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‘and miss winter？ i’d like a quick word with her。 before i go。“
‘miss winter？ i’m afraid she…“
‘won’t see me？“
“can’t see you。” relief flooded her face and sincerity rang out in her voice as at last she was able to say something true。 “believe me； miss lea。 she just can’t。”
whatever it was that judith knew； dr。 clifton knew it； too。
‘whereabouts in cambridge is your father’s shop？“ he wanted to know； and ”does he deal in medical history at all？“ i answered him briefly； more concerned with my own questions than his； and after a time his attempts at small talk came to an end。 as we drove into harrow…gate； the atmosphere in the car was heavy with miss winter’s oppressive silence。
。。
ANGELFIELD AGAIN
．．．
the day before； on the train； i had imagined activity and noise： shouted instructions and arms sending messages in urgent semaphore； cranes； plangent and slow； stone crashing on stone。 instead； as i arrived at the lodge gates and looked toward the demolition site； everything was silent and still。
there was nothing to see； the mist that hung in the air made everything invisible that was more than a short distance away。 even the path was indistinct。 my feet were there one moment； gone the next。 lifting my head； i walked blindly； tracing the path as i remembered it from my last visit； as i remembered it from miss winter’s descriptions。
my mind map was accurate： i came to the garden exactly when i expected to。 the dark shapes of the yew stood like a hazily painted stage set； flattened into two dimensions by the blank background。 like ethereal bowler hats； a pair of domed forms floated on the cloudlike mist； the trunks that supported them fading into the whiteness beneath。 sixty years had left them overgrown and out of shape； but it was easy today to suppose that it was the mist that was softening the geometry of the forms； that when it lifted； it would reveal the garden as it was then； in all its mathematical perfection； set in the grounds not of a demolition site； nor of a ruin； but of a house intact。
half a century； as insubstantial as the water suspended in this air； was ready to evaporate with the first ray of winter sun。
i brought my wrist close to my face and read the time。 i had arranged to meet aurelius； but how to find him in this mist？ i could wander forever without seeing him； even if he passed within arm’s reach。
i called out “hello！” and a man’s voice was carried back to me。
‘hello！“
impossible to tell whether he was distant or close by。 “where are you？”
i pictured aurelius staring into the mist looking for a landmark。
‘i’m next to a tree。“ the words were muffled。
‘so am i；“ i called back。 ”i don’t think yours is the same tree as mine。 you sound too far away。“
‘you sound quite near； though。“
‘do i？ why don’t you stay where you are and keep talking； and i’ll find you！“
‘right you are！ an excellent plan！ though i shall have to think of something to say； won’t i？ how hard it is to speak to order； when it seems so easy the rest of the time… what dismal weather we’re having。 never known murkiness like it。“
and so aurelius thought aloud； while i stepped into a cloud and followed the thread of his voice in the air。
that is when i saw it。 a shadow that glided past me； pale in the watery light。 i think i knew it was not aurelius。 i was suddenly conscious of the beating of my heart； and i stretched out my hand； half fearful； half hopeful。 the figure eluded me and swam out of view。
‘aurelius？“ my voice sounded shaky to my own ears。
‘yes？“
‘are you still there？“
‘of course i am。“
his voice was in quite the wrong direction。 what had i seen？ it was not aurelius。 it must have been an effect of the mist。 afraid of what i might yet see if i waited； i stood still； staring into the aqueous air； willing the figure to appear again。
‘aha！ there you are！“ boomed a great voice behind me。 aurelius。 he clasped my shoulders in his mittened hands as i turned to face him。 ”goodness gracious； margaret； you’re as white as a sheet。 anyone would think you’d seen a ghost！“
we walked together in the garden。 in his overcoat； aurelius seemed even taller and broader than he really was。 beside him； in my mist…gray raincoat； i felt insubstantial。
‘how is your book going？“
‘it’s just notes at the moment。 interviews with miss winter。 and research。“
‘today is research； is it？“
‘yes。“
‘what do you need to know？“
‘i just want to take some photographs。 i don’t think the weather is on my side； though。“
‘you’ll get to see it properly within the hour。 this mist won’t last long。“
we came to a kind of walkway； lined on each side with cones grown so wide that they almost made a hedge。
‘why do you e here； aurelius？“
we strolled on to the end of the path； then into a space where there seemed to be nothing but mist。 when we came to a wall of yew twice as high as aurelius himself； we followed it。 i noticed a sparkling in the grass and on the leaves： the sun had e out。 the moisture in the air began to evaporate and the circle of visibility grew wider by the minute。 our wall of yew had led us full circle around an empty space； we had arrived back at the same walkway we had entered by。
when my question seemed so lost in time that i was not even sure i had asked it； aurelius answered。 “i was born here。”
i stopped abruptly。 aurelius wandered on； unaware of the effect his words had had on me。 i half ran a few paces to catch up with him。
‘aurelius！“ i took hold of the sleeve of his greatcoat。 ”is it true？ were you really born here？“
‘yes。“
‘when？“
he gave a strange； sad smile。 “on my birthday。”
unthinking； i insisted； “yes； but when？”
‘sometime in january； probably。 possibly february。 possibly the end of december； even。 sixty years ago； roughly。 i’m afraid i don’t know any more than that。“
i frowned； remembered what he had told me before about mrs。 love and not having a mother。 but in what circumstances would an adopted child know so little about his original circumstances that he does not even know his own birthday？
‘do yo