James Benn - Billy Boyle

“I’m not really a bad person,” she said between sobs. Her nose was running, too.

“Me either.”

“Don’t look at me, please. You must think I’m a hussy.”

“Mrs. Brey, you just want to be with your husband, that’s all.”

She nodded, but she wouldn’t look at me. We just sat there for a while. She shuddered a few times as the tears came and went. Finally she took a deep breath and rubbed the back of her hand across her nose.

“Anders was the only one I saw.”

“Thanks.”

“Is it important?”

“It might be. It just might be.” She still didn’t move and leaving my hand on her shoulder was beginning to feel awkward. I moved it and she clutched at it, as if she was afraid I’d get away. I tried to think of something to say.

“You shouldn’t blame Jens for the transfer, you know. I think he was trying to help.”

“Jens?” She sniffled. “What did he have to do with my transfer?”

“Huh? Didn’t he…”

“No. Anders issued the order. He said he needed me at the Norwegian Brigade base in Scotland. I was glad to go. I just wasn’t prepared to come back here, to all this.” She gestured at the room, the house, the memories, everything.

Anders. Anders had been up early in the morning and transferred the only person who had seen him far away from Beardsley Hall. Anders. That made me rethink things. He had been a distant third until now, but this put him tops in my hit parade. Leaving the key in his own room was a nice touch, I had to admit. I hoped Daphne had been able to get his orders to Norway cancelled. That made me think of getting back to the hall. I looked at my watch.

“Billy, please don’t go.”

“I have to.”

“I can’t stay here alone another night. I’m leaving for Scotland tomorrow; I don’t care about the rest of my leave.” She finally looked at me. There was nothing sexy or even pretty left in her face. There was anguish, and shame. Her hand trembled in mine. With the other she grasped the collar of her sundress and pulled it closed.

“OK.”

I couldn’t leave her alone. I had pushed her, used her, shamed her. I couldn’t turn around and leave her, like a piece of rubbish on the floor, now that I had what I wanted. We got up, stood there a second, brushing off our knees and smoothing clothes that weren’t all that wrinkled.

“Thank you,” she said, barely able to make eye contact. But she did. “Thank you.”

She went into the kitchen and started puttering around. I had to admire her for pulling herself together, and I was more than a little relieved that she’d managed to. I got my stuff from the BMW and brought it inside. We ended up cooking together, talking about Boston seafood and English dishes. She opened a bottle of wine and we ate at the kitchen table. We didn’t talk about Beardsley Hall or Richard. I told her all about Diana, except for the secret mission part, and she told me it sounded very romantic. It was nice. I slept on the couch. She took the record upstairs with her, and I fell asleep to the faint sound of “I want to dream so I can be with you,” glad that my willpower had lasted as long as it did. As willing as she might have been at one moment, it wouldn’t have been worth it the next.

I got up early, but Victoria was already awake and packed. She had tea and toast ready and we ate in silence as we waited for a car to pick her up and drive her to the train station.

I put my gear on the bike and carried her bags outside. I wished her good luck and she said the same to me. Then she gave me a shy peck on the cheek and turned away and sat on the bench in the garden to wait for her ride. Her eyes drifted over the flowers and weeds, surveying her memories and storing them away. The sun came out from behind a cloud, and a bright shaft of light fell between the branches of the trees above her. Patches of sunlight covered her face and heart, like luminous wounds that might fade from sight but never disappear. I got on the BMW and started her up. I didn’t bother waving as I drove off. She was already in another world-a world of quiet, carefully tended gardens with an adored husband by her side. I looked back as I turned a corner and saw her sitting just as I had seen her yesterday, as certain a victim of this war as Richard and all the other boys who had come crashing down out of the sky.

The sky was clouding over. I could feel a chill creeping into the breeze that swept by me as I sped down the nearly deserted country roads. I had hooked up with the main road going south from Norwich, which would take me directly to Wickham Market and then on to Beardsley Hall. Every time I saw a house I’d wonder if there was a grieving wife or mother inside, and if she was as devastated as Victoria Brey. I began to think that the cost of this war was going to be far higher than anyone had expected, or at least higher than I had anticipated. I tried not to think about a certain house in Boston and my mom getting that telegram: “The secretary of war desires me to express his deep regret…”

My kid brother had just turned twenty and would be facing the draft soon. He’d started college, the first person in our family to go. Dad was real proud of that, proud of his good grades, and so proud of his college acceptance letter that he’d had it framed. I thought that was carrying things a bit too far, but I had to admit, I was proud, too. And protective-not that Danny thought he needed it. He was fast with his fists and got into his fair share of fights with the Italian kids from the North End. He usually won, but he was reckless. The Italian gangs carried shivs and weren’t afraid to use them. For a smart kid, he could be pretty dumb when he got his dander up. He’d probably volunteer before he got drafted, which would be in a year, right when he turned twenty-one. Didn’t look like the war was going to be over by then, but he still had boot camp and field training to go through, so maybe he’d be OK, if we wrapped this thing up and got home by Christmas of ’43.

I didn’t want to think about Danny anymore, so I tried to focus on the case. Anders was the key as far as I was concerned. He had something to hide, which made him stand out. So far, his lie about not being up early was the most suspicious thing I had found out about anyone. I had nothing on Jens, and my theory about Rolf was just that, a theory with no proof or motive attached to it. I decided to wait and see if Kaz had discovered anything and if Daphne had been able to put the kibosh on Anders’s orders, before planning my next move, which was a way I had of not admitting to myself that I really had no idea what to do.

The miles flew by, and fast-moving clouds started to roll in from the east. They grew thick and dark as I rode through Wickham Market. I passed the pub and saw Mildred out back, digging potatoes in her Victory Garden. Maybe we’d come back here tonight for dinner again. Glancing up at the sky, I hoped the rain would hold off until I got to Beardsley Hall. As I cleared the village, I noticed a thin line of dark smoke up ahead. It drifted off to the left as the wind caught it, smudging the horizon with a gray stain. I didn’t pay it any mind until I took the last turn toward the estate and saw that it was coming dead-on from the direction of the hall. I got that same sinking, fearful feeling that I used to get as a kid when I was walking home from school and a fire engine would roll by, lights and sirens blazing. I always thought it was going to my house, and I’d always breathe a sigh of relief when I got in sight of home and it was still standing. It was silly, just a kid’s bad daydream, but I accelerated anyway. Beardsley Hall was hardly home, but it would be nice to confirm that everything was all right and that today was just brush-burning day.