Arthur had asked her to meet him in London tomorrow for their second date. She’d said yes with enthusiasm, but then the gnawing returned, the feeling that she was betraying Jonnie. Would he be hurt by her seeing Arthur? Or would he approve, glad she was getting on with her life?
Was she needlessly worrying about something that might not work at all? What if this date wasn’t as good as before? Had she been swept off her feet at Buckingham Palace by the moment—and not the man?
She bit her lip and trudged on, turning the street corner and heading back home. Tomorrow, she thought. Tomorrow.
I don’t know what to do. I don’t know how to think about all of this.
When she reached her front steps, Duffy wagged his tail, waiting for her to open the door. He lives in the moment, she thought. I wish I could, too.
…
They spent a delightful Saturday afternoon at Selfridges on Oxford Street, combing the immense emporium for Christmas gifts for their families.
In need of sustenance after their shopping extravaganza, Catherine and Arthur went to one of Selfridges’ ground floor cafés, where they ordered salt beef sandwiches and ginger beer.
Despite the morning’s fun, Catherine’s head started to throb as she ate, and she knew it was due to tension over her indecision. Where to begin? How would Arthur react to hearing about Jonnie?
It is now or never. I must tell him the truth. Will he wish to see me again?
Catherine held her breath, then slowly exhaled. “Arthur? I have something important to tell you.”
He had just taken a big bite of his sandwich. He glanced away, chewed as quickly as possible, and swallowed. “Sorry,” he said with a self-deprecating laugh. When he caught the look on her face, his smile faded. “What is it?”
Catherine hesitated, willing herself to answer, but she found no words to utter. Her mind drew a blank. Get a hold of yourself!
He put his hand over hers. “Catherine, what is it?”
She opened her mouth, fully intending to tell him about Jonnie, but fear overwhelmed her desire to explain. “I…I…”
I’m going to lose him, too. Her mouth clamped shut, and she dropped her gaze. It’s too soon.
Overwhelmed, Catherine sprang to her feet and fled, rushing for the door and the bustle of Oxford Street.
…
“Catherine, wait!”
Arthur watched her burst through the door of Selfridges. Ignoring the stares of the other patrons, he threw some bills on the table, grabbed their parcels, and ran after her. When he got outside, he looked left and right, up and down the busy street, but she was gone.
Stunned, worried, he frowned and considered his options. The return of reason quieted his bewilderment, and he faced the traffic. With a sharp whistle, he hailed a cab and gave the driver Catherine’s address. He ordered the man to drive as slowly as possible around the corner to Duke Street, then back again to Oxford. After searching for her to no avail, they headed for Stratford.
They arrived as darkness fell. Arthur paid the fare, retrieved the parcels, and bounded up the front steps. Juggling the boxes and bags, he managed to push the buzzer. Might Catherine already be home? Worried, he glanced at the leaden sky and noted that a rainstorm looked imminent.
The door opened and George Hastings smiled at him, but then looked around in puzzlement. “Where’s Cathy?”
“I’ve no idea. I hoped she might be here.”
George ushered him inside as Arthur explained what happened at the café.
“I believe you need a drink, son.”
“But Catherine—”
“Will be all right.”
“Do you know what is wrong, sir?”
“Call me George. And yes, I think I do.”
Just then, the front door opened and Lily walked in with Duffy, followed by Catherine.
Eyes wide, Catherine looked straight at Arthur, then ran past everyone and up the stairs.
Duffy barked and strained on his lead in an attempt to follow.
“What in the world?” Lily asked as she unhooked the dog and let him go.
George took Lily aside and quickly explained.
Lily looked at Arthur and patted her husband’s hand. “I’ll talk to her,” she said and headed upstairs to her daughter’s room.
Worried, Arthur stared after her, his arms still full of parcels.
“Put those down and come with me, my boy,” George said. “You deserve an explanation.”
…
Catherine curled up on her bed and pulled the chenille spread over her body. She wanted to hide and never show herself to the world again. How could she face Arthur Howard after this disaster of a day?
A knock sounded at the door and her mum called out, “Catherine, may I come in?”
She groaned and pulled the bedspread over her head. “No, please leave me alone.”
The door pushed open, and Catherine heard the click, click, click of little claws on the floorboards. As Duffy leapt onto her bed, she pushed aside the spread and pulled him close.
“Oh, darling.” Lily sat on the bed, her expression filled with sympathy.
Catherine petted Duffy, who nuzzled against her. “Mummy, I’m such a coward. I couldn’t bring myself to tell him about Jonnie. I bolted. I actually ran out on him. I’m so embarrassed.”
“George is having a talk with Arthur right now.” Lily stroked Catherine’s hair. “Darling, I’m here for you if you wish to have a heart to heart.”
Closing her eyes, Catherine felt disgust with herself in knowing she had failed. She should go down and explain herself. Her father mustn’t be made to carry the burden because of her loathsome behavior.
“You are so young, Catherine. Don’t be too hard on yourself.”
Her mother’s words gave her little comfort.
Coward, she berated herself.
…
Arthur sat in the kitchen with George Hastings, nursing a mug of tea laced with brandy as he learned about Major Jonathan Brandon. He wasn’t the least bit surprised there had been another man in Catherine’s life, but the end of the tale gave him quite a shock. Disappeared? Murdered?
From the start, George presented it as a clear-cut case of foul play, but, as the minutes ticked by, and he described what happened at The Bishop’s Crook, Arthur questioned whether a murder had actually taken place at all. No one reported seeing Brandon leave the pub, and a body was never found. The case had too many loose ends. What in God’s name happened that day?
“Is the case closed?” Arthur asked.
“I believe so, but I’m not certain. It’s been just shy of two years. He went missing on Christmas Eve, 1945.”
Arthur nodded and sipped his tea. A plethora of troubling questions drummed through his brain. Was Brandon dead or alive? Did Catherine still love him?
If Brandon suddenly reappeared, would she wish to resume their relationship?
Where do I fit in? Will I always be looking over my shoulder, wondering if he will show up?
“Arthur?”
He turned at the sound of Catherine’s voice. Her pale face belied the strength in her gaze. He rose from his chair and nodded to her, appreciating her show of determination.
Without a word, George got to his feet and walked over to his daughter, whom he kissed on the cheek before exiting the room.
Arthur held out a chair for Catherine, then sat next to her. The sound of the radio came from the lounge, the unmistakable voice of the Yorkshireman, Wilfred Pickles, on his hit program Have a Go!
“Mum and Dad’s favorite,” Catherine said.
Arthur could tell she was striving for calm, but he noticed the little worry line between her brows.
“Your father told me about Major Brandon,” he said.
She glanced down at her lap. “I’m sorry. I should have told you myself. It was rude of me to run off like that.”
“There is no need for an apology. We can discuss it now or later. I shall leave that up to you.”
/> There was a sudden explosion of laughter from the lounge, followed by Wilfred Pickles loudly asking in his Yorkshire accent, “Are yer courtin’?”
It was one of his most famous catch-phrases, and the timing was not lost on Arthur, who couldn’t help but smile.
He looked at Catherine. “Well, are we?” he asked. “I certainly hope so.”
It took her a moment to digest this. Her gaze went wide and then slipped past him, to the wall separating the kitchen from the lounge. Pickles was carrying on a jaunty dialogue with his wife, Mabel. Arthur couldn’t make out most of it until he heard, “What’s on the table, Mabel?”
He chuckled.
Catherine faced him. “They’re a jolly pair,” she observed.
“Rather.” He took her hand and held it tenderly, wishing he could kiss her instead. “Are you willing to give us a chance at happiness, too?”
Her expression changed with his question, becoming sober and reflective. What had she decided?
“Catherine, shall we give it a go?”
“Yes,” she replied without further hesitation. “I can’t think of anything I’d like better than to court you, Arthur Howard. Now let me tell you more about Jonnie. I need to explain.”
“All right, love,” he said with a reassuring squeeze of her hand.
…
Catherine went to bed that night at peace with the world. How long had it been since she’d felt such contentment?
24 December 1945. Not since that fateful Christmas Eve, before Jonnie vanished.
It still haunted her, would do so for the rest of her days, but now she believed the worst was over. By word and deed, Arthur had shown he was willing to share her burden. He was not callous or jealous; in fact, he’d offered to help her try to solve the mystery.
She snuggled in the bed, then smiled and planted a kiss on her pillow. Wishing it was Arthur’s lips instead, she welcomed the coming days.
Chapter Eighteen
Catherine glanced at her watch. She planned to meet Arthur in London at noon for a Saturday lunch, and she’d be late for the next train if she didn’t hurry. She hadn’t seen him in a week and was excited about their third date.
She pulled on her coat. It was new, a lovely red wool with golden buttons, a real treasure. It even had a hood, perfect for cold weather. Most people still made do with their old coats, and she saw a lot of shabby, threadbare outerwear these days. The post-war recession hit everyone hard, and this coat was another instance where her father accepted a gift in lieu of payment. Her first inclination was to feel embarrassed to wear her beautiful coat in the face of such privation, but her mum told her to remember that it came to her because of her father’s willingness to help others in need.
Catherine opened the front door and braced herself for the cold. The blast hit her full in the face, the first snowflakes of the season awhirl in the bitter wind. But the sight did not lift her spirits as it had when she was a child. She couldn’t forget the trauma of last winter, the worst in memory, with heavy snows and freezing cold. The entire country was shut down by the terrible weather, with most people spending long weeks trapped inside their homes with little food and no heat. She hoped the flakes weren’t the harbinger of another winter like that.
Adjusting her hood, she hurried toward the tube. She rode the train into London in silence. There were few people in her car, and they seemed withdrawn, their heads down, eyes averted. She snuggled deep into her coat and waited for the stop at the Chancery Lane Underground Station.
When she alighted from the train, she spotted Arthur waiting for her several cars down. He was searching for her in the opposite direction. She called out his name, and he turned with a smile.
“Hello, love,” he said as they raced into each other’s arms. He gave her a kiss on the cheek and then grabbed her hand. “Let’s be off. I have a surprise for you.”
When they got to street level, the snow had increased, big flakes dancing in the air. The wind had died down, and London seemed soft and hushed by the snowfall, even more apparent given the sparse traffic in this part of town on weekends. Despite the early hour, the streetlights were on, a counterpoint to the gloomy sky. Lit from above, snowflakes sparkled like diamonds, and Catherine made out individual patterns: tiny lace doilies and twinkling stars.
She drew her hood up to protect her hair. “Gosh, it’s so beautiful,” she said, and Arthur laughed as she stuck out her tongue to capture several flakes. “They taste like vanilla,” she added, grinning.
“Do they, now?” He made a show of tasting them, too. “Hungry, are you? Well, follow me!”
…
Arthur strolled with Catherine toward one of his favorite spots in the legal district, a handsome Victorian era pub called The Palace. They would have it to themselves, since he’d reserved the establishment by private hire.
He glanced at Catherine and swallowed. This was the moment. He was going to ask her to marry him. Today. His mind was made up, even if it had been a whirlwind courtship. He’d never been the impulsive type, yet this felt right. He would give her the ring he’d chosen just yesterday, a so-called “trilogy” engagement ring of eighteen carat gold, with three sparkling diamonds.
The jeweler insisted it was what all the young ladies desired nowadays, the trio of stones representing the past, present, and future. This didn’t truly matter to Arthur; he’d made his decision the moment he saw the delicate ring, imagining how lovely it would look gracing his intended’s left hand.
Of course, the rashness of his plan might have untoward consequences. In his haste to act, he’d neglected to tell his aunt or uncle, or formally ask George for his daughter’s hand. He tamped down his nerves, reminding himself the man clearly liked him, and resolved to ask his future father-in-law for the sake of formality and respect. Arthur was certain he’d be forgiven for this lapse in good manners and welcomed into the family.
They finally reached Furnival Street and headed toward The Palace.
And my destiny? Arthur nervously thought.
He glanced at Catherine, her eyelashes twinkling with snowflakes, her cheeks pink with the cold.
She smiled at him, a pretty smile that set his heart racing, and the whole world seemed bright with possibility.
…
Catherine had a jolly time at The Palace, surprised and pleased that they had the place to themselves. She enjoyed being spoiled by Arthur and the wait staff. Everything was perfect, from the gleaming brass and rich, dark woods of the Victorian decor, to the warmth of a real fire and flavorful food. She particularly enjoyed the dessert they shared, a big helping of Spotted Dick. She declared the pudding tasted positively scrumpy. He pronounced it ambrosial. That made her smile, but when he told her about an American client of his who had been scandalized by the name of the concoction, she blushed furiously and laughed out loud.
“Ah, the Yanks don’t speak proper English,” he said with a wink.
She grinned, shook her head, and took another bite, savoring the mingling of luscious custard and tangy currants.
Arthur’s smile waned, before being replaced by a frown, and she wondered at the sudden change in his mood.
“What is it, Arthur?”
“Hold on a moment, love.” He signaled to the waiter hovering nearby. “Please give us some time to ourselves.”
The waiter nodded and retired from the room. They were alone.
Arthur went down before her on one knee. “Catherine, my dearest.”
Oh, my word! This was so soon, so unexpected.
But she understood, too. During the war—and ever since—people had put aside convention and rushed toward their futures. Lessons learned. Life could be short. Seize the day.
Catherine looked into Arthur’s eyes, so loving. Yes, everything about this feels right.
Slowly, he withdrew a heart-shaped box from his pocket.
Excited, she felt her hands tremble and clutched the front of her dress in an effort to steady herself.
He opened the box, revealing a glittering diamond ring.
How beautiful! Tears blurred her vision. She felt thrilled beyond measure, her thoughts soaring.
“Catherine, will you do me the honor? Will you marry me?”
She suddenly remembered another moment very much like this.
Brighton Pier…and Jonnie.
…
Arthur saw Catherine’s gaze go wide, and he immediately knew something was wrong. She glanced around in panic and started to rise.
He grabbed her and pulled her into an embrace. She went rigid, but to his relief, she didn’t struggle. They knelt together for a long moment, until her muscles went slack. He held her tight, rocking her.
She trembled. “I saw him, Arthur. At Brighton. I saw him on his knee, asking for my hand.” Her voice caught, and she rested her head against his shoulder. “I…I’m so sorry.”
“Shhh,” he whispered, seeking to find a way to comfort her, asking the heavens for guidance. “I do understand.” But he didn’t. Not really. What misery had she suffered through all these years? How, or… Would she get over the loss of Brandon? Never knowing where he was or what had happened to him must have cost her dearly. Suffering as if he had died, without ever knowing if he were actually dead.
She sought to move away, and he let her go. She rose to her feet, and he did, too.
Her eyes brimmed with fresh tears. “I’ve ruined everything, haven’t I?”
Arthur looked down at the jewel box in his hand and then snapped it shut. “The moment was not right, love.”
Catherine reached out and touched his hand. “Forgive me,” she whispered. She kissed him on the cheek, her lips lingering and sweet. “Let me go now. I shall ring you up tonight after I get home.”
He watched as she gathered her things and walked out into the snowstorm.
Cold air surged into the room just before the door closed, but it felt warm compared to what filled his soul: the chill realization that Brandon, whether he lived or not, would continue to haunt his darling Catherine and prevent her from moving on.
Arthur needed to find out once and for all what had happened to Major Jonathan Brandon. He needed to resurrect the ghost, and in doing so, find out the whole truth, before he could ever hope to banish it forever.
Begun by Time Page 11