“Then why did she marry you?”
He took out the case and lit a cigarette slowly, examining first the paper and then the match, striking twice against the side of the case. Drawing in the first gasp, so that the end flared orange. “Because she was carrying my brother’s child.”
My lips parted. “Oh.”
“Yes. She was deeply in love with him, and he with her. I knew it, and they knew I knew it. A bit of a secret, because of course her parents wouldn’t allow it, and neither would mine. She was supposed to marry me instead. So we were all three biding our time, I suppose, waiting for her father to die and leave her his fortune free and clear—he wasn’t in the best of health, you see, and a disagreeable bloke to boot, drunkard and philanderer—and then the war started. Samuel was killed. She came to me in November and said that she was going to have a baby.” He parted the curtains, cracked open the window, knocked out a bit of ash. Braced his hands on the sill and bent his head in my direction, over his shoulder. “You’re not to say a word of this, of course. Nobody else knows, not even our parents. Everybody thinks Sam’s mine, and for Lydia’s sake—and his—I’d like to keep it that way.”
“But—but—well, how did you do it?”
“Why, we got married at Christmas. Then I shipped out. We’re friends, as I said, and Lydia was terribly grateful. She made it quite clear that I could do as I liked, as far as lovers are concerned, so long as I kept it quiet. Everyone was made happy, after all. My parents got her money, Lydia got a name for her child. The only trouble’s that she’s still in love with my brother.”
My head was dizzy. Tongue all dry. I whispered, “How terrible for her. For both of you.”
“Oh, she’s got the worst of it. Mourning Samuel while pretending to be in love with me. Surrounded by my family. I daresay she’s fairly miserable, except for little Sam.” He paused to smoke. “We didn’t have a wedding night, in case you’re wondering. Did not consummate the marriage. My God, how could we? I suppose we reckoned we might try for a proper union, once the war was over and everything back to normal, but now . . .”
“Now?”
He straightened himself from the window and turned to me. The cigarette dangled above the floor, between his fingers. “Now I’ve met you.”
I stared at him wordlessly.
“Well?” he said. “What do you think?”
“I don’t know what to think. It’s all so—I can’t quite understand it all yet.”
“She won’t object, after everything. I’ll take the blame, of course. Adultery. Shall have to get properly caught by a detective, as a formality, but that’s easily done.”
“What?”
He smiled. “I don’t mean actually committing adultery, of course. Just for show. It’s done all the time. The war’s breaking up all the old rules.”
His face was open and sincere; his hand, holding the cigarette, didn’t quiver a fraction. Was it my imagination, or had his hair, in the past few months, gone a little more silver? But his skin seemed untroubled. The lines about his mouth had softened. He was almost smiling.
“I’m afraid I don’t understand,” I said.
“I mean I’m getting a divorce, Virginia. I’m going to ask my wife to divorce me.”
I sprang to my feet, wobbled, and sat down again. “My God.”
“Yes.”
“A divorce?”
“Yes. Good Lord, what did you think? That I would ask you to become my mistress? Carry on with you behind Lydia’s back?”
“I—I didn’t know what to think. I didn’t—I hardly know you at all, do I?”
He gazed at me quietly, letting the cigarette burn from his fingers. “No, I suppose not. Not in actual fact. And yet I feel as if I’ve known you all my life. I felt that from the first moment.”
I pressed my lips together.
“And you? Have you felt that at all?”
“I can’t say.”
“Yes, you can. You must have felt it. I could tell that you did. I could see how you were struggling, just as I was. I tried to explain, in my letters—”
“Which I didn’t read.”
“No. But if you had, you might know me a little better. You might know that I would never ask you to commit any act repugnant to you. I would never ask you to be anything other than your own brave, honorable self.”
His voice spun around my ears: too many words, too much to take in. I needed to think. I needed to piece through everything he had told me. And there was a light inside all this—I could just feel its warmth on my skin—a tiny, hopeful light glimmering somewhere at the end, but it disappeared every time I looked for it. I curled my fingers around the edge of the sofa and stared at his battered leather belt. “I don’t what to say. I don’t know what you’re asking. I can’t—I can’t just—”
He stubbed out the cigarette. “I’m not asking you for a thing. I just wanted you to know.”
“Is that all?”
“And to ask you, I suppose, if you care at all. If I have the slightest hope, when the divorce is final—”
I put my face into my palms.
“Dearest, it’s not like that. You haven’t done anything wrong.”
“Then why do I feel as if I have?”
“If there’s any sin, it’s mine. But there isn’t. I promise you that. Just tell me—”
“What? Tell you what?”
“Tell me you care, just a little.”
I lifted my face away and stared at him bleakly. “But you don’t really mean that. If I say yes—”
He took two giant strides to stand before me. His hands touched my elbows. “Do you? Say yes?”
“If I say yes, it means more than just that, doesn’t it? Because if I only cared a little—”
“Then you wouldn’t raise my hopes. You’re too good for that.”
My head was spinning a little. I could taste his breath on my tongue, at the back of my throat. I wanted to push him away; I wanted to draw him close. I wanted to hide; I wanted to be reckless. So close, so promisingly near. I wanted to touch his stubble and his eyebrows and the line of cheekbones. I craved the warmth of his skin. I desired the thoughts inside his brain, the electricity animating his nerves. I pressed my thumb against his, and his thick eyebrows rose. His lips parted.
“Don’t be afraid,” he said.
“I’m not afraid.”
“Yes, you are. But you shouldn’t be. I’m absolutely harmless. I’m here to cure whatever troubles you.”
“But you can’t. You can’t cure this.”
“Not true, Virginia. Not true at all. Whatever happens between us, between you and me, the divorce will go forward. For Lydia’s sake, as much as mine. She deserves another chance to fall in love.”
“I can’t do this.”
“Only if you don’t care. If you don’t care, I’ll walk away this second. But you do care, don’t you?”
I shook my head.
“You’re holding back from me. Don’t you trust me?”
“Of course I do.”
“Again with the falsehoods. You won’t let me in. All I want on this earth is to know everything about you, and you won’t give me a single tiny clue.”