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“Would you prefer to see this lady alone?” he asked, not standing up but facing Gabriel very frankly.
As if he had read at least something in Monk’s thoughts, Gabriel smiled back.
“I knew Hanning fairly well, but I never met his wife. He spoke of her, but I gathered she was … difficult.” A fleeting humor crossed his face and vanished. “They quarreled rather often. I have no idea what to say to her. I don’t know if I am being arrogant putting myself to this test. I want to prove to myself that I can do it.” He shrugged. “And I shall expect Hester to pick up the pieces if I can’t … for me and for Perdita. I can see that you care for Hester.” He disregarded Monk’s sudden discomfort. “It might be a kindness if you would stay—even if it is an imposition….” He watched Monk very steadily. He would not ask, because it would be embarrassing if Monk refused.
Monk did not respond at once. Was his feeling for Hester so transparent? It was friendship, not romantic love. Did Gabriel understand that? Perhaps he should explain? But what words should he use to avoid giving the wrong impression?
“Of course,” he agreed at last, relaxing back into the chair. “We have been friends for some time—several years, in fact.”
Gabriel smiled and his eyes widened very slightly.
Damn it, there was nothing amusing in that! “She has a good observation of people, and has been of considerable help to me in several of my cases,” he added.
“She is a most remarkable woman,” Gabriel agreed. “I find her easier to talk to than anyone else I can think of, even other men who have experienced the same battles and sieges I have.”
“Do you!” Monk was stung. Gabriel had only just met her. How could he compare his friendship with her, his dependence, in the same breath with Monk’s? Monk was about to make a remark about her professional skills when he realized how rude it would be—and how gratuitously cruel. And an incredible self-knowledge brought the blood to his cheeks. It was prompted by jealousy!
He was startled to hear a sound in the doorway and see Hester standing there. She was wearing blue-gray, the same dress she usually wore when on duty, or one so like it he saw no difference. Actually, he generally took very little notice of what she wore.
She looked at Gabriel with a question in her face, but she did not speak. She hesitated a moment, then accepted his decision and turned to go back and bring Mrs. Hanning.
Gabriel and Monk waited in silence. The clock ticked on the mantel shelf, and the sunlight shone in fitful patterns through the window onto the carpet. A gust of wind billowed the curtains for a moment, then they settled again. It had carried in the scent of blossoms and earth.
Mrs. Hanning walked across the passageway and appeared at the door. She was striking and flamboyant with a rather haughty manner. She had a long, straight nose and
very full lips and level brows. Had they been arched she would have been truly beautiful. And perhaps her chin should have been a little firmer. Now she was dressed in widow’s black.
She stared at Gabriel, completely bereft of speech. Her gloved hand went up and covered her mouth as if to smother her words so they could not be spoken.
Behind her, Perdita was close to tears. Her eyes swam as she looked at Gabriel, aching for him and helpless to know what to say, how to protect him. Her crushing failure was naked in her face.
Gabriel looked for a moment as if he had seen himself in someone else’s eyes for the first time. Monk tried to imagine what it must have been like, the stomach-tearing horror when he realized this was his own face, the outer aspect he would present to the world for the rest of his life. The handsome man who automatically won smiles and willingness and admiration was gone forever. Now he would gain only fear, revulsion, even nausea, the intense embarrassment and pity which made people want to run away. Perhaps he would sooner have died? He could have been buried in India, one of a thousand other lost heroes, and all this need never have happened. It was so much easier not ever to know about such things, not ever to look at them.
Monk should say something. It was his responsibility.
He stood up, smiling at Mrs. Hanning.
“How do you do, Mrs. Hanning. My name is William Monk.” He held out his hand. “I am a friend of Gabriel’s. I called by to ask his advice on a small problem I am dealing with for a friend. At least, I hope to deal with it. I am not doing very well at the moment.”
Mrs. Hanning caught her breath. “Oh … really? I am sorry, Mr…. Mr. Monk.” She was obviously not even sure whether she was relieved to have to speak to him or annoyed. She was also not interested. Her voice was dry, overpolite. “How unfortunate.”
“I find him most helpful for clarifying the mind,” he went on, as if she had been charming.
It was long enough to give Gabriel time to take command of himself again.
“Good morning, Mrs. Hanning. How kind of you to call.” His voice shook only a little and he forced himself to meet her eyes, regardless of what he should see there.
“It was …” She had been about to say “duty” and thought better of it. She tried to look at him normally and failed. Her gaze fixed rigidly on his eyes as if she were afraid it would slide off to his disfigured flesh or his absent arm. “It was something I always intended,” she finished lamely. “I have just been … er …”
“Of course,” He struggled to help her, hideously conscious of her revulsion. “We were all terribly grieved to hear of Major Hanning’s death at Gwalior. We lost so many friends it seemed as if the grief would never stop—stop increasing.”
“Yes …” She still had no idea what to say to him. If she had had it all clear in her mind before she came, the reality of his injuries had scattered it from her. “It must have been dreadful for you. My husband …” She swallowed and gulped. “My husband always mentioned you with great regard.” It sounded appallingly formal, as if she were a senior officer’s wife making a duty call with no idea and no feeling for the events or emotions of which she spoke. She was floundering, and they all knew it.
Where was Hester? She would know how to say something which could bring them back to honesty. Monk looked over Mrs. Hanning’s shoulder and saw first Perdita, ashen-faced, then Hester beyond her. She shook her head minutely.
He nodded, tightening his lips. Why was she letting this go on? It was agonizing!
“He would,” Gabriel replied, still holding Mrs. Hanning’s gaze, almost unblinking. “He was a generous man, and we were friends. We shared many struggles together, many experiences. We had good friends in common … whom we lost.” His face was full of emotion and memory. “He loved India. He loved the land, the nights, the smells of spices and dust and everything growing.” He half smiled and his voice became even softer. “Once you have felt the heat and life of the jungle you don’t ever forget it. Or the markets. The noise, the—” He stopped abruptly. She could not believe him. Unlike Perdita, she had been to India, but only to the sheltered hill posts, and then she had mixed only with other officers’ wives.
