
‘Do you think that’s why my grandfather asked you to do his house clearance?’ Adam asks, breaking the silence. ‘Because he knew about the connection between our two families?’
‘Possibly. Don’t forget he used to visit Clockmaker Court too. Remember what Ben told us.’
‘Ben!’ we both say at the same time.
‘Do you think he might remember Archie if he knew George?’ I ask hopefully. ‘He’d only be young if Archie went missing in 1945. But it might be worth a shot?’
‘When will you see him next?’
I think about this. ‘He should be in Monday. I’ll ask him then.’
‘Great, let’s hope he can help us solve this mystery.’
‘It’s hardly a mystery. We’d just like to know how they knew each other, that’s all.’
‘And maybe what their relationship was?’ Adam says to remind me. ‘I’ve a feeling that small detail might become quite important too.’
*
Adam and I do as much sorting and boxing-up as we can for the rest of the afternoon, and then we call it a day at around 6 p.m.
‘I don’t know about you, but I’m exhausted,’ Adam says, stretching his arms above his head as we lift the last of the boxes for today into the hire van. ‘I think I’ll take a hot shower, grab something to eat and head to bed if it’s going to be like this again tomorrow.’
A brief vision of Adam in the shower slips into my mind and I hastily shake it away.
Where the hell did that come from? I arrange the boxes and items in the van so they don’t fall during my journey back to my lock-up.
I can’t deny that Adam is an attractive man …
if you like that type – cocky, confident and likely a bit too fond of looking at themselves in the mirror.
Adam is certainly not what I look for in a man – if I was even looking, of course. Which I’m not. Not after the last time.
‘Are you all right in there?’ Adam calls from outside the van. ‘You’ve gone a bit quiet.’
‘Yes, yes, I’m fine.’ I come back out to the doors again. ‘Just sorting a few things.’
‘Who’s going to help you lift all this out at the other end?’ Adam asks, looking behind me at the inside of the van.
I didn’t realise when we started this morning that there was going to be quite as much stuff for me to take back to the lock-up tonight. ‘I’ll manage.’
‘Come on,’ Adam says. ‘Even you aren’t going to be able to move all this stuff on your own, Superwoman! I’ll help you.’
‘No, you’ve done enough already – really, you have.’
‘I know you don’t think much of me, Eve. But I’m not going to leave a damsel in distress. Come on, let me drive back with you and help you offload.’
I have to admit the thought of having to unload the van on my own is quite daunting – especially when I feel as exhausted as I do right now.
‘All right, thank you. I’ll accept your kind offer. If you’re sure?’
‘I never say anything I don’t mean,’ Adam says firmly. ‘You’ll soon learn that about me. Now, am I allowed to help you down from there? Or is that incredibly chauvinistic of me?’
I smile. ‘Sure.’ I hold out my hand, Adam takes it and I jump down.
‘There,’ he says, still holding my hand. ‘That wasn’t too bad now, was it?’
I assume he means holding his hand. But when I don’t immediately respond, he adds, ‘Letting someone help you?’
‘Er, no, it wasn’t.’
‘Are you sure you’re all right?’ he asks. ‘You look a bit flushed?’
‘I’m fine. I was just thinking about when I would be likely to see Ben so I can ask him about your great-grandfather,’ I reply quickly.
‘I thought you said it wouldn’t be until Monday?’