James was dozing on a sofa when I entered the small salon, his head propped up against his fist.
Thunder sounded again, but not as close as a few hours ago. The heavy, green damask curtains had been drawn and the lamps turned up, creating a close, almost home-like atmosphere.
A few men were gathered around a table playing cards. Others sat well way from the windows, chatting quietly, or were also dozing on sofas, too. I crossed the room, only attracting slight attention, and sat down carefully next to James, as I didn't want to startle him.
"How is the work in the herb greenhouses agreeing with you?" I asked, quietly.
James twitched slightly at the sound of my voice, but his eyes didn't open. He still looked thin and drawn, but there was more colour on this cheeks and he didn't look nearly as ill as he had done only a week previously. Regular meals and a warm, safe place to sleep were working wonders, as they often did.
I waited for what seemed like several minutes. Perhaps he was asleep and not simply dozing, as I'd first thought. If that was the case, I decided I'd best leave him in peace and occupy myself upstairs.
He spoke just as I was about to rise.
"Fine enough."
I sighed. "That's not an answer, James. I want to know if you feel you can do that sort of work, or if we need to put you somewhere else."
"That's interesting."
"What is?"
"Have you noticed you never ask how anyone is? It's always straight to business." He opened his eyes and turned to look at me. "How was your disaster of a day? Over yet?"
"Disastrous, and apparently it isn't over yet, judging by your tone. The truth is, if you ask how another person is, you must be prepared to listen to a lot of drivel about stubbed toes and backaches. I'll thankfully leave that to nurses and vicars. I have organisational matters to attend to."
A smile ghosted across his face again.
We were sitting close enough that I could feel the heat from his body, and had to fight down an urge to reach out and stroke his face until the smile lurking below rose to surface where I could plainly see it.
Smile James, just once. You told me a joke, why not smile, as well?
But he wasn't about to do that, was he?
"Organisational matters, right," he said. "And the matter at hand is finding out if I'm suited to ripping out weeds and watering seedlings?" He ran the hand that had been supporting his head over his face and scratched his chin. "Well, Captain, I'm finding I can manage quite well, thank you. And lucky me has even provided with a chair to make it extra cushy. Once this splint comes off, there'll be no stopping me, sir."
He held up his damaged finger. The bandage was stained a dirty brown and reminded me of something dug out of an archaeological pit.
"I've been told there's a position waiting for me in hard candy, if I want it," he continued. "Might make a fascinating change of scenery."
"Oh, that's one of Sykes' jokes." I assured him. "You won't be doing that, don't worry."
"Why not?" There was a undercurrent of petulance in his voice, as if he were waiting for me to tell him he was a useless cripple. Or worse.
"Pulling candy is very hard labour. It takes quite a lot of strength to kneed the heavy hot mass of sugar into form on the hook, and you must be standing and moving your arms the whole fifteen minutes it takes the sugar to cool. No, no hard candy for you."
"Ah. The Cloud Hill version of digging latrines."
I couldn't help but smile. That was exactly what Sykes had meant, I was sure.
"What work have you been doing? In London. What was your situation?"
He shot me a strange look as he rested his head back in his hand. "Why?"
"Oh, for heaven's sake, don't treat this like a national secret. Perhaps we can find you something you're more skilled at. Organisational matters. Play along and answer the question, please."
We were still being quiet. The card game had ended and one of the players changed out. A louder roll of thunder caused a few men to look up and at the window, James included. I'd never personally heard canon fire, but I could imagine that it did sound like thunder. Enough like it to raise memories, in any case.
"The greenhouses are fine," he said, turning his gaze away from the window.
"Alright. How do you feel about doing work there? Are you getting on well with the parsley? No arguments with the thyme?" I tried to make my tone light.
"Let me think. Ah, yes, I think it's grand primarily because a parsley stalk can't slam my hand in the till for stealing. What was so disastrous about today?"
"I've already apologised for saying that."
"I remember. Come on, let's hear your drivel about backaches and toes."
He was beginning to sound a lot more like the James I remembered. His expression remained serious, but his tone was much lighter. At least we were having a civilised conversation and not pecking at each other like mad chickens.
I decided to tell him about Elizabeth and her letter. And how much it irritated me.
". . .meaning that Morris and Brooks will be off tomorrow on the train to see to matters, but I have no idea what they'll find or bring back. Three will put us over capacity and God knows what state the men they'll bring back will be in. But I can't refuse men who need help. I simply can't. No matter how insufferable she's been."
"You'll need my bed and soon, then."
"No, that's not what I meant. There are extra places in the house. It's not beds or space that's the problem, it's. . .well, it's complicated. Financial and logistical considerations."
We sat in silence for a moment, listening the sound of the rain and the soft murmuring of conversation humming in different parts of the salon. It was so nice to simply be sitting together, chatting like this.
I should have known it wouldn't last long.
"I don't believe it." He shook his head and gave an incredulous half-laugh. "You're going to bring more men into the house? Men you don't know and who could be potentially violent or criminal? I took you to be more intelligent than that. You're putting yourself in danger being so close to all these men."
"Don't start. There are safety precautions."
"Are you talking about the ones what so effectively stopped me from getting up to your bedroom? One old lady servant isn't going to stop a determined man whose been scrounging since Armistice, don't doubt my word on that, Olivia. I've seen what former soldiers like me are capable of when the fancy strikes them. And it's not pretty."
I knew what he was talking about even if he didn't think I did. The newspapers were full of horror stories and not all of them could be pure fabrications.
That's probably why, much to my amazement and thankfulness, Sykes, after his arrival here, had insisted on teaching me how to throw a nasty punch and fight dirty. Scottish rules dirty. He only let up when he was convinced I could handle my own in a pub brawl in the Highlands. I didn't want James to know that, though. No telling what he'd assume.
"You are not a stranger to this house, James. You knew where you were going. There are locks on my door and I'd never open if I didn't know who was on the other side. And besides, it's not just myself and Agatha here in the house.
"Oh that's right, I forgot about the wheelchair brigade. I'm sure they'll be right up the stairs in a lick when you need them. I hope they're keeping an eye on that one from the forest, at least? He's not been roaming around the place, has he? Sticking his nose in where it doesn't belong? How do you know what he's got in mind?"
That was the fear speaking. Best go well around it.
"I don't remember you being so suspicious, James."
"No? Well, that was before I saw what happened when hundreds of hungry, frustrated men were let loose on a civilian population. You might have heard about it if you're still doing the talking cure. If not, I shall gladly inform you."
Ah. The dog was starting to growl.
"Do you know what I remember, James? I remember an energetic, exciting lad who was everybody's friend. Quick with a joke, and blessed with a smile that could light up a room on its own. I miss him terribly. And not just on difficult days."
And that's when he rounded on me.
"Admit it, please, dear God, for once just admit it!" His voice was intense but quiet, hissing the words so that the others wouldn't hear. "I was only one in a series of men for you. Nothing special. You didn't miss me for one second."
"You were one of three. During the war. Three. And you have no idea. . ."
I stopped myself right then. That would only lead to another argument. If he wanted me to admit things and stop being all business, alright then. That's exactly what he'd get.
"Do you want to hear the truth? I didn't realise how much I missed you until I found you again. You're right, I had forgotten on purpose. It was the only way I thought I could get through the war without breaking. But I was wrong. I missed you terribly the whole time. I still do. I'm not sure--"
He turned abruptly and grabbed for his crutches.
"What about your pusher? You don't miss her?" I blurted out, not knowing where that had come from.
"My what?" He snapped his head around to stare at me.
"Your girl in London. You had one before things went badly for you. Lived with her, if I understand correctly. If there's someone else in your heart, then tell me. Because there's no one else in mine."
That was more of confession than I'd wanted to make, but it was out and there was no taking it back.
He sat on the edge of the sofa, grasping for words. I expected some kind of truce, some words of reconciliation, but what he said next I wasn't prepared for.
"I've worked hard to get you out of my mind, Olivia, but God help me, I still haven't been able to get you out of my heart. I don't know who I despise more for that, you or me. I don't know why I can't kill off these feelings. How you managed to get so far under my skin. But, don't provoke me. Don't go feeding me what you think I want to hear, or I just might not be able to control myself."
And with that he pulled himself up and was out of the room as quickly as he could manage. A few of the men watched him go, then turned their heads and looked over at me, then quickly turned away.
I sat there, listening to the storm outside until I had throughly confused myself with all sorts of unconfirmed thoughts and emotions playing cricket with my insides until I wanted nothing more than my own pillow.
Bidding the men goodnight, I left them and went straight up to bed.