Unable to sleep, Lillian lay in bed studying the track of the moon across the bedclothes. And she wanted to sleep—oh, so badly. Not because she was tired, which she was, but because she wanted to blot out the all-consuming terror sweeping through her, if for only a brief respite. But that was not to be. She replayed the scene with Sir Basil over and over until she could pick out the minutest details.
My God, she thought, was it only two nights ago?
She’d just returned from the tryst with Paul when the knock on the door came. Paul had been in a foul mood when she revealed her news about the baby. He’d screamed at her, rebuking her for her carelessness, his words like slaps.
Shaking with anger, she’d started to leave, and he’d grabbed her, enveloping her body with his muscular arms, his hot kisses numbing her. Anger gave way to passion and then...to guilt.
Oh, God, where would it end?
Why didn’t she have the courage to tell Paul the truth? Instead, she’d lied to him, let him make love to her, then fled. She’d even refused a ride from Paul’s bewildered chauffeur, preferring to take the Tube directly to Stockwell Station. Ordinarily, she couldn’t abide the crowds and the smell of sweat and bad breath in the narrow, tightly packed trains. But while sitting amongst her fellow Londoners, she’d found a measure of solidity and calm. Etched into the tired lines of their faces, were problems other than her own, problems no doubt far worse than an errant husband and petulant lover. And it humbled her.
Enduring the short walk from the station, she arrived home just after nine, removed her coat and froze when she heard the sharp, insistent rapping at the door. Could Paul have followed her home, already contrite and wanting her? He wouldn’t dare, she thought. It would be far too risky for him to be seen in this neighborhood, though she had to admit the thought of it titillated her, but he would send his chauffeur, never himself.
With mounting unease, she tore off her scarf and coat, threw them onto one of the overstuffed chairs and went to the window, where she pulled aside one of the blackout shades and peered outside. What she saw looked like nothing more than a tall black shape outlined against the gray of the outside wall. She saw the flare of dull red light as the man sucked on his pipe, revealing his handlebar mustache and white hair.
Sir Basil.
For a brief moment she was paralyzed by panic. Had he followed her from Paul’s hotel? Did he know about them, and if so, was he here to admonish her not to risk her husband’s career by her selfish transgressions? Hot anger shot through her, and then melted away as fast as it had come.
He wasn’t here because of her.
Something was wrong with Michael.
Stifling a cry of alarm, she went to the door, shot the bolt and flung it open. His eyes held a warm twinkle.
“Hello, my dear. You’re looking lovely. May I come in?”
She’d stepped aside and let him enter. He was solicitous, as always, and that only increased her silent terror. Closing the door, she followed him into the sitting room where she found him tapping out his pipe into the fireplace.
“Where is Michael?” she asked.
When he didn’t answer right away, Lillian felt a sharp knot of fear twisting inside her stomach that steadily worsened while she watched him refill his pipe and relight it with excruciating deliberateness, taking extra care to tamp the full-bodied tobacco down just so.
“Something’s happened to him, hasn’t it?” she said, at last giving voice to her deepest fear.
The old man looked shocked. “My Lord. Is that what you think?”
“Why else would you be here?”
“Please forgive me,” he said, shaking his head. “I get so wrapped up in my own little world that I scarcely think of what others must think. Michael’s fine, my dear. But there is something we need to discuss.”
He’d gone on to tell her that her husband had been sent to Lisbon on a special mission to translate documents captured from a German courier, documents, he said, that were far too valuable to risk being sent by the usual channels. And that he would be gone for two days.
It sounded reasonable, and totally within the purview of Michael’s job with the Foreign Office; but something in the older man’s manner gave her pause, made her realize that he wasn’t telling her the whole truth. She’d pressed him, then, asking pointed questions; and that had only made Sir Basil vague and evasive. At every point, he begged off, citing the Official Secrets Act. It was infuriating; and it took every ounce of her will not to lose her temper and throw him out of the house.
Now, two nights later, with her fear and worry at fever pitch, she thought of one other question she’d neglected to ask, and now seemed horribly obvious in the light of 20-20 hindsight: What if something happens to him?
Even now, the question brought hot salty tears to her eyes. Of course, Sir Basil would not have been able to answer it. And even if he had, she knew the answer would have been as dissatisfying as all the others.
A sound outside the window interrupted her thoughts. For a moment she couldn’t identify it. And then she knew: It was the sound of a car door closing.
Throwing off the bedclothes, she ran to the window, pulled aside the blackout curtain and looked out in time to see Michael walking up the front walk, his little red Morgan parked at the curb. His gait was slow and measured, the pace of a man weighed down by exhaustion and the pressures of his job. Her heart went out to him.
Racing down the stairs, she waited until he’d opened the door, then flung herself into his arms. She buried her face into his neck and sobbed, her tears as much from joy as they were from fear. Startled, at first, Thorley embraced her.
“Oh, God, Michael, I was so worried, I—”
Her sobbing renewed itself, the tears coursing down her cheeks, as she collapsed against him.
“It’s all right, now,” he said, rocking her back and forth in his arms. “I’m all right, I’m fine.”
She kissed him then, ignoring his sour breath, tasting him hungrily, greedily. He started to speak, to protest, and she shut him up with another passionate kiss that left no doubt as to what was on her mind.
He pushed her back gently, and her hurt and puzzlement must have shown on her face, for he immediately took her back in his arms, caressing her as he said, “Don’t you even think that I don’t want you,” he said. “Not for a bloody moment. But we have to talk. Something’s come up.”
She felt the panic all over again and pulled away from him.
“Sir Basil came to see me two nights ago.”
Michael nodded. “He told me he would.”
“Why did he lie to me, Michael?”
He looked at her strangely. “What did he tell you?”
“That you were going to Lisbon to translate some documents.”
She saw his lips tighten with anger. “I might have expected as much.”
“What really happened?”
“I can’t tell you,” he said, sounding exhausted.
“Don’t start with the damned Official Secrets—”
Michael stalked into the sitting room, throwing his hat and coat onto a chair. “I have no choice, Lillian. I can’t tell you anything!”
“I’m your wife.”
“It doesn’t matter. I gave my word.”
His hard, determined look brought her up short, and she forced herself to calm down. “You’re right, I’m sorry. It doesn’t matter anymore, anyway. You’re home, and you’re safe. That’s all that matters.”
Michael walked to the hearth and studied the dying embers. His little boy lost look tore her heart. She went to him, enfolding him in her arms. “I can tell something else is bothering you. What is it?” she asked, after a moment of tender silence.
He looked away, as if to marshal his thoughts, then he turned back to her. “I don’t know how to tell you this, so I’ll just say it. They’re sending me to Egypt...to the front.”
His words rocked her.
“What?” she asked, standing back from him, her eyes like saucers.
“I leave for camp in three days.”
This was all too much. If she didn’t know Michael as well as she did, she would’ve sworn that this was some hideous practical joke. But the look in her husband’s eyes told her it was all-too-real.
“But how—how can they do that? You’re not a soldier.”
A heavy sigh. “Actually, I am. The only way they would let me go on the mission to Portugal was to accept a commission. I’m now a Major in the Royal Guards.”
“You could have refused. Why didn’t you? How could you do such a thing?”
He stared at the floor—his eyes focused on some imaginary point. “Because I was tired of sitting in dusty rooms listening to life going on around me. Because I couldn’t sit by anymore while thousands of my countrymen were dying. That’s why. And now the bastards are using it as leverage to put me where I can’t do them any harm.”
She grabbed him by his shoulders, forcing him to look her in the eye. “You know something don’t you? Wherever it was they sent you, you saw something they want to keep quiet.”
Michael nodded wearily and moved over to the brocaded love seat. He fell into it and the springs under the cushions groaned in protest. Lillian joined him, taking his hand in hers.
“They grilled me for eight hours, Lily. Eight bloody hours, asking me the same questions over and over again. And all through it I kept asking myself: Why is this so important? Why are they so bloody concerned about this one incident?”
“Was it that bad?”
He looked at her with haunted eyes. “I hope I never see anything like it again.”
“So, you asked them.”
“That was my mistake,” he said, shaking his head in disgust. “As long as I played the game their way, I was fine. But as soon as I showed them that I was more than their little wind-up toy, it was all over. They stared at me like I was some sort of bug, Lily. Even Sir Basil.”
“What did they say?”
“That I had no need to know. After all I went through for them. I had no need.” He shook his head. “And that’s when they told me that I was being transferred to Egypt, that a certain general officer required the services of a translator. Bloody crap. And they knew I knew it, too.”
“We’ll talk to Sir Basil,” she said, her voice taking on an edge. “We’ll make them rescind the order; we’ll threaten to tell their bloody little secrets....”
“You know I’ll never do that.”
“So, you’re just going to let them pack you off to the war, like a good little soldier. Let them have their way. Is that it?”
“Yes.”
Her lips trembled as the tears threatened to flow anew. “But, why, goddamnit?”
“Because I made a commitment, Lily. Because I want to make a difference. And they know it. Are Sir Basil and the others a bunch of treacherous bastards? Too right, they are. But I’m not going to stoop to their level. I can beat them at their own bloody game.”
“And what if you don’t?” she said, hating the quaver in her voice.
“My chances are better than good,” he said, caressing her face. “After all, I’m just a translator. I’ll be well back from the fighting most of the time. I’ll be fine. The truth is, it doesn’t really matter what they want. I need to do this, Lily, or I’ll go stark raving mad.”
And there it was, that blasted insufferable male ego that always raised its ugly head whenever reason tried to prevail. Like some prehistoric leviathan lumbering through a forgotten rain forest knocking down everything in its path, it would stumble blindly into whatever trouble it could, taking her husband along with it.
She cupped his face with her hands. “No. You don’t need to. You only think you do. I’m not blind, Michael. I see all those nasty looks, too. The ones from all those smug, self-important prigs who think they know what’s best for everybody else. The ones who think that you must be shirking your duty just because you fight from behind a desk. Somebody has to do that job, or the men in the field would be lost.”
Michael smiled at her, took her hands from his face and kissed them. “You’re right, dearest. But I don’t have a say anymore. I’m in for the duration and these are my orders. Would you rather see me in the glasshouse?”
“You can resign the bloody commission.”
“Yes, I suppose I could. And assuming I didn’t end up in prison anyway, I would very likely never have a proper job again. Or would you prefer being married to a penniless academic?”
She looked into his eyes and saw that his heart was set, and there was no other way to reach him, save for one.
“I would rather your son have a living father in jail or destitute, than a dead one he’ll mourn the rest of his life,” she said.”
He stared at her, his mouth gaping. It would have been funny under any other circumstances. Now, it only made her want to cry.
“My what?” he asked.
“I’m pregnant, Michael. We’re going to have a baby. I had it all planned to tell you over dinner the other night. Then this....”
She watched as a panoply of emotions flitted across his face, ending with a sad, ironic smile and a weary shake of his head. “Funny how things happen,” he said.
“What do you mean?”
“Just that if I’d known this two nights ago, I would have refused the mission, and they would have given it to someone else. Now, I can’t turn back.” He reached for her again. “I don’t want you to think I’m abandoning you, sweetheart, because I’m not. But I’ve got to do this. For me and our baby. I want him to grow up in a world where he’ll be free. And I’ll want him to be proud of me. Is that so wrong?”
She shook her head, tears stinging her eyes. “No, it isn’t.”
“Good. Then, I’ll ask Sir Basil to look after you, make sure you and the baby have all you need. It’s the least he can do.”
It was at that precise moment that Lillian realized she’d lost her own private war, that Michael would be leaving her to follow a destiny that might ultimately rob her of him forever.
Suddenly, she felt the irrational urge to tell him everything she’d hidden from him, the whole truth about her past...and about Paul. But she knew it would destroy him. And that she could never do, for employing that most secret of weapons would destroy her as well.
Swallowing her fears, she vowed to make the next three days the happiest they had ever known in their married life. And yet, even as she made this promise, she’d already begun to think of herself as a widow.