The breeder smiled. “The name?”
“McDuff,” Brandon said.
“Good name for a Cairn. Well then, off you go, wee McDuff. Have a good life.”
Brandon nodded and left. May we both have that, he thought as he set off to meet Catherine at The Bishop’s Crook.
An hour later, Brandon entered the pub. As he let his gaze adjust to the darker interior, he felt the puppy awaken and begin to move.
A trio of men passed him at the door. They took off their caps and nodded to him.
“Major.” One of them gave him a salute before following the others outside.
“Good day,” Brandon said as he touched the brim of his military hat.
“Jonnie!”
Catherine! He spotted her in their special place and then felt the pup wiggle with more intensity. He started to unbutton his coat. “Catherine, darling. I’ve got your Christmas gift. It’s rather early, but the breeder insisted.”
“The breeder?” She rose and came forward just as the puppy poked his head out from the pocket.
Catherine clapped her hands. “Smashing! However did you guess?”
“I’ve watched you these last months, sweetheart. You can’t keep your eyes off the dogs in the pet shops.”
“Yes. It’s been so difficult, not having any dogs about since the war began.”
“But it’s over now, and here’s the proof.” He lowered his voice, making it sound more like one of the announcers in the cinema. “Catherine Ellen Hastings, let me present Mr. McDuff, the finest Cairn terrier south of the Highlands.” He grinned. “I hope you don’t mind. I named him for a fellow surgeon, Major Angus McDuff. They look remarkably alike—hairy with short legs.”
She threw back her head and laughed. “Oh, he’s such a love!” She moved into Brandon’s embrace, careful not to press against the pup.
“Merry Christmas, darling.” He started to kiss her, but McDuff yipped. Catherine drew back and smiled.
“Such a formal name for such a small pup,” she said. “If you don’t mind, I should like to call him Duffy for now.”
“Of course.”
“Thank you, Jonnie, for the wonderful gift.”
He leaned in and whispered, “It is but the first gift I shall give you. Our wedding is soon, and then—oh, my darling!”
She looked into his eyes, desire etched on her face. The way her lips parted slightly made him wish they could be alone, all alone.
“Soon,” he promised.
The meaning was implicit, and he saw her green eyes darken slightly, then glitter with an emerald fire, her yearning unmistakable.
Another patron cleared his throat to let them know he wished to pass, and they moved apart and away from the door.
“Yes, soon,” she said as she took the puppy and cradled him.
Catherine moved into a beam of light cast by the sun through an ancient pub window. A shimmering dream, a vision. Where before such a thought might disturb or cause a stab of fear, Brandon realized things had changed. They were different now.
No hallucinations.
On the contrary, his reality felt deep and grounded, the path to his future set, the waiting almost over.
Chapter Twelve
Christmas Eve, 1945
Catherine, her mother, father, and Aunt Vivi arrived early at St. Mary’s Parish Church, Leyton, for the evening Mass. Once they entered the foyer, they each shook off the effects of the driving rain and made their way inside. Jonnie and Nigel would arrive soon. Catherine glanced inside the church and saw several empty pews. There would be no problem claiming one for all six of them.
There was a chance of lightning and thunder, and Catherine worried her darling Duffy would be anxious, not only because of the storm, but because this was the first time her puppy would be alone since Jonnie gifted her the precious ball of fur. He was tucked into his crate at the foot of her bed, as he always was at night, but still, he’d understood this evening was somehow different, and he’d begun whimpering the moment she put on her coat.
To take her mind off Duffy, Catherine looked about and admired the Christmas adornments. The church was beautifully decorated with wreaths, swags of holly branches, and red velvet bows. Spice-scented candles burned everywhere, and a Nativity scene graced the base of the altar. The electric lights were dimmed, which enhanced the effect of the flickering candles and made the interior feel soft and inviting.
They settled into a pew near the back of the church so the Brandons would be able to spot them, but when the organ music and choir began fifteen minutes later, the Brandons still hadn’t shown.
Unconcerned until that moment, a sudden, cold dread slammed through her chest.
Sensing Catherine’s disquiet, her mother touched her arm. “Don’t worry, darling, they’ll be here shortly,” she reassured. “When I rang up Nigel today, he said they would take a cab. I’m sure the traffic is perfectly awful with this weather.”
Catherine nodded, her toe tapping a rapid beat on the floor, waiting, waiting. Frowning, she glanced over her shoulder again to see if Nigel and Jonnie had arrived.
Nothing.
She shifted nervously.
Where is he?
Things were happening at the altar. The service began. Everyone rose to sing a hymn, but it took a touch on her shoulder from her aunt to remind her to stand with the rest. She craned her neck to see past the crowd between her and the door.
Where are they?
Everyone sat, and the vicar began his homily, but Catherine wasn’t listening. A tremor of dread raced up her spine. Something was wrong. Something was terribly, terribly wrong.
Jonnie!
The realization struck even as the church doors crashed open. Catherine spun around.
Two men, one in a police uniform, the other in a suit, walked briskly along a side aisle toward the altar. The vicar paused in his homily and moved to intercept them.
Catherine froze.
The three men spoke in hushed voices. A deep frown marred the vicar’s brow as he cast his glance over the audience. “Is there a Catherine Hastings with us this evening? These men need to speak with you urgently.”
With a cry, Catherine left the pew and rushed toward them. Prickling stars lit her view as fear and panic crashed through her body.
No, no, no!
Her mother arrived at her side and grasped her hand, but the gesture held no comfort. She knew her life was over, destroyed, and all she could do was scream.
People surrounded her, their faces a blur. Her mother still held her hand, of that she was certain, but her mind understood little else—except that Jonnie was in trouble, Jonnie was… She didn’t know, but she knew it was bad.
Catherine could hardly breathe, and the face of the officer who’d come looking for them came into focus. He took her arm. She heard the vicar ask for prayers, and she felt as though she were living on two planes—one painfully practical and aware, but very, very far away, and the other a muddle of emotion and horror, very near and exploding all around her.
The men escorted Catherine and her family outside, and the one in the suit stepped forward to present his police credentials for their inspection. Catherine looked from the picture to his face. He looked happy in the picture.
But he looks sad, old, and tired now, she thought. She refused to wonder why, yet her mind screamed the answer.
He’s sad because of the news he’s here to share.
“I’m Detective Wainwright of Scotland Yard. This is Officer James Findlay,” he said. “There has been an incident tonight involving your fiancé. Before we go into details, I want to tell you that when we sought out his father, Nigel Brandon, he asked that we find you immediately and bring you to his home. Are you willing?”
“Of course,” George Hastings boomed.
“Yes, yes,” Catherine said. “Please, has Jonnie been injured? Worse? Tell me that much.”
“Actually, we are not sure what happened, Miss Hastings. Major Brandon seems to hav
e gone missing, although we don’t know if there was foul play, or even if he’s been harmed—or worse.”
Catherine gasped and swayed. Someone took hold of her. She sensed it was her father.
Forcing her eyes open, Catherine found herself in a police car, lights flashing, sirens blaring. Her mum and dad were with her, holding her. Had she fainted? Her gaze fixed on the rivulets of rain coursing down the windows of the car. The skies had opened up for Jonnie. All of London was weeping for him.
Oh, Jonnie. Jonnie, I’m so scared!
The car pulled to a stop outside Nigel’s home. Light poured from the lower windows, but the porch light was off, a poignant sign something was amiss. A sob caught in Catherine’s throat. No, no! Nigel ran his home like clockwork. Ever since Rose’s passing, he’d rigorously continued her routines as a matter of course. Catherine suspected it was his way to honor her, and in some small way it kept her memory alive in the home she’d so loved.
No, this can’t be happening.
The car door opened. Her father took her elbow and helped her out of the car. She looked up at him with pleading eyes. He’d always chased her fears away, always made everything better with a smile and a hug.
But tears soaked his face.
Oh, Dad, you’ve always been able to fix everything, but…not this, not this…Everyone hurried inside, and Catherine’s heart seized anew when she saw Nigel crumpled in a wingback chair, his face ashen, his eyes vacant, his cheeks wet with grief.
She rushed to gather him in her arms.
“Nigel,” she said. “Tell me. What has happened? Where is Jonnie?”
He looked at her as though having difficulty forming coherent thoughts, then shook his head. “They’re gone. They’re both gone. What am I to do? How am I to go on without them?”
Before she could respond, a firm hand touched her shoulder. “Miss Hastings?”
She turned and looked up at the suited man who’d ridden in the front passenger seat. He held out his police credentials again. “I’d appreciate it if you would sit down so I can go over everything in detail and ask a few questions.”
Catherine went to the sofa and sat stiffly. Her mother hurried to sit by her side and whispered, “I called your girlfriends the moment we arrived. I could not reach Susan or Mirin but—”
Suddenly, the front door burst open and Poppy rushed in. Hugs, tears, exclamations of fear, and grief filled the room once again, but when Detective Wainwright loudly cleared his throat, Poppy quickly sat beside Catherine. Everyone else quieted and found seats, except her father, who paced the room.
Detective Wainwright cleared his throat one more time and began, “I’ve already gone over this with Mr. Brandon, but he requested you be equally informed with everything we’re looking into. This afternoon, Major Jonathan Brandon entered The Bishop’s Crook pub just off Holborn. He spoke with the proprietor and a few patrons, who all agree he seemed in a genial mood. He sat in a rear corner table, said to be his usual spot, and ordered a meal. To this point all witnesses agree everything seemed quite ordinary. It was just after his meal was delivered that Major Brandon was heard to shout or scream. Some described the sound as unnatural, others said he sounded terrified.”
A ragged sob tore from Nigel. Catherine moaned and leaned into Poppy’s embrace.
“At this point, the accounts of the witnesses diverge.” Wainwright shifted, glanced around the room as though uncomfortable, and referred to his notes. “Most saw nothing, as they weren’t paying particular attention. It seems he was simply gone. Some speculate he went to use the lavatory and didn’t come out, but there is no exit from the pub in that direction. All swear he never left by the front door, as they would’ve seen him go.”
Catherine looked up, confused, and clutched at a faint hope that bloomed in her heart. “So, what exactly happened? Why all the fuss if he simply can’t be located? It sounds as though he might walk in the door at any moment.”
Wainwright scrubbed a hand across his face. “As to that, we’d all be right glad of it. But the thing is, he left his military coat and hat, his brolly, exactly where he’d placed them. Plus his lunch was practically untouched.”
“I don’t believe you’re in the habit of treating a missing person’s case with such…urgency,” Catherine said, her shaky voice belying her practical questions. “Please, tell me, what is the reason for this extreme response?”
The detective mopped his brow, checked his notes once again, and then focused on a spot just above Catherine’s head. “The barman swears he witnessed the whole thing, but his account is odd. At this point and time, we are keeping his statements out of the public record. Suffice it to say, he maintains… Truth is, he might well be on a bender, or he could be a complete lunatic—or both.”
Catherine tried to swallow, but her throat was parched, and her words came out as the barest whisper, “Lunatic? Why?”
“Mind you, you’re not to repeat a word of this. But…I’m saying lunatic because the man claims Brandon vanished before his eyes, faded away like a ghost.”
Stunned, Catherine stared at the detective as voices rose around her, confused, angered, incredulous. But something about the detective’s tone of voice struck a chord deep within.
She remembered what had happened to Jonnie, his hallucinations. He’d described the sensation of fading. He’d seen translucency in his hands. What in God’s name happened to him? She had no idea what any of this meant, but she knew, she knew, whatever happened to Jonnie, he was beyond her reach, beyond her love, and their lives were forever altered, all their dreams irretrievably broken.
Stars danced before her eyes once again, and the strained voices and tearful cries that filled the room receded. Light waned and darkness beckoned.
Catherine gratefully let herself slip into the void.
…
Christmas Day crept in quietly and without fanfare. There would be no celebrating. Catherine’s whole face felt swollen and painful, her tears and anguish the cause. Poppy had insisted on coming home with her the night before, and lay beside her on the bed, still holding her hand as she’d done all night. Her face was equally puffy, but at least she seemed to be sleeping, and Catherine wanted to allow her these restful moments. Neither of them had gotten more than a few snatched minutes of sleep during the night. So, although she had a powerful urge to get up and start the day, she forced herself to wait until Poppy woke on her own.
She intended to go to the pub first thing and speak with the owner, Mr. Lloyd, in person. Then she would go to Scotland Yard and see what more they’d found out.
After that, she would spend the day with Nigel. She was the only person left in his life. The rest of his family was gone, and she couldn’t bear to leave him alone in his grief. At least they could share that and perhaps gather strength from each other. She also needed to get the phone numbers of Jonnie’s military commanders.
A soft knock sounded at her door. “Catherine?” her mother called, her voice barely above a whisper.
Poppy stirred, and Catherine released her hand in order to go to the door. Her mother was already dressed as though she were about to leave.
“How are you, dear? Can I get you anything?”
“No, Mummy. Where are you going?”
“Neither of us slept much, so we had time to plan,” her mother said. “We thought you’d want to go to the police this morning, so your father and I are off to Nigel’s. His neighbor stayed with him last night, but we shall take over, as he shouldn’t be left alone. We’ll take him some breakfast, and I’ve got more waiting for you in the oven. Aunt Vivi isn’t up yet, but she has agreed to bring something to Nigel’s for lunch.”
A lump of gratitude formed in Catherine’s throat, and she hugged her mother. “Thank you. I’m going to the pub, and then the police, but I’d planned on going to Nigel’s as well. I should be there by lunchtime.”
“Catherine, you can’t go to the pub. It’s not safe.”
“Jonnie and I have gotten to
know Mr. Lloyd well over the last few weeks. He’s a solid fellow and would not lie. He’s certainly not a lunatic. I think he’ll talk with me about what he saw.”
Her mother looked at her with worry, but she nodded, regardless. “All right. But don’t stay long, please.”
They hugged each other again and then her mother left.
Weary and aching with worry, Catherine closed the door and turned to find Poppy standing close by.
“I’m coming with you.”
Catherine smiled weakly and swiped at a stray tear. “Thank you. I hoped you might.”
…
As though reading her mood, Duffy kept quiet and dutifully got down to business when she took him outside. She felt anxious and wanted to get going with her day, but wouldn’t think of giving this duty to her aunt. Duffy was her connection to Jonnie, and she would pour out her love on him until Jonnie came home.
Duffy bounded back up the steps to her front door and then turned to look down the street, tail wagging. Catherine caught movement out of the corner of her eye, and turned with a startled gasp. A man in uniform.
No, not Jonnie.
Her shoulders slumped. So, the military already knew about their situation. Of course they would. Scotland Yard would have contacted them straightaway. And they were bringing her either information or comfort. Didn’t they send someone out when…? Terrified of what he would say, Catherine picked up Duffy, clung to him, and shook her head, as if to ward off impending doom.
The short, barrel-chested fellow stopped at the sidewalk and took off his hat, to reveal a head of bristly red hair. His eyes looked as puffy as hers, she noted, his face haggard and lined with grief.
“Catherine Hastings?”
She made no acknowledgment other than to stare.
He took a single step forward, nervously working the brim of his hat between his hands. “I’m a close friend of Jonathan Brandon—Major Angus McDuff. I’ve heard the sorry news. I’d give anything t’ take his place, in order t’ return him t’ ye, but, since I canna do that, I’m here t’ offer assistance.”
Fresh tears welled in her eyes, and when she swayed, Major McDuff caught her elbow.
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