"Well, yes. That would be the best sign, no doubt."
We travelled on a few more miles, and it was in the main street of Cobham that she remarked: "Suppose I told you that he had already begun to work again?"
"I should be delighted, of course, if it were true."
"It is true."
"You mean that? You mean that he's actually gone back to his books—his old research work——"
"He's beginning to go."
"How—beginning?"
"I'll tell you in a minute."
She drove on till we were out of the village, and then, on the straight stretch of road between Cobham and Esher, she gave me details. "We were playing some hard games yesterday," she said, "and for the first time he beat me—and I'm pretty good, you know." (It was like her to say that, so calmly and confidently.) "I told him that if he went on improving he'd have to enter for some tournaments when the season began, and he said he'd most likely be at the other side of the world before then. We argued about it, and I found out he'd been answering all sorts of advertisements for jobs. Nobody, of course, would have him—without experience, references, or anything.... So after a while I just said—'Look here, Terry, why don't you carry on for the time being with your old scientific work? It's the best job you can do, and probably also it's the only job you'll get....' Better to be frank with him, I thought. He said he'd think about it, but I didn't want him to think about it—I wanted him to begin right away. So when we got back to the hotel I went up to his room (what on earth Taplow thought I don't know), and we began sorting out all his old notebooks and papers. There's at least a fortnight's job in that."
"And you really think that he intends to get on with it himself?"