To The Grave (36 page)

Mary just kept thinking that Mena was making a terrible mistake.  She had no idea how Danny could appear so charming and caring on the outside, yet be capable of the dreadful things Joan Cartwright had written to her about. 
Does war make such monsters of men?
she wondered.  It had certainly done no such thing to Edward.

Danny was still smiling.  “Mena’s about all that’s kept me going these past months, I reckon.  Just thinking about getting back to her...  Well, I hate those Krautheads all the more for keeping us apart.”

He looked right at Mary then and she couldn’t avoid those intense blue eyes that seemed to make everything he said so deeply heartfelt.

“Picturing Mena and me back home in West Virginia someday,” he added.  “That’s what keeps me sharp - and you have to be.  You can’t go soft out here.  When you do that, you’re finished.”

Mary swallowed dryly and looked down into her lap where his eyes couldn’t find her. 
The hypocrite,
she thought.  How could he claim to feel any such love for Mena after what he’d done?

The sommelier arrived and hovered expectantly as Edward, who had neglected to look at the wine list until now, quickly scanned it and said, “We’ll have a bottle of the 1935, Gevrey-Chambertin, Clos St Jacques.”  Then in a lowered voice to Mary and Danny, he added, “Great year for Burgundy.”

The sommelier replied in accented English.  “An excellent choice, Monsieur.  But I must inform you that I ‘ave just one bottle remaining.”

Edward smiled.  “Oh, I’m sure we can find another little gem in there somewhere,” he said.  “Merci.”

Mary couldn’t wait for the bill to arrive.  This was not how she’d imagined her last evening in Paris at all.  All she could think about was her little sister and the hell Danny must have put her through.  She wondered whether Danny had some hold over Mena - something strong enough to force her to marry him.  Although Mary knew that Mena was desperate enough to take up with the first ticket out of Oadby just to get away from home and their mother.  She recalled how jealous Mena had been over her own engagement to Edward.  She thought about that time in the garden before Mena’s birthday, when she’d asked her if she loved Danny.  A humourless laugh rose in her throat.  Mena had her as fooled as she had fooled herself.

It was an uncomfortable evening.  The meal came and went with the wine and the chat that Mary barely listened to or contributed to.  She hardly touched her food.  Danny just kept looking at her and smiling and somehow that made everything worse - like he was gloating about it.  She thought he was so full of himself, sitting there laughing and joking with Edward as if nothing so evil had happened that summer.

They were waiting for the dessert menus to arrive and the subject had turned to their own forthcoming marriage and the likelihood of children soon to follow.  How Danny could talk so openly about it was beyond Mary’s belief.

“And it seems we’re going to have a baby of our own to bring up,” Danny said, like he’d only recently discovered the consequence of his actions and was wholly proud of himself.  He lost his smile suddenly.  “You know all about that, I suppose.”

Mary nodded back at him, a sense of loathing suddenly suffocating her.  “I know,” she said in a low monotone.

“I told Mena in my last letter that what happened before didn’t matter a hoot to us now,” Danny said.

Mary bit the soft flesh inside her lip so hard she could taste blood.  How could he say such a thing?  And Mena was a bigger fool than she took her for if she believed that what Danny had done didn’t matter or that it wouldn’t happen again, perhaps over and over again throughout her entire miserable life if she went ahead and married this monster.  She thought the best thing Mena could do was give up the baby and have nothing more to do with Danny.  But then Mena was too young and altogether too naive to know what was good for her.

Mary couldn’t bear to listen to him any longer; could not suffer his company at such close quarter for one more second.  “I’d like to leave,” she said.  “It’s too loud in here.”

“But we’ve not had pudding yet,” Edward said.

Danny patted his stomach.  “That’s okay, Ed.  I’ve been eating too well just lately and I’m not real big on dessert anyway.”

“How about another drink then?” Edward said.  “It’s not late.  I know a quiet little spot not far from the car.  We can drop you back at your hotel afterwards.”

“Thanks,” Danny said.  “I’ll take a drink with you, but I can get the Metro back.”

“Nonsense.  Where are you staying?”

“It’s over the river on Rue La Fayette,” Danny said.

Mary stood up.  “I need some air,” she said.  “Will you excuse me?”

Edward stood to let her pass.  “I’ll get the bill,” he said, raising an arm towards one of the serving staff.  “Excusez-moi.  L’addition, s'il vous plait.”

Chapter Forty-Seven

A
t the house in Sutton Bassett, Tayte was coming to the end of Mary’s words.

“There’s just one more paragraph,” he said.

His eyes wandered ahead and he thought how much Mary’s already poor handwriting had deteriorated during the course of his reading; how difficult her account of what had happened that night in Paris must have been to write.

“I’m sorry, Mena,” Tayte read, “but I cannot go on.  I had thought that after all this time I would have found the strength, but I have none left and must hope now that Edward will continue it for me.”

Tayte stopped.  “That’s it,” he said.  “Mary’s words end there.”

Eliza looked at him questioningly.  “So Danny did rape my mother?”

Tayte still found that hard to believe.  “From what I’ve seen and heard this week, I really don’t think so,” he said.  “To my mind there seems to have been some confusion between Mena and Joan over the matter, Maybe Edward’s account will clear it up.”

“I hope so,” Eliza said.  “I’d formed a better opinion of Danny myself from what you’ve told me.”

“Well let’s see what else this bible has to say,” Tayte said as he turned the page.  “Edward’s account begins without further introduction.”  He scanned ahead.  “It continues from where Mary left off,” he added.  Then he continued to read.

Mary was waiting for us beneath the canopy outside the restaurant when we came out.  It was still raining, but on reflection I don’t believe she cared too much about the weather by then.  She chain-smoked her cigarettes all the way along Boulevard du Montparnasse.

‘One for the road then, old boy,’ I said to Danny when we reached the bar.  I don’t recall the name of the place now.  It was just somewhere off the beaten track, away from the crowds.  Mary said she didn’t want to go in, that she’d prefer to wait in the car, but I wouldn’t hear of it.

Of course, Mary hardly said a word while we were in there.  She’d only had one glass of wine at the restaurant and she wouldn’t have anything from the bar, but she had the car to think about.  She just waited with her cigarettes while we sat and drank and talked about Holland most of the time.
 
There were plenty of GIs in the bar and everyone wanted to buy Danny and me a drink, but Mary soon put her foot down.  She told me I’d had enough - she wouldn’t speak to Danny - and we left soon afterwards.  It was ten o’clock.  I’ve always remembered the time - but then some things have a way of sticking in your mind.

November 1944.  Paris.

The tree-lined pavement along Boulevard du Montparnasse shone dark and wet from all the rain that had fallen that night as Edward Buckley followed Mary out of the bar.  He raised a flat palm to the sky and noted that it had stopped raining, although as he looked above the street-lamps the sky remained overcast and inky-dark.

Plenty more where that came from,
he thought.

He had a hand on Danny’s shoulder, partly for support, but mostly for the camaraderie.  He could feel the effects of all the brandy he’d just knocked back on top of the wine he’d had at the restaurant, although it seemed that Danny was a long way off ‘feeling no pain’ as he phrased it.

Mary was ahead of them - a long way ahead of them, Edward noticed as he watched her khaki-stockinged legs switch back and forth double-time.  He wondered what had come over her since dinner.  It wasn’t like her at all, he considered, supposing that it was all his fault for not telling her about Danny joining them, or perhaps just for inviting him along to share their last evening together in Paris in the first place.

Danny slapped him hard on the back, jolting him forward.  “She’s a peach of a gal, Eddie.”

“She is,” Edward agreed, a little soberly despite the drink.  “A bit off colour tonight though, don’t you think?”

“Pshh!  You know how gals are,” Danny said.  “I probably shouldn’t have come.  Three’s a crowd, right?”

“Nonsense,” Edward said.  “You’re almost family.”

Danny flashed his eyes.  “Maybe sooner than you think, ol’ buddy.”

They stopped walking and Edward saw that Danny had a mile-wide smile on his face.  “How do you mean?”

“You promise you won’t say anything?” Danny said.  “I don’t want to spoil the surprise.”

Edward smiled along with him.  He crossed his chest.  “Upon my family’s honour,” he said and they started walking again.

“Okay then,” Danny said.  “As it is such an honourable family.”  He lowered his voice, although by now they had turned off the boulevard onto a dimly lit side street.

Tenement blocks, three storeys high, rose to either side of the narrow street.  There were no lights on in any of the windows and many looked to be broken, the paintwork scarred and peeling.

 “There’s an airfield south-east of here,” Danny said.  “Orly airfield?”

“I know it,” Edward said.

“Well they’re making supply runs to England all week and I aim to board one of those birds.”

Edward laughed at the idea.  “How do you expect to pull it off?  They’ll have you up on a charge before you can say, ‘Jack Robinson’.”

Danny winked.  “Let’s just say I know a fella who knows a fella.”

“You’ll have to get back too,” Edward said.  “Three days, you say?  Even if you do get to England, how do you plan on getting back again?”

“Hell, I’ll figure that out when the time comes,” Danny said.  “Same ways I guess, but who cares?  A couple of days with Mena’s gotta be worth anything Uncle Sam can throw at me.  I even packed a spare parachute so she can make herself a wedding dress for the big day.”

“A
spare
parachute?” Edward said.

“Well it was just lying around,” Danny said with a grin.

Edward laughed.  “I’ve got to hand it to you Yanks,” he said, then he saw the car headlights ahead and they stopped.

“Not a word to Mary,” Danny said.  He kicked his heel against the kerb as they waited.  His face was still full of smiles.  “Just in case.”

“Mum’s the word,” Edward said, and the car crawled closer, its low engine note rasping off the buildings.

“And what about you?” Danny said.  “Have you set a date yet?”

“We’ll be announcing it this Christmas.”   

The car drew closer.

“That’s swell,” Danny said.

The bright lights dazzled Edward and he turned away.  He heard the engine note change then, revving hard suddenly like the throttle was stuck open.  He turned back in time to see the car mount the kerb, out of control, tyre rubber squealing as the engine raced.

Then it began to scream.

“Danny!”

Chapter Forty-Eight

T
ayte looked up from Mary’s bible, staring into space as he considered everything he’d just read.  Was it a dying woman’s confession?  If so, then it was clearly the reason Retha Ingram and her father were so desperate to find Mena: to recover the bible Mary had sent to her via Buckley.  And yet Mary had not confessed to killing Danny.  That had been left to Edward.

Or had it?

Tayte thought there had to be more to it.  He turned back to the bible and quickly found his place.  Then he continued to read Edward’s account.

The engine continued to wail long after the car stopped, and that sound has haunted my sleep to this day.  Mary remained in the car.  I could see her behind the steering wheel, clenching it like she couldn’t let go if she wanted to.  She looked deranged - I can find no more suitable word for her expression.  She just stared at me, sitting by the roadside in the headlights with Danny in my arms.

Danny wasn’t dead.  Not then.

He was coughing blood and his head was badly injured and bleeding, but he was a strong man with an even stronger will to live because of Mena.  I thought he must have hit his head on the curb after the car hit him and I thought he might make it if we could get him to a hospital.  My own head was spinning.  I thought about many things while I held on to Danny, but I knew what I had to do.

I had to protect Mary.

I had no idea at the time why she had done this and right there and then I didn’t care.  Mary was everything to me and whether Danny lived or died I knew how bad it would go for her.  So I just continued to hold Danny, rocking him back and forth in the headlights, staring back at Mary.  I had my arm around Danny’s neck and I was holding him so tightly, slowly hugging the life out of him.

‘It’s okay, Danny,” I kept telling him.  ‘Shh, Danny.  It’s okay.’

I cannot write of the things I had to do before that night was out, but by morning the rain had returned to cleanse the streets and it was as if we had never been there.  And how much I have wished that were true.  Of course, Mary told me why she had run Danny down that night.  She told me all about Joan’s letter, saying that Danny had raped you, Mena - had raped the little sister she would have done anything for.  And she told me about the letter from Margaret Lasseter saying that you were going to live with Danny in America after the war.  At the time, Mary truly believed that she was doing it for you - to save you.  But I could never believe that Danny was capable of such things.  I knew him better.