time in the television studio in front of an audience, with everyone clapping. Not a dry eye in the house.â
âIâd absolutely hate that.â
âI agree. But it made very good entertainment. Eric was most moved.â
âDid he happen to say how the woman had managed to trace her father?â
âIf he did, I canât remember.â He laid a hand on mine. âListen, darling, what you have to consider very carefully is that your father â
if
heâs still alive â will have a family of his own: children â grandchildren, most probably. Is there really any point in stirring things up? What good would it do? What possible harm? Think about that. He doesnât know that you even exist. Heâs an elderly man now and youâre a middle-aged woman â not Daddyâs little girl to be bounced on his knee and spoilt rotten. That delightful relationship never happened between you, and it never can. And he wonât look like he does in that photo any more. Youâve had one perfectly good and loving father and thereâs no guarantee that youâd care for this man. Lots of people donât actually like their parents at all â theyâre just stuck with them. Why run the terrible risk?â
âIâve thought about all that, Adrian. I wouldnât necessarily want to meet him, or let him know anything about me, but Iâd still like to find out something about
him
.â
âDonât delude yourself. If you trace him, youâll want to meet him. To talk to him, see what heâs like, get to know him. And it could be such a
big
mistake.â
I said slowly, âI wonder if
he
still remembers her in the same way.â
âUnlikely. Letâs be realistic, darling. A wartime romance . . . young people thrown together in high-octane circumstances: alive today, dead tomorrow. And the Americans made hay while the sun shone. He probably canât even remember her name.â
âMy mother was pretty special,â I said. âI think he would have remembered her.â
âOh dear,â he snipped at the grapes again. âI can see youâre quite determined.â
âSo, where do I go next? What do I do?â
He chewed thoughtfully. âThe Americans call their ex-servicemen veterans, donât they? Vets. They must have associations, just like our service people do, and all associations have magazines for their members. Nostalgic articles, reunion photos, terrible poems, letters,
Where Are They Now?
appeals . . . all that sort of thing. If you contact the American Air Force lot who were over here in the Second World War, then you might be able to persuade them to print your photo in their magazine and see if it rings a bell with anyone.â
âHow on earth would I find them?â
He nibbled at another grape. âIf I were you, darling, Iâd start by ringing up the American Embassy.â
Four
It was several weeks before I rang the American Embassy. Now that I had taken the big decision, the need to act on it somehow seemed less pressing, as well as more daunting. Besides, there were other things that demanded my attention â the illustrations for the nursery-rhyme book, for example. I finished the Frog a-Wooing and was pleased with it, but not so happy with Sing a Song of Sixpence which took several attempts before I felt satisfied. I strove, as always, to create images that would endure in a childâs mind â not only instantly appealing but lastingly memorable. At the same time, as the publishers reminded me, the person who buys the book, handing over the hard cash, is a grown-up with different perceptions. Commercial nursery designs, of all kinds, must aim primarily to please the parents, godparents, grandparents, aunts and uncles. Why else embroider babiesâ bibs with cute words which the wearer cannot read?
And then there were the evening classes. On Tuesday and