Chapter Three
The leather-bound book of Shakespeare’s Sonnets lay on the small table beside the divan in her sewing room. It had been delivered by an Arab boy with instructions it was to be handed to Mrs Helga Bornhoffen in person. A short note served as a bookmark and Helga felt a slight quickening of her pulse as she read it.
My Dearest Helga,
I am sorry I have not been able to contact you lately, I have been busy with work but finally it seems I have some free time ahead of me. Remember when I told you I had to help out my friend from the Guardian? It turned out he merely wanted to catch up and return my copy of the Sonnets that he borrowed from me eighteen months ago. I thought you might like to read it in the original English. I have underlined certain parts that move me. I will be
