A Certain Darkness

Book 6: Verity Kent Mystery

by Anna Lee Huber

Genres: Historical Mysteries; International Crime & Mystery

Synopsis

The 1920s are off to an intriguing start, but even as a new decade dawns, the shadow of The Great War persists...
March 1920: Life has turned unsettlingly quiet for former British Intelligence agent Verity Kent and her husband, Sidney. But even that false calm is about to end. As threats remain, the French authorities soon request Sidney's help with a suspect who claims to have proof of treason--shortly before she is assassinated. And Verity, too, is called to investigate a mystery.
The murder of a Belgian lawyer aboard a train seems at first to be a simple case of revenge. But the victim was connected to British Intelligence, and possessed papers detailing the sinking of a gold-laden German ship during the war.
As Verity and Sidney dig deeper, they discover their cases are intertwined--and a lethal adversary persists. Officially, the Great War may be over, but this is a battle of nerves and wits they cannot afford to lose...

Release date: August 30, 2022

Publisher: Kensington Books

Print pages: 368

Sample

The club was hopping. Peering through the curtains at the edge of the stage, I had a clear view of the bodies packed together on the dance floor, swaying and jazzing to the driving rhythm of the band playing twenty feet from my place of concealment. The beat of the drums and the piano pounded in my chest, and the throbbing wail of the trumpet and trombone sang in my ears, tempting my toes to tap and my hips to swing. Normally I would have been part of the undulating mass of bodies, steeped in the haze of sweat and perfume, spellbound by the sweet, syncopated sounds. But not tonight.

Tonight, I had greater concerns. Tonight, I had other fish to fry. Namely, fileting a traitor.

I heard my husband’s soft foot tread moments before I felt his hand brush over the silk of my dark gown at my waist. “Goldy says Ryde’s chap is finally in place.” Sidney added a soft grunt. “Albeit a bit windy.”

I fingered the filigree gold pendant dangling from my neck and nodded. I’d expected as much. Our friend Max Westfield, the Earl of Ryde, had said the man he’d convinced to speak with us from the War Office was already uneasy, and our clandestine arrangements to meet him would only have heightened his nerves. Add to that the frenetic mood of the Grafton Galleries nightclub and the crush of patrons in their glad rags either dancing or indulging in a cocktail, and the man must be close to turning tail and running. Fortunately for us, that was all but impossible.

I allowed my gaze to sweep over the assemblage once more, verifying that Crispin and his friend were still holding their positions. Tonight’s crowd had seemed a boon, providing an effective cover for any who might be surveilling either Max or the man from the War Office, but it was now in danger of foiling our entire ploy. It had taken the man much too long to make his way through the throng to the far stage door. There wasn’t a moment to lose.

I nodded to the clarinetist on stage who stamped his foot and tipped his head back and arched his spine to lift his instrument into the air as a warbling trill of notes blared forth. Even with his hearing damaged from his time at the front as an artillery officer, Crispin couldn’t miss that cue. He stumbled backward as if losing his footing, and flailed his arms, spilling several bystanders’ drinks before elbowing his friend in the nose. My eyebrows arched skyward as the friend bent forward, cupping his hands around his face. The men were supposed to be playacting, but from this distance that had certainly looked real. Either their acting abilities were greater than I’d anticipated, or Crispin had gotten carried away.

“Ham,” Sidney scoffed good-naturedly from over my shoulder, making me suspect it was the former, for he knew both men far better than I did.

Crispin’s friend launched out at him with a fist, making Crispin stagger back into several onlookers, before he came back at him. News of the brawl quickly swept through the crowd, drawing eyes and interest. Trusting the distraction would be enough, and Goldy would know the right time to take advantage of it to usher the man from the War Office through the stage door, Sidney and I turned to hurry back through the wing of the stage to Etta’s dressing room.

Etta Lorraine was the most talented jazz singer this side of the Atlantic, as well as a good friend and eager coconspirator. She’d served as a mediator and courier for my ongoing clandestine work for C, the chief of the British Secret Service, more than once.

I rapped on the door before opening it to be engulfed by the scent of flowers from Etta’s admirers filling at least half a dozen vases, and the musk of powder and kohl decorating the vanity’s surface along with a smattering of brushes. It was certainly an improvement over the dank, musty corridor.

She glanced at me in the reflection of the mirror as we entered before continuing to apply her crimson lip salve. “Spring your trap?”

“Yes.” I shared a look with Sidney. “Now, let’s hope it proves worth the effort.”

Etta rubbed her lips together and then turned her head to the left and then the right, before nodding, apparently satisfied with her appearance. As she should be, for she looked stunning, as always. She tended to favor metallic-colored gowns, and tonight was no exception. The warm copper sequins and fringe seemed to ooze over her frame like melted caramel. Her cinnamon-brown eyes snapped with a fire reflected in the topaz-accented teardrop earrings brushing the tips of her mocha shoulders.

We kissed the air next to each other’s cheeks as she turned to greet me, her Tabac Blond perfume wafting up from her neck. Then she offered her cheek to Sidney, who bussed it lightly. Her eyes dipped to my midnight blue bodice as she leaned her hip against the vanity table. “You don’t normally wear such dark colors, Verity, but I must say, they suit you.” She reached up to tug one of my castle-bobbed curls. “It’s your hair. Makes the red gleam.”

I draped a hand somewhat self-consciously across my chest. “Yes, well, they do come in handy when you need to skulk through dark corridors.” She hadn’t mentioned the unfashionable cut of my neckline, but I felt conscious of it nonetheless, and slightly annoyed by that fact. Most of the current evening and dancing gowns tended to favor a square neckline with thin straps, but the bullet I’d taken in my shoulder some three months past, and the resulting scar, had put paid to any such wardrobe options. I’d been forced to turn to my modiste for help in designing a new evening wardrobe to accommodate my injury and was personally quite pleased with the wider straps and plunging vee neckline. In truth, it was far more flattering to my shapely figure. But that didn’t mean I wasn’t still a trifle uncertain. A position I was unaccustomed to, normally feeling confident about being the most stylish woman in the room.

As if sensing my insecurity, Sidney pressed a hand to the small of my back. Its warmth penetrated through the silk and infused into my backbone, offering me a reassurance I chided myself for craving.

Etta nodded. “You’ve the use of my dressing room as long as you need it.” She looked toward the door. “Is Ryde joining you?”

“No, we thought it best to send him elsewhere,” I replied. “To try to throw some of the hounds off the scent.”

“Do you think it worked?”

I heaved a weary sigh. “At this point, we can only hope.”

Our gazes met and held in commiseration.

There was light knock on the door, and she straightened. “That’ll be your man. And I believe I need a drink before my next set,” she added over her shoulder as she sashayed toward the door. “So, I’ll leave you to it.”

“Thank you.”

She lifted her hand in acknowledgment and then opened the door. A man whose dark blond hair was coated with copious amounts of Brilliantine nearly tumbled inside, coming to an abrupt stop at the sight of Etta. His eyes widened in uncertainty, but also a bit of awe, while she all but ignored him, pressing her hand to her beau Goldy’s chest as she skirted past him and out into the dark corridor. Goldy nodded at us, letting us know he would be nearby, and then shut the door, all but forcing the other man to take his last stumbling step inside to join us.

I waited to speak, pausing a moment to study the man before me. He was no more than average in build, with pale gray eyes and a weak chin. From the manner in which he tugged at his evening coat and straightened to his full height, it was obvious he was a military man, but judging by the shiftiness of his eyes and the apprehension shimmering in their depths I pegged him for a subordinate staff officer—likely a second lieutenant—or a clerk.

“Lord Ryde said you like birds,” I remarked, beginning the coded exchange Max and I had worked out prior to this meeting in order to verify the informant’s identity.

“Aye,” he replied, before pausing to clear his throat. “Especially pipits.”

His Scottish brogue had surprised me, for I would have expected it to be something Max would have priorly remarked upon. So, in spite of his correct retort, I examined him more carefully as I uttered the second part of the code. “And reptiles.”

“There’s nothin’ like a good cup o’ tea in the mornin’ to set ye right,” he stated, displaying no hesitance at the incongruous nature of the last call and response. It was evident he’d been prepped, which eased my concerns.

I crossed my arms over my chest. “Ryde says you have information for us about the investigation into the explosion that killed Brigadier General Bishop and nine other men.”

An explosion I was intimately familiar with as I’d been injured in it. In the spring of 1918, as the Germans had made their last big push, forcing some stretches of the Allied lines into retreat, I’d been sent to the front with a message warning Bishop he had a traitor among his staff. A traitor who might have even been the intelligence officer attached to his brigade. Soon after I’d delivered the missive, the temporary brigade headquarters Bishop had established near Bailleul, France, had blown up, sending me flying and scrambling my memory. For some time, I’d believed the explosion had been caused by a German shell, for a few minutes later that portion of the front had suffered a bombardment in earnest. However, with the help of a few other key witnesses, I’d recently realized the blast had not been caused by a shell, but a bomb placed within the HQ itself.

The Scot’s eyes darted back and forth between me and Sidney. “No’ so much information as word that they’ve declined to reopen the investigation.”

I stiffened, the anger and frustration I found myself so often struggling to restrain of late bubbling just below the surface of my calm exterior. “Despite the fact that there is now just one witness claiming the explosion was not caused by a bomb, and that witness was also the last person seen exiting the HQ moments before it exploded?” I wasn’t certain how much the man before me actually knew of the inquiry, but I wasn’t about to temper my words by speaking in vague terms when the issue was so important.

“They . . . they declined to accept the revised statement o’ one o’ the witnesses.”

“Why?” I snapped.

“They said it was unreliable.” His stare drifted to some spot between me and Sidney. “That because . . . the woman had changed her mind it couldna be trusted.”

Based on the fact he couldn’t look me in the eye it was clear he knew who the woman was despite C’s maneuvering to try to keep my identity concealed. What wasn’t clear was whether the Scot had figured this out on his own or if his commanding officers had discussed my involvement while reviewing the issue. After all, I had a number of detractors among the heads of the intelligence community—two in particular—and they and the officers in the War Office, in general, tended to believe women were overall unreliable agents, despite ample proof to the contrary.

My muscles tightened as I labored to remember my training and breathe evenly. Losing my temper with this subaltern would do me no good.

However, the rules for men were different.

“Never mind the fact that the change in this woman’s testimony corroborates that of the testimonies already given by multiple witnesses,” Sidney countered sharply, his bearing shifting from that of the easygoing man-about-town he normally affected to the demeanor he must have presented to his men as a commanding officer at the Western Front. “That her reasons for revising her statement are perfectly clear and understandable.”

The Scot flushed facing Sidney’s withering set-down, but he was experienced enough to recognize the voice of command when he heard it. “Aye, sir.”

I turned away, pressing a hand to my husband’s arm to remind him this man was simply the messenger. And one who at least had the decency to tell us to our faces what others would have not.

I caught a glimpse of my grim expression in Etta’s mirror. I’d lost some weight since my injury in December, and the hollows of my eyes and sharpness of my cheekbones appeared even more pronounced in the glare of the lights. The lack of answers, the lack of progress in both of our investigations was slowly eating away at me.

After taking a moment to stifle my disappointment, I turned back to the Scot, who stood anxiously waiting. “You could have told all of this to Lord Ryde and avoided this awkward encounter,” I pointed out, narrowing my eyes in suspicion. “So, why did you agree to meet with us?”

His Adam’s apple bobbed up and down as he swallowed. “Because this witness, the one who left the HQ shortly before it exploded, the one whose story contradicts the rest o’ the witnesses . . .”

“Lieutenant James Smith,” I stated baldly, letting him know we were aware of the man’s identity.

He hesitated a moment before nodding in confirmation. “He came to the War Office two days past to provide an explanation for the discrepancy.”

I shared a look of surprise with Sidney before prompting the Scot to continue. “And?”

“And I didna feel he gave a very good accounting of himself.” His mouth pursed in disapproval. “All he truly did was disparage the other witnesses, especially the woman, and remind the officers o’ the fruitlessness o’ pursuin’ the truth when the Germans’ shells had destroyed all o’ the evidence.”

“But other than disparaging them, how did he explain the fact that all the other witnesses reported the explosive was a bomb?” Sidney queried. “And that he was the last to leave the HQ?”

The Scot’s expression turned downright sour. “He wasna pressed.”

Sidney turned to me, his face communicating the same cynicism mine did, the same ability to read between the lines. Lieutenant Smith wasn’t pressed because someone had influenced the officers reviewing the file. Someone who was known to utilize Smith’s abilities for his own purposes.

“Was Lord Ardmore part of this meeting?” I asked.

“Nay, but . . .”

I arched my eyebrows, urging him to overcome his sudden reluctance to continue.

“He met wi’ one o’ the officers shortly before.”

“Of course he did,” Sidney muttered under his breath.

“It was supposedly aboot naval deployments.”

This was a feeble excuse and the Scot seemed to know it. The look in his eyes begged us to explain, but I decided we’d already said too much. Max might trust the chap, but I didn’t know him from Adam. However, that wouldn’t stop me from pushing him for as much as I could get.

“You don’t happen to know where we can find this Lieutenant Smith, do you?” Thus far we, nor C, had been able to gain access to his personnel record.

He glanced at Sidney, who stood quietly observing him, and then back. “He gave his address as bein’ in Wilton Terrace, but . . . I suspect it may be false.”

In all likelihood, he was right. Lieutenant Smith hadn’t struck me as the type of man who resided in Belgravia, whether he could afford it or not. We would make inquiries, of course. Every lead must be followed, no matter how small. But I didn’t expect to find him living there. It would be yet another false trail.

Ever conscious of the clock, I opened my mouth to thank him and send him on his way when Sidney suddenly spoke. “Why are you helping us?”

I lifted my gaze to my husband’s stern visage, somewhat surprised by the query. I’d learned long ago not to ask such questions of my transitory informants. It was too easy to lie, and those with the most significant information to offer often became unnerved by such close scrutiny. It was better to evaluate them on the content of their intelligence, and its corroboration with other sources.

However, the Scot seemed to have been anticipating just such a question. “Because I respect Lord Ryde. And Lord Ryde respects you. I ken he wouldna be puttin’ his neck oot askin’ such questions just for anyone.”

A pulse of fear shot through me, for this was exactly what he was not supposed to be doing—risking his neck. Lord Ardmore had already proven to be ruthless in his aims. There was little doubt he’d had Max’s father killed, along with at least nine other people we knew of despite our inability to find definitive proof of his culpability. Yet.

As such, the last thing I wanted was for Max or any of my other friends and colleagues to put their necks on the line by openly prodding the blackguard. Max had promised to be discreet. It was the only reason I’d acceded to his insistence on using his connections inside the War Office to gather information. But it seemed that the Scot was saying he’d done just the opposite.

“You served with him,” Sidney surmised, having further taken the man’s measure while I stood there stifling my desire to throttle Max for placing himself at risk.

He nodded. “At Divisional Headquarters.”

After Max had been injured in the shoulder and his father had pulled rank, having his son and heir transferred away from the battalion he commanded—the battalion in which Sidney had served—to become an adjutant to a major general safely behind the front lines.

“Then you understand how recklessly loyal he can be.”

The staff officer seemed much struck by this description for he grimaced. “Aye.”

Sidney’s stare was direct and intent. “Don’t let him take that loyalty too far.”

An understanding seemed to pass between the two men—one, to which, I wasn’t opposed. “Aye, sir.”

Sidney inclined his head just as the door to the corridor opened.

Goldy offered us an apologetic grin. “Sorry for the interruption, but Bruno just had to eject someone trying to sneak past him through the stage door, so you might want to wrap this up.”

The Scot’s eyes widened, and with good reason. The bouncer might have evicted the man, but he’d likely not been working alone.

“I can hustle him back into the club through the kitchens,” Goldy assured us. “Throw ’em off the scent.”

I nodded. “Thank you.”

This expression of gratitude was meant for both men as the Scot moved to precede Etta’s beau through the doorway, but not before he tossed one last glance my way.

“You two should lay low for a few minutes,” Goldy instructed. “I’ll be back after I have one of the men check the alley.”

With that he was gone, and I was free to pull the silver bangle from my wrist and hurl it at the chair on the opposite side of the room.

Sidney knew better than to say anything. Not when I was this irritated and flustered.

“Why are men such bloody beasts?!” I knew I was generalizing. After all there were as many men helping me as there were intent on putting me in my place, but at the moment the factions against me seemed to hold all the power and the least common sense. In fact, if Sir Basil Thomson—the newly appointed Director of Intelligence and a crony of Lord Ardmore’s—and the men of his ilk had their way, all women’s contributions to the war effort would be belittled and dismissed.

I crossed the room to sink down in the padded armchair, dropping my head into my hands as I tried to regain control of my temper.

“I’m sorry, darling,” Sidney said as he perched on the low table next to me. “Shall I go down to the War Office and box their ears for you? They would probably take away my Victoria Cross, but it might be worth it if it knocked some sense into them.”

I scowled up at him, not finding his jest to be humorous in the least, but it was difficult to stay irritated with him when he was gazing back at me with such a consoling expression. He was already too handsome for his own good. Confronted with his dark hair, midnight blue eyes, square jaw, and rugged physique, it was all I could do to keep my wits about me when he became intent on charming me. However, at the moment, I was too riled.

“We’ve been blocked at every turn.” I gestured emphatically. “Clearly they don’t care about uncovering the truth or obtaining justice for General Bishop and all those men.”

“Yes, but you know as well as I do that true justice is difficult to attain. And Smith isn’t wrong. What evidence there might have been is long gone—destroyed by German shells or lost when the Jerries overran the area before we pushed them back. Is witness testimony enough when none of you actually saw him set the bomb?”

I gritted my teeth lest my first scathing retort slip past my lips and glared angrily at him.

He held up his hands as if to ward off my attack. “I’m not saying anything you haven’t already said yourself before. You knew Smith’s guilt was going to be a tall order to prove.”

“Yes, but I hoped the War Office would at least want to reopen the investigation. I hoped they would at least want to try.”

He sighed, rubbing a hand over his jaw, releasing the scent of bay rum in his aftershave. “Yes, there is that.” His expression turned pensive. “But at least the effort wasn’t a complete loss. Ardmore made a move to interfere, and I doubt he would have personally done so for just any of his minions.”

“Yes, but we already knew Smith worked for him. That he was more than a simple drudge. And it doesn’t prove Ardmore had anything do with the bombing. Only that he doesn’t want his man incarcerated.”

“Or beating his gums about what he knows.”

I tipped my head in concession. “Regardless, I no longer see any way forward. Not when C can’t even gain access to the full investigation file.”

Sidney didn’t try to counter this, and I was glad he didn’t offer me trite reassurances. Unless something drastic changed, we both knew we were at a dead end, and no amount of words could change that. Instead, he took hold of my hand, cradling it between his own and running his fingers over the black silk encasing my palm.

A rap on the door preluded Goldy’s return, and I looked up to offer him a wan smile.

“We got the chap back to the floor,” he told us. “Convinced one of the girls to make a fuss over him, so hopefully that’ll draw the right people’s attention.”

“Good thinking,” Sidney replied, pushing to his feet.

I could feel Goldy’s eyes on me, searching, assessing, but he didn’t ask the question I knew was foremost in his mind. And I knew Etta well enough to know she hadn’t revealed to him anything she might have guessed at herself. That I couldn’t share exactly what I was doing now or what I’d done during the war at times felt like the height of ridiculousness, but there were other times when I fully appreciated the Official Secrets Act and the strict discretion we were to maintain.

“A taxi should be waiting for you in the mews where it dropped you off,” Goldy added as I retrieved my bangle from the chair cushion and joined the men in standing.

“Thank you, Goldy,” I told him sincerely, knowing from experience how difficult it was to be kept in the dark. “How’s Tim doing?” I asked, as Sidney fetched my aubergine wool coat with fur-trimmed rolled collar from Etta’s wardrobe and draped it around my shoulders.

“Quite well. He seems very keen to learn.”

That was a relief to hear. My younger brother had been restless after returning from the war, needing a way to occupy his time that he would enjoy. When he’d confessed his desire to become a pilot—an aim that our mother had strictly forbidden after our brother Rob had been killed piloting an aeroplane at the Western Front in 1915—Sidney and I had set about finding a way he could still be involved with aviation while not necessary stepping into a cockpit. At least, not immediately anyway. Goldy’s family owned an aviation company that was investing in efforts to begin passenger aeroplane service to the continent and beyond, and he’d agreed to take Tim under his wing for the time being.

Goldy flashed me a wide grin. “I’ve had him shadowing my cousin, who wanted to know if all the family is so annoyingly inquisitive.”

I couldn’t help but smile at this assessment. “Well, my oldest brother, Freddy, became a surgeon; Rob was attempting to build his own flying machine before he was out of short pants; and . . .” I cast him an arch smile. “. . . you’ve met me. So ‘annoyingly inquisitive’ pretty much sums us up.”

He chuckled, offering Sidney the hand he always covered in a glove to hide the burns he’d suffered to the right side of his torso during his own plane crash during the war.

“Don’t laugh. Just wait until you meet her sister,” my husband quipped.

Goldy turned to me. “Is she coming to visit?”

“Over her summer holiday,” I replied, moving toward the door. “That is, if she can manage to convince our mother to let her come.”

“Even odds, then,” Goldy guessed.

“Just.” I rose up on my toes to buss his cheek. “Give Etta my love and my thanks.”

“I will.”

Sidney and I were still seated at the breakfast table the next day when we heard a knock on our flat’s door.

My husband looked up at me over the newspaper he was perusing, his eyebrows lifting. “Ryde is up and about early this morning.”

Taking a sip of my coffee, I glanced at the clock on the sideboard. “I would hardly call ten o’clock early.” I narrowed my eyes playfully. “After all, didn’t you have to rise before dawn for morning stand-to during the war?”

“I made my subalterns do it.”

I rolled my eyes and shook my head, knowing full well Sidney would never have done such a thing, if he could even have gotten away with it. All soldiers and officers were required to take part in stand-to at dawn and dusk each day while serving in the trenches, positioned at the ready as if waiting or preparing for an attack, and Sidney had never been a slacker. I would more readily believe he’d been the first to rouse the men for their part, the first to place himself in any sort of necessary discomfort or danger to shield his men. I’d seen the way the men he’d commanded or served with respected him. It wasn’t simply in deference to his rank. It was earned.

We heard the murmur of voices, and then Sadie Yarrow, our timid housekeeper, appeared in the doorway. “Lord Ryde to see you.”

She knew better than to stand on ceremony where Max was concerned, and in fact he stood just beyond her shoulder, passing her with a nod as he entered the dining room.

I thanked Sadie, who lowered her heavily lashed eyes and hurried away.

“Now, what could possibly be bringing you to our door on this fine spring morning?” Sidney teased as he folded his newspaper and tossed it toward the center of the table.

Max all but ignored him, dropping a swift buss on my cheek before sinking into the chair next to mine. “What did Curlew have to say?” His gray eyes were eager.

“Is that his name?” I replied, gesturing toward the coffee pot.

He nodded in response to my unspoken query. “He didn’t tell you?”

“No. Though, to be fair, I also didn’t ask,” I admitted while I poured Max a cup of the dark java. “I calculated that doing so would only make him jumpier.”

Max drank the bitter brew black just like Sidney, something my husband had never done before the war. I supposed it was a habit acquired from their time at the front, where you took your hot meals and drinks however you could get them. While I, on the other hand, had reacted quite differently to my time spent in German-occupied Belgium and northern France, liaising with our intelligence gathering networks at work there or on special assignment. The ersatz swill they’d been forced to drink in place of tea and coffee—such as roasted oat chaff or pea shells—had made me better appreciate the genuine article, as well as the cream and sugar which made it sweeter.

Max grimaced, either from the strength of the coffee or my description of Lieutenant Curlew. “I was worried his nerves might get the best of him. But at least he showed up. That’s something. So what did he say?”

“That the War Office is officially declining to reopen the investigation.”

Max scowled. “I learned that this morning.”

I frowned, wondering how he’d discovered such a thing. Given the classified nature of the inquiry, I knew it entailed him being rather more deeply involved than I wished.

“But surely that’s not all?” he pressed.

Sidney’s expression was watchful, letting me know I wasn’t the only one who’d inferred rather more from Max’s admission than our friend might have realized. “He also said Lieutenant Smith had been allowed to meet with the officers in charge to explain himself, and they didn’t press him for answers.”

“Probably because Lord Ardmore met with one of them shortly before Smith’s meeting,” I added.

I didn’t need to spell anything out for Max. He was fully aware of Ardmore’s shadowy capabilities.

Max muttered a curse as he set down his cup, and then glanced up at me to utter an apology before returning his scrutiny to the geometric blue porcelain design. “How can no one see him for who he is and what he’s doing but us?”

I shouldn’t have been surprised by the vehemence in his tone. After all, Ardmore had almost certainly arranged his father’s murder. But I was. I suspected it was because I was so accustomed to his calm steadiness. However, over the past months I’d begun to realize that his composure was as much of an act as my bravado. Something he’d hardened and perfected during the tumult of the war. Yet there were fractures, tiny faults which had begun to crack under the strain of t