Authors: Morgan O'Neill
George served port without being asked, and she caught the look of delight in Arthur’s gaze.
While she and her mum shared a pot of chamomile tea, the men sipped their port and chatted. Arthur took two cigars from his breast pocket and offered one to George. As the men smoked, the sweet, rich scent of good tobacco filled the air. Arthur explained the fragrant Romeo y Julieta brand had been Churchill’s favorite during the war.
“It isn’t now?” Catherine asked him.
“No, the Cuban manufacturer created a new cigar for him and named it after the old man himself. He’s said to love them. I’ve never had one, however. Too pricy.” He looked over at George. “Besides, these are rather good.”
“I should say so,” her father agreed as he happily puffed.
Catherine knew the evening had come to a close when her dad did his best to stifle a yawn.
Arthur took his cue and got to his feet. “Thank you for your hospitality, George and Lily. If you’ll be so kind as to point me in the direction of the nearest Underground station?”
Catherine rose. “The tube’s just down the road on Leyton High Street. I’ll take you there.”
“It’s far too late for you to walk home by yourself,” her father said. “I’ll accompany you.”
Disappointed she would not have some more time alone with Arthur, Catherine felt at a disadvantage. She couldn’t argue with her dad about this, not with Arthur here. Resigned, she got their coats.
Outside, the air was thick with what her mum called the pea soup fog. The threesome made their way to the station, her father monopolizing the conversation about a planned family holiday in Eastbourne.
Catherine felt a palpable frustration as she caught Arthur’s stare and read his mind. No good-bye kiss would be in the offing on this doubly special day. Who could have foreseen her meeting such a wonderful man?
When they reached the Leyton tube station, Arthur turned to George. “Mr. Hastings, may I call on your daughter again?”
Her father nodded. Catherine could tell by his smile he was impressed with Arthur’s manners, something he felt many young men lacked these days.
“It has been delightful, Catherine,” Arthur said. “Perhaps I might ring you up tomorrow?”
She blushed and nodded. “I’d like that.”
With that, he tipped his hat to them and left. Catherine watched him walk toward the station building, and just before he reached the door, he turned and waved.
She waved back and then he was gone, on his way to catch his train. Her heart leapt at the thought of seeing him again. She missed him already.
Her father leaned in. “I like him, Cathy. He’s a good man. Promise me something, eh?”
Her gaze was still drawn to the place where she’d last seen Arthur. “What’s that, Dad?”
“Promise that when next you meet, you’ll tell him about Jonnie. He mustn’t be left in the dark.”
Catherine slowly turned to stare at her father, mouth open.
Jonnie.
She couldn’t recall having thought about him for hours.
She cast a glance back toward the train station and pondered what it might mean.
Chapter Seventeen
Catherine walked Mr. McDuff. The breeze was chill, the horizon a mass of dark clouds, the harbinger of rain. True to his Scottish heritage, Duffy seemed to like the cold; he had a kick in his step as he headed for the park.
Silly dog
, she thought fondly, remembering how she
’
d found him out in the garden the day before, happily sitting in the mist. It took a bit of coaxing to get him to come inside.
Catherine
’
s attention was suddenly drawn to a man in a bowler hat as he exited from a butcher
’
s shop. It made her smile when she realized she was keenly cognizant of men in bowlers.
And you’re a silly goose
, she told herself. When he got closer, she could tell he was of her father
’
s generation. He carried a string bag filled with packages wrapped in brown paper.
Upon reaching her side, he bent down to pet Duffy, who immediately sniffed the bag.
“
Ah, what a fine fellow!
”
the man said as he felt around in his coat pocket.
“
I always have a treat or two for the neighbor
’
s dog. Might I give him one?
”
Catherine nodded.
“He’d like that.”
The man removed a small sausage from his pocket and held it forth to Duffy.
“
Duffy, take it nice,
”
Catherine admonished.
McDuff gave her a look that said
“
of course,
”
but then snatched the sausage from the man
’
s hand with only a bit less enthusiasm than usual.
“
Well, thank goodness I still have my fingers!
”
the man said with a laugh. He tipped his hat to them both.
“Thank you.”
Catherine watched him stroll away. From this angle she could almost imagine that he was, indeed, Arthur Howard. She smiled, feeling a bit giddy. Their first date had already claimed a wonderful place in her heart, and she counted the moments until they could be together again.
But then she remembered her dad
’s admonition to tell Arthur
about Jonnie, something that had gnawed at her for days.
Arthur had asked her to meet him in London tomorrow for their second date. She
’
d said yes with enthusiasm, but then the gnawing returned, the feeling that she was betraying Jonnie. Would he be hurt by her seeing Arthur? Or would he approve, glad she was getting on with her life?
Was she needlessly worrying about something that might not work at all? What if this date wasn
’
t as good as before? Had she been swept off her feet at Buckingham Palace by the moment—and not the man?
She bit her lip and trudged on, turning the street corner and heading back home.
Tomorrow
, she thought.
Tomorrow
.
I don’t know what to do. I don’t know how to think about all of this
.
When she reached her front steps, Duffy wagged his tail, waiting for her to open the door.
He lives in the moment
, she thought.
I wish I could, too
.
…
They spent a delightful Saturday afternoon at Selfridges on Oxford Street, combing the immense emporium for Christmas gifts for their families.
In need of sustenance after their shopping extravaganza, Catherine and Arthur went to one of Selfridges
’
ground floor cafés, where they ordered salt beef sandwiches and ginger beer.
Despite the morning’s fun, Catherine
’s
head started to throb as she ate, and she knew it was due to tension over her indecision. Where to begin? How would Arthur react to hearing about Jonnie?
It is now or never. I must tell him the truth. Will he wish to see me again?
Catherine held her breath, then slowly exhaled. “Arthur? I have something important to tell you.”
He had just taken a big bite of his sandwich. He glanced away, chewed as quickly as possible, and swallowed. “Sorry,” he said with a self-deprecating laugh. When he caught the look on her face, his smile faded. “What is it?”
Catherine hesitated, willing herself to answer, but she found no words to utter. Her mind drew a blank.
Get a hold of yourself!
He put his hand over hers. “Catherine, what is it?”
She opened her mouth, fully intending to tell him about Jonnie, but fear overwhelmed her desire to explain. “I…I…”
I’m going to lose him, too.
Her mouth clamped shut, and she dropped her gaze.
It’s too soon.
Overwhelmed, Catherine sprang to her feet and fled, rushing for the door and the bustle of Oxford Street.
…
“Catherine, wait!”
Arthur watched her burst through the door of Selfridges. Ignoring the stares of the
other
patrons, he threw some bills on the table, grabbed their parcels, and ran after her. When he got outside, he looked left and right, up and down the busy street, but she was gone.
Stunned, worried, he frowned and considered his options. The return of reason quieted his bewilderment, and he faced the traffic. With a sharp whistle, he hailed a cab and gave the driver Catherine’s address. He ordered the man to drive as slowly as possible around the corner to Duke Street, then back again to Oxford. After searching for her to no avail, they headed for Stratford.
They arrived as darkness fell. Arthur paid the fare, retrieved the parcels, and bounded up the front steps. Juggling the boxes and bags, he managed to push the buzzer. Might Catherine already be home? Worried, he glanced at the leaden sky and noted that a rainstorm looked imminent.
The door opened and George Hastings smiled at him, but then looked around in puzzlement. “Where’s Cathy?”
“I’ve no idea. I hoped she might be here.”
George ushered him inside as Arthur explained what happened at the
café
.
“I believe you need a drink, son.”
“But Catherine—”
“Will be all right.”
“Do you know what is wrong, sir?”
“Call me George. And yes, I think I do.”
Just then, the front door opened and Lily walked in with Duffy, followed by Catherine.
Eyes wide, Catherine looked straight at Arthur, then ran past everyone and up the stairs.
Duffy barked and strained on his lead in an attempt to follow.
“What in the world?” Lily asked as she unhooked the dog and let him go.
George took Lily aside and quickly explained.
Lily looked at Arthur and patted her husband’s hand. “I’ll talk to her,” she said and headed upstairs to her daughter’s room.
Worried, Arthur stared after her, his arms still full of parcels.
“Put those down and come with me, my boy,” George said. “You deserve an explanation.”
…
Catherine curled up on her bed and pulled the chenille spread over her body. She wanted to hide and never show herself to the world again. How could she face Arthur Howard after this disaster of a day?
A knock sounded at the door and her mum called out, “Catherine, may I come in?”
She groaned and pulled the bedspread over her head. “No, please leave me alone.”
The door pushed open, and Catherine heard the
click, click, click
of little claws on the floorboards. As Duffy leapt onto her bed, she pushed aside the spread and pulled him close.
“Oh, darling.” Lily sat on the bed, her expression filled with sympathy.
Catherine petted Duffy, who nuzzled against her. “Mummy, I’m such a coward. I couldn’t bring myself to tell him about Jonnie. I bolted. I actually ran out on him. I’m so embarrassed.”
“George is having a talk with Arthur right now.” Lily stroked Catherine’s hair. “Darling, I’m here for you if you wish to have a heart to heart.”
Closing her eyes, Catherine felt disgust with herself in knowing she had failed. She should go down and explain herself. Her father mustn’t be made to carry the burden because of her loathsome behavior.
“You are so young, Catherine. Don’t be too hard on yourself.”
Her mother’s words gave her little comfort.
Coward
, she berated herself.
…
Arthur sat in the kitchen with George Hastings, nursing a mug of tea laced with brandy as he learned about Major Jonathan Brandon. He wasn’t the least bit surprised there had been another man in Catherine’s life, but the end of the tale gave him quite a shock. Disappeared? Murdered?
From the start, George presented it as a clear-cut case of foul play, but, as the minutes ticked by, and he described what happened at The Bishop’s Crook, Arthur questioned whether a murder had actually taken place at all. No one reported seeing Brandon leave the pub, and a body was never found. The case had too many loose ends. What in God’s name happened that day?
“Is the case closed?” Arthur asked.
“I believe so, but I’m not certain. It’s been just shy of two years. He went missing on Christmas Eve, 1945.”
Arthur nodded and sipped his tea. A plethora of troubling questions drummed through his brain. Was Brandon dead or alive? Did Catherine still love him?
If Brandon suddenly reappeared, would she wish to resume their relationship?
Where do I fit in? Will I always be looking over my shoulder, wondering if he will show up?
“Arthur?”
He turned at the sound of Catherine’s voice. Her pale face belied the strength in her gaze. He rose from his chair and nodded to her, appreciating her show of determination.
Without a word, George got to his feet and walked over to his daughter, whom he kissed on the cheek before exiting the room.
Arthur held out a chair for Catherine, then sat next to her. The sound of the radio came from the lounge, the unmistakable voice of the Yorkshireman, Wilfred Pickles, on his hit program
Have a Go!
“Mum and Dad’s favorite,” Catherine said.
Arthur could tell she was striving for calm, but he noticed the little worry line between her brows.
“Your father told me about Major Brandon,” he said.
She glanced down at her lap. “I’m sorry. I should have told you myself. It was rude of me to run off like that.”
“There is no need for an apology. We can discuss it now or later. I shall leave that up to you.”
There was a sudden explosion of laughter from the lounge, followed by Wilfred Pickles loudly asking in his Yorkshire accent, “Are yer courtin’?”
It was one of his most famous catch-phrases, and the timing was not lost on Arthur, who couldn’t help but smile.
He looked at Catherine. “Well, are we?” he asked. “I certainly hope so.”
It took her a moment to digest this. Her gaze went wide and then slipped past him, to the wall separating the kitchen from the lounge. Pickles was carrying on a jaunty dialogue with his wife, Mabel. Arthur couldn’t make out most of it until he heard, “What’s on the table, Mabel?”
He chuckled.
Catherine faced him. “They’re a jolly pair,” she observed.
“Rather.” He took her hand and held it tenderly, wishing he could kiss her instead. “Are you willing to give us a chance at happiness, too?”
Her expression changed with his question, becoming sober and reflective. What had she decided?
“Catherine, shall we give it a go?”
“Yes,” she replied without further hesitation. “I can’t think of anything I’d like better than to court you, Arthur Howard. Now let me tell you more about Jonnie. I need to explain.”
“All right, love,” he said with a reassuring squeeze of her hand.
…
Catherine went to bed that night at peace with the world. How long had it been since she’d felt such contentment?
24 December 1945. Not since that fateful Christmas Eve, before Jonnie vanished.
It still haunted her, would do so for the rest of her days, but now she believed the worst was over. By word and deed, Arthur had shown he was willing to share her burden. He was not callous or jealous; in fact, he’d offered to help her try to solve the mystery.
She snuggled in the bed, then smiled and planted a kiss on her pillow. Wishing it was Arthur’s lips instead, she welcomed the coming days.