"Um, nothing immediately."

"I'll raise that. A pound for your thoughts," Niven added, grinning.

She made a radiant smile.

"Sorry, no price can be put on them," she said playfully.

"If Major Martin is in his early thirties," the Duchess said, "then we can assume his fiancee is, oh, late twenties?"

"Why not?" Montagu said agreeably.

"And they're of comparable social background, say, middle class?"

Montagu nodded.

"That fits," he said.

"Is there any particular time frame for these letters?" the Duchess said.

Montagu looked to Niven and Fleming for their thoughts.

"They should be relatively fresh," Niven said. "They're newly engaged, and have rushed to it because of the war."

"That could be one theme in the letters," Fleming added, "where friends or relatives are cautious of a war wedding."

Niven nodded. "But as to timing, I would say no older than two months. The Seraph Seraph sets sail-" sets sail-"

"April nineteenth," Montagu provided. "Plan is to put Major Martin in the water on April thirtieth."

"So taking that into consideration," Niven said, "we must backdate our letters accordingly. Say, nothing before March first."

"Shouldn't these letters of hers be very new?" the Duchess said. "Maybe written at her most anxious moments, right before he leaves?"

All the men smiled at once.

"That kind of lively thought, my dear," Niven said, "is why we came here."

The Duchess smiled softly.

Montagu reached down and opened the big box that was under the table. He pulled some blank sheets of typing paper and two pencils from the box and gave them to the Duchess and Charity.

"Would you please write your name on the sheet?"

They looked curious at the request but went along with it.

Montagu took the sheets, quickly reviewed them, then passed them to Fleming. They then made their way around the table.

"The letters from the girlfriend should be handwritten," Montagu explained. "And, no offense, Charity, but, as I expected, the Duchess has the natural British lettering necessary."

"That's understandable," Charity said, her tone agreeable.

Montagu then reached into the box and produced some off-white stationery with letterhead in black ink that read THE MANOR HOUSE, OGBOURNE ST. GEORGE, MARLBOROUGH, WILTSHIRE THE MANOR HOUSE, OGBOURNE ST. GEORGE, MARLBOROUGH, WILTSHIRE.

"This is from a nice little getaway where I once stayed," Montagu explained. "When I was there, I noticed a couple of mothers and daughters enjoying the weekend. In my mind's eye, I could see Major Martin's fiancee-"

"She doesn't have a name!" Niven interrupted. "Let's call her...oh, Pamela!"

"I could see Major Martin's Pam, Pam," Montagu went on, accepting the name without discussion, "there with her mother, discussing the pending marriage."

Charity nodded. "With her mother and sister."

"Even better," Montagu said, sliding the letterhead to the Duchess.

"The Duchess's lively thought just now about the letter needing to be anxious proves, I think, that it shouldn't be drafted," Montagu said. "It should be written at once, from the heart."

"I agree," Fleming said, nodding.

The Duchess's eyes went up. "Well, that certainly puts one on the spot!"

"That's not the intention," Fleming said, his tone apologetic. "It's just that it should result in a genuine feel. Charity can pitch in."

The Duchess looked at her. "And you will! Please?"

Charity smiled. "Of course."

The Duchess sat silently, in deep thought, then looked at Charity.

"I'm seeing her at this getaway with her mother and sister," she said, "her heart aching with the thought of having seen Major Martin off at the train station."

"And," Charity added, "though she longs for the time they spent together, at the same time she gets mad at herself for such a silly schoolgirl-like thought."

"Good," the Duchess said.

"All right, then," Montagu said. "Let's date it April eighteenth."

The Duchess began to write: Charity read what the Duchess was writing, then offered: "Maybe she mentions something that he had written to her in a letter-"

"Something about about her," the Duchess interrupted, looking at Charity. "Something vain that she feels she must deny." her," the Duchess interrupted, looking at Charity. "Something vain that she feels she must deny."

The Duchess looked at the ceiling a moment, then wrote on:

The Manor House Ogbourne St. George Marlborough, Wiltshire Telephone: Ogbourne St. George 242 Sunday, 18thI do think, dearest, that seeing people like you off at railway stations is one of the poorer forms of sport. A train going out can leave a howling great gap in one's life & one has to try madly-& quite in vain-to fill it with all the things one used to enjoy a whole five weeks ago.

That lovely golden day we spent together-oh! I know it has been said before, but if only time could sometimes stand still just for a minute for us!

But that line of thought is too pointless. Pull your socks up, Pam, & don't be a silly little fool.Your letter made me feel slightly better-but I shall get horribly conceited if you go on saying things like that about me-they're utterly unlike me, as I'm afraid you'll soon find out.

Here I am for the weekend in this divine place with Mummy & Jane being too sweet & understanding the whole time, bored beyond words & panting for Monday so that I can get back to the old grindstone again. What an idiotic waste!

Bill darling, do let me know as soon as you get fixed & can make some more plans, & please please don't let them send you off into the blue the horrible way they do nowadays- don't let them send you off into the blue the horrible way they do nowadays- Now that we've found each other out of the whole world, I don't think I could bear it-All my love,

PAM.

When the Duchess finished that, Charity said, "Very nice, Liz."

"Thank you. What about winding it up with some frantic words about their future?"

"Or possible loss of one," Charity heard herself say automatically.

As the Duchess began to write, Charity's throat constricted. She forced down some tea, as a mental image of Lieutenant Colonel Doug Douglass, completely out of uniform-as well as any other garment-came to mind.

Loss of a future with Doug is exactly my fear.

"There," the Duchess said, turning the page so Charity could better read it, "how's that?"

Charity looked at the paper.

Oh, God. That's too close.

I'm think I'm going to cry.

When she was sure of her voice, she said: "Perfect."

The letter was passed around the table. Everyone approved.

"Now we need another," Montagu said, "one written from her job."

He reached into the box and produced a short stack of blank typewriter stock he had taken from a typing pool at the Admiralty. He slid it to the Duchess.

"So she's now at the office," Montagu said. "Date it the twenty-first. She's bored out of her mind."

"I think it would be wise to pick up on what Charity so brilliantly suggested for the first letter," Fleming put in. "Have her make reference to a letter the major has written to her in which he talks of being sent on a hush-hush mission."

Niven added, "You could have her say something that violates a confidence. That is, she won't won't violate a confidence, the way women tend to do." violate a confidence, the way women tend to do."

Charity and the Duchess immediately shot him daggers with their stares.

"I don't mean that in a vicious way, mind you," Niven said, trying to save face. "You know how women can be-proud of what their man is doing, trying to one-up their buddies in the course of conversation."

The Duchess looked away.

"Perhaps," she said. "But you just gave me an idea for an opening."

She studied the far wall a moment, then began writing:

Office.Wednesday, 21stThe Bloodhound has left the kennel for half an hour so here I am scribbling nonsense to you again.

Your letter came this morning just as I was dashing out-madly late as usual! You do write such heavenly ones. But what are these horrible dark hints you're throwing out about being sent off somewhere-of course I won't say a word to anyone-I never do when you tell me things, but it's not abroad is it? I won't say a word to anyone-I never do when you tell me things, but it's not abroad is it?

Because I won't won't have it, I won't. Tell them so from me. have it, I won't. Tell them so from me.

Darling, why did we go and meet in the middle of the war, such a silly thing for anybody to do-if it weren't for the war, we might have been nearly married by now, going round together choosing curtains etc.

And I wouldn't be sitting in a dreary Government office typing idiotic minutes all day long-I know know the futile sort of work I do doesn't make the war one minute shorter- the futile sort of work I do doesn't make the war one minute shorter- I'm going to a rather dreary dance tonight with Jock & Hazel. I think they've got some other man coming. You know what their friends always turn out to be like

"Bloodhound!" Niven said, feigning indignation.

"Works for me," Fleming said, grinning.

"Okay, let's have her discuss how she spends her free time," Montagu said.

"Maybe going to the pub?" Charity said.

"No," the Duchess said, "that would not be proper for her to do, or, if she did, to share in a letter." She thought a moment. "To a dance! With friends!"

"A dreary dreary dance with dance with ghastly ghastly friends!" Charity added. friends!" Charity added.

The Duchess smiled and nodded. She mentally composed it for a second, then started writing: The Dutchess stopped, then looked to Charity for help.

Charity made a small frown, then looked across the table, and her face lit up. She giggled.

The Duchess looked to where Charity had looked-at Niven.

The Duchess grinned, then wrote:

he'll be like that David we met-he'll have the sweetest little Adam's apple & the shiniest bald head!

The lead of the pencil snapped when the Duchess added the exclamation point. She and Charity started to giggle again as they looked at Niven.

Niven got up and walked around the table to see what they had written about him.

"My head is not bald and shiny!" he announced.

Charity and the Duchess laughed aloud.