The Witness: A Novel (63 page)

“And Churchill, Prime Minister,” he reminded her automatically.

“Where would we be? Two men with infirmities—didn’t you tell me Churchill had a speech impediment?—and neither played it safe. They motivated millions, men on the battlefield and families at home. They gave people hope.”

“One way or another, our experiences in life mark us. We have to decide if that mark will be a scar or a star.”

That hurt. She sipped her wine and searched for a question that would involve him. “What about God, Colin? Was it an accident? That Roosevelt and Churchill were in office at the right time? That you were in the hospital when I woke up? If Simon had been there then, I would never have made it.”

Perhaps not, but she was certainly close to him now. “Goodwyn wouldn’t think so,” he replied. “He believes that encouragement comes when we need it. He’d probably argue that it’s the same for nations.”

Nations—that wasn’t very personal. She tried again. “I’ve thought a lot about the Scripture he quoted. Do you remember? ‘He has not given us a spirit of fear, but of power, and of love, and of a sound mind.’ Love is the key, Colin. FDR used love of country to motivate him. I’m going to use love of Colin.”

He looked at her for a long time. “It’s been a rough week, Jenny,” he finally said.

Not Jen.

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T
uesday evening was no better. Colin was distant, offering only minimal conversation during dinner and going to his bedroom afterward, leaving her to do the washing up by herself. She had been unable to engage him, and she had run out of neutral topics. She stood in his doorway. “Colin, the other women you’ve been with—did you sleep with all of them on the first date?”

He looked up, startled. “No, of course not.”

“Did they all ooh and aah when they saw you naked?”

She saw a flash of anger cross his face, and he did not answer.

“Had any of them been raped?”

His jaw tensed. “No.”

She didn’t know how to reach him. Was she supposed to throw herself at his feet? “Do I need to find somewhere else to live, Colin?”

His answer was not immediately forthcoming. Seeing her fear of his male anatomy and hearing her words to Theo—that one-two punch ate at him. His body was not a weapon, but as long as she thought it was, what hope was there? Jenny’s rejection of him was more personal than Vi’s had been. But he still wanted Jenny. In his heart he had sworn to love, protect, and honour her. He shook his head slowly.

“I miss you, Colin.” She waited by the door, but after a few minutes she realized he wasn’t going to say anything. That night she dreamed she and Colin were going sailing. She stepped into the boat first and turned around to watch him board. But he didn’t—he held the bow line in his hand for a moment before tossing it onto the deck. The boat drifted slowly away, and he stood on the dock, watching it go.

J
enny did her morning exercises half-heartedly, still thinking about Colin and FDR. Roosevelt had consulted colleagues and advisors, and she would call hers. She phoned Danny first.

“Watch funny films, Sis,” he recommended. “
Liar, Liar’s
good. Laughter distracts you, relaxes you. You’ll be better able to deal with things.”

Next, Brian. “Have a backup plan,” he said.

Even Hunt. “Take the offensive.”

Last, Simon. It was gone one when he called by the bookshop. Hampstead sidewalks were always busy, but it was still possible to find an uncrowded spot on the Heath. They headed there. “The Hollisters know about me,” she said.

“Is that wise?”

Exasperated, she shook her head at him. “Colin had the same reaction. I didn’t mean to tell them, but the day the article appeared in the newspaper, I was upset. You came to see me, remember? I cried after you left, and that’s when I told them who I was. I didn’t talk about the attack, and they didn’t ask, but now they understand why all my friends are policemen. And they gave me a book about FDR—Simon, there was a whole chapter on freedom from fear! Of course the author was putting it in a global context, peaceful nations fearing hostile, more belligerent ones, but I think it applies to individuals, too. If someone’s not armed and not aggressive, I shouldn’t be afraid of them.”

They found an unoccupied bench. “Were any of the men you served with afraid? What did they do about it? And don’t call it ‘apprehension.’ I’m way past apprehension.”

He waited until the woman with the child in the pushchair had gone by. The Heath was popular with all ages, particularly on summer afternoons. Was she focused on fear because of the possible repercussions of the newspaper story, or was her relationship with Sinclair frightening her? “Training comes first,” he answered. “You prepare your body for what it has to do. You master the weapons and other equipment.”

She nodded for him to continue.

“Practice is next. Going over the elements of a plan builds confidence.”

That must be the reasoning behind the homework assignments.

“When an objective is identified, a team is designated. Everyone has a function, but you work as a team. In the best scenario, each man feels responsible for the success of the mission.”

“If a mission fails, does each man feel responsible for that, too?”

“Absolutely.”

Oh, God. Poor Colin. And it wasn’t his fault. But it wasn’t her fault either! “Go on.”

“Not everyone is equally experienced. In the best teams, individuals complement each other. Usually the team leader is a bit older with some successful ops under his belt.”

She smiled wryly to herself. It was an unfortunate choice of words, but it fit. Colin was older. He’d been successful, in and out of marriage, “under his belt.” “You’ve covered before and during. What happens when a mission is over?”

“The after-action report. A debrief. We examine what we did well, what we did poorly, and what we can do differently.”

That was what Dr. Knowles did. Reviewed their progress. “Are you ever afraid?”

“Yes, but I’m sent into dangerous places. A little apprehension is healthy—makes me careful, keeps me alert.”

“When you were injured—was your mission over?”

“We’d accomplished our objective, but no mission is over until all involved return to base. And no mission is a complete success when men are lost.”

“If you’d been injured earlier in the mission, would you have been more afraid?”

“We’re taught to put more emphasis on the mission than our individual feelings, but yes, I’d have had some anxiety about my ability to pull my own weight.”

“‘Anxiety’—that’s military understatement,” she commented.

“Injuries often occur on a mission. Many times a mission is completed in spite of injuries.” He paused. “I’m not sure how this helps you, love.”

“Dr. Knowles uses some of the same processes. He explains things—to me, mostly. He gives us assignments. He follows up.”

Damn. The bloody newspaper report wasn’t behind this conversation. Was he opening doors for her and Sinclair and simultaneously closing them for himself? “Does he tell you what to do?”

“No, he tells us what not to do, but it isn’t working. Why am I still afraid?”

“We’re trained in advance of an operation. We’re not unprepared for what we encounter.” He paused. “Is Sinclair pressurising you, Jenny?”

“Not anymore,” she said. “He’s quit trying.”

Bastard. He took her hand and rubbed his thumb over her fingers. “And you haven’t.”

“No.”

“Are you unhappy there?”

“Sometimes.” She looked up at him. “Simon, how do you do it? I’ve never seen you afraid.”

He was afraid now. Afraid of what he wanted to do. “Will you be all right for twenty-four hours?” he asked. “I’ll call for you at Hollister’s tomorrow afternoon.”

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C
olin slammed the door when he came home. “You were with him, weren’t you?”

“What?” she stammered.

“I rang the bookshop this afternoon, Jenny. Esther Hollister told me you were out with a police sergeant. It was Casey, wasn’t it?”

“We went for a
walk
.”

“I don’t want to share you with another man, Jenny.”

She raised her chin. “Colin, I needed a friend!”

“Sorry,” he said after a moment but the closed look hadn’t left his eyes.

She heard Simon’s voice, counting to make her feet move toward the courtroom. She took a few steps closer to Colin. “I know I’ve hurt you,” she said. “Colin, I’m so sorry. I’m doing everything I can to fix it, but I can’t do it by myself.” She took another step. She could touch his hand if she reached out for it.

“Jenny, I need some time.”

She kept her arms at her sides. “I can give you that. And some space, too.” She picked up her handbag and keys and left the flat, wishing he would come after her.

He heard the door shut. When he went to the bay window, there was no sign of her on either side of the street. Then he spotted her sitting on the stoop, leaning against the railing, her head in her hands. Was she crying? He could not tell. What did she expect him to do? Forget how soundly she had rejected him? An hour later when he checked, she was still there.

W
hen Jenny returned to the flat, Colin’s bedroom door was closed. No light showed under it. When morning came, she tried to tell if his bed had been slept in. Hers hadn’t—she’d been awake most of the night, her journal in her hand, but her list of
Ways To Reach Colin
was blank. He had never shut her out before, and she didn’t know how to get through to him.

She made herself a cup of tea, dressed, and went to Hollister’s early. The hours dragged until Simon arrived. “All fear isn’t equal,” he told her as they walked. “There are degrees. Sometimes it’s just tension or nervousness, and you can tame it by what you call it.”

“My fear’s like an iceberg, and I’m the Titanic. It has punched a hole in my hull, and I’m sinking.”

He tried another tack. “Fear’s not always a bad thing. It can be fuel to motivate you to train harder. If you’re not a little afraid, you’re not pushing yourself hard enough.”

“What exactly are soldiers—or police—afraid of?”

“Failure. We’re taught to focus on getting the job done. We’re not encouraged to focus on the personal risk, beyond accepting that the work we do is inherently dangerous. There’s only ever the mission. And the team. Nothing else.”

The bench was occupied. They found a shady spot to sit on the grass. She took his hand, conscious as she did so that Colin would draw inappropriate conclusions from it if he saw it. “When are you most afraid? At the beginning?”

He smiled. “No, when the adrenalin kicks in, it feeds excitement as well as fear.”

“Why are you excited?”

“Because I want to do what I’ve trained to do, not just chat about it or wait in a van or other assault position.”

She remembered feeling that combination, but lately the fear had smothered the excitement. “Do excitement and fear always go together?”

“Yes, but there must be a balance. Too much fear, and you’re either in the wrong line of work or you’re a sick bastard. Too much excitement can lead to irresponsibility. Fear keeps you from doing something
reckless.”

They watched a cyclist speed by and then swerve suddenly. The bicycle’s wheels skidded, losing traction, and the rider went down hard.

Simon helped her to her feet. The young man was still on the ground, leaning forward and grimacing in pain.

“I could take a look, sir,” Simon said.

“He has medical training,” Jenny offered.

“If you’ve broken anything, you’ll need an ambulance,” Simon continued.

The man’s teeth were clenched, but he nodded.

“Don’t watch him, watch me,” she said, taking the man’s hand. She heard his sharp intake of breath and knew Simon was examining him.

“Your ankle’s sprained.”

“If you’ll help me up, I can get home then,” the young man said. “I’ll use my bike as a crutch.”

“Ice it the first forty-eight hours, no more than twenty minutes at a time,” Simon advised. “Elevate it. It’ll reduce the swelling. Wait an hour between ice treatments. It wouldn’t hurt to have an x-ray in a couple days if it’s still bothering you.”

The man tried to smile his thanks.

“Don’t worry if bruises appear. Do worry if your pain spreads or your toes become numb. And you’ll need some exercises to lessen the chance of reinjury.”

“He’s big on exercises,” she explained.

They watched him go, hobbling next to his machine. Jenny and Simon walked farther into the park. “Was he reckless?” she asked. “I’d like to be reckless—to be able to love someone recklessly, without worrying if I’m going to fall.”

“What’s happening between you and Sinclair, Jenny?”

She wanted to explain without mentioning body parts. “Imagine that every day when you come home from work, there’s a fresh apple pie on the counter. It’s still warm, and it smells fantastic. You cut a slice, put it on a plate, and spear a forkful. But you’re not allowed to eat it. Each day the scent greets you, but you can’t take a bite. Eventually you wouldn’t want to come home. You’d start to hate apple pie.” She paused. “Colin’s the one who comes home, and I’m the apple pie.”

He restrained a smile. “How can I help, love?”

“I don’t know. You taught me to face things, and I am, but it’s intense. Sometimes I wish I could take a break.”

“You could come to my flat for a bit,” he suggested, trying for a matter-of-fact tone.

“I’d cramp your style.”

“No obligation, Jenny. I’ve a sofa to sleep on.”

“You’re a gentleman, Simon.”

No woman had ever called him that.

“I’ve thought about going, but if I don’t find the solution with Colin, I won’t have anything to offer anyone else. I have to see this through.”

He had taught her too well.

They turned back toward Hollister’s and stopped briefly to let an elderly couple pass by. The grey-haired gentleman was smiling gently at his wife and holding her hand as they walked. Her face was lined with trust.