Armistice by Nick Stafford Read Free Book Online Page B

thoughts?”
    â€œBecause the war’s over.”
    â€œI won’t restart the war; I’m not meaning to make life at all difficult for you in any way. And I’ll be gone tomorrow,” stated Philomena.
    â€œI know,” said Jonathan, replying to all statements.
    Thinking of going home the next day, Philomena felt a pain in her heart. She could see into his eyes. The strangeness of them wasn’t because the edges of the iris weren’t fixed. Due to streaks of gray in the brown, they looked as if they had movement, like thick smoke trapped in glass. She thought; those are fall-into eyes. What would you see if the smoke cleared? Trouble.
    Needing to take in the whole of Philomena, Jonathan leaned back slightly, to widen his focus.
    â€œYou know,” she said, deliberately taking any sadness out of her voice, “I was up there at home and I, I just couldn’t … anymore. So I came down here. I’m not tragic. I’m a war widow—not even a widow! I’m one of the ‘surplus women’ you hear about.”
    One of the single female diners glanced ruefully across. Philomena made what Jonathan took to be a clan gesture, a little nod of greeting. She lowered her voice.
    â€œTwo a penny. So I thought I’d come down here and try to talk to his friends, the men, and the women—if there were any. Were there any women?”
    Jonathan shook his head. How brusque she was. But perhaps less brusque, more blunt, not unlike the girls he grew up amongst.
    â€œI’ve seen Dan flirt, you know. I’ve seen him in action,” said Philomena. “It was all right women wanting him as long as I was there to beat them off.”
    â€œHe only ever talked about you,” reassured Jonathan.
    â€œYes, but I wasn’t there, was I? When he was feeling frisky. We all feel frisky from time to time.”
    Jonathan tried not to laugh but “frisky” was such a perfect word to describe Mr. Case.
    â€œNot that I was unfaithful,” continued Philomena, “but … you know.”
    â€œIf that’s what you’re worried about,” offered Jonathan, “I can put your mind at rest.”
    â€œI mean,” continued Philomena, “I wouldn’t have minded, given the circumstances. Not minded too much, anyway. So there. Thank you.”
    Why had she asked that about other women? She hadn’t planned to. Was she worried that another woman had figured? Was that what Major James and Jonathan were anxious about? She had a definite sense of something pulsing in Jonathan, some incident or detail about Dan that he wasn’t offering up to her. She felt a little bit of the overwhelming feeling that immobilized her against the cafe window return and she raised herself slightly off the seat of her plain wooden chair as if in preparation to leave. Jonathan grabbed her arm and just as quickly let go of it.
    â€œI’m sorry,” he said.
    â€œSorry for what?”
    â€œGrabbing you,” said Jonathan, “but I thought …”
    â€œIt’s all right,” she said.
    â€œAre you okay? I thought for a moment that—”
    â€œHow could I be un-okay?” she said, using that new American word clumsily. “You only grabbed my arm.”
    â€œI grabbed your arm because I thought you were feeling—”
    â€œFeeling what?” she demanded. Relenting, she remarked, “We’re all feeling all the time, aren’t we?”
    â€œI thought you were about to go—”
    â€œIf I did you wouldn’t be able to stop me,” she said. “And I’d go out of the front, not the back like some.”
    Then she regretted saying all that, because it sounded too harsh and spiky, not like her, and he looked wounded. Rather than waiting to allow the ill feeling to pass in its own time she dived straight in to change the mood: “Are you in court tomorrow?”
    â€œYes,” replied