I nodded and racked my brains to discover what this striking pattern might be.
‘Did you ask Wendelboe if he could remember what date Magdalon Schelderup joined the group? Because that is one of the two key questions that I need to have answered before I can move on.’
I shook my head apologetically. Patricia’s reaction was as instantaneous as it was surprising. She lifted her telephone from the table and held the receiver out to me.
‘Then ring him and ask now!’
I looked at Patricia, astonished, and saw that she was deadly earnest and impatient.
‘Please call Petter Johannes Wendelboe at once! This is extremely important, and will possibly determine whether my theory is correct or not. And if my theory is right, we will have taken a great leap forward.’
I was not entirely sure about calling the Wendelboes at this time in the evening, so tried to bide my time.
‘And what date would Schelderup have to have joined for your theory to be confirmed?’
Patricia did not bat an eyelid and replied immediately.
‘If I was going to give a date for when he joined the Resistance movement, I would say 23, 24 or 25 June 1941. But any time within a fortnight after would also fit. If, on the other hand, Wendelboe says that Magdalon Schelderup joined earlier, then my otherwise alluring theory falls apart.’
I understood nothing. Not a jot. Either about what kind of theory one might build around the chronology of these events, or where the dates 23, 24 or 25 June had sprung from. I sent Patricia a pleading look, but she continued to stare at me without touching her food. As I then continued to prevaricate, Patricia did the most extraordinary thing. She dialled the number from memory and quickly handed me the receiver. I had barely had time to put it to my ear when I heard an authoritative male voice say: ‘You have called the Wendelboes, can I help you?’ Patricia leant forward across the table to hear what he was saying.
I stammered an apology for disturbing him again, but assured him that I only had one short, straightforward question about the Second World War, which was of some importance, and that was if he could remember around what date Magdalon Schelderup had contacted him in 1941 to offer his services.
‘The twenty-fourth of June.’
The date rang out in my ear. I had to put my other hand up to the receiver in order not to drop it in surprise. And above the telephone I saw Patricia sitting waving her hands triumphantly above her head in silence, like a footballer who has just scored a goal.
