“The receptionist on the phone asked me the same,” I tell Dad. He frowns and shakes his head. Theo sits back in his chair and stares into space, pondering this.
“It’s rare, but not unheard-of for people to be missed,” he says thoughtfully. “There were extensive records kept at the headquarters in Baker Street, but many were destroyed at the end of the war—some intentionally because the administration staff didn’t understand how important they’d be in the future, although most were destroyed accidentally. I suppose if other agents only knew you by your code name and your file was destroyed, it’s possible Harry Read has been trying to contact you but didn’t know who he was looking for.”
“These files at Baker Street contained our real names?” Dad asks.
“As a general rule, yes.”
Dad and I share a hopeful look.
“So all we need to do is find the file for Remy.”
“Ah, that’s the thing, Mr. Ainsworth.” Noah winces. “What remains is still, for the most part, highly classified.”
Dad deflates, sagging forward over his tea. I feel myself do the same.
“Surely there is some way…” I say.
“The only person who has access to the remaining files is Professor Read but I can assure you he takes that privilege very seriously. And it’s not like there’s one great big list of everyone’s code names or their real names, or even a directory of contact information for the agents who survived. The remaining records are complex and fragmented and require expert interpretation. So… Perhaps Professor Read does know of an agent code-named Remy, but he couldn’t tell you even if he does.” Theo offers a gentle smile. “Noah, even the fact that he has never tracked you down should tell you how patchy those surviving records are.”
“This archival interview,” Dad asks cautiously. “What would that be like, then?”
“It’s just a conversation about your memories, usually recorded or at least transcribed. Nothing too threatening.” I can tell from the pinched expression on my father’s face that to him this sounds plenty threatening. Theo smiles again. “Mr. Ainsworth, I spoke to quite a few agents when I was completing my Master’s degree. Not one of those stories was ordinary, and that’s how I know you must have a remarkable story, too.”
A strange shiver runs through my body as I’m reminded of the courage Dad must have shown in those days and the strength it must have taken to build the life I’ve shared with him when it was all over. Dad shifts uncomfortably on his chair.
“There has to be a way to find this man,” I say firmly. “How many agents were there? Surely this isn’t that difficult.”
“Hundreds,” Dad tells me grimly and Theo nods. Hundreds? I’d almost imagined we might find a list of a dozen or so names somewhere and we could investigate them one by one.
“I hope you understand,” Theo says, dropping his voice. “It’s not that Harry—Professor Read—won’t want to help. He’s a good man and I know he would understand your dilemma. But he takes this work very seriously, and so he should. If he were to use his privileged access to those records for any purposes outside of the commission he’s been given as the official historian, it would be the end of his career—he may even face jail time. But this isn’t a dead end forever. One day, the government will declassify enough of those records to allow Harry to publish a book on the subject. He may help you then, or you may be able to find some answers yourself just by reading it.”
“Is this book likely to happen soon, Mr. Sinclair?” I ask.
“Please, call me Theo. There really is no way to tell. Harry has been in the process of seeking permission to publish such a piece of work for well over a decade.”
Elsewhere in the church I can hear the other groups, the sounds of a distant choir and children playing, even the murmur of voices as people share their souls. I wonder what happens to my father if this really is a dead end to his quest before it’s even really begun. Does he go back to working long hours and losing weight and feeling every bit as miserable as I feel every day. Is that just who he is now that Mum is gone? I hate the very idea of that.
I can hear the finality in Theo’s voice and I know he’s trying to wind this discussion to a close, but I can’t accept that. I reach across and place my hand on his forearm and drop my voice to a plea as I say, “Theo. Please. There has to be something you can do. This means so much to Dad.”
“It’s okay, Lottie—” Dad starts to say, but I see a softening in Theo’s face as he looks from my hand back to my eyes. A spark of hope flares to life in my chest.
“The best I could offer would be to try to speak to Harry on your behalf,” Theo says hesitantly, but when Dad and I immediately brighten, he hastens to add, “I don’t know that it will do us any good, but I could make a call for you.” Then he sighs and adds, “At the very least I know Mrs. White will be more helpful if I’m on the other end of the line.”
Dad and I exchange numbers with Theo then start the drive back to Liverpool. The rain is pelting down now as I stare out the window, watching the blurred lights inside the houses passing by. I think about the families putting their children into bed, parents sitting before a television to relax at last after a long day. All I can remember about the night before Mum died is that it rained just like this. I can’t help but wonder how many people innocently going about their lives tonight have no idea that it is the last time they are sitting with someone they love.
“He seemed very smart. Knowledgeable and helpful,” Dad says, startling me out of my reverie.
“He also seemed pessimistic, Dad,” I say reluctantly.
“Perhaps it was foolish for me to think I could find a man I’ve not seen for twenty-six years when I don’t know the first thing about him.”
I don’t know what to say to that. I’d have to lie to say I’m not having the same concerns.
“Dad, you must have seen things…done things…” I break off uncertainly. “It must have been very difficult for you during the war. Is that why…why you never…” God, it’s hard for me to even ask him about it. No wonder he’s never spoken freely about that time.
“Right after the war, I put all of that era into a box in my mind and closed the lid so I could marry your mother and build a life with her. But this is exactly why I am so determined to at least try to look back now. It’s overdue, love. I need to try to find Remy and I need…” Dad breaks off, then sucks in a breath. “I need to make some sense of it all. My memories of that time are so muddled, and sometimes when I think about those days, feelings float by me and they don’t make much sense out of context. It’s hard to look back, but I’ve run long enough. I need to make peace with whatever happened back then.” Dad reaches forward and turns the radio on, but he keeps the volume low. His voice is barely a whisper as he adds, “If you have questions, and I imagine you do, I will try to answer them. But as you’ve probably already noticed, there’s a lot I’m not sure of. A lot I don’t know.”