Chapter 15 #3
Many of our soldiers returning from the fronts were like that.
They’d become so accustomed to shielding their loved ones from the horrible truths of the war—both out of inclination and because of the government’s censorship of their letters and speech—that they didn’t know how to broach the topic.
It was easier to continue to remain silent except with those old comrades who required no explanation, for they’d experienced it as well.
“How long had the two of you been married?” I asked softly, so as not to disturb her more cooperative mood.
“It would have been three years in December.” Mrs. Harlow’s eyes got a far-off look in them. “Benji looked so handsome in his uniform.” A tiny pucker formed between her brows. “Still did.”
“Had you known each other before the war?”
“No. Met him at a canteen in London. He asked me to go dancing and after that, you couldn’t separate us. At least, not while he was on leave.” She turned away with a tiny forlorn sigh. “I thought it would always be the same.”
Mrs. Mitchum reached for her hand, and Mrs. Harlow allowed her to clasp it.
It sounded like their marriage was similar to the thousands of unions made during the passion and furor of the war, when it seemed any moment could be the last. They wouldn’t have been the only couple to discover when the war ended that they weren’t as compatible as they’d thought.
“Marry in haste, repent at leisure,” as the old saying went.
Though having suffered my own pains and struggles to rebuild my marriage to Sidney, I couldn’t help but feel empathy for these couples.
Neither the men, who were returning from the trauma of war, nor the women, many of whom were still young and na?ve, were in good condition to sort out their differences.
“Can you recall any of the things your husband and Ardmore discussed?” Sidney inquired, attempting a different tack.
“Nothing of interest while in my company,” she said as she reached over to stub out her cigarette in the pewter dish on the side table.
I couldn’t tell if she was being evasive or if the men had genuinely been that conscientious with their conversations.
“The three of us didn’t spend all that much time together. ”
“Then how …?” I began before realizing how indelicate my question was.
Mrs. Harlow grasped my meaning. “Ardmore came to call periodically. At first, he claimed it was to see my husband, but I quickly realized that he was deliberately visiting when he knew Benji wouldn’t be home.
One thing led to another and …” She shrugged as if her decision to begin an extramarital affair had been no small thing, but I could see through her charade now.
She wasn’t nearly as worldly and sophisticated as she wished to appear.
She seemed more like a little girl dressed up in her mother’s clothes.
In fact, despite her discreet draping and tucking, her garments hung on her frame, suggesting she’d recently lost weight.
This was perhaps the clearest evidence of the grief and guilt she felt that for her own reasons she strove to hide.
“It was nice to feel that someone was interested in me,” she added in a small voice.
A hot flash of anger swept through me. It was easy to dismiss women like Ada and Gigi Harlow as having been party to their own downfall, but the truth was, they were also victims. Ardmore had chosen them precisely because he’d seen through their brazen facades to their desperate desires to be loved and wanted.
He’d exploited their vulnerabilities for his own benefit and then abandoned them to their own fate.
Though, in this case, not as of yet, I was guessing.
“Do you still see him?” I asked even as Mrs. Mitchum was murmuring something to her.
Mrs. Harlow’s demeanor turned prickly. “Why? Are you interested?”
I arched a single eyebrow in disbelief and then looked toward Sidney.
She grasped my point. “Well, he’s interested in you.”
I was certain she’d misread the situation. Ardmore had undoubtedly wished to inspire her jealousy for a purpose, probably hoping she’d keep whatever secrets she held about him. “I’m still not interested. Not in that way.”
She glanced at Sidney. “Lucky you.”
I was lucky. Tremendously. But I wasn’t about to be sidetracked.
“You said Ardmore warned you about me.” Those weren’t her exact words, but I guessed that was what it had amounted to. “Why? What was he worried you might tell us?”
She scoffed. “He wasn’t worried. He just wanted me to be prepared, is all.”
“Why would you need to be prepared?” Sidney countered.
“For stupid questions like that?” she retorted.
Sidney and I shared a speaking look, both of us recognizing this was getting us nowhere.
“If not Ardmore, then who do you think murdered your husband?” he asked, settling on this for his final question, though I could anticipate her answer. After all, they were the scapegoats for everything.
Mrs. Harlow didn’t disappoint. “Why, the rebels, of course.”
Her friend nodded in emphasis. It was all I could do to stifle my vexation.