by James R Benn
“Did you see anyone else?” The music ended and she stopped dancing. The needle made a quiet hissing sound as the record went round and round and we both stood there, frozen. Her dreamy smile faded into nothing as she came back from that place she had retreated to. Then awareness crept into her face. It was like someone waking up and remembering what they had gone to sleep to escape.
“That’s all you want, isn’t it?” There was a fury in her eyes that denied any lie I could tell. Her carefully constructed fantasy had just fallen apart. Without wanting to, I had just thoroughly humiliated her. There was only one answer I could give.
“Yes.”
I let go of her hand. I was smart enough to not say anything else. She walked over to the record player and raised the needle from the turn table.
“Get out.”
“Please, Mrs. Brey, just tell me if you saw anyone else. Lives may depend on it.”
“Lives? How dare you lecture me about lives! I’ve already given one life to this damned war! The people you’re talking about are still alive! They can walk in the sunshine, eat dinner, make love, hold hands . . . what do I care about them?”
Her face crumpled as she tried to hold back a torrent of tears. She raised her hand to her mouth as she made an anguished noise, tears running over her hand and onto the wooden floor, clean little splashes on a thin layer of dust. She fell to her knees and I thought she might actually be sick. I knelt down beside her and put my hand on her shoulder. She trembled as she covered her face with her hands.
“I’m not really a bad person,” she said between sobs. Her nose was running, too.
“Me either.”
“Don’t look at me, please. You must think I’m a hussy.”
“Mrs. Brey, you just want to be with your husband, that’s all.”
She nodded, but she wouldn’t look at me. We just sat there for a while. She shuddered a few times as the tears came and went. Finally she took a deep breath and rubbed the back of her hand across her nose.
“Anders was the only one I saw.”
“Thanks.”
“Is it important?”
“It might be. It just might be.” She still didn’t move and leaving my hand on her shoulder was beginning to feel awkward. I moved it and she clutched at it, as if she was afraid I’d get away. I tried to think of something to say.
“You shouldn’t blame Jens for the transfer, you know. I think he was trying to help.”
“Jens?” She sniffled. “What did he have to do with my transfer?”
“Huh? Didn’t he. . . .”
“No. Anders issued the order. He said he needed me at the Norwegian Brigade base in Scotland. I was glad to go. I just wasn’t prepared to come back here, to all this.” She gestured at the room, the house, the memories, everything.
Anders. Anders had been up early in the morning and transferred the only person who had seen him far away from Beardsley Hall. Anders. That made me rethink things. He had been a distant third until now, but this put him tops in my hit parade. Leaving the key in his own room was a nice touch, I had to admit. I hoped Daphne had been able to get his orders to Norway cancelled. That made me think of getting back to the hall. I looked at my watch.
“Billy, please don’t go.”
“I have to.”
“I can’t stay here alone another night. I’m leaving for Scotland tomorrow; I don’t care about the rest of my leave.” She finally looked at me. There was nothing sexy or even pretty left in her face. There was anguish, and shame. Her hand trembled in mine. With the other she grasped the collar of her sundress and pulled it closed.
“OK.”
I couldn’t leave her alone. I had pushed her, used her, shamed her. I couldn’t turn around and leave her, like a piece of rubbish on the floor, now that I had what I wanted. We got up, stood there a second, brushing off our knees and smoothing clothes that weren’t all that wrinkled.
“Thank you,” she said, barely able to make eye contact. But she did. “Thank you.”
She went into the kitchen and started puttering around. I had to admire her for pulling herself together, and I was more than a little relieved that she’d managed to. I got my stuff from the BMW and brought it inside. We ended up cooking together, talking about Boston seafood and English dishes. She opened a bottle of wine and we ate at the kitchen table. We didn’t talk about Beardsley Hall or Richard. I told her all about Diana, except for the secret mission part, and she told me it sounded very romantic. It was nice. I slept on the couch. She took the record upstairs with her, and I fell asleep to the faint sound of “I want to dream so I can be with you,” glad that my willpower had lasted as long as it did. As willing as she might have been at one moment, it wouldn’t have been worth it the next.
I got up early, but Victoria was already awake and packed. She had tea and toast ready and we ate in silence as we waited for a car to pick her up and drive her to the train station.
I put my gear on the bike and carried her bags outside. I wished her good luck and she said the same to me. Then she gave me a shy peck on the cheek and turned away and sat on the bench in the garden to wait for her ride. Her eyes drifted over the flowers and weeds, surveying her memories and storing them away. The sun came out from behind a cloud, and a bright shaft of light fell between the branches of the trees above her. Patches of sunlight covered her face and heart, like luminous wounds that might fade from sight but never disappear. I got on the BMW and started her up. I didn’t bother waving as I drove off. She was already in another world—a world of quiet, carefully tended gardens with an adored husband by her side. I looked back as I turned a corner and saw her sitting just as I had seen her yesterday, as certain a victim of this war as Richard and all the other boys who had come crashing down out of the sky.
CHAPTER ▪ TWENTY
THE SKY WAS CLOUDING over. I could feel a chill creeping into the breeze that swept by me as I sped down the nearly deserted country roads. I had hooked up with the main road going south from Norwich, which would take me directly to Wickham Market and then on to Beardsley Hall. Every time I saw a house I’d wonder if there was a grieving wife or mother inside, and if she was as devastated as Victoria Brey. I began to think that the cost of this war was going to be far higher than anyone had expected, or at least higher than I had anticipated. I tried not to think about a certain house in Boston and my mom getting that telegram: “The secretary of war desires me to express his deep regret . . .”
My kid brother had just turned twenty and would be facing the draft soon. He’d started college, the first person in our family to go. Dad was real proud of that, proud of his good grades, and so proud of his college acceptance letter that he’d had it framed. I thought that was carrying things a bit too far, but I had to admit, I was proud, too. And protective—not that Danny thought he needed it. He was fast with his fists and got into his fair share of fights with the Italian kids from the North End. He usually won, but he was reckless. The Italian gangs carried shivs and weren’t afraid to use them. For a smart kid, he could be pretty dumb when he got his dander up. He’d probably volunteer before he got drafted, which would be in a year, right when he turned twenty-one. Didn’t look like the war was going to be over by then, but he still had boot camp and field training to go through, so maybe he’d be OK, if we wrapped this thing up and got home by Christmas of ’43.
I didn’t want to think about Danny anymore, so I tried to focus on the case. Anders was the key as far as I was concerned. He had something to hide, which made him stand out. So far, his lie about not being up early was the most suspicious thing I had found out about anyone. I had nothing on Jens, and my theory about Rolf was just that, a theory with no proof or motive attached to it. I decided to wait and see if Kaz had discovered anything and if Daphne had been able to put the kibosh on Anders’s orders, before planning my next move, which was a way I had of not admitting to myself that I really had no idea what to do.
The miles flew by, and fast-moving clouds
started to roll in from the east. They grew thick and dark as I rode through Wickham Market. I passed the pub and saw Mildred out back, digging potatoes in her Victory Garden. Maybe we’d come back here tonight for dinner again. Glancing up at the sky, I hoped the rain would hold off until I got to Beardsley Hall. As I cleared the village, I noticed a thin line of dark smoke up ahead. It drifted off to the left as the wind caught it, smudging the horizon with a gray stain. I didn’t pay it any mind until I took the last turn toward the estate and saw that it was coming dead-on from the direction of the hall. I got that same sinking, fearful feeling that I used to get as a kid when I was walking home from school and a fire engine would roll by, lights and sirens blazing. I always thought it was going to my house, and I’d always breathe a sigh of relief when I got in sight of home and it was still standing. It was silly, just a kid’s bad daydream, but I accelerated anyway. Beardsley Hall was hardly home, but it would be nice to confirm that everything was all right and that today was just brush-burning day.
I turned a corner and across the heath I could just make out the hall with that plume of smoke right next to it. Fog was starting to rise, and it was hard to see clearly at that distance. The smoke sort of hung in the air, like a question mark, reanimating my childhood fears. My heart raced and my palms felt clammy. I shuddered, not wanting to believe what my body was trying to tell me. A British military truck with the big red cross on the sides sped down the road toward me. As it neared, the driver put on his siren, the wailing sound echoing in my ears as it went by.
The parking lot was full of people, grouped around the source of the smoke. Scattered debris and small sputtering ground fires marred its usually neat surface. Harding and Jens stood watching me pull in, or the ambulance pull out, or both. As soon as I could make out the expressions on their faces, I knew something terrible had happened. I skidded to a halt in front of them and switched off the motorcycle.
“What happened?” I asked. “Who’s in the ambulance?”
“Boyle, I. . . .” Harding looked surprised to see me, and seemed to have trouble getting his words out. “I thought you were in London.”
I didn’t know what that meant, and I didn’t care.
“Jens,” I asked, “Who got hurt?”
“Kaz. They are taking him to hospital. He’s badly injured.”
“What the hell happened here?” I yelled as I got off the bike.
The two men looked at each other and I realized they were in a state of shock. They weren’t going to tell me anything. I went over to the crowd, where several men were using fire extinguishers to douse the fire that was producing the smoke. It smelled like burning rubber. I pushed through the bystanders. Harding followed me and gripped my shoulder.
“No, Boyle, wait—”
It was too late. Too late to stop me from seeing the smoldering wreck of the Riley Imp, with its burning tires still giving off choking black acrid smoke. Too late to see that someone had been at the wheel when something had gone very wrong. Too late to stop me from seeing the charred, unrecognizable corpse that had been caught up in a furious fire from the fuel tank.
The only person who ever drove her beloved red Imp was Daphne.
I felt dizzy as a swirl of smoke blew itself around me, hitting me like a hammer blow with the smell of burnt flesh. The world started to spin. Harding tried to hold me up, but my knees turned to jelly and I went down on all fours, and retched.
The next thing I knew we were in the kitchen. Someone handed me a wet towel and I lowered my head into it. That awful smell of soot was still in my nostrils. I tried to get a grip on things. Daphne was dead. Kaz almost. This was bad, real bad. I had to pull my head out of the wet towel, but I couldn’t. I couldn’t face it. What the hell was happening? Why?
“Billy.”
It was Jens. I tried to straighten up, and managed to wipe my face and look at him. He didn’t say anything. We were at one end of a long wooden table, and there were people milling all around us, buzzing, talking, whispering. Harding was seated next to me, a medical orderly wrapping his hands in bandages. I tried to ask about that, but no words came out.
“Major Harding tried to get into the car to pull Daphne out,” Jens explained, “but it was impossible. The flames were everywhere, all of a sudden, as if there had been an explosion.”
“What happened?” I managed to croak. I held up my hand before either one could answer. “Tell me everything, exactly, from start to finish.” Something in the back of my mind was trying to get through to me, but I didn’t know what. I needed to know everything.
“Take it easy, Boyle,” Harding said with real concern. “It must’ve been a loose fuel line or something.”
“It was an accident, Billy,” Jens said, “a terrible accident. What else could it have been?”
I couldn’t accept with their assurances. It didn’t matter. It didn’t matter that they both outranked me and that Harding could ship me off to the Aleutians.
Daphne. I couldn’t believe it. I told myself to hold on, to think, to fig-ure this out before I fell apart. I had to pull myself together and get the story from them, just like a cop interviewing witnesses. That’s it, just be a cop. I took a breath, trying to ignore the taste of black soot at the back of my mouth, and fell back into that role. My screaming brain slowed down. I could do this.
“Tell me everything, and don’t stop before you get to the end!” I said.
I felt Harding’s eyes on me as the orderly finished his bandages. He looked at Jens, nodded slightly, then winced as he tried to flex his hands.
“I should start with yesterday then,” Jens said. “Daphne drove in at midmorning in that red sports car. She asked for Major Harding, who was in conference with the king. She told me it had to do with Major Arnesen, that you wanted his orders canceled, that he was not to leave England.” He looked at me for confirmation.
“Right,” I said. “Go on.”
“She had to wait for Major Harding. I told her Anders was under orders from the king, but that the British government, as our host, could certainly request a change of plan. Then things got busy. Rolf returned unexpectedly. He asked if I had heard from you. I said I had not. He didn’t explain himself further.”
“When did Kaz get here?”
“Late afternoon. By that time Daphne had spoken with Major Harding and Major Cosgrove. Kaz came bursting in, looking for you and Daphne. He wouldn’t speak to anyone else. He and Daphne went into the library and stayed there for quite a while.”
“OK, stop for a second,” I said, trying to keep everything straight. “So Daphne got through to both you and Major Cosgrove about Anders?” I asked, looking at Harding.
“Yes, she did.”
“Where is Major Arnesen now?”
“On board the Norwegian naval submarine Utsira, somewhere in the North Sea, approaching the Norwegian coast.”
“Damn! Couldn’t you or Cosgrove get his orders changed, sir?”
“The decision was made not to alter his orders.” Now Harding sounded more like himself. Unfortunately, that was a know-it-all hard-ass. I couldn’t believe what I was hearing.
“You let him go?”
Harding gave me a cold stare. “Major Arnesen is on a dangerous mission for our valued ally, the Norwegian government in exile. It is hardly a matter of ‘letting’ him go. He is the king’s representative to the Underground army, not an escaped convict.”
I tried to take it in. I didn’t like it, but I needed to focus on Daphne and Kaz. I nodded to Jens to continue. I thought it best not to say anything right now to Harding, to let my anger settle. I urged myself to make believe I was wearing a blue coat, sitting in someone’s Boston kitchen. I’d feel bad that their life had been shattered, but then I’d leave, file a report, head home, and have a beer at Kirby’s.
Then it hit me. Diana! Oh my God. Had she left yet? Would she know her sister was dead? Who was going to tell her? And the captain, who had been worried about the wrong daughter! I guess some of w
hat I was feeling showed despite my resolve.
“Billy? Are you all right?” Jens asked.
“Yeah, go on.”
“Well, it was obvious that Kaz had some important information, and that he wanted to get it to you. Daphne wasn’t sure when you’d return, so they decided to wait here. This morning, I saw Daphne and Rolf standing by her automobile. He was carrying her bag.”
“Where was she going?” I asked.
“To meet you in London,” Harding answered, as if it were obvious. “You called here and left a message for Daphne and Kaz to meet you at headquarters.”
“Who took the message?”
“Rolf,” Jens spoke up. “He gave them the message himself.”
“And you saw him help Daphne put her things into the car?” I asked.
“Yes. I stopped to chat with them. He was interested in her vehicle. . . .”
“A 1934 Riley Imp. Red,” I filled in.
“Yes. She told us it was a gift from her father, and that Kaz was always wanting to drive it, but she saved that pleasure for herself.” Jens’s face clouded over.
“Soon after, Rolf left in his jeep for Southwold while Daphne waited for Kaz. I said good-bye and went inside to my office. Several minutes later, there was an explosion.”
“Did you see it?”
“No,” Jens answered.
“I did,” Harding said. “I was having a smoke and walked over to a window for some fresh air. I opened it and looked at the countryside for a minute. The car park was to my left. I was on the third floor.”
“Tell me exactly what you saw. Sir.” Harding half closed his eyes, recreating the scene in his mind.
“Daphne was standing next to the Imp. Kaz came out with his bag and stowed it. I couldn’t hear them, but I could tell they were excited. Just as Kaz was about to get in on the passenger side, he stopped. He made a gesture to Daphne like, Wait a minute, and ran back inside, as if he’d forgotten something. Daphne got in the car and started it. She sat there for a minute, idling.”
“Did she move the car at all?” I asked.