The Light Over London(83)

“No, thank you, sir. We aren’t allowed while we’re in Ack-Ack,” she said.

“Quite right, quite right,” he muttered, striking a match. “Can’t have shaky hands.”

“No, sir.”

Through a puff of smoke, he squinted at her. “At ease, Gunner. As you’re probably aware, my niece asked me to look into the matter of your husband’s death and why you were not informed.”

Her throat constricted until she could hardly trust herself to form words. Instead she nodded.

“Vera is my only niece, and I’m not so hardened that I can’t tell you there are some times when I wonder if she doesn’t have me wrapped around her little finger.” He sighed and scratched his brow. “I told her that the army rarely makes mistakes when it comes to informing families about a loved one killed in action, and I suspect His Majesty’s Royal Air Force rarely does either. It’s a delicate matter, and we take it very seriously. Still, she asked me to make some calls and find out what happened in the case of your flight lieutenant.”

“And you’ve found something,” she prompted him. She’d seen men do this too many times before. He was dragging things out, not wanting to tell her something that would upset her, when he didn’t know the half of how tough she really was.

Major General Garson picked up a file off the desk and flipped it open. “Look halfway down the page.”

She took the file and scanned until she saw what he was speaking of written in spiky black letters. Married.

“If it’s recorded, I don’t understand why I wasn’t informed,” she said, handing the folder back.

“Perhaps you would like to sit down, Gunner Keene,” said the major general.

She swallowed. “I’d prefer to stand, sir.”

“I spoke to a few of the men who knew Flight Lieutenant Bolton. As you can imagine, men thrown into close proximity during times of war spend a good deal of their days talking about their sweethearts. They said Bolton was indeed married. To a prominent barrister’s daughter, a Lenora Robinson. Their fathers are in the same Inns of Court and have known each other for years.”

Slowly, Louise sank down into a chair, her hand covering her mouth. “That’s not possible. He can’t have been married before.”

“I’m afraid it is, my dear,” said Major General Garson softly.

“But he could’ve been divorced. Maybe his men neglected to mention that.” She looked up hopefully, but Vera’s uncle shook his head.

“They were married just after he enlisted, when the war broke out. No one had heard of any divorce and there’s no record of it. I asked,” he said. “Mrs. Lenora Bolton is still living in London. She’s a volunteer ambulance driver.”

“But we were married.” Her eyes brimmed with the tears she’d been waiting on for four days. “By Father Norwood. I have a ring. There was a wedding breakfast. We were husband and wife in every way.”

The major general shifted uncomfortably. “There are stories about unscrupulous clergymen who’ve lost their parishes, looking for a way to make a few quick shillings. They perform a fast ceremony, no questions asked. Or the man may have been a charlatan of another breed, posing as a man of the cloth for his own gain. Despite the rosy picture of British togetherness you see in the papers, this war has driven people to do unspeakable things to one another.”

“There were witnesses,” she whispered. It had been a real wedding in every sense, but if Paul had been married before, the marriage was invalid. He was nothing more than a bigamist, and she was his unwitting victim.

All at once, rage filled her, as easy explanations for so many things began to present themselves. How it was almost impossible for Paul to secure leave. His refusal to allow her anywhere near his base. The way he’d written to her of his passion until she was certain she felt the same way, letting their letters stand in place of any real commitment. He’d proposed to her after a quarrel. Had he married her for fear that she would slip away from him, or had it just been part of his plan, another step in his quest for the love and adoration of the women around him?

It must have been so easy for him. He was a pilot, handsome and sophisticated. He could have had a woman in every single village he’d visited—more if he’d wanted to—and they would never have been any the wiser because by the time they were in love with him he would be gone.

So what had she been? A girl desperate for someone to give her permission to dream of a life away from home. A fool who didn’t know how to see that the man she thought she loved was nothing more than a liar. An easy target. A conquest.

“You understand that my counterparts at the RAF are very concerned about Flight Lieutenant Bolton’s behavior if any of this is true,” said Major General Garson with a cough. “He was a decorated pilot and a war hero. If word were to get out . . .”

Louise shot to her feet, her fists pressed hard against the sides of her thighs. “The RAF need not worry about me. I am embarrassed, humiliated, and heartbroken. I have no desire for anyone else to know the reasons why.”

“Right then. Well, my sincerest condolences, Gunner Keene.”

Her maiden name was a slash across the heart as the major general showed her to the door. Mercifully, Captain Jones hadn’t lingered. With a swipe at the tears that had pooled under her eyes, she gave a nod to the staff sergeant.