Sighing, Archibald sat up and opened his eyes. A warm cup of tea sat steaming by the side of the tub. Archibald picked it up and sipped it, thinking over his options.
Scottie would keep an eye on Frank. If he remained married, then Archibald would stay away. But if the marriage broke up, if there was any sign that Frank might be willing to return to what they had, then he’d reach out. There was still the faintest glimmer of hope. He would wait for however long it took.
Chapter Forty-Five
With fall came Henry’s return to school. Frank and Julia took him to the train station to see him off. Henry hugged his father tightly and waved his mother goodbye, promising to be good and make them proud. As the train pulled away, Frank felt like he was watching his reasons to stay leave with it.
The ride back to the house was tense. Since the argument, Julia had stopped even trying to pretend they could reconcile. Frank went to work, came home, rattled around the house like a ghost, wrestled demons in his dreams, then started the whole process over the next day.
He hadn’t been so miserable since some of his worst days in the trenches. London was safe from bullets and artillery, sure. Mud didn’t cake every surface, and there were no rats skittering along the edges. But everything felt hollow, echoing with an emptiness that threatened to overwhelm him.
Was Archibald feeling the same way? Was he home by now, or overseeing the end of the war from the farmhouse? Even thinking his name made Frank ache. Maybe he could find him, somehow, when all this was over. A man like Archibald shouldn’t be too difficult to find.
Frank glanced at Julia’s hands as they neared home. They were folded perfectly in her lap, and she looked every inch the proper wife. But she might as well be miles away. Frank wondered what she was thinking, but didn’t care enough to ask. They arrived home together, then went to their separate rooms.
A few days later, Doris came to him as he sat in the parlor, trying to read but unable to focus. She sat near him with some sewing. He smiled softly as she worked, remembering when she was small.
“You and Mum should separate,” she said suddenly.
Frank’s smile dropped. “What?”
“You’re both miserable,” she said. “I know you’re worried about me and Henry, but we’ll be fine.”
Frank stared at her for a long moment. “You’ve grown up a lot,” he said.
Doris glanced up at him, then back at what she was doing. “Staying here is only going to keep you unhappy.”
“I’ll think about it,” promised Frank.
She nodded. “I’d miss you, but if you left this house, you’d still be nearby.”
“I’d stay in London,” said Frank. “And I’d still want to spend time with you.”
“I know,” she said.
“I’ll think about it,” repeated Frank, watching her for a moment longer.
Giving up on his book, he set it aside and headed up to bed. He glanced at the wardrobe and the letters hidden behind its doors, wondering if he should take that step.
As autumn deepened, rumors flew about the end of the war. Frank could hardly believe the truth of it, no matter what he saw in the papers. Still, the armistice was announced, and the war truly seemed to be ending. On November 11, he went into work, as usual, only to be told to take the day off, since he was a veteran.
He left work, seeing the city ready to celebrate victory and the end of the war. Frank walked to the Thames, heading in the general direction of home. It was a victory, surely, but he still felt empty. Walking past couples hugging, people cheering, he only felt more alone. It wasn’t the same without Archibald by his side. Was he here somewhere, celebrating too? How did he feel about the end of the war?
Frank reached the river and looked out over it, letting his mind wander over the past, whispering names to himself, trying to remember faces. Men he had loved, if only temporarily, more that he had lost. He remembered his own fears about the war ending and of losing Archibald. But he’d been ripped from him months ago, and that was one wound that wouldn’t heal.
Frank turned for home again. As he approached his house, he made up his mind. It was time to settle things with Julia. There would never be reconciliation between them. The war was over, there was no reason to stay together, and he had Doris’s proof of her infidelity.
Finally, he stood on the pavement, looking up at the house, remembering the promise and hope of the purchase and their young marriage, ending now in a whisper of bitterness. No longer together, really. Just two people living at the same address.
Frank walked in and took off his hat, finding Julia once again tidying the parlor. She looked up at him, clearly gathering herself as she walked over to him. “I think we should separate,” she said.
Surprised, Frank met her gaze. “Yes. I was thinking the same thing.” He gave her a sad smile. “There’s no point in trying, is there?”
Julia looked away from him and shook her head as if not quite trusting herself to speak.
“The house is yours, of course,” said Frank as he headed for the stairs. Now that the decision had been made, he wanted to be done. “But I do want to see the children.”
“Of course. I wouldn’t keep them from you,” said Julia, following him.
Frank went into his room, pulled out a bag, and opened the wardrobe, pulling out clothes and tucking the box quickly into the bottom of the bag.
“You’re leaving now?” asked Julia, surprised.
Frank stopped what he was doing to look at her. There was regret and sadness in her eyes. A bit late for regret, he thought with a flash of anger. “Any particular reason I shouldn’t?”
“No, I suppose not,” she said, stepping into the room to help him pack. They worked together silently and quickly, both clearly feeling some relief that this step had been taken.
“Do you have somewhere to go?” asked Julia as he closed his bag
“I’ll find somewhere,” he said. “Once I get a flat sorted out, I’ll come get the rest of my things.”
Julia touched his arm. “We did have something once.”
“But it was a long time ago,” said Frank. He leaned over to kiss her forehead and shouldered his bag. “Take care of yourself,” he said.
“You too,” she answered, stepping aside.
Frank didn't look back as he walked down the stairs and out of the house.
Late that night, Frank sat in a small hotel room, indulging in a bottle of cheap whiskey. With a good portion of the bottle gone, he sat down with a piece of paper and started to write a letter to Archibald, putting into words all the things he wished he’d said almost a year ago. Archibald might never see this, but now, in this hotel, his old life behind him, Frank felt free to speak, at least on paper. Time hadn’t dulled how much he thought about Archibald, how much he missed him.
By the time he put down the pen, tears stung his eyes. He quickly folded it up and stuffed it into his bag, hiding it among his clothes. The last thing he needed would be for the wrong person to find it. But maybe, just maybe, he could find Archibald again once he was fully free.
Taking another swig of the whiskey and putting it aside, Frank climbed into the cold bed and hugged a pillow to his chest, listening to the watch ticking next to his ear. Outside, the world celebrated, but Frank let himself cry. He was mourning one relationship that was well and truly over and another that had barely had a chance to begin.
Frank fell asleep remembering the feeling of Archibald’s arms around him and the last time he’d felt truly safe and loved.
Chapter Forty-Six
The night of the armistice, Archibald stood at his window, looking out towards the city, nursing a drink. He’d been invited out to celebrate but had begged off. It felt more like a time to reflect.
Murphy stepped into the room. “Sir? Are you all right?”
Archibald looked at his drink. “I should be happy, shouldn’t I?”
“That the war is over? I’m sure you are, sir. But it seems like you’ve got s
ome unfinished business.”
Archibald nodded. “Have a drink with me.”
It was a sign of the mood of the day that Murphy didn’t argue or hesitate, simply walked over and poured himself a glass from the decanter.
“I knew someone over there,” said Archibald quietly as Murphy came to his side. “I know how to reach out, but I haven’t attempted it.”
Murphy sipped his drink. “And you’re not sure if you should.”
“My friend is not free to be with me. Not now, maybe not ever.” Archibald polished off the rest of his drink and went to pour himself another one.
“Many friendships develop over the bonds of war. It wouldn’t be unusual to grow close to someone”" said Murphy. He took a sip before speaking again. “If you don’t mind my saying so, sir, you’ll be happier if you reach out and see what happens. I suspect it’ll be easier for you to reach out to him than the other way around. You’re not always the easiest person to find.”
“I have someone keeping an eye on the situation.” Archibald walked back over to the window. “I must admit, rather selfishly, that I hope it works out in my favor. The marriage isn’t a happy one.”
“It’s not selfish at all,” said Murphy. “If you were selfish you wouldn’t have left the house open and made sure everyone stayed employed that wanted to be. You wouldn’t be holding yourself back now. I know you, sir, and you are anything but selfish. You’re a good man.”
Archibald sighed and looked out the window. “I gave orders that got good men killed. I shot and killed an enemy soldier in anger. You’ve heard my bad dreams.”
Murphy put his glass aside and reached out to touch Archibald’s arm. From anyone else, it would be an impertinence, but from Murphy, it was comfort. “You’re human, that's all. You were a soldier and did things, some of which you regret. That’s war.”
Nodding, Archibald drained his glass. “As is so often true, you are right, Murphy.” He put his glass down and turned away. “Thank you. I am going to bed. No need to help.”
“Very well, sir. Have a good rest.” Archibald was aware of Murphy keeping his eyes on him as he went up to bed.
A few weeks later, Archibald had just finished a meeting when Scottie appeared at his door. “Did I catch you at a bad time?” he asked.
“No, no, come in,” said Archibald.
Scottie stepped closer, shifting his weight foot to foot, anxious. “You said to let you know if anything changed.”
“I did.” Archibald went to his desk and took out some money.
Scottie looked at it. “The copper got divorced,” he said. “Guess the courts handled it quietly on account of his job. He’s renting a room.”
“Do you have the new address?” asked Archibald.
“Yep. Figured you’d want that.” Scottie took out a folded scrap of paper and offered it to him.
Archibald traded the paper for the money. “I don’t need you to keep him under observation any longer. But I’ll let you know when I have more work for you.”
“Thank you, sir. Pleasure doing business with you,” said Scottie, tipping his hat and walking out.
Archibald sat down at his desk and put the paper in his pocket, scrubbing his face in his hands. Frank was free. He felt relief, but also guilt. Though surely, the marriage would have ended with or without their affair.
Opening his pocket watch, Archibald looked down at the picture. His primary reason to hold back had been removed, and yet still, he hesitated. Perhaps he could see Frank, at least.
Making up his mind, Archibald packed up for the day, looking at the new address just long enough to memorize it. But it would be easiest to catch Frank leaving work.
As he passed through the city, he couldn’t help but look at the people. Soldiers were streaming slowly home now, many worn thin and hollowed out, struggling to readapt to a world they’d nearly forgotten. Winter was settling in, and the jubilation of the armistice had given way to anxious plans for peace.
A bit more than a year ago, he’d been new to the trenches, still startled by every boom of artillery, still getting used to the mud and the food and the cold. But he’d had Frank, and the world hadn’t seemed quite so terrifying with his presence. Perhaps he could return the favor, now.
Archibald got out of the cab a block from the police station. He walked over to the street across from it, hat pulled low, hoping his bulky coat would disguise his shape. People came and went, but at last, his patience was rewarded.
Frank came out alone, buttoning his coat against the chill. He’d put on a bit of weight, and his hair was a bit longer than regulation, but it was unmistakably him. Frank glanced around, stuffed his hands in his pockets, then started walking. Archibald suspected his finances were tight with supporting his now ex-wife.
Still, Archibald didn’t call out to him. He watched Frank walk down the pavement, finally vanishing around a corner. Archibald took one breath, and then another. His heart ached in his chest, and knew that no, his feelings for Frank hadn’t changed at all. He loved Frank, and no amount of time or distance could shake that.
Forcing himself to walk the other way, Archibald made up his mind. Next time, and there would be a next time, he would find the courage to talk to him. As long as Frank returned his feelings, he'd find some way for the two of them to be together.
Returning home, Archibald started to put things into place. Perhaps Frank could move into his home, if he was amiable. He certainly had spare rooms and a loyal staff that he was certain would practice discretion. And truly, all he wanted was to give Frank the love and support he needed and deserved.
Chapter Forty-Seven
December was cold, and Frank found his thoughts turning more and more to where he’d been a year earlier. He hadn’t sought out Archibald yet, worried that his feelings might have changed, or he might be too well ensconced again in the upper echelons of society where he belonged. They were excuses, Frank knew, but it felt better to put it off than to chance being rejected.
But he was lonely, and he missed Archibald. Finally, late one evening, he slipped out of the boarding house and headed for a certain pub. Perhaps finding some company among men might ease his ache for a time.
He slipped inside and got a drink, looking around, wondering about the others there. He could see by the way they carried themselves that many were recent soldiers. Maybe they were seeking company with others that might understand what woke them in the small hours of the night.
One of those former soldiers came up to Frank and smiled at him. Frank returned his smile and ordered him a drink. They fell to chatting about nothing of any importance, the man clearly used to the ritual of the place.
As they finished their drinks he put his hand over Frank’s and angled his head towards the stairs in the corner.
Frank’s heart skipped. It would be easy to accept the invitation and follow him up, to get physical release and a moment of pleasure. But it wasn’t what he wanted, he knew that now for certain. It was Archibald or nothing.
“I’m sorry, but no,” he said, slowly withdrawing his hand.
“It’s fine,” said the stranger, patting his arm. “You’re bound to be anxious your first time to a place like this.”
Frank startled. “How did you know?”
He gave Frank a mischievous smile. “I can tell. And believe me, I’d remember your handsome face if I’d seen it before. Have a good night.” He patted Frank’s arm and headed away from the bar.
Feeling troubled, Frank paid his tab and walked outside, breathing in the cold air. He shouldn’t have come in the first place, not with his job. Not only would he be in a world of trouble himself, but these men were just looking for a little safety and peace. His presence was a threat to that.
Scrubbing a hand through his hair, he turned and started walking back to the boarding house. He could have another drink there and try to sleep.
Not far from the pub he became aware of footsteps behind him. At first, he barely noticed, but then he ca
ught the steady pace. He turned a corner and the footsteps followed.
Heart beating harder, Frank resisted looking back. Had someone recognized him as a cop? Or had someone he worked with seen him walk out of there? Frank walked a little faster, glad he knew the city as well as he did, turning another corner. This street was practically deserted. The few people on it had their heads down and collars turned up against the cold as they hurried to warmer destinations.
Frank took a few deep breaths as he saw an alley up ahead, the mouth of it conveniently dim. He slowed down and suddenly turned, grabbing the jacket of the man behind him, dragging him into the alley and shoving him up against the bricks.
Frank stared in shock as he recognized the face. “Archibald?”
Archibald gave him a weak smile. “Glad to see you still have your wits about you.”
Frank stared at him for a moment, his grip relaxing, then kissed him with months of pent up longing.
Archibald moaned softly, wrapping his arms around Frank’s shoulders and kissing him in return.
Frank only pulled back when a vehicle passed by on the street. “I missed you,” he said quietly.
“And I, you,” said Archibald, cupping his cheek.
“My place is close, come on,” said Frank, reluctantly stepping back. “I’ve got my own entrance. They like having a cop living there.”
Archibald nodded and fell into step by his side as they hurried through the dark streets.
It really was quite close. Frank led him quietly up the back stairs and unlocked the door to his room. He led Archibald inside and closed the door, then went to make sure the door to the rest of the house was still locked.
Archibald waited patiently, hat in his hands, as he tracked Frank’s movements with his eyes. Finally, Frank turned up a light and faced him.
Alone at last with the only person he wanted, Frank reached out to touch Archibald’s cheek, almost not believing he was truly here.
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