I'll Be Seeing You by Margaret Mayhew

end I found a page of letters and one had included a wartime photograph of an RAF bomber crew, with the request for the men in it to get in touch with the writer. If the magazine was prepared to carry such appeals, then, as Adrian had suggested, the Americans might too. There was really nothing to be done now but wait for Monica’s father-in-law’s letter to wing its way across the Atlantic and for the reply.
    The Oxford estate agents phoned a week later to say that there had been a firm offer of the asking price on the house and would we wish to accept? Drew and I both agreed that we did and I went back to Oxford to tell the two students and to arrange the sale of the remaining contents. Most of it went to an auction house, except a few large pieces that our purchasers wanted to buy.
    I was still hard at work on the nursery-rhyme book, with the deadline looming, and so I put everything firmly out of my mind except for the likes of ‘Old Mother Hubbard’, ‘The Three Little Kittens’, ‘Jack and Jill’, ‘The Grand Old Duke of York’ and the others still waiting patiently to be brought to life on paper.
    It was mid-May before Monica handed me the reply her father-in-law had received from his American friend. She brought it round to the flat one evening, instead of waiting for the Thursday class.
    â€˜I thought you’d want to see it as soon as possible, considering how long it’s taken. The chap’s been away – that’s why.’
    â€˜Thanks, Monica, and thanks to your kind father-in-law. Have a glass of wine?’
    â€˜Willingly.’ She settled herself comfortably on the sofa – a large, big-boned, grey-haired woman dressed in a plain skirt and sweater and sensible court shoes. As with Drew’s wife, Sonia, appearances were deceptive. You would have taken her for a magistrate or a chairman of the local Women’s Institute, possibly a head teacher; certainly not for a very talented artist with a magically light touch. ‘You know, I can’t help being a wee bit curious about your search, Juliet. Do you mind?’
    I didn’t mind, but I wasn’t going to tell her the whole truth – much as I liked her. I had felt the need to talk to Adrian but that need had passed. I said, ‘There’s not much to tell. My mother met this American when she was serving in the WAAF during the war.’
    â€˜A romance?’
    â€˜I imagine so. But then they lost touch – as happened. She told me about him before she died. I think she’d been thinking a lot about the past. Isn’t that what people tend to do at the end of the road? Go back over their lives . . . remember things they haven’t thought about for years.’
    â€˜John died so suddenly he didn’t have time to think of anything, and my parents are both still very much alive and kicking, but I expect you’re right. This particular American must have made a big impression, don’t you think?’
    â€˜It would seem so.’
    She put her head on one side, considering me. She was nobody’s fool, Monica. ‘And you’re still going to try and find him – even after your mother’s death? Is there any point now?’
    â€˜Not really, I suppose. But I thought it would be nice to pass on a message – if I do happen to come across him.’
    I could see that she was far from convinced but she was tactful enough not to pursue that line of enquiry. ‘When you read his letter, you’ll see that Father-in-law’s American buddy has come up with a suggestion or two. Apparently, a photograph would come in handy, as well as a name.’
    â€˜Well, I don’t have a name, but I do have a photo. Of his bomber crew.’
    She sat up straight. ‘How fascinating! May I see it?’
    I handed it over and, like Drew and Adrian, she studied it closely. What was its particular appeal, I wondered? Everyone seemed