The Fog of War

by A. L. Lester

  She slid along the settee and turned toward Sylvia, gently taking the green book off her lap, and putting it to one side. She took her hand between the two of her own.

  “My dear,” she began. “My dear Sylvia. Please…please don’t despair. We’ll make sense of it.” She looked over at Walter, who was watching them from the club chair closer to the fire. “Won’t we, Mr Kennett?”

  Walter put his pipe down on the arm of the chair very carefully, not meeting her eyes. He rubbed his hands together. When he did look up his gaze was kind. We’ll do our best, yes,” he said. “But Sylvia. You must accept that we might not find anything. There might not be anything to find.”

  Lucy looked at him crossly. Sylvia still had her eyes shut. This was not what Lucy wanted him to say. She wanted to cheer Sylvia up, not send her further into despair.

  He looked steadily at Lucy. “There’s no point in getting anyone’s hopes up,” he said. “This is all remarkably interesting and unnerving and has completely changed the way I look at the world…or it will do, once I’ve finished thinking it all through. But…will it help us find Miss Masters? Is Miss Masters even still alive? Probably not.”

  Sylvia drew in a little gasping breath and her hand tightened on Lucy’s. A tear leaked out from her eyes and tracked down her cheek. “I know, Walt,” she said. “You don’t need to rub my nose in it.”

  “I don’t want you to get false hopes up, dear Sylvia,” he replied. “That would be worse.”

  Sylvia raised her head and nodded, looking at him. “Yes, I know,” she said. “I know. I thought I’d put all of this away, but I hadn’t. Or at least, not enough for it not to get all stirred up again.”

  She raised Lucy’s hand to her face and pressed it to her cheek. “Dear Lucy, thank you so much for being here.”

  Lucy blushed as Sylvia brought their joined hands down into her lap again. She made a tentative move to draw her hand away, but Sylvia’s grip was firm. Lucy could move her hand if she really wanted to. But…it was clear Sylvia would prefer her not to. “Anyone would do the same, Sylvia,” she said. “Honestly.”

  Sylvia shook her head. “No, you’re wrong about that. Completely wrong. Isn’t she, Walt?”

  “Maybe,” Walter said, standing up and putting his book on the low table between the chairs. “I think it depends on how much you want someone to be happy, doesn’t it?” He smiled across at them. “I’m for bed,” he said. “I’ll see you ladies in the morning.”

  * * * *

  He left a little silence behind him. Sylvia’s hand was warm in Lucy’s grip. Lucy felt hot all over. She…she knew that Sylvia and Anna had been close. Awfully close. And she had envied that closeness if she was completely honest with herself. Not so much jealousy…although again if she was completely honest there was a touch of that.

  What she had really envied was the clicking together with someone else like the pieces of a jigsaw.

  She had always felt that with Sylvia, right from the beginning. When she was with her, or even simply in her orbit, everything else just fell away. That was why she’d wanted to come and stay at Bradfield, she realised, rather belatedly. It wasn’t just because of their wartime friendship and the boredom at home.

  She’d missed that sense of wholeness she got when she spent time with Sylvia. Not that she felt incomplete when she was by herself. Just when Sylvia was there, she felt…more.

  Now Sylvia was holding her hand as if she never wanted to let go.

  But Sylvia was still in love with Anna. Wasn’t she? Wasn’t that what all this was about?

  “Sylvia?” she said, tentatively, gently squeezing her fingers. “What’s going on? Talk to me?”

  Sylvia let out a huge sigh, finally releasing her hand. “I’m so sorry,” she said. “It’s not fair of me.”

  “What’s not fair of you?” Lucy said, bewildered. “I don’t know what you mean.”

  She waited.

  “I…I’m a bit of a mess, I think,” Sylvia said, finally. “I thought…I thought Anna was dead and that was it and I’d always love her, in a way. But I was moving forward and putting it all behind me. Leaving her behind with the war, I suppose.” She swallowed. “And then you came along…and Lucy, I love having you here. I love having you around. I…” she looked up at Lucy. “I’m so sorry, you probably don’t want to hear this.”

  Lucy frowned fiercely at her. “I absolutely do want to hear this,” she said severely. “Don’t you dare stop. Keep talking!”

  “There’s not much else to say,” Sylvia said after a while. “I love having you around. You make me smile. With your ridiculously curly hair and your extravagant hats and your singing in the bath and when you look at me as if I’ve suddenly grown an extra head when I suggest you eat more fruit.”

  She stopped abruptly. “I like it. That’s all.”

  She sighed. “But now I’m all muddled up in my head. And I am never muddled up in my head. I always know exactly what to do. I had put Anna behind me. I was falling in love with you and now it feels unfair to you to start this search for Anna. But it feels utterly unfair to Anna if I don’t. It’s her life. I’m torn all ways.”

  There was a clanging silence.

  Lucy looked at Sylvia, mouth a little ajar. Well. That was…that was frank.

  Sylvia suddenly looked anxious. “That doesn’t revolt you, does it?” she asked, without meeting Lucy’s wide gaze.

  Lucy took a moment to process what she’d said.

  “No!” she said, emphatically. “No, it most certainly does not revolt me, Sylvia Marks! In no way does it revolt me!” She swallowed and bit her lip.

  She took a breath and said, “But we are looking for Anna. And I cannot afford to let my feelings become any more engaged than they are, because if Anna comes back…” She trailed off. If Sylvia was prepared to be frank, then Lucy could be brave too. But she couldn’t make herself say any more.

  There was another pause.

  “Yes,” said Sylvia presently. “I understand that. I’ve been thinking the same.” She reached out again and squeezed Lucy’s hand.

  Lucy thought furiously.

  “Well,” she said slowly, cautiously feeling her way forward. “We look for Anna. That’s all we can do. And the rest of it. It’ll take care of itself, Sylvia. We’re grown women. We need to be careful with each other. That’s all.”

  And God help them both, she thought to herself.

  Chapter 25

  Torn all ways very much summed up how she felt. Here she was, with Lucy sat next to her on the settee holding her hand, which last week was exactly where she’d have said she wanted to be.

  She had been pushing her greedy thoughts about Anna still being alive away since last spring, ever since she’d first spoken to Webber. It had been quite easy before Christmas. Just the regular grief she was getting used to carrying, with an occasional throb of what if and a firm resolution to move on with life in the way she’d have wanted Anna to if it had been Sylvia who’d been lost.

  But the last couple of months, since she’d found out that moving through time wasn’t just Arthur Webber’s ravings, since she’d properly met the men up at the farm, her thoughts had become more and more confused.

  And at the same time, her feelings for Lucy had grown and grown.

  Part of her didn’t think it was appropriate. Lucy was a good decade younger than she was and a lot less experienced in every way. Sylvia hadn’t even known whether she saw Sylvia in the same way Sylvia saw her. Sylvia had been worried that if she revealed her growing feelings, Lucy would be appalled.

  And now, here they were, sitting on the settee, holding hands.

  “I’m so sorry,” she said, following her own thoughts rather than any external communication she might have been having with Lucy. “I’m really…not at my best tonight.”

  Lucy squeezed her hands. “My dear Sylvia,” she said. “You are allowed to not be at your best, you know. This is all very disturbing.” She slid closer so they were pressed t
ogether all down Sylvia’s side and slid an arm around Sylvia’s shoulders. “Come here,” she said. “Just come here for a moment and stop trying to hold everything in your head at once.”

  Sylvia muffled a sob and allowed herself to be drawn against Lucy’s shoulder. The sheer, unmitigated relief of having someone to lean on, emotionally as well as physically, completely undid her once again. She burrowed her face into the shoulder of Lucy’s cardigan and let the tears fall.

  Lucy brought their joined hands up between them, rested her chin on top of Sylvia’s head and tucked her in close. “It’s all right my dear,” she said. “I’ve got you.”

  Sylvia cried and cried, until her face felt hot, and Lucy’s shoulder was soaked. Eventually she found herself winding down, but it was so nice to be held that she just rested there for a while, enjoying it. Lucy stroked her hair and rested her cheek against the top of Sylvia’s head and made soothing, wordless noises. And it was…nice.

  Eventually, she stirred. Lucy produced a handkerchief from one of her cardigan pockets and proffered it as Sylvia straightened. Sylvia took it gratefully and began to mop her face. Her skin felt hot and tight and so did her chest.

  “I’m so sorry,” she said. “That was uncalled for.”

  “On the contrary, it was very much called for. I’m very fond of you, too, Sylvia. And when the time is right, if it’s ever right, I’ll be here. I’ve been here for a while now.” She swallowed and pinched the bridge of her nose between her finger and thumb, dropping her eyes. “But not today.”

  Sylvia finished mopping up her face and folded the handkerchief carefully, in halves, then halves and halves again. Eighths. That was eighths. She offered it back to Lucy and Lucy waved it away. “Keep it. Honestly, the day Sylvia Marks is caught without her own handkerchief is the day that she can keep one she borrows.”

  Sylvia gave a watery laugh. “I’m letting myself down today in all sorts of ways,” she said, trying for a smile and only partially succeeding. “I seem to have cried more in the last two days than I have in the entire rest of my life.”

  Lucy smiled back. “Do you think we should go to bed?” she asked. “It seems to have been a very long evening.”

  Sylvia nodded. “Yes, things will look better in the morning. I hate feeling this emotional about everything. Especially things that are done and gone in the past.”

  “I don’t expect you had much time to feel emotional about them at the time, though, did you?” Lucy said, wisely. “We were all so busy, every single minute. It’s shocking that so many more of us didn’t break down, really.”

  She stood and extended a hand to Sylvia. “Come on, let’s get you to bed. You’ll feel better in the morning. It’s been a shocking sort of few days. And you’ve got surgery, haven’t you?”

  Sylvia took her hand and stood, not releasing her fingers, weaving her own between them. “Yes, at eight. You’re right. Bed. Come on.”

  They made their way up the wide staircase from the front hall hand in hand. At Sylvia’s door, Lucy tugged her round to face her.

  “Sylvia,” she said, seriously, eyes huge under their thick lashes. “We can forget all the things we touched on this evening if you decide you want to. I won’t mind in the slightest. I just want you to be happy. That’s all. And if you want a friend, rather than a lover, then I can be that, too.”

  Sylvia swallowed. This is what she’d been half-dreading, half-hoping for. “I don’t know what I want.”

  She looked down at their fingers still twined together between them.

  “I am so pleased that you’ve come. I love having you here. You lighten my days, Lucy.” She looked up quickly, hoping Lucy hadn’t heard the desperation in her voice.

  Lucy was looking at their fingers, too. Very carefully, she brought Sylvia’s hand to her mouth and pressed a kiss to her knuckles, raising her eyes to check Sylvia’s expression as she did so.

  Sylvia watched her, transfixed. Her mouth was so soft against Sylvia’s skin. Very carefully, she turned Sylvia’s hand over and pressed her mouth to the thin skin of her inner wrist, not dropping her eyes. Sylvia shivered.

  Lucy smiled, softly and let their hands drop, stepping forward and pressing a third soft kiss to Sylvia’s cheek and then stepping away.

  “Go to bed, Sylvia,” she said. “It will all look better in the morning.”

  Sylvia watched her, hand on the doorknob of her bedroom, as she took the few steps down the hall to her own room.

  “Goodnight, Lucy,” she said. “And thank you.”

  Lucy threw an impish grin over her shoulder.

  “Goodnight, Sylvia,” she said. “Sleep well.”

  * * * *

  And Sylvia did sleep well. After the ridiculous drama of the evening, she thought she’d have been restless, at the very least. But she slept the sleep of the angels and woke naturally just before her alarm clock.

  She bathed and dressed and descended the stairs to find Walter in an apron, buttering toast.

  “What?” he said. “I’ve got my uniform on, that’s all. It’s surgery in half an hour, I didn’t want to be fagged to change.”

  “Don’t mind me,” Sylvia said, sitting down at the kitchen table. “Sorry about last night. And the night before, I suppose.”

  Walter shook his head. “Don’t be ridiculous,” he said. “It’s been a long time coming, it’s not like you make a habit of it. And it’s all a bit of a shambles, anyway, isn’t it?” He slapped a plate of toast down in front of her. “Eat something. You’ll feel better.”

  She reached for the marmalade, sighing. “Is that medical advice, Orderly Kennett?”

  “No, it’s me telling you to get something in your stomach and pull yourself together. That girl thinks the world of you, and you need to decide whether you’re going to give her what she wants or turn her down. You can’t keep her hanging on a string.”

  There was a little silence, and the sound of Lucy’s voice raised in her bath-time rendition of “If You Were the Only Girl in the World” drifted down the stairs.

  Walter raised his eyebrows and Sylvia blushed.

  “Did you have a talk, then?” he enquired.

  “A bit,” she said. “Yes. I think we understand each other.”

  He nodded.

  “So do we need to make a plan to try and find Miss Masters?” he put the teapot down on the table and went to the pantry to get the milk. “Or are you going to let well alone?”

  “Walter…” she said, slightly helplessly.

  “She’s gone, Sylvia. It’s a million, ten-million to one that this magic stuff, whatever they call it, has anything to do with it. I remember that night. She could have been got by a shell.”

  Sylvia flinched.

  He pulled a face. “Sorry. But you know it’s true. The likelihood that she’s still alive in some sort of fairyland somewhere is ridiculous. You wouldn’t have even entertained the idea twelve months ago. In fact, I don’t know why you let Webber entertain it when he first brought it up!”

  “I saw it!” She didn’t think she’d ever shouted at Walter before and put her hand over her mouth, staring at him, wide-eyed, and then said more quietly. “I bloody well saw him doing it, Walter. I didn’t have any choice but to believe him after that.”

  He sighed.

  “Sorry,” he said. “I just. You’ve got a chance to be happy, here, Sylvia. Don’t throw it away because you can’t let go of the past.”

  He put the teapot down abruptly on its mat in the middle of the table and followed it with a thump into his habitual chair opposite her.

  Above them, Lucy’s voice raised in the chorus of “After the Ball.”

  Sylvia couldn’t help a smile.

  Walter smiled back.

  “She’s a sweetheart,” he said, gently. “Don’t let her slip through your fingers. She’s been sweet on you for years, I told you. If you like her back, then don’t let her get away.”

  She nodded. “I won’t.” She cupped her hands round her warm
teacup, fiddling with the delicate porcelain handle. “But…I need to satisfy myself I’ve done everything I can for Anna. Can you imagine…something like that happening to you with no idea at all what was going on? At least Mr Marchant knew fishy things were possible, that magic existed in some form. But Anna…she never spoke of anything like that. I doubt that she had a clue. For that to happen out of nowhere…” She trailed off.

  Chapter 26

  “We need to make a plan,” Lucy announced at supper a few evenings later.

  They were sitting at the kitchen table, despite Lucy and the new housekeeping staff having finally excavated the dining room from underneath Sylvia’s Papa’s remaining things. Mrs Baker could force them to have lunch in there, but it was cosier in the kitchen and with only the three of them there in the evenings it was ridiculous to haul food down the corridor, so it was freezing cold by the time it got to the table.

  The others looked at her.

  “What sort of plan?” Walter asked, cautiously. “We’ve got a plan. Sylvia organises the patients, I organise Sylvia, you organise both of us.”

  Sylvia threw him a mock-filthy glance as Lucy stifled a snort.

  “A plan to see if we can find Anna,” she said.

  There was a little silence.

  “Ah,” said Walter. “That plan.”

  Lucy wasn’t really paying him much attention. She was too busy watching Sylvia. Walter was too.

  Sylvia was biting her lip and studying her plate with intensity, all the humour gone from her face. They had avoided all further discussion of difficult subjects…magic, Anna, feelings…all of it…for the last few days. Lucy felt like she was living with her skin off now that her emotions were out in the open; and she was sure that Sylvia felt the same way from her careful avoidance of touch and the way she tensed very slightly when Lucy came into the room. Lucy was behaving in the same way toward her, so she could hardly blame her.