Diana beamed and walked toward Mariner. The more Brent saw her smile, the more the past settled.
Rick provided Diana with a champagne glass and she had his full, unguarded attention. Brent made pleasantries with several King’s colleagues and clinked glasses with those he had surprisingly not encountered since his return. Where small talk had once been the weather or the price of flour, now it circled around where one served.
Mariner’s abode was a regular Victoria & Albert collection: embellished with art and sculptures that offset the taffeta and cigarette smoke of the elite pressed into his impressive house.
Brent set down his unfinished glass and roamed past the chamber quartet to the hallway. The library wasn’t hard to find and the door was left wide open, probably for curious visitors like himself. The immediate scent of a half-smoked cigarette and a lipstick-stained glass told him he wasn’t the only guest with the idea.
He eased the door shut and clicked the inside lock on the door.
Diana had said to search for any indicator of an infinity sign. Mathematics wasn’t Brent’s field of study, but the symbol had religious resonance. The Alpha and the Omega. The Beginning and the End. From Revelation. Just like the words that—
Brent flexed his injured hand. Not tonight. He wouldn’t think of Ross tonight. He would focus on the library and the cut of his wife’s dress colored like tipped merlot.
Mariner had an impressive collection on pretty much every subject in fine gold-embossed volumes. Interspersed into the canvas of mahogany shelves and books was a collection of relics and art. Brent wandered to the desk, almost freezing at a soft thud and muffled laughter on the other side of the door.
When no one tried to enter, he looked down again at a neat tower of papers stacked on a blotter beside several expensive pens. His eyes caught on a sliver of paper peeking out. Diana’s thesis. Brent rolled his eyes. Mariner was obsessed. Even Brent couldn’t get through every long, loquacious page on Christopher Wren’s use of light to present geometric symmetry.
Brent tucked Di’s thesis away. Then he focused on the other papers. Mostly for the hammer, sickle, and star against a scarlet backdrop. He didn’t know Mariner well enough to know if he was a Communist. Just an atheist who was always nagging Brent about his beliefs. He turned the top pamphlet over in his palm and saw an elongated 8. Whatever his wife and Simon Barre were pursuing, this might be part of it.
Whatever it was, it might be something. Brent folded the pamphlet and slid it in his jacket.
Chapter 18
“Somerville sure had no issue leaving you in my arms.” Rick’s grip was tight on her waist as they maneuvered around the dance floor. “You’re not tired of him, are you? Bored with countless stories of his bravery and valor?”
He couldn’t see her face, of course. Diana’s chin was on his shoulder and her vantage was beyond him to the swanky flat and his cherished antiques. “Brent doesn’t much like talking about the war,” Diana said. “You couldn’t go, could you? On account of your eyesight? That must have been hard.”
“They assume I was lucky.”
When Diana couldn’t think of any other response, she said, “I’m happy you made it.”
“We found different ways of engaging our minds. There is more than one way to fight a war, Diana. Sometimes you need to fight a status quo. An ideology.”
Diana knew this all too well.
He almost lost his step but not quite, and he pulled her in sync with him, directing her on the floor. “Never understood what you saw in him.”
“Rick . . .”
“If it was just an undergrad fascinated by older men.”
“He’s only five years older than I.”
“So many of the fellows I know have a different way of approaching it.” Rick provided ample examples of divorces and dalliances. Many muffled against the rising crescendo of the band.
“We can’t decide who we love, Rick.”
“That sounds like a line from a film.” He spun her toward the middle of the floor. Diana noticed a few eyes flitting their direction. Nonetheless, Rick should have chosen another partner by now. The song ended and they joined the smattering of applause.
“You were always more interested in how I looked,” she joshed. The first familiar bars of a new song swelled, and Diana’s heart lurched. Rick’s arm clutched her around the waist, but she was slow at joining his rhythm.
“And Saint Somerville isn’t interested in your looks?” Rick challenged.
“I wouldn’t say that.” Brent cut in and gently took Diana’s arm and put his hand on her waist. She immediately felt at home, her shoulders relaxing.
“I say, if I had this goddess on the dance floor—or my bed, for that matter—I wouldn’t spend my time in the library.”
A dangerous glint sparked in Brent’s green eyes and his grip on Diana tightened as he pasted on a sly smile. “I just ducked out for a bit of interesting reading. Di can handle herself against the shrewdest of cads. Fancied a page or two on geometric symmetry in Wren’s city domes, as it happens. I forgot how robust your library is. And how specific to certain architectural treatises.”
Diana glanced at Rick, who flushed and gave a quick bow before he turned away from them. “Why did I never notice he was such a brute?”
“You were young.” Brent gave a one-shoulder shrug.
The song swelled. She fit into him like a puzzle piece. Diana had two left feet but never for this song. She never failed to find the rhythm for their song. “A Nightingale Sang in Berkeley Square.”
“Don’t hum, Di.” Her husband’s breath tickled her ear as he steered her in time. Instrumental bars replaced lyrics everyone knew by heart. Words about magic and birds and angels at the Ritz. Of two people in love, sure, but also of the love one felt for a city. Composed before that city crumbled and fell. “This poor song has suffered enough since you unanimously chose it for us.”
Diana smiled. “I did choose it, didn’t I?”
“You practically gave me a dissertation in its defense.”
“Rick fancies he’s in love with me.” Diana placed her splayed hand on his chest.
“Rick Mariner doesn’t know how to be in love with you.”
A certain energy swirled through Brent tonight and loosened his steps. She cocked her head with a coy, flirtatious smile. “And you do?”
“I have always known how to be in love with you.”
Diana’s heart swelled and she pressed into him tightly. She couldn’t remember the last time they danced to this song. She allowed him to direct her—firm hand on his back and broad shoulder a perfect fit for her head.
“Did Rick ever hurt you?” His deep voice reverberated through his chest. “Did he ever touch you? It never occurred to me that the lout was any more than talk.”
“Would you defend my honor?” She tipped her chin up so their eyes locked.
“I’d die for it.”
Diana nestled further into his shoulder.
“Reach into my breast pocket, Mrs. Somerville.” Brent turned them toward the window.
“What did you find?” Diana asked playfully, reaching into his pocket and extracting the folded pamphlet. She peeked into it without attracting attention. “An infinity sign. Your bailiwick.”
“Don’t impress me with your Latin. It never worked with Rick.” Brent spun her slowly and Diana arched an eyebrow. “Your Greek, on the other hand . . .”
He held her close, and when he shifted with the meter of the song, the stubble on his cheek brushed her forehead just as she turned to see a few women hovering by a table of wineglasses and a few men tucking into crystal tumblers. All watching them with a far deeper intensity and lingering gaze than they had when Diana was with Rick. It seemed the war made it unfashionable to be madly in love with one’s spouse. After all, for all of the frantic kisses at train stations and hastily scribbled marriage certificates, The Times spoke to a rise in divorce filings. The preceding years made people too different and tore
them apart. Diana pressed closer to Brent in defiance of any rift.
The end bars faded mournfully and Diana stepped back from Brent. She realized she hadn’t talked to anyone but Rick and Brent since the party began. She disengaged her fingers from his and turned to the party. Smiling. Conjuring Simon Barre’s charm and stepping into the fray.
“Silas!” Diana said brightly, seeing her old mentor in the foyer snatching a canapé from a passing tray. She held tightly to Brent’s arm. She hadn’t told him she had failed to see Silas the other day when they agreed she would go to his office. Fortunately, it didn’t come up.
“Diana really needs to start her studies again.” Brent shook Silas’s hand. “As you know.”
“Diana is an exceptional student.” Silas smiled. “I’m so glad I gave you your father’s book before . . . before all of this.”
“Surely you have someone you could recommend her to.”
“I will put you in touch with Walsh. Though he’s a bit old-fashioned. He might not take to working with a student who is married to a faculty member.”
“I don’t know if I am going to be a student again,” Diana said.
At the same time Brent said, “I’m not even in the same department, Silas. Surely you can do something. Your Cambridge connections perhaps? Diana’s father was almost a legend. And she was one of your best students. I am not even saying that with bias. It’s a fact.”
“I will do what I can, of course.” He smiled sadly between them. “In the meantime, how are you enjoying some restful domestic life?”
Brent turned to Diana with a knowing wink. “Diana can do something with eggs that seems an almost superhuman feat.” Brent chuckled.
* * *
They weren’t the first couple to retreat into the clear, cold evening, nor were they the last. When they neared Clerkenwell, the fallen steeples made the stars prick through more brightly, and the broken buildings stunted in their restoration just made the shadows more interesting.
Diana stopped him under a streetlamp and put a palm on his chest. “I told you that I am not ready to begin my studies again. What was that? You’re speaking for me.”
“We were at a party. Correct me if I am wrong, but you haven’t seen your old supervisor, have you? We discussed it. And I thought you were going the other day.”
“So because you assumed I hadn’t, you thought you’d act on my behalf?”
“Did you go?”
“No. I didn’t. Then I went home and saw Simon there and I knew very certainly it’s not what I want. But you . . . you have an amazing opportunity here. Look at that pamphlet you found in Rick’s office. You can help us get Simon what he needs.”
“How can I help? It’s not like Mariner and I are friends.”
“Because if there’s one sympathizer at King’s, there will be others. Rick is popular. You know that.”
“Is this what it will take to get you to continue your schooling?”
“I’m not trading with you, Brent. I’m asking you. I want to see this through for Simon, then we can think about next steps.” Diana looped her arm in his. “Just pay closer attention. Eat lunch in the lounge.”
“Sweetheart, if I were the sort of man who ate lunch in the faculty lounge, you and I never would have met.”
“You’ll start! Brent, the sooner Simon finds this man, the sooner we can get rid of Simon. Forever. Well, perhaps not forever, but at least reduced to a dinner now and then or a glass of sherry at Christmas. Please. He’ll go back to just being my friend then. You’ll see.” He didn’t respond. “Brent?”
“The war took your degree, Diana. You have to finish it.”
“But you were always so supportive of what I wanted.”
“And I still am.” A car’s headlights flashed and Brent took Diana’s elbow and moved her from the curb.
“No. You’re supporting what you want for me.”
“You said yourself that tending house is not making you happy.”
“So that’s my only other option? Finish my degree or tend house?”
“What other option is there, darling? Work at Selfridges? Keep books? Your passion is waiting for you.”
“My passion is right in front of me.” She looked up at him. “And all around me. But why can’t I have it in a way I choose?”
Brent rubbed the back of his neck. “Simon.”
“I know that all I’ve been able to feed him is bread crumbs. But it’s hard to do something for years that makes an impact and then . . .” Diana shook her head to finish the sentence and resumed walking.
“Listen to me,” Brent said softly. “Stop for a moment.”
Diana planted her feet and crossed her arms over her chest, bracing against the chill.
“You can preserve your churches by teaching people about their importance. Finish your degree, Diana. Silas will retire, but you have impeccable grades. You’re so smart.”
“I just don’t know what I want. Seeing Rick. Being back at King’s. I don’t know if that’s who I am anymore.”
“I don’t know if academia is who I am either, Di. But maybe I don’t have a choice. Maybe it will just take more time to adjust. I think . . . I know we cannot expect to just step through as if everything was frozen in time. But we were on a clear path, and I don’t want you to have any regrets.”
“I know you want what’s best for me.”
“I truly do. Let’s finish whatever this is for Simon. Can we agree on that? You help him find this Eternity and then we’ll see about the necessary steps for you to go back. Alright? Di?”
But Diana had already strolled silently a few paces ahead of him.
* * *
Diana spent the rest of the ramble home slowly finding herself after the last of the champagne had left her. Brent looked so handsome, and he was right. Maybe all she was doing with Simon was a tactic to help ease herself back into the life that she should want. It was all she had talked about. Having a home and family. It was all that the Diana who set off on the train to Buckinghamshire wanted. She tried to find that Diana in the mirror above the mantel as she unfastened her hatpin and wriggled out of her gloves.
Brent was finagling with his bow tie. He had always found it a challenge before the war, and now, with his injured left hand, it was even more difficult. It hadn’t stayed straight all night and the memory made her smile. “Let me do that. Just like the old days when we came back from the cinema or a play.”
His eyes stayed with her as she slid it from his neck. Her fingers lingered at his collarbone before she worked his top button. She pressed a kiss to his chin. She could hear his intake of breath, but then he smiled and stepped back.
“So, Rick Mariner.”
“I thought we were pursuing another line of thought, Brent. The Brent of yesteryear would have very strong words if I interrupted this . . . erm . . . activity with a mention of Rick Mariner.”
“Darling, Rick seemed genuinely surprised the day we presented him with oleum medicina.” He cast his gaze in the direction of the propaganda pamphlet he had set on the table near them. “Unless he’s a very good actor. If that relic has something to do with this—”
“He’s had several years to think and be swayed.” Her fingers were featherlight in the hollow of his collarbone. “You and I, we . . . well, I’m assuming you had as much time to think about any ideology during the war as I did in the thick of it, which was none at all.”
She undid another button, moved closer to him, pressed her lips to his chin. “So, Saint Somerville.” Diana mimicked Rick’s tone. “Are you interested in my looks?” Diana had chewed some of her lipstick off and curls spilled from their pins. She was certain her face powder bore the brunt of dancing. Her dress hung loose, where it had once filled out with curves unmarred by rations and stress.
Brent took her hands in his, studying the faint bruises on her wrists, then looked in her eyes. He raised their joined hands and kissed Diana’s knuckles softly. “You look beautiful, Di.” He slowly tur
ned from her and resumed undressing in the bedroom.
Moments after, she joined him in the dark, having made quick work of her nighttime routine. “I don’t understand you, Brent. I don’t understand why you can’t even look at me.”
“Diana.” He reached for her hand. “I was so happy to dance with you.”
“Me too.”
“Do you think it is easy for me to be so near you night after night? Especially on a night when you wore that dress?”
“I sometimes think when you look at me, you’re reminding yourself that I’m the woman you married.”
“But you aren’t, Diana. You’ve changed. So have I. We’re getting to know each other all over again. And it would be so easy to just give in to that.” He smiled at the euphemism. “We were always so wonderful at connecting in that way. But I hurt you and I don’t know who I am anymore. And I want something deeper with you.”
“You never used to be this way.”
“Diana, if we rebuild in one way, if I give myself completely to you, I’ll be no better than the man who nearly fell off that bench at Great St. Bart’s. Before, you would fall into me so easily. It was endearing, but I always knew there was something more to you. Maybe it will frustrate me to no end that you’re calling the shots. That you’re standing your ground.”
He cupped her chin. “But I think I always saw the potential of this, Diana. I always wanted it. I’ll love it, of course. And I’ll fall in love with you as many times as I have to, to make it right. But I won’t start there. That’s like . . . rebuilding the dome at Walbrook before making sure the columns are straight.”
Chapter 19
Brent lay on the sofa and stared at the ceiling. The bedroom door was open a smidgen, and sensing her behind it made him shift to the right and left, then roll onto his stomach and smother the sofa cushion. For all of his virtuous words to her and his refusal to hurt her again, it was nearly killing him. What if he kept deciding to hold on to one more secret or cross one more bridge before he felt ready? How much would he continue to exact of her and himself? He had married the most beautiful woman he had ever seen, and rewarded her with a chaste kiss on the forehead before bed.
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