Into the Darkest Day

Chapter Twelve

Lily stared at Matthew and suddenly had the absurd urge to laugh wildly. How could this be happening? Why had she come here, why had she sneaked into the back garden, and why, oh why, had she opened the door of that wretched shed? All of it had been so very, very unlike her. She was sedate, safe, and deadly dull. Deadly… Her hand slipped into the pocket of her coat and clenched around that terrible slip of paper.

Matthew opened the gate and started walking towards her. Lily found she couldn’t move.

“Is everything all right?” he asked. “What are you doing here?”

“I came to see you. I wanted to thank you for the hamper…” The words came thoughtlessly, her voice high and thin.

Matthew stood before her, frowning slightly, his dark brows drawn together, his eyes so fathomless. She’d once thought his dark looks handsome, but now they almost frightened her. He seemed utterly unknowable.

“You’ve already thanked me for the hamper, Lily. You didn’t need to do it again.”

Oh heaven help her, did he sound as if he knew? Surely he must suspect.

Lily shook her head, a mechanical back and forth. “And… I wanted to ask if you’d like to take a walk on the Common. Before you’re sent away. You’d said something before.”

Matthew’s eyebrow rose as the smallest of smiles quirked his mouth. “Yes, I did and that would indeed be very pleasant, but it is a bit dark, yes?”

That precise voice… the very careful way he spoke every word… was he hiding an accent, a German one? It suddenly seemed almost obvious. No one spoke the way he did, choosing each word with such deliberate care.

“Yes, it is dark. I meant on the weekend, perhaps, if you have the time off.”

“I’m afraid I do not.” He studied her while Lily tried to look normal, friendly even, a smile skirting her lips and then sliding away. “You’re bleeding,” Matthew said, gesturing to her hand.

Lily glanced down to see where she’d scraped her wrist against the brick. A few drops of blood had welled up and started to drip towards her cuff. “It’s nothing—”

“You should have a dressing.” His tone brooked no argument. “If you come inside, I can see to it.”

“Really, you don’t have to—” she began, but Matthew shook his head.

“Nonsense. It is no trouble.” He moved towards the door and, after a tense second of awful indecision, she followed, not knowing what else she could do. To refuse would invite suspicion.

And really, Lily told herself as Matthew unlocked the door, perhaps she was overreacting, because of all the posters and paranoia. There had to be some explanation for the pigeons, the message in German. He was in the army, after all, the U.S. Army. How could he possibly be a spy? It seemed ridiculous, and yet…

Matthew opened the door and stepped aside so she could enter first. The hallway was dark and smelled a bit musty, a bit unlived in. There were no coats on the stand, no umbrellas leaning by the door.

Matthew closed the door and gestured towards the kitchen in the back of the house. “Why don’t you come through?”

Lily walked back towards the kitchen she’d glimpsed in shadowy darkness from the back door. She stood in the entrance of the small room while Matthew moved past her to draw the blackout curtains across and then turn on the lights.

“You’re shivering,” he remarked. “You must be freezing.”

“It’s so cold out.”

“Why don’t I make you a cup of tea? Or would you rather have coffee?”

Lily stared at him miserably. He looked so concerned, an almost tender look in his dark eyes—or was she imagining it? Had she imagined everything—the brief intimacy she’d felt with him, the connection, the kindness? The danger? “Tea, please,” she managed.

Matthew stoked the fire in the range and then went to the sink to fill the kettle. Lily watched his brisk, efficient movements, too overwhelmed even to think.

“Why is the house so empty?” she finally asked. “Who lives here?”

“Just me, I’m afraid.” He gave her a small, fleeting smile. “The family who lived here evacuated to Somerset, to be with the wife’s sister. The husband is fighting. The British army requisitioned it, and then gave it to us.”

“Oh.” So he lived here on his own, free to do as he liked. She slipped her hand into her coat pocket and fingered the piece of paper.

Matthew put the kettle on top of the range.