"The fool doth think he is wise,
but the wise man knows himself to be a fool."

-William Shakespeare

"Espionage!" repeated Hugh for the thousandth time this ride. Alan was silently beginning to regret that he had not simply taken the train to Cambridge. "Can you believe this? All our precious information was just lumped together with the allies' dubious espionage. As if we didn't receive it directly from a first-hand source."

Alan slumped further in the leather car seat. "No wonder the military didn't take us seriously." Two weeks had passed since they had cracked Enigma. Now they were providing a tonne of useful information daily. It was painful to watch the generals literally trash their work.

He was pressed against the door as Hugh took a sharp turn. His driving was greatly affected by his mood. Alan licked his lips, trying to stay calm. "Look on the bright side. Since we sunk the Bismarck, they've been getting all the information from our machine. There's almost no need for espionage anymore."

Hugh laughed mockingly. "Of course they couldn't resist to sink such an enormous submarine. We gave them the exact coordinates and their eyes started sparkling."

Alan held on tightly to the door and laughed. Even though it was a great victory on their side, the Germans were now getting an inkling that their unbeatable code had been cracked. It was fearfully waiting to see if their ego would be too big lest they modify the entire code. Then they would have to start all over again.

Hugh slammed on the brakes, the tyres of the green car squealed. "Destination King's College reached. That'll be five pounds, a good-friend discount." With a big grin, he held out his hand.

Alan slapped the hand away. "Admit it, you like driving me around." Before Hugh could answer that, he slammed the door shut.

He turned his back to the departing car and beheld the white building looming before him. With a firm stride, he started stepping towards the fellows' quarters.

However much he felt at ease in Bletchley, the familiar sight of the flourishing flower meadow and the curling of the spiral staircase made him feel instantly at home again.

Alan had come up with an excuse to come to King's. Now that he was engaged, he apparently had to account for where he went.

James Atkins' invitation therefore felt heavy in his inside pocket. He had doubted for a long time whether he would come to the so-called reunion party. In the end, his heart had won out over his head.

He slipped into his old room. Since he had temporarily stopped teaching to work in Bletchley, he had partly expected that his place had been relinquished. To his relief, everything was still in its usual place; in an orderly heap. Alan grabbed at the papers on his desk and let them slide through his hands until his research in metalogic passed by.

He took the pile of paper under his arm. Joan had said she could use it to optimise the bombe. So he had made the generous offer to go and pick it up. And since he was here now anyways, he might as well go and say hello to his former colleagues. After a quick glance at the drawing he had made of Chris on the table, he walked back into the corridor.

To his delight, he saw some students walking by in black gowns. Alan suddenly felt underdressed in his brown sports jacket. Still, a smile appeared on his face; how he had missed the odd customs of King's. Wearing a toga after sunset, smoking where you wanted, kissing who you wanted. It was all part of the freedom the school offered. Even after he had graduated, he had not been able to leave it behind.

What he hadn't missed was the pretentious mug of the department head, who was now looming in his field of vision. Alan skilfully avoided his gaze, as he did with all strangers with any kind of authority. Quickly he bolted into another corridor.

A familiar voice rang throughout the corridor, so much for discretion. "Well I'll be dam- Our war hero has returned!"

The corners of Alan's mouth crept up as the young man pulled him into a friendly embrace. David Champernowne's breath reeked strongly of liquor. "Always nice to see you too, Champ." He patted his former classmate on the back. "Or should I call you "Chief Economics"? Now that there's a constant named after you and all."

He knew Champ could talk about his "constant of Champernowne" for days on end, yet he changed the subject. "I didn't know you were coming to the party too."

Alan cocked his head, putting his hand on his vest pocket which James' letter. "Likewise," he muttered. He could not deny the slight disappointment in his own voice.

Had he really thought James had invited only him? Like he was special? Even though he knew better, maybe he had secretly hoped somewhere that James would want him back, despite all his mistakes.

Alan firmly shook his head and straightened his face. "I believe James wants to restore our trinity," he joked.

"Come, the party has been going on for quite a while." With his arm still around Champ, they walked towards an open door.

This was the real reason he was eager to return to King's, not James, he reminded himself. Here he felt as Mara felt in Bletchley: free. Or as much as possible.

Patrick Wilkinson's student room was not as large and luxurious as the average room at Alan's teacher level. The cosy cushions on the floor and an abundance of alcohol compensated for that.

Some students were sitting on the floor playing beer chess. Alan cautiously stepped over the chess board and looked around dazedly.

He nodded to the party organiser. Patrick had been a student of his and was now in his third Bachelor's degree.

Alan wondered how James had known about this party. It seemed so mundane, and certainly hadn't been organised by the university.

"Would you like to play a game too, Prof?" asked a brown-haired boy with oversized glasses. He sat at Alan's feet and gestured to the giant chess board with bottles of beer on it.

Alan shook his head politely. Hugh would have loved this.

Most students wouldn't really appreciate a professor barging into their party, but they welcomed Alan with open arms. From him they had nothing to fear.

He put the folder on metalogics on a rickety cupboard and scanned the room, hoping to notice James' face. Instead, his gaze lingered on Robin Gandy. The doctoral student ceased his hopeless argument on communism when he noticed Alan.

Then his penny dropped. Robin was behind all of this.

With two glasses of beer in his hand, Robin joined him and Champ. He hadn't changed a bit, with his leather jacket and stout attitude.

"It was you," Alan said breathlessly, "you invited us, not James."

Robin's grin betrayed him.

James didn't want to see him at all. He had nothing to tell him at all.

"Listen," Robin pushed a bottle of beer into his hands, "I'm tired of the constant sulking in your letters about how much you miss James."

"Besides," Champ stepped in, the traitor, "you could use some distraction."

Alan let his mouth fall open and dramatically clutched at his heart. "Et tu quoque Champ?"

Though he didn't blame them. He had longed for his friends and a normal evening.

He had missed the sight of Robin's perky blonde curls. There had been a time where Alan would have seized the occasion to flirt with Robin. But the man had wisely dodged these attempts by saying that Alan was not his type. He took a big sip of his drink to wash away that painful memory.

Robin glanced at him from the corner of his eye. "How did you like my movie recommendation, Prof?"

He cleared his throat and thought back to the time he had gone to the cinema with Joan, on Robin's recommendation. "Never thought I would be so captured by Snow White," he admitted. Although the film had been playing in cinemas for several years, it was a real innovation. All children – and adults – had to see it. "No more boring black-and-white films, Disney knows how to keep up with the times."

Champ and Robin nodded in agreement. "It also suited the original fairy tale, not like the film version of Betty Boop. Man, that was bad," Champ complained. "They had simply forgotten the corset, the comb and even the apple."

The poison green apple reminded Alan of the hideous colour of Hugh's car and the insurmountable fact that his colleague could come back to pick him up at any moment. He would not leave until he had seen James.

Just as he was about to ask where the fourth member of their gang was, an alarm went off. The penetrating bellow caused the partygoers to press their hands to their ears.