Chapter Eleven
The Broads
I got The Broads off of a map. It looked good, for my purposes, and it wasn’t too far away from…but I bet you can guess. Yes, that’s right, I found out from my own private military intelligence where Melissa was born. Her parents still lived there, and I was figuring on seeing her by accident. If I could arrange one. (It turns out they lived in Norwich, having let out the family home. My mistake.)
Also, by reading the papers, (I always read the papers,) I saw an item in a society column, where they said this certain young lady, known for her charity work, was being promoted back to the Home Front, Old Blighty in order to ‘better serve the needs of the brave servicemen.’
I loved her so much, her incompetence really didn’t enter into the picture.
Simply awesome.
Melissa Foreman. Her dad was some big shot in the Army. She was back in England, possibly even in London at this very moment. Food for thought.
As I took my leave of my friend and employer, who was again looking somber, I reflected that loss is loss. I knew what it was to be alone. My hope, forlorn as it was, was something Robert didn’t have anymore. His wife was dead. She was going to stay dead.
And Melissa was engaged, presumably in love, with another man. I felt pretty somber myself for some reason. Is there any hope? Or am I just going through the motions, to shut out the void, the emptiness?
When she is in my thoughts, I am not alone.
Why do we think the thoughts we do?
As an instructor, my leave didn’t coincide with any great gathering of men such as often happens when a class graduates, or a unit embarks, or returns from a theatre of war. Brilliant statement. I learned that part of my job standing on the pavement in front of the club. It was eleven a.m. in London. I didn’t know a God-damned soul in this town.
“This is going to be great…”
I could go to the War Office. Who knows, there would probably be someone there I know. I could just drop in to say hello.
Not much joy there. Awkward silence, then the over-friendly, ‘Will. Long time, no see.’
A hurried effort to clear the desk and put something together for the long-lost old acquaintance. Dinner, a drink or a show. Or worse. Depending on whoever I might run into, a major pub crawl, or a night in Southwark. Only to wake up bruised and robbed in some alleyway. With a disease, some nameless discharge from the genitals.
“No thanks.” I muttered, quickly ruling that one out.
“Any suggestions?” I said to a taxi driver who was sitting there watching.
“Hop in, mate, we’ll talk about it.”
He got out to hold the door for me. Just walking by was a young beauty, and I admired her for a moment.
“How about the library?” I asked. “I just thought of something I might want to look up.”
“Gee.” He grinned. “My son’s in the infantry, in Flanders. My other boy’s in the Observer Corps.”
“Brave lads, the Observer Corps,” I assured him.
“Right-oh, sir.” He grinned. “He’s got a bum leg, otherwise he’d be over there too. As good a place as any, even though it is a sunny day for a change.”
“What is?” I asked in confusion.
“The library, sir.”
“Right-oh. Any port in a storm.” I agreed.
END
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