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.
