Time for Silence

There was rejoicing in the streets. Flags hung from windows; bunting was strung across the streets; and the bells rang out. People crowded onto the streets. There was the sound of music everywhere; bands were playing patriotic marches and barrel organs rolled out their tinkling tunes.

There was euphoria everywhere except among those to whom victory had come too late.

Mrs. Cherry said the servants all wanted to go out to join the throng and I said they must. She and Mr. Cherry wouldn’t mind taking a turn out there themselves. At a time like this, it didn’t seem right to be left out of it.

Marcus called. He was exuberant.

“What a great day this is!” he cried. “You’ll have to join in the general rejoicing.”

My father said that Marcus was right. He suggested that we go out and celebrate. It would be amusing to go to the Ritz or the Savoy for a meal.

We went into the drawing room for a while and talked about the cessation of hostilities, and fell to wondering how long it would be before the men came home.

“It is good to know the firing has actually stopped at eleven o’clock this morning,” said my father. “That will put a stop to the senseless slaughter.”

He added that we should drink to victory, and while we were doing this a messenger arrived for him. His presence was required elsewhere.

It was an accepted rule in the household that we never asked questions about anything connected with his work.

Marcus said, “I shall do my best to entertain Lucinda, and perhaps you will be able to join us later.”

My father thought that he might be detained for some time, so he would not arrange to meet us.

“It would be no use to make a rendezvous,” he said. “I daresay the restaurants will be crowded tonight with the whole of London wanting to celebrate.”

“Then you will leave your daughter in my care?”

“I shall be happy to do that,” replied my father.

Thus I found myself seated opposite Marcus in a smart restaurant overlooking the river.

The place was full of people clearly bent on rejoicing. There was laughter and chatter and people calling to each other from the tables. The orchestra was playing patriotic tunes.

When we appeared a waiter rushed forward and shook Marcus’s hand. Several people clapped. All men in uniform were greeted rapturously, and Marcus, of high rank and looking extremely handsome in his uniform, stood out among them.

I noticed envious glances directed toward me. Marcus smiled and, with that nonchalance which was essentially his own, lifted his hand in greeting and acknowledgement of the acclaim.

When we had ordered dinner, Marcus smiled at me and said, “This is a happy occasion. Thank God the war is over. How long it seems since I came to La Pinière and we first met. From the first moment I saw you—a schoolgirl, so fresh and innocent—I loved you.”

“It is four years ago. It seems much longer.”

“So much has happened. For some time I have been wanting to talk to you and have wondered whether I could…whether it was too soon. This dreadful thing has happened. Poor Annabelinda! What a terrible fate to be caught up in as she was.”

“You know? They have told you?” I paused, embarrassed. I was afraid that I might have said too much. I knew that Annabelinda’s murder was to be a well-guarded secret. Would that mean excluding her husband?

“For two reasons they would tell me,” he explained. “I was involved in the case. I was on the hunt with your father for those saboteurs. The other reason is that I was her husband.”

“Then you must know…everything?”

He looked at me very solemnly and said, “I had to know, Lucinda.”

“It must have been a great shock.”

“Remember the police first suspected me, until I could prove conclusively that I had been nowhere near the house. It was one shock after another. First her death and the suspicion against me…and then to learn the truth. I was a fool, Lucinda. I might have known, I might have guessed. But it all fitted so neatly. After all, you were the one who would not give up the child. You were the one who was most concerned for his welfare.”

He was looking at me with an expression I had never seen on his face before. It was contrition, humility…and most unusual, he gave the impression that he did not know how to express what was on his mind.

“I was deeply upset,” he went on. “I could not believe it. And yet it seemed so plausible.”

“What do you mean, Marcus?”

“I am talking about the child. What…Annabelinda told me.”

I was puzzled.