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Luke’s report of her declaration of love for him is at odds with Geraldine Mortimer’s picture of professional gratitude. It is telling that Luke should have placed less emphasis than Geraldine on Felicity’s relationship with Ahmet Samif, whose heterosexuality would seem to make him a more dangerous rival. But then he may have subscribed to my own belief that Felicity would regard Meier’s homosexuality as a goad rather than a deterrent. Such a relationship would hold particular appeal for a woman whose reading of ‘The course of true love never did run smooth’ had left her with a preference for the bumpy. My personal opinion, which I offer as an addendum to those printed below, is that, contrary to usual practice, her sexuality was the product of her bohemianism rather than the other way round. She displayed an exaggerated respect for artists not because of an aesthetic sensibility but because art supplied the one alternative to her parents’ world that they could not dismiss out of hand. Nevertheless, in another irony, the first casualty of her action was the film.
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    I have reproduced Luke’s ten letters in their entirety, retaining all personal allusions (several of which still elude me), private jokes and, on occasion even, errors, altering only punctuation and, where absolutely necessary, grammar. My criterion for the use of footnotes, here as elsewhere, has been comprehension rather than consistency. The letters were extremely long and, in some cases, legibility deteriorates with length. For such a resolute man, his handwriting was surprisingly formless. From the letter of 23 September 1977 onwards, when he bowed to my request that he should type, clarity was assured.
     
    8 München 40,
    Giselastrasse 23,
    West Germany.
     
    14th Oct 1976
    Lieber!
    Well, when in Rome … After three weeks, I’m beginning to find my feet – no easy task in a city so overrun with bicycles. The cyclists must be the direct descendants of Rommel’s Panzer-Division . Sorry, cheap joke.
    I swear there are more bicycles per head than in any other city in the world, including Cambridge. Perhaps you could do a comparative survey with your geography class? I’m living near the university. One girl with whom I had a near miss told me that her bike was as much a part of her as her shoes. The analogy was lost on me. Do you see your shoes as a part of you? Well, perhaps those whiffy old brogues … Only kidding. I can picture your pained expression already. The district is called Schwabing. It’s supposed to be the Munich Left Bank (as in J-P. S. and S. de B.), awash with poets, artists and bohemians various. All I ever come across are tight-lipped old ladies walking their dogs. And no, no dachshunds. Before you ask, I haven’t seen a single one since I arrived in Germany … but then I’ve never seen a British bulldog either.
    I’m sorry not to have written before but I’ve been busy finding my feet … see footnote. 13 The address at the top is the one where all letters should be sent (hint!) not to mention spontaneous, unsolicited gifts such as Fortnum’s hampers. Aren’t they the traditional remedy for homesick Englishmen? Joking apart, should you ever find yourself near a jar of Marmite … I know that youconsider it an abomination on a par with Birmingham but it’s the one thing (present correspondent excepted) that I miss. Anyway a jar sent to me here, care of von Hirsten (very Almanach de Gotha ) will guarantee you a friend for life.
    Almost directly in front of us is the house where Thomas Mann wrote Buddenbrooks . It may not mean a lot to you with your Shakespeare über alles prejudices, but that was the novel that made me want to study German. I waltz down the road, to the consternation of afore-mentioned old ladies, like Freddy Eynsford-Hill singing On the Street Where You Live .
    The house – ours not his – is the perfect illustration that a German man’s home is his bank: solid, impenetrable with a hint of