Page 2 of These Old Lies
Ned’s heart raced and, for a split second, he wondered if his broken mind had finally abandoned him and given in to delusions in front of his daily life. As he looked up at the shopkeeper behind the counter, he knew this was no shell-shock mirage.
Six years might have passed, they might be in a Marylebone ladies’ hat shop rather than the trenches, and wearing suits rather than uniforms, but there was no mistaking Charlie Villiers. His muscular figure stood a good half foot shorter than Ned’s. Charlie had no post-war softness, nor had his hair begun to thin. It was just as curly and thick as he had remembered, and his eyes were just as disconcerting.
A detached calm descended on Ned. His superiors at the front had always praised his ability to maintain his sangfroid under crisis. “Corporal Villiers! What a delightful surprise.” His voice sounded like another man’s—calm and composed.
Hugh glanced over to Ned, not bothering to hide his surprise. “You’re acquainted already?”
“I served under the lieutenant for two years.” Charlie’s voice was tight, his blue eyes never breaking with Ned’s.
“Four years at the War Office filing paperwork for Edmund? What inhumane suffering,” Hugh replied, his small smile showing that he was pleased with his own witticism.
“I didn’t do a lot of paperwork with Lieutenant Pinsent in the trenches, unless you count losing to him at cards. It was more along the lines of shells, mustard gas, and night raids.”
“And now you find yourself meeting again! Well, that’s one of the delights of London; you never know who you will run into.” The teasing look vanished from Hugh’s face, although his broad smile remained. Ned had deliberately never spoken about his time at the front with Hugh.
Charlie’s eyes flicked over to Ned’s, as if questioning the rapid change of subject. Ned couldn’t fault Hugh for not understanding. Like all Ned’s acquaintances these days, Hugh came of age after the war.
Hugh continued, breaking the awkward silence. “The Honourable Mr Pinsent is a dear, dear friend of mine. Always just so helpful in sorting out complicated issues.”
Honourable? The arse. Ned suspected that Charlie knew about his title, but he had been careful never to use it in the trenches. Certainly never with Charlie.
“I’m sure he is,” Charlie responded with a quirked eyebrow. It was such a familiar mannerism that Ned found himself once more at odds with himself, fighting the urge to gasp. “But I am afraid my position remains as it was, Mr Ruperston. We appreciate your business, but thisisa business. We must be paid for our work. And there will be no more progress made on this hat, or any others, until you have settled up the account you already have with us.”
Before Hugh could respond, Ned cut in. “I understand Mr Ruperston’s debt to the shop is fifty pounds?”
Charlie responded evenly, “Forty-eight pounds, two shillings, and seven pence.”
The man had always been prideful as sin, no way would he accept any charity, even if it was letting Ned overpay him by less than two pounds.
Ned took out a pen and paper and wrote a quick cheque. “This should cover the funds in full.” Ned couldn’t imagine lowering either himself or Charlie to the indignity of haggling.
“Thank you, sir. I appreciate your respect of honest work,” Charlie replied.
“It’s the least your craftsmanship merits. That hat is stunning.” Ned took a breath. “It’s good to see you doing so well for yourself, Villiers.” This whole interaction was all so banal. It could have been any exchange between any two war acquaintances.
As he handed over the note, Ned’s fingertips met Charlie’s with the lightest of touches, and for a moment he thought he saw a flash of emotion flicker across Charlie’s face, an indication, however quick, that this meeting was having a sliver of the same effect on Charlie as it was having on Ned.
Ned wanted to fall to his knees and cry. To yell and scream at Charlie for leaving him. To ask him a thousand questions about everything he’d done and seen over the past years. To push Charlie against the wall and kiss him senseless. To hold his face and memorise his body and all the changes six years had brought to it. After all these years, Charlie Villiers still shattered him. Completely, utterly shattered him.
Instead, their ridiculous theatre continued. They exchanged pleasantries regarding the completion of the hat, followed by an obligatory moan about the weather. Then Hugh was turning towards the door. Logically, Ned knew he should be grateful for this small interaction with Charlie, but emotionally, it burned that their last conversation would be about shopping debts and hats.
Ned already had enough regret about goodbyes for a lifetime. His mind cleared for the first time since entering the damn shop, and he reached into the front pocket of his jacket, pulling out his card.
“Good day, Mr Villiers.” He extended his hand and pressed his card into Charlie’s rough and calloused hand. “I hope our paths cross again.”
???
Once back in the motor, Ned stared out the window,trying to focus on the red-brick shops which lined the passing streets. Finally, Hugh spoke, “I thought you said you were mostly at the headquarters.”
“I was,” Ned replied, continuing to stare out the window. “At the end.”
“You scream about it in your sleep.” Hugh paused as if wanting Ned to explain more, but Ned offered no response. Hugh broke the silence for the second time. “Was Villiers your lover?”
Ned didn’t want to respond to that question either, but in that moment, the weight of never speaking of Charlie, never speaking of what they had shared, felt like it was going to smother him. “Yes, he was.”
“What happened?” Hugh’s tone held surprising gentleness.
“I did something unforgivable,” Ned answered, unable to stop the words. “I saved his life.”