Archive of Our Own ^beta

i. May 1915

Edward Iveson glanced at his watch and quickened his pace as he headed down Whitehall from Charing Cross towards the Foreign Office. There had been a Zeppelin raid in the East End last night, the first serious attempt on the capital, and as a result, nothing seemed to be on time this morning. He also had a meeting to attend – one of his superiors had been talking about a secondment, something that sounded worrying to him. His mind on such matters, he only narrowly avoided walking into a fair-haired girl in a green hat and coat standing on the end of the pavement. She glared at him as she straightened herself.

“Excuse me,” he said, tipping his hat to her, preparing to smile, but he got no further since she silenced him by handing him a white feather. He had not yet taken in the bunch of them that she held in her hand and now that he did, it gave him an unwelcome jolt. There was something about her that he’d liked instinctively and he was wrong already, for here she was giving out badges of cowardice to passing strangers without stopping to ask whether or not they deserved it. He did, of course, but that was mere accident and unlikely to be for the reasons she supposed.

He merely pocketed the feather and walked on, setting his sights on the Foreign Office. There was no point in arguing with an angry young woman on a mission – most likely it was the loss of a father, a brother or sweetheart that had led her to vent her pain on others for having the temerity to be walking around, whole and unharmed. Whitehall, full of exempted civil servants, was hardly the place she would have chosen for this if she had been thinking rationally. It was a detestable practice, though, and he had to stifle an urge to turn back around and take her feathers away. He wasn’t hurt by her actions, but others might well be.

Still, he put his hand to the pocket with the feather inside, and glanced back at her. She wasn’t even looking at him, now walking up to another bowler-hatted, besuited man of likely age, but he took note of her colouring, her features, and the determined set of her mouth; committing her to memory, as if he knew that this was only the beginning, and they hadn’t finished with each other yet.

Whatever the case, she’d got his measure without even pausing to say a word: he was a coward who asked others to do his dirty work.

He was a coward.

ii. October 1916

Julia Graves followed Catherine, one of the other VADs, as she headed into the run-down hotel in Rouen where the dance was being held. It was the sort of thing that could get them into trouble if they were found out, but Cathy had begged Julia to chaperone her since she wanted to meet a Major she’d run into at headquarters. He was simply divine, she’d told Julia. Julia doubted it, but, even so, she smiled at the couple as Cathy’s Major led her into a lively waltz. It was good to be somewhere that wasn’t filled with the injured and the dying for an hour or so, even if the liveliness here was also a trifle feverish.

She shifted her position. Captain Iveson, who had arrived with Major Allbright, looked across and gave a smile. He was in uniform, but she didn’t recognise the corps insignia, only that he wasn’t regular Army.

“Shall we dance?” he said, holding out his hand to her. “Although I must confess before we do that I’m not what you might call a proper soldier, but I don’t suppose anyone here will know.”

Julia clasped his hand and let him lead her into the crush on the dance floor. “Let’s. And I don’t mind what you are as long as you don’t tread on my feet.”

“Well,” he said, looking down at her, “I thought I should say, since you once gave me a white feather for being a civilian in the middle of Whitehall.”

Julia nearly stopped where she was, in the middle of the dance floor, but managed to catch herself in time. She’d tried her best to forget her misguided patriotism at the outbreak of the war. In light of all that had happened since, it seemed terribly ironic, and she winced at the hurt she must have caused. Was he trying to pay her back for it now?

“Oh, hell,” she said. “I’m so very sorry. Truly? I did?”

“Oh, yes,” he said, with a nod. “Not the sort of thing a fellow can forget. Besides, you are rather memorable.”

“Am I?” Julia felt ridiculously cheered by that statement. She wasn’t particularly vain, and while she was aware that she was pretty enough with what people would probably call a trim figure, she’d always seemed good at warding off most men. She had decided it must be her manner. One young man who had tried to court her before the war had told her she reminded him of his old governess, and she certainly didn’t have the Cathy’s knack of always seeming to have a queue of men waiting in line. “I’m sorry. I mean – I should apologise. It was dreadful of me. I didn’t realise back than – I was a little idiot, Captain. I hope very much you can forgive me, but I understand if you can’t.”

He merely shook his head as someone changed the record on the gramophone and they eased into a slower song. “Had you lost someone?” he asked softly.

Julia felt her throat constrict even now. “My brother,” she said. “Christy. I still miss him. But even so – it’s no excuse. I’m sorry.” It hadn’t been only Christy, then or now, though that was bad enough: there was mother who had been interned for a while before one of her friends had intervened, her death from pneumonia this winter, father’s death before the War – and now her younger brother Rudy was wild to follow Christy into the fighting. If the War carried for long enough, he would. Julia was terrified he’d run off and lie about his age – he wouldn’t be eighteen yet for nearly two years, but he wouldn’t be the first or last.

“So am I,” Captain Iveson said mildly and when she looked up at him, he only gave her a small, sympathetic smile.

She decided then that she liked him, and hoped he could overlook the white feather incident. However, there was no point in dwelling on it, so she took his arm as they left the busy dance floor in search of a drink. Julia glanced back to see what had become of Cathy and her Major. “Do you think,” she said to Captain Iveson once they had found a space at the side to watch, “that my duty as chaperone is to rescue Catherine now she has the Major’s attention, or I should pretend I didn’t see anything and absolutely not rescue her?”

Iveson followed her gaze, and then looked back at her, the corner of his mouth twitching upwards. “I don’t think either of them looks much in need of rescuing. I should imagine Allbright would resent it considerably.”

“Good,” said Julia. “In that case, we can have another dance.”

Later, Captain Iveson helped to see her back to the field hospital, hitching a ride part of the way with another officer, whose name Julia had been too tired to catch. She didn’t truly care, sitting in the back, being jolted over the uneven surface of the lane, and leaning against Iveson, hardly able to keep awake. Now that she’d stopped, a run of night shifts and disturbed sleeping patterns were catching up with her with a vengeance.

When he helped her out of the car and then on, along the fence, to help her sneak back in, she hung onto his arm. “I never asked,” she said. “Are you seeing someone? Married? Engaged?”

He looked back at her, his expression obscured in the semi-darkness, and hesitated for longer than she liked before he said, “No. I’m not.”

She didn’t see him again for a month.

iii. November 1916

Edward had no idea where he was, failing to take in his surroundings even when he had any sort of grip on consciousness, until she was there, bending over him. He latched onto her presence with relief: she was familiar at least. More details began to register: his arm ached, his head even more so, and his mouth was parched. He thought he could taste blood.

“Captain Iveson,” she said, her hand on his briefly, before she helped prop him up against the pillow, enough to help him to drink some water. He tried to move, to help, but it worsened the pain, and she put a light hand to his shoulder. “Stay still. I’m going to tell the doctor you’re back with us.”

He understood now why people fell in love with nurses: when she left there was nothing but darkness in the room until she came back again, and he looked at her while the doctor talked about head injuries and other things that wouldn’t fit an aching mind stuffed with cotton wool. He tried to say something about ministering angels, but it didn’t come out right, and she only shook her head at him. He remembered her name, though, now, even though little else had come back to him. “Miss Graves,” he said.

“Yes,” she said, and looked to the doctor. “We’ve met before.”

The doctor smiled down at him. “Well, that’s something. Still got your memory, eh?”

Edward thought about trying to explain that he wasn’t sure what he did and didn’t remember, or whether he simply didn’t want to remember anything but Julia Graves, and then, almost to his relief, found he felt sick, which was a far more straightforward matter, and distracted all three of them from more complicated questions.

After the doctor had gone, she helped him to a little more water, then asked him if he felt sick again, which he didn’t. “But you’re starting to remember things? You didn’t seem to before, but then you were feverish.”

He didn’t remember there being a before, not in the hospital with her. He was beginning to recall more of what had come before that, however, so he attempted a small nod.

“You’re in the base hospital, back at Rouen,” she said. “You were injured, heading back towards Albert, from the Front. At least, that’s what they said.”

Edward had a vague and unpleasant recollection of something like that. He’d had someone he needed to meet, or a message to intercept – something along those lines – and he vaguely felt that he had but then there had been a shot, or an explosion – something – he couldn’t be sure. It was far too unclear. He closed his eyes. He couldn’t piece it together yet.

His memory returned in patches over the next two days, until he was fairly sure he had all the pertinent parts; it was only the accident itself that was hazy. That, the doctor said, was normal enough. He had been sent out here as a low-level means of investigating a source that his superiors in Intelligence were beginning to regard as suspect. Now that he could remember the events leading up to his injury, he knew he had heard enough from his contacts to suggest that the suspicion was justified. His first concern was to pass that report on, but Colonel Marchant, his liaison with the regular army, was singularly unhelpful. He seemed to think that because Edward was suffering from severe concussion that his information was unreliable. Edward cursed him in private and was willing to bet if his verdict had been the other way around, he’d have rushed off a messenger with the news before he’d even finished telling him.

The Colonel finally consented to send a telegram on Edward’s behalf, ensuring his superiors knew where he was, and Edward put enough thought into wording it that he could be reasonably sure his colleagues would take the hint. They better had, he thought, or some unfortunate soldiers would find themselves in trouble for being potential Communists when they were nothing of the sort, and it was only that the government was panicking going the way of Russia and losing the War. As long as that telegram had the right effect, Edward didn’t mind being out of the whole damned business for a while. He pressed his head back into the insufficient pillow and shut his eyes against it all.

Now that he had recovered his memory, he couldn’t have long left here. They’d pack him on the boat train soon enough, but in the short while he had, he got to see and speak to Julia from time to time. When she paused to sit by him in the night, he let himself imagine such moments in better circumstances, wondering if such things were possible. It seemed, when she smiled back at him, as if they might be.

He only realised how unreliable his memory still was when a letter from his aunt arrived, and halfway through it she wrote that she had informed Caroline that she’d heard from him, and at the name, the last piece fell into place, the one he had not wanted to recall: he was married.

He still had the thin sheet of paper in his hand when he met Julia to say farewell, out in what had once been an orchard. He ought to say something, but even in the circumstances, he hesitated to try and explain he had temporarily forgotten he was married. It would sound ridiculous, and would disbelieve him, and quite right, too.

It was understandable from his point of view: his marriage was not an ordinary one and he only saw Caroline in intermittent periods of having another disastrous attempt at making things work. It wouldn’t do as an excuse for why he had given Julia every reason to suppose he had an interest in her. Besides, he’d lied the night of the dance already, and once she knew that, why should she believe anything he said?

When she hurried over to him, tired lines at her eyes – more night shifts, he supposed – and caught hold of his hand, he knew that, just like that earlier evening, he didn’t want Caroline to have any part in this. It didn’t matter – nothing had happened. Julia must have half a dozen injured men in love with her every other week. Once he disappeared out of her life, if she thought of him, it would no doubt merely be as a rat, which it seemed he was. And a coward, he reminded himself with a wry twist of the mouth. She’d had him right the first time.

“Take care,” she said, nothing but concern in her face as she looked up at him, both of her hands in his now. “Write if you can. Don’t do anything silly.”

Edward threaded his fingers through hers and ignored the guilt, much as he ignored the lesser ache in his head. “Don’t worry,” he said, and let go of her hands to brush his fingers against her cheek, and kissed her forehead. She put her hand on his arm and he mentally damned everything else to hell, and put his arms around her and kissed her goodbye.

“I mean it,” she said, pulling away, faintly pink and breathless. Edward glanced around them (anywhere but directly at her), as if watching out for anyone who might have seen them. “Look after yourself. Please.”

He nodded. “Oh, you can be sure I will. You take care. You’re working too hard, you know.”

“What else can one do, here?” she said, and gave a shrug.

He turned and marched away with a wave. He really should have kept that feather.

iv. November 1917

Julia was back in London on leave, and on a mission. It wasn’t all that hard to find out more about Captain Edward Iveson, since he had a relatively uncommon name and had mentioned working at the Foreign Office at one point. It also turned out his family had once moved in the same sort of circles as hers, before her father’s financial troubles and death, so the information had fallen into her possession far too easily.

He lived somewhere near Primrose Hill and he had family in Kent, and he’d worked at the Foreign Office for over ten years, although he was now possibly doing something secret and confidential, or so one of her sources had rather indiscreetly implied, which fitted with what she knew of him from northern France. He’d said he wasn’t a proper soldier. The pertinent point, however, was that he had also been married for all that time.

“The pig,” she’d said aloud, when she’d discovered. The last time she’d seen him, she’d known something was wrong, and she’d thought he’d lost the will to go on. It happened in this war. She’d seen it before, and it was a self-fulfilling prophecy. She’d thought she’d seen it in him, out in the dead orchard, and worried over him ever since – and instead it had no doubt only been guilt. He was married. “The beast! He could at least have said.”

Having found out that he was alive and probably not worth worrying over anyway, she should have been able to return to France with recovered equanimity and a resolution to hit him if she saw him again, or give him a whole handful of feathers, but she hadn’t been able to resist going further, and an application to her rich if much loathed Uncle Lionel got her an invitation to a party at which Iveson was also supposed to be present.

That part had been easy. Finding him at the party was harder, but she eventually discovered him, sitting at a table in a corner, talking to an older man, his hand curled around a glass that was still half full. Julia hid behind a pillar and when the other man left, she took full advantage of the fact to sweep over and sit down opposite Captain Iveson.

“Hello again, Edward,” she said, and smiled brightly at him.

He started and stared back.

Julia continued to smile, leaning her head on her hand and watching him.

“It’s you,” he said slowly. “My God, Julia – it’s you.”

“Yes,” she said. “It’s me. Is your wife here with you? Will this be awkward? I’m so terribly sorry!”

Edward shook his head and leaned forward. “No – have you been asking questions about me around town?”

“Well, how else do you think I found you? You didn’t write, and now I know why. I started looking because I had this horrid feeling you might have got yourself killed, and then when I learned the truth I carried on out of a pressing need to tell you what I think of you. Which, by the way, is that you are a pig.”

He ran his hand through his hair. “Julia, given what you’ve learned and my time at the hospital last year, you must have gathered that my work is of a sensitive nature. If someone starts making enquiries about someone who is entrusted with such work, alarm bells begin ringing in all kinds of places. People start taking an unhealthy interest in whoever’s doing the asking.”

“Oh,” said Julia, the wind effectively taken out of her sails. She wasn’t sure he hadn’t swiped the sails as well. “Oh, heavens. And if that person was half-German and their mother had been interned, they might suspect the worst.”

Edward lowered his hand to cover his eyes. “Dear God, Julia. Miss Graves, I should say.”

“Will I be arrested?”

He gave a short laugh. “No. At least, I trust I should be able to avert that occurrence. I’ll have a word with Mr Morley about it, which ought to be revenge enough for you, since there is, quite rightly, nothing that I can say which will make me look anything other than a cad.”

“Not quite that,” said Julia. “I’ve had a run in with some, and you don’t have the right sort of practised air. That was what fooled me. You seemed nice, but you were just an utter pig all along.”

“I am sorry,” he said, more quietly. “I’ve no excuse. That evening, at the dance – I thought I’d never see you again and I didn’t want to bring Caroline into it. And the next time, I honestly didn’t remember that I was married till almost the last moment before I left.”

“A convenient sort of amnesia. You seemed to remember everything else.”

Edward nodded. “Yes, quite. I’ll have a word with Mr Morley. We’ll never meet again, so –”

“For heaven’s sake,” said Julia, finding that under both the worry and the anger, she’d wanted more than anything just to see him again, “if your wife is that dreadful, why haven’t you got a divorce? I know it’s an awful business, but this isn’t the Dark Ages. It can be done.”

Edward looked away from her. “That’s nothing to do with you.”

“I don’t think that’s true, do you?”

“It’s complicated,” said Edward. “And Caroline is hardly an ogre. She’s very,” his voice trailed away as he groped for an epithet, “nice. And I have tried – we have discussed it, that is.”

Julia gave a snort.

“What?” he said.

“Well, don’t sit there, being so feeble! You’re the husband, so when it comes to these things, you have the law on your side, even these days. And given what you do, couldn’t you set her up in some compromising position? And there you’d be – both at liberty again.”

“I am not being feeble,” said Edward. “And I’d prefer not to be that immoral outside of work, thank you. You don’t understand the facts of the case, Miss Graves, and despite my behaviour, it isn’t any affair of yours.”

Julia subsided, leaning back against the seat, ashamed of her outburst. “No, none at all. I don’t know why I said anything. You’re just a beast who deserves to be trapped in some horridly cold marriage. Best place for you, I should think.”

Edward looked beyond her, over to the other room, where people were still dancing. He didn’t even seem to register all her insults. “Dance with me,” he said. “One last time. And then I’ll try and explain you to Mr Morley before he has you taken away somewhere.”

“I should go,” said Julia, but she held out her hand to him, blinking away non-existent tears as he closed his fingers around hers.

They had more than one dance. It was stupid, Julia knew. She shouldn’t trust him, and even if she did, there was clearly no future in any sort of relationship with him. He was from the Foreign Office and exactly the stuffy sort to faint dead away at the mere idea of a divorce; that was doubtless where the complication lay. The best thing she could do would be to go back to France and flirt with any nice officer who was willing to oblige. It was only that she had no enthusiasm for that plan. Unhappiness seated itself inside her, leaden and immovable and impervious to logic.

“Edward,” she said, leaning against him as he led her through the steps of a slow dance, catching her breath at her recklessness. “I could be your grounds for divorce. I would, you know.”

He shook his head. “Julia. Don’t.”

“Yes, sorry,” she said, and he evidently then decided that dancing was far too dangerous, leading her over to meet Mr Morley instead. He turned out to be the older man she’d seen Edward talking to earlier, but he proved amenable to being persuaded that her enquiries were entirely innocent and due only to Edward’s unforgivable behaviour.

Mr Morley gave Edward a mildly surprised, rather sceptical, look at that statement, which Julia felt confirmed her conclusion that Edward was no practised cheat, whatever else he might be.

Which was, of course, married and a liar and a pig and a beast, but Julia felt miserably certain that all she’d established now was that she wanted him, and nobody else would do.

He escorted her out and helped her find a cab, and when she turned back to say goodbye, he gave her an uneven smile and said, “You had me right the first time. I hope you can forget the rest.”

“I’m sure I shall,” she said, as he shut the door for her. It was another lie, of course.

v. December 1918

Edward picked up the office telephone. When he heard the voice on the other end, he started at the sound and had to glance around the room for fear his reaction might have prompted curiosity in one of the secretaries, but he was the only one left.

“Mr Iveson?” said Julia. “Hello? That is you?”

Edward shook himself. “Yes. Yes. It is I.”

“How very grammatical of you. I wondered if I could ask for your help. It’s my brother Rudy – he’s in trouble. Your kind of trouble. Would you be willing to meet me somewhere so I can explain?”

Edward glanced at his watch. “I was just about to head home. Whereabouts are you? I can buy you dinner.”

“Oh, good. Thank you,” she said. “I shall wait for you in St James’s Park, then. Or you can wait for me there, whichever. Oh, drat, there’s a man who wants the telephone – I have to go!”

She hung up before he could say anything else. Edward replaced the receiver in its holder and frowned at the wall. This probably wasn’t a good idea, viewed objectively, but he could hardly ignore a request for help, even if it hadn’t come from Julia.

He rubbed his forehead, thinking of Caroline. Julia’s outburst on the subject last year had not been entirely unjustified. The trouble was he and Caroline had both assumed at the start that they would eventually fix things between them somehow. If he’d known then that they’d still be stuck in this state of affairs a decade later, he’d have dragged her through the divorce courts as soon as possible. Now they’d left it so long, how could they do anything other than try to find a solution?

When he’d asked Caroline to marry him, she had been wavering between two men and wound up persuading herself into accepting Edward, who was her parents’ choice. Edward himself had been happily oblivious of these facts until two months into the marriage, when Caroline had run into Jack Sheldon, her other suitor. She had promptly fallen apart at the realisation that he was the one she loved. After weeks of locking herself in the spare room and crying whenever Edward was in the house, she had run home to her mother. She never went to Jack, for all that she saw her marriage to Edward as a betrayal of him, and she couldn’t countenance a divorce. And how could Edward argue too hard about it when he believed much the same things she did about marriage?

Now, regardless of Julia, he had to admit that no divorce proceedings could have worsened Caroline’s health and nerves in the way that continuing with their marriage had done. He should have been ruthless years ago, and perhaps she might have now been happy with Jack – and he would never have had to lie to Julia.

Of course, Julia merely wanted his professional help and he mustn’t start building castles in the air out of one telephone call, but her reappearance pushed the whole damned mess to the forefront of his mind again. He put away his papers and picked up his coat, heading for the door. Whatever it took, he thought, as he shut the door behind him, he was going to obtain a divorce. Julia was right. He’d beg Caroline to agree, no matter what lies they had to tell in court. And if she wouldn’t, then for both their sakes, he’d find a way to make her.

Hopefully, she’d agree to his proposition, though. It was easy enough to plan to be ruthless, harder to go through with it. Surely she couldn’t want this to continue any more than he did, especially not after her last attempt to return to him. That was the worst thing about Caroline. She came back and tried to love him, to be a good wife. She tried so valiantly, like an early Christian martyr, doomed to failure, and Edward couldn’t forgive her for that. It was unbearable.

Julia was waiting on a park bench, gazing across at the ducks on the Serpentine, and Edward paused to watch her for a while, smiling despite himself at the sight. Each time he saw her, he believed it must be the last occasion, and yet they seemed to run into each other once a year, like clockwork. He would have liked to believe it was fate, but he hesitated to indulge in such optimism.

Edward headed across the park towards her bench. “Miss Graves,” he said, waiting for her nod before he sat down beside her. “You wanted my help?”

“Yes,” she said, and shook herself. “It’s my younger brother, Rudy.”

Edward gave a covert glance around. No one appeared to be listening, but there were things it was unwise to say in public. Anything involving Communism certainly came under that heading. “After your telephone call, I made a few discreet enquiries before I left. I think I understand, but I’ll know more after I see the file.”

“He was angry with himself for not lying about his age and joining up,” said Julia. She pressed a hand to her forehead. “Now it’s too late, and he wanted to do something – fight for something. But he’s obviously worried and I’m sure he must be in over his head.” She leant back against the bench. “He won’t tell me. I had to guess.”

Edward watched as Julia closed her eyes momentarily, and then straightened herself again.

“Yes. So, if you could try and extricate him – something like that.” Her hand went to her temples again, and she repressed a small shiver.

“Miss Graves,” said Edward. “Julia. Are you sure you’re feeling well?”

She lifted her head to look at him. “I was, but since I’ve come out I do feel rotten, I’ll confess.”

“Julia,” he said. “I hate to state the obvious, but it might be the ‘flu. Let me see you home and send for the doctor.”

She shook her head. “I shall be all right,” she said, standing. “I should go home, though, you’re right. I’ve got a return ticket for the bus. Gosh,” she said, frowning, “I must say, I do feel a bit fuzzy-headed. You could be right.”

Edward put a steadying hand to her arm. “I’ll find a cab.”

He helped Julia into a grotty lower ground floor room in Bermondsey, and looked around at the damp walls, and the lack of light from the street-level window above their heads. It was something of a shock to realise that she and her brother were living in conditions like this. He should have thought, he realised, and cursed himself again for not being in a position to help her as much as he could have wished.

“How do you feel?” he asked, as she slumped onto a narrow brown sofa.

She opened her eyes. “Worse,” she said. “But if you would fetch the doctor, I expect I’ll be fine. I’m fairly sure I’m indestructible by now.”

“When do you expect Rudy back?”

Julia turned her head and her attempts at cheerfulness crumbled. “I don’t know,” she said. “Sometimes he doesn’t at all. I argued with him about what he’s doing and now he avoids me. I think he agrees with me really, but that only makes it worse.” She stopped, too tired to continue, and waved a hand vaguely.

“Is there anyone else who can look after you?” he said. “I can’t leave you here alone.” She might consider herself indestructible, but this strain of the flu had proved itself vicious and surprisingly fatal, often to the young and the strong, in defiance of the usual conventions. No matter what she thought of him, he could not leave her here to suffer unattended.

Julia shook her head and closed her eyes again. “Oh, just give me an aspirin and leave me alone, do.”

“There must be someone,” he persisted. “The landlady, perhaps?”

Ill as she was, Julia gave a laugh at that idea. “Probably not even if I paid her. Mr Iveson, Rudy is off goodness-only knows where, and would make a terrible nurse anyway; Mother, Father and Christy are all dead; Father’s family are obnoxious, and Mother’s family are in Germany and Austria, which is why all my school friends don’t want to know me. Now, go away. You don’t want to catch it, if it is the flu.”

“I’ve had it,” said Edward. “I had to go north in the summer and got it then. Not so bad as now, but it felt rotten enough at the time. I don’t think you get it again, or not as badly. Julia, what about your relatives? Surely they can’t all be obnoxious enough not to help out in case like this?”

“You’ve met my uncle Lionel,” she said, burrowing herself into the sofa. “Hateful man. And the great-aunts are worse, and much too elderly, if they’re not dead by now.”

Edward crouched down beside her. “Wait, Lionel Graves? The banker? Oh, of course – that was why you were at that party of his last year.”

Julia nodded. “But I’m not asking him –”

“But would he help you? If I asked – not you.”

“Oh, stop making a fuss,” she said. “You want to foist me onto anyone else, I see.”

He slipped his hand into hers. “Julia,” he said, “you know I can’t stay, and I can’t take you home with me, and I certainly can’t leave you here like this. Now, if I telephoned your hateful uncle, would you go to him?”

“He hated Mother,” said Julia, turning her head. “I won’t be beholden to him.”

Edward tightened his hold on her hand before she looked away from him again. “Poor Julia,” he said. “Name me anyone else. Otherwise I must try.”

“He went on and on at Father for marrying Mother, even before the War. He’d have taken us in but not her. If he hadn’t been so beastly, maybe she wouldn’t be dead now.”

“Well, then, let’s give him a chance to make amends,” said Edward, straightening up. Clearly, there was no one else, so he had no choice. “I’ll be a little while, but I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

First, however, he made a cup of tea, using the gas ring to boil the water, and looking with increasing distaste at the dingy living quarters. And now Rudy had got himself in over his head with a Communist group – worse, if what he’d gathered from his initial enquiries in the office were true. Edward set his face: he’d help both of them, even if they were likely to hate him for it.

By the time Edward returned, Julia was worse, still lying on the sofa, half-asleep, her face flushed. He had gone to the local pub to see if they had a telephone and then to try and get hold of Lionel Graves, which he had managed on the first attempt, much to his relief. Whatever Julia thought of her uncle, Mr Graves had been instantly eager to offer his help, not even pausing to consider the risk of infection. It no doubt wouldn’t make Julia any fonder of him, but it reassured Edward that he was doing the right thing.

“Julia,” he said, softly, crouching down beside her once more. “I’ve contacted your uncle and he’s sending a car for you. He’ll have the doctor round to see you as soon as you get to his place. You’ll be all right now.”

She opened her eyes slowly. “I hate you.”

“Perfectly understandable,” said Edward, smiling at her. “Probably as well, all considered. Now, can you manage to pack a few essentials, or do you want my help?”

Julia pushed herself up and gave him a hard look. “Oh, I’ll manage. You can keep an eye out for the car, and carry the case out when it arrives.”

“Yes, ma’am,” said Edward, with a salute, and let her go into her room, crossing back to the kitchen area, where he half-heartedly tidied the tea things while keeping an eye on the window for any signs of a vehicle stopping close by.

When the car came, Edward helped her into it, having been careful to make sure she locked up behind her – packing had clearly exhausted the last of her strength. As he was about to shut the door, she gripped his hand, looking at up him, alarm in her eyes. She hovered on the edge of saying something, and then she turned her head away and let go of his hand.

“I’ll see you there, shall I?” said Edward, climbing in after her. He leant forwards to address Mr Graves’s chauffeur. “We’re ready, thank you.”

Julia evidently found the journey an effort and Edward wound up with his arm around her, something that he would have enjoyed far more in other circumstances. He refused to think that she might die: she was right, she’d been a nurse – or a VAD, rather – so she probably was indestructible, but everywhere one went these last few weeks, the church bells kept tolling for new victims. One could hardly ignore the possibility. He tightened his hold on her and turned his head to kiss the top of hers.

“Traitor,” she murmured, as the car came to a stop.

Edward could hardly protest, since Lionel Graves came over as he helped Julia out of the car.

“Thank you,” Graves said, as one of his staff helped Julia up the drive and into the house. He held out his hand to Edward. “Your conscientiousness is much appreciated. Whatever happens, it won’t be for lack of doctors and all that.”

Edward nodded and left, although he gave the house a guilty look back as he went, feeling far too much like the proverbial rat deserting the sinking ship. But he had to go: he needed to investigate Rudy and then hopefully extricate him from this group. No doubt Rudy would wind up hating him too, but both Graveses alive and at liberty would have to be its own reward. He thought it would.

Edward had spent three hours in the Graves’s flat, waiting for Rudy. Edward had used the time to search his room, and had found a disturbing stash of explosives under the bed. The box had been full, so whatever it was he was supposed to be doing, he would have to come back to collect it in order to carry out his orders. If he didn’t, then he would be keeping himself out of trouble and Edward wouldn’t need to do anything anyway save disposing of the explosives.

Another hour and a half later, by which time Edward had resorted to reading, sitting on the sofa with Julia’s discarded blanket beside him, Rudy finally stumbled in through the door.

He stiffened immediately on seeing Edward there. “Who are you? What do you want?”

“Pax,” said Edward, putting down the book and rising. “My name is Edward Iveson and I’m here because of Julia.”

Rudy shut the door behind him, his stance easing slightly, but still wary, watching Edward for any sign of danger: skittish, Edward thought. “Julia?”

“Yes. I’m afraid she’s not well.”

Rudy moved forwards. “What do you mean?”

“She met me yesterday, but she was coming down with the flu, so your uncle has taken her in and is looking after her.”

“Uncle Lionel? Julia hates him! I don’t much blame her, either. He was beastly about Mother.”

Edward walked towards Rudy, and ushered him back over to the sofa. If he wasn’t mistaken, Rudy had already had some Dutch courage, which meant that he wasn’t keen on his assignment, and that it would be that much easier to stop him. Edward pulled out a hip flask, and poured some whisky into a glass. “Here. It’s a shock, obviously, but your uncle promises she’ll have the best medical care money can buy.”

Rudy took the glass and sat down, then stared at it. “Will she – will she die?”

“I trust not,” said Edward. He smiled at Rudy. “She tells me she’s indestructible, and she should know.”

Rudy drank the whisky. “Look, thank you. But even with Julia ill, I’ve got things to be doing –”

“Julia wanted me to come here to talk to you,” he said, pouring out a small measure into another glass for himself, and sitting down on an unsteady wooden chair. “She’s worried about you, and she thought I could help.”

Rudy frowned. “Who are you?”

“Edward Iveson,” he said. “I don’t expect I can be of any use, but since Julia asked, I had to try. I do at least know what it’s like not to have fought.”

“I would have done!” said Rudy. “I was going to, but she stopped me. I hadn’t had my birthday yet, you see.”

Edward nodded, and drank his own whisky, before refilling Rudy’s glass. “Of course,” Edward said. “And she doesn’t understand how it is, being a mere female.”

Rudy shrugged. “She made me promise I’d wait until I really was eighteen. I know she meant well, but now I’m about the only one from school who didn’t just lie and go anyway. It makes a chap feel a bit of a worm. Especially when they go on about probably being on the side of the Boche anyway – because of Mother, you know. But I’m not a coward and now – now I’ll show them.” Then he slumped back into the chair in misery. “I have to.”

“Ah,” said Edward, refraining from pointing out the oddity of Rudy’s conversation. It was easy enough to keep the boy talking. Rudy clearly wanted nothing more than to be kept from his fateful appointment. He grew more loquacious on various subjects and failed to object when Edward poured him another glass of whisky, this one significantly larger. After that, he said far more than he should, if with increasing incoherence, and missed Edward topping up the glass again.

When he eventually made himself try to stand, he swayed slightly. “Damn,” he said, in puzzlement, and Edward rose hastily to steady him, putting one hand to his shoulder.

Rudy blinked. “Hell,” he said. “I’m supposed – there’s something – I mean – I have to be somewhere.”

“I know,” said Edward softly. “Sorry. But you can’t like this, old thing – no question of it. Best to sleep it off, don’t you think? I’ll wake you.”

“Hmm?” said Rudy, leaning against Edward. He was still only just eighteen, after all, and in way over his head on half a dozen counts. Edward stifled guilt: much better a hangover than letting him be rounded up by the authorities with the rest of his ineffective band of would-be Bolsheviks. “Oh, yes. Maybe.”

Edward helped Rudy to his room. “Unquestionably,” he said, offloading him inside, and locking the door behind him. He only had to wait now. His colleagues in another department would be on their way to the group’s rendezvous, and then the immediate danger would be passed. With Rudy absent, Edward could have a word with one of his colleagues and fudge over his involvement, even if he couldn’t obscure it entirely. A boy, barely of age, who regretted the rashness and hadn’t even carried out his task of delivering the explosives? There were too many other problems in the world.

A few hours later, Rudy staggered back into the gloomy kitchen, hung-over and scowling.

“I know,” said Edward, standing hastily as he entered. “I’m sorry. Sit down. I’ll make some coffee. I’ve got rid of the explosives while you were sleeping it off, by the way, so you needn’t worry about any of it again.”

Rudy froze and stared at him.

“Julia asked me to help,” Edward said, half-apologetically. “And since it seemed that you had got in over your head, I did. Besides, your little group had been infiltrated not only by Intelligence but by a more unscrupulous fellow working for a politician called Hallam, who had rather disturbing ideas about seizing power via terrorist action. He’ll have been removed from office by now – probably arrested for fraud. Hate me if you will, but count yourself lucky and be more careful if you want to continue a career as a socialist. In all battles, there are plenty of enemies who sneak in undercover, as well as the more obvious sort.”

Rudy watched Edward making the coffee, and as he began to try and take in his explanation, Edward watched his expression darken. It was probably as well the boy was much too hung-over to try and kill him.

Edward put a cup of coffee down beside Rudy. “Drink that, and I’ll leave you in peace. I’m sure you hate me just now, but that doesn’t matter. Just for heavens’ sake bear in mind that Intelligence will have a file on you after this and don’t give them cause to keep it open. At the very least, give it a breather for the time being.”

Rudy opened his mouth, then shut it again, and gave a groan, putting his head in his hands.

“You’ll feel better by tomorrow,” Edward added. “Which reminds me – your uncle sent a message about Julia. They were very worried they were going to lose her this morning, but she seems to have turned a corner within the last couple of hours. She should be well enough again soon.”

And then you can both hate me together, he added silently, having to bite down on amusement that Rudy would inevitably misinterpret. He picked up his hat and left, his questionable life-saving work here done.

Next, he thought, for Caroline.

v. July 1919

Julia knocked at the door of 12 Chalcot Crescent, and then stepped back, still too full of her mission to stop and wonder if she should be here. She did, however, after a longer pause than she had expected, wonder if Edward Iveson was home, and where on earth she would find him if he wasn’t.

At that point, the door opened, and Edward registered her presence, stiffening momentarily, and then leaning to one side, waiting to hear what she had to say.

“Why didn’t you tell me your wife was dead?” she demanded.

It wasn’t the best conversation opener, nor what she had meant to say, or at least, not quite like that. Edward merely stared back at her, and Julia worried suddenly at just how insensitive she must have sounded. What if Caroline’s death had caused him to realise his true feelings for his wife, and the last person he wanted to see now was Julia?

“It hardly seemed appropriate,” said Edward stiffly. He moved aside for her to pass. “You had better come in. Talking about it on the doorstep isn’t particularly appropriate, either.”

Julia bit her lip, and hitched up her skirt as she crossed the threshold. “Edward – Mr Iveson – I’m so very sorry. I didn’t mean to ask quite like that, and I didn’t mean to be unsympathetic about poor Mrs Iveson. But I do wish that you would tell me whether or not you’re married from now on. A person likes to know where she stands.”

Edward ushered her into the front parlour, but he gave the glimmer of a smile as she brushed past him. “Yes, I suppose one would. But when I called at your uncle’s to enquire after your health, I didn’t even know she’d gone down with the ‘flu herself, let alone that she wouldn’t make it. And once I did know, it seemed indecent to rush to tell you, even if I could be sure that you would care. Poor Caroline. She deserved better than all of this. I was hoping to arrange a divorce – not for her to die.”

“Poor Caroline,” echoed Julia, although she had never met her. She could almost feel her ghost in the room, in this house where she had also lived, however briefly. “But I do want to know these things, I assure you.”

Edward urged her to be seated, and then sat in the armchair opposite. “Perhaps, but consider: how well do we know each other? There must be others who would –”

“Mr Iveson,” said Julia. “Edward.” She leant forward. “You know, sometimes I think it’s almost as if you kept that white feather all those years ago. Please, understand – I like you, and I thought you liked me. Now, we will be permitted to do so in the proper way if we wish. You can take me out to dinner, or to the theatre without comment –”

“It hasn’t been six months yet,” Edward said. “There will, I feel certain, be comment.”

“You know what I mean.”

She watched him. Rudy’s reaction to not fighting had been difficult to deal with, but straightforward in origin and expression. He had wanted to go, and yet been relieved not to go, and had needed to prove to himself and everyone else that he wasn’t a coward. Edward, however, was different. But he’d already let slip a few times that he despised himself for the bloodless war he had fought. She didn’t know what his work had been, and it must no doubt remain secret, but she thought perhaps she had been right about him years before. Not when she gave him that wretched feather, but the time in the orchard when she wasn’t sure he had the will to live. He had, after all, been nearly killed on the only occasion that they had let him anywhere near the front line. Unlike Rudy who was out to prove his innocence, Edward was already convinced of his guilt.

“I’m sorry for that day, truly I am,” Julia said, moving further forward until it became perfectly natural to move to kneel at his armchair, her hand on his arm. “I never meant anything – I was angry at everyone. And you had to do what you were asked, just like everyone else. There’s no point in being morbid over it now it’s over. And it is, isn’t it? I heard you were back at the Foreign Office.”

Edward nodded.

“Would you ever have told me that Caroline had died?”

Edward wouldn’t look at her. “Julia. I’ve said that I would. And, please, get off the floor!”

She pulled herself up and perched on the arm of the chair, reaching out a hand to his breast pocket. “Good, but just in case – I take the bloody thing back!”

Edward actually started at her swearing, and she had to stifle a laugh. “Julia!”

“Oh, but it’s the right adjective for it; you can’t say that it isn’t.”

He put his hand over hers, where she remained gripping his jacket lapel, and then gave a reluctant smile, before conceding defeat and breaking into laughter. “True. And I’m not being morbid or idiotically noble, I promise – I was going to try and see you. When it seemed more appropriate, that is.”

“Oh, appropriate,” she said, and kissed his forehead. “Isn’t life too short for that? I like you; do you like me?”

Edward shook his head at her. “More than I can say.” He slid his arms around her and pulled her nearer, onto his lap. “You might be right, in a sense, but I think I started to come out the other side again after running into you at that party. You raked me down rather, and I had to admit you had a point.”

“I usually do,” she said, and relaxed in his arms, kissing him again, this time on his mouth, her hand gripping his collar. She closed her eyes as he kissed her back, relieved to have won through to where she had hoped to be.

Edward continued to oblige her in a similar fashion, until suddenly half pushing her away from him, out of the chair. “Good God, Julia! Come along – let me buy you dinner, or heaven knows where this will end.”

She straightened her dress and smoothed out a crease, trying to hide too wide a smile as she did so. “I don’t mind.”

“I do,” said Edward, standing, regaining unfair inches over her. “Well, perhaps not as much as I should, but I am determined that now we are free to see each other, we’ll do it properly. Do you want us to wind up having to rush into a hole and corner marriage at the nearest register office?”

Julia found she was still smiling. “It sounds perfectly lovely to me.”

“Does it?” said Edward and laughed. He kissed her cheek, and then hurried out into the hallway to find his coat. “In any case, let us go and have dinner wherever will take us at this hour, and we can argue about it over dessert.”

Julia slipped her hand into his. “That sounds very acceptable,” she said. “Entirely appropriate.” He was probably right, of course, but it was nevertheless an argument she would win. Perhaps not tonight, as some anticipation was rather delightful, but another occasion in the very near future, she was sure.

“By the way,” said Edward, locking the door behind them. “Does your brother still hate me?”

Julia nodded. “But I shall bring him round before the wedding somehow, I promise.”

“Wedding?”

“You did mention the register office, darling,” said Julia. “A person can hardly be expected not to take that as a proposal.”

“Ah,” Edward said, and took her arm again. “Yes. Very true. There you have me. I think we’d better go before I concede too much more.”