“Perhaps.” Andreas fingered the envelope. “I have heard this name before, but not very many times.”
“Who’s it from?” she persisted, leaning over until her forehead was almost touching his. “Does it say?”
“I will need to open it,” Andreas said, glancing up so that their eyes met. He, too, had taken off his goggles, though a pink outline remained. There were specks of masonry in his beard, a smear of black on his cheek. “Do you mind?”
“Of course I don’t,” she said. “I’m dying to know more.”
He began by unfastening the twine, being careful not to dropany of the letters. At a glance, Skye estimated that there must be at least twenty in the stack, perhaps more. A discovery that, as far as she was concerned, felt like winning the lottery for a second time.
Andreas removed two sheets of paper, each of which was thin and yellowed with age. The writing was small and in cursive, the lines of text squeezed together. Its author had left barely enough room for punctuation, and splotches of ink dotted the margins.
“Is there a date?” she asked, and he nodded, sliding a finger up to the top corner of the first page. There were no numbers that Skye could see, only three symbols—anM, anOwith a line through its center, and an upright triangle.
“Nineteen forty,” Andreas said. “It is dated from the thirtieth day of October.”
Skye scoured her memories, trying to recall what she remembered about the Second World War in Greece. She was sure something important had happened at the end of that month, but the answer remained stubbornly out of reach. Andreas continued to read, his mouth working silently as he skimmed over the words. Several times he paused, bringing the paper closer, squinting to make out what was written, while beside him, Skye fizzed with barely tempered anticipation.
Andreas lowered the letter and blew air into his cheeks.
“What is it?” she asked. “What does it say? Who’s it from?”
“A man,” he said. “He signs at the bottom with only one letter, a sigma, which is anS.”
“How do you know it’s a man?”
Andreas tapped the letter with a finger.
“Because he talks about fighting.”
“But women fought in the war, too, didn’t they?”
“Yes,” he agreed, “but not at the beginning. That all happened later, during the Resistance.”
“I clearly need to brush up on my history.”
Andreas gestured once again to the letter.
“This man, he was in love with Katerina.”
“It’s a love letter?” Skye felt a twinge in her chest.
“Nai,” he said softly. “But I don’t believe they were married, not when this letter was written. There is a lot of”—he paused—“passion.” Skye wasn’t sure if she was imagining it, but it seemed to her as if Andreas was blushing slightly.
“Will you read it out to me?” she asked.
His mouth fell open, then closed again as he pressed his lips into a thin line. A cloud of vape announced the arrival of Stamatis from around the side of the house. He glanced from the expression on his boss’s face to the letter in Andreas’s hands, and then to Skye, who quickly explained what they’d found in the fireplace. Stamatis smirked at the mention of a “love letter” and leaned in, trying to read it upside down.
“Éla re,” Andreas grumbled, folding the papers and tucking them back into the envelope. “Break time is over.”
Stamatis gave a long-suffering sigh but didn’t argue, heading back inside just as Joy emerged at the boundary wall.
“There you are,” she called. “I was starting to think I’d been stood up.”
“As if I would,” Skye protested. “I was about to head back to yours.”
“Wait until you see what the girls have found,” she said, which piqued Andreas’s interest.
“Found where?” he asked. “In the house?”
