Enigmatic Emotions

(xi) A myriad of stars

"Now I am quietly waiting for
the catastrophe of my personality to seem
beautiful again, and interesting, and modern."

-Frank O'Hara

From the moment Alan stepped into the dimly lit room, he broke out in a cold sweat. Were it not for Hugh, who walked briskly behind him, he would have turned and ran screaming down the corridors.

The sight of Churchill – sitting on an uncomfortable wooden chair – staring around dazedly reminded him of Sherborne's headmaster.

Alan already did not have a high opinion of men holding high positions. The military staff at Bletchley said mathematicians undermined their authority. It was war, so they could decide everything and were beyond reason. Why should the Prime Minister of England be any different?

Even more, this bigwig could want to decide that their work over the past year was useless and sack them on the spot.

Churchill looked up from the papers hanging on the wall and shifted his attention to the two latecomers.

Alan hoped the anxiety sweat was not visibly beading on his forehead. Hugh noticed that his entire body was refusing service and stepped towards the prime minister first.

None of the mathematicians were aware of the protocol, or they flouted it like Alan. So it was no wonder Churchill was surprised to be offered a sweaty hand. Once he had shaken Hugh's hand, his colleague pulled a cigar from his jacket pocket.

"I have heard you are a great aficionado." Hugh held out the cigar as an apparent peace offering.

Churchill raised one grey-brown eyebrow so high that Alan was afraid of his reply. Even the steadfast Hugh seemed hesitant for a second.

Finally, the prime minister reached for the brown roll and held it as a moustache just above his broad grin. "A Cuban cigar, very rare in these times." He loudly and clearly sniffed the aroma, which was most likely mixed with the smell of dusty books. Churchill put the cigar in his mouth and stood up slowly, his pale eyes once again slipping over Alan for a moment before moving to the man in front of him. "With whom do I have the pleasure?" he mumbled, years of training having prevented the cigar from falling out of his mouth.

"Hugh Alexander, it's an honour to meet you."

At that very moment the door was smashed into Alan's back, a soft apology followed. The familiarity of the soft female voice meant he did not even have to look down to know who joined them. Joan.

Churchill didn't seem to notice the intrusion. "Ah! Mr Alexander, the chess champion, how wonderful that you can focus that tactical brain of yours on cracking Enigma." His voice sounded genuinely enthusiastic, something Alan had not expected. "The pleasure is mutual."

It was becoming increasingly unclear to him why the prime minister had come here. He glanced briefly at Joan, her eyes equally sceptical. They had not made much progress in the past month and there was no chance Churchill would understand what a dire situation they were in. Though they were in high need of a favour, but the lousy reception meant they could forget about that now. Alan started tapping his foot against the wooden floor.

As a response to that disturbing sound, Churchill turned his head towards the door. Still not noticing Alan, the prime minister waddled over to the female figure beside him.

"You must be Joan Clarke then?" He held out his hand to greet her.

The woman nodded and shook his hand, while her other hand fleetingly went to her glasses and pushed them further up her nose. Alan had noticed this tic before, whenever a mathematical problem – or extravagant prime minister – bothered her.