Angels in the Gloom_ A Novel - Anne Perry [107]
“And you are sure you will judge that correctly?” Joseph challenged. “To the hour? To the minute?”
“Are you returning to Ypres, Joseph?”
“Don’t evade the subject.”
“I’m not. Are you going?”
“Yes.” He was surprised that he did not even hesitate. “Yes, I am.”
“And might you be killed?” Corcoran asked.
“Yes,” Joseph said quietly. “But more probably not. I won’t run any unnecessary risks.”
Corcoran smiled for the first time. “Rubbish! You will go out into no-man’s-land just as you have always done. And if you die Hannah will mourn for you, and her children will, and Matthew, and Judith. And so shall I. But I shan’t tell you that you cannot go. You must do your duty as you see it, Joseph. And so must I. But it matters to me immensely that you cared enough to come and try to prevent me. The fact that it is utterly wrong, and against all you believe yourself, is a mark of your affection I shall not forget. Now please allow me to wish you good night, before I become too tired to keep my feelings under control, and embarrass us both.”
Joseph was defeated and he knew it. Corcoran’s argument was unanswerable. There was nothing for him to do but say good night and go out to find Archie. He did so with a heavy heart, but as much grace as he could manage.
Archie was due to leave on the early train next day. There was no more time left for Hannah to waste. It was late. They were both tired, but if she missed her chance to ask for the truth now, there might be no other time. When he left, she would miss him in every way: his voice, his touch, his laughter, the light in his face, the smell of his skin. But more important, this might be her last chance of knowing the man inside the shell, the thing that was unique and eternal.
She sat on the bed and watched him move his small case to where he could pack it in the morning. She must speak now. Tomorrow he could avoid her; the children might interrupt; there would be any number of reasons and excuses.
“Abby called to see me a few weeks ago,” she began. “You know Paul was killed in France.”
He looked up. “If you told me, I’d forgotten. I’m sorry. How was she?” There was pity in his face and a kind of crumpled sadness, as if he were seeing Abby in her, or perhaps her in Abby.
“Full of regret,” she answered. She hated doing this! It was not too late to leave it, not try to force him to tell her. Let him have a last evening at home in peace. Leave the war until tomorrow.
He did not understand. “Regret? You mean grief?”
She steeled herself. “No, I did mean regret. There was so much she didn’t know about him, about his life, what he cared about, what he felt. Now it’s too late.”
“You never know all that people care about,” he said, pushing the case away behind the wardrobe back where he could not see it.
She forced herself to continue.
“A friend of his came by and told her all sorts of things about him,” she said. “In France, what a good officer he was, what a good friend. That was when she realized that this man knew her husband far better than she did.”
“I’m sorry. But there’s nothing you can do to help her. There’s no point in thinking about it.”
Was he misunderstanding her on purpose?
“No. But I can help myself!”
There was a closed look in his face, touched with anger. “What are you talking about? No, don’t bother explaining. It doesn’t matter.”
“It matters to me,” she insisted. She was sitting still in the bed. He was less than a couple of yards away, and it could have been miles. “You never tell me what your life is like at sea. I don’t know anything about the men you serve with, who you like, who you don’t, or why.” She gulped and went on, speaking too quickly now, and aware of it. “I don’t know what you do every day, but far more than that, I don’t know what hurts you, or frightens you, or makes you laugh.” She could see the surprise in his eyes, and the defense already. “Archie, I need to know!” she insisted. “I want to! Please—it isn’t really a kindness