2 The Imposter (22 page)

“Come on, Doc,” Joseph said with a expectant look on his face.

Edward looked around the table. They were all waiting for him. “This was in Burma,” he began, “I was on patrol with the rest of my platoon. We had the Japs on the run. I can remember it like it was yesterday––it was in the middle of the monsoon, unbelievable amounts of rain, you don’t know rain until you’ve been stuck in one of those”––Joseph nodded his agreement––“and visibility was awful. We were on the approach to a bridge over the Irrawaddy River. The road cut through the jungle and there was dense vegetation on both sides. We wandered right into the middle of an ambush––they had machine guns set up in the trees. They strafed us, most of the boys got hit before we knew what was happening. I took one in the foot of all places, but I managed to get into cover. The firefight must have lasted twenty minutes. I managed to crawl through the shrub to around twenty feet away, maybe a little less, close enough to toss a grenade right into the middle of them. When it was finished, all of my platoon and all of the Japs were dead. I was the last one standing.”

“You killed all of them?” Billy asked. He accompanied the question with a tilt of his head that suggested that he found the story dubious.

“Of course not, but I was the only one alive at the end of it. I managed to find my way back to the battalion and they sent scouts to confirm what had happened.”

“How incredible,” Sophia said.

“Isn’t it,” Billy said. “Incredible.” He barely disguised the sarcasm but gasped in pain just as he was about to continue and, from the steady glare on Sophia’s face, Edward guessed that she had kicked him in the shins.

Edward ignored him. “I didn’t do it for the medal,” he said. “You find yourself in a situation like that, you just react. There isn’t really even time to think. I did what any soldier would have done.”

“He’s too modest,” Joseph said. “You know how rare the Victoria Cross is? They only give them out once in a blue moon.” He raised his glass and proposed a toast: “To Edward,” he said. “Happy birthday.”

Edward was fit to burst with happiness. He smiled around the table at all of them. Sophia and Evie giggled at some shared comment. Chiara looked at him with a hopeful look in her eyes. He imagined the speculations of the sisters: Is he single? He can’t be single, surely. He’s so reserved and private, so mysterious.

The waitress, Eve, returned with clean champagne flutes. She reddened again as she distributed them, Joseph beaming at her the whole time she was at the table. When she finally departed it was with what looked like a mixture of relief and reluctance.

Edward touched glasses with the others and sipped the champagne. His anxiety about the evening looked silly now. Joseph was a natural when it came to directing the mood of a gathering. When he was in this kind of garrulous, easy-going form, it was possible to watch others as they became infected with his good temper. He had an easy charisma and could be completely beguiling when he wanted to be.

Bottles of spirits appeared and the drinking picked up pace. Joseph excused himself from the table and went across to the bar. He poured Eve a drink and they started to talk. It was quickly obvious that they knew each other. There was an easy familiarity to their body language, Joseph resting his fingers on her forearm and Eve touching the back of his hand. She was too shy and he was too garrulous for their conversation to be anything other than one-sided, but it was obvious that he was putting everything into an attempt to impress her and, inevitably, he was meeting with success. It wasn’t long before she was laughing freely at his jokes.

Edward was still smiling at it as Chiara Costello came to his side.

“Have you had fun?” she asked him.

“Oh, yes. It was a wonderful evening. And you?”

“I’ve had a lovely time.” Her eyelids lowered elaborately and then rose again languorously, her electric eyes sparkling.

“It was nice of you to come.”

“You came to my birthday, didn’t you? I had to reciprocate. Only polite.” Edward felt himself relaxing into her company. “What have you been getting up to?”

He looked at her sharply, wondering what she knew, but her expression was open and guileless. “This and that,” he said.

“Have you thought what you’re going to do now you’ve settled back into things?”

She must have known that he was busy with her brother. It was obvious: the clothes, the fact that they were living together, none of that could possibly be funded by the job with Ruby Ward, no matter how good he might be at it. Of course, he had stopped going to the garage. He had handed in his cards. There didn’t seem to be any point now that they were doing so well. Surely she would have been made aware of that? And, yet, despite it all, he did not feel comfortable acknowledging any of that to her. He didn’t want her to disapprove and he knew that she would. “I don’t really know,” he said.

“Medicine, surely?” she said, continuing her wilful blindness. “Could you continue with your studies?”

“I suppose I could.”

“But you don’t want to?”

“I don’t know. I suppose”––he fished for the right words––“I suppose I’m enjoying myself at the moment. Working with your brother.”

Working? That was a poor choice of word. Edward realised at once that Chiara would know what kind of “work” Joseph was involved in and pretending it was something else must have been insulting to her. She had warned him against it, too, but if she was offended she didn’t show it. She nodded thoughtfully, and said, “I know I mentioned this before, but please do be careful. What Joseph does––it doesn’t have a future. It’s dangerous. The police might seem hopeless, but they’re not. They watch us all the time. They’ll get there in the end. They always do. There’s nothing I can do about him. He’s too set in his ways. You just accept that he’ll be caught eventually, and then he’ll go away. But I’d hate to see that happen to you. It would be such a shame. You’ve got so much going for you.”

Edward wanted to say something but he felt uncomfortable discussing their criminal exploits with her. Despite her knowledge, it didn’t feel right. A question of manners, he supposed. Something as foolish as simple decorum. But that wasn’t it, or at least not all of it. There was something else, too: he was feeling the tiniest flicker of guilt. Chiara had been blinded by the false image of himself that he had been peddling and he felt guilty at that. He was surprised. Guilt was not something with which he was familiar.

She saw that he was abashed although she did not realise why. “Goodness, I’m sorry. I hope you don’t think I’m lecturing you. I don’t mean to.”

“No, of course not.”

“It’s just––well, I wouldn’t anything bad to happen to you.”

Edward didn’t know what to say to that. They both sat, fiddling with their glasses.

“I’ve put my foot in it again, haven’t I?” she said.

“No, no––not at all.”

“I was wondering, perhaps we could talk some more––properly, you know, without any distractions. Perhaps you might like a trip up to the house? There’s so much I haven’t shown you yet. There’s plenty of lovely countryside––perhaps we could go for a walk?”

He was a little thrown by her forthrightness, but he was flattered. “That would be lovely.”

“Only if you’d like to,” she added tentatively.

“I would. Of course. That would be charming, I’m sure.”

“Next weekend? Are you available then?”

“I believe I am.”

“Well then, that’s settled. I’ll see you on Saturday?”

They talked for a while longer, Edward listening politely and complimenting her opinions whenever she paused to take a drink. He saw that she was a little drunk and she talked freely, ranging easily across a range of subjects: her schooling, Halewell Close, her family, Joseph and the others, the best shows to see in London, her favourite restaurants. There was very little effort required on his part to keep up and, so, as he sipped the excellent champagne, he allowed himself to daydream about his future. The guilt was easily subsumed within the anticipation of his improved prospects as he planned where he went from here.

29

WHEN EDWARD SET OFF AT SEVEN O’CLOCK the sun was climbing into a powder blue sky. He arranged to borrow Joseph’s Humber Super Snipe and as he settled himself behind the wheel he couldn’t help but appreciate what a fine motor it was. It was the drophead coupé version and, since the morning was pleasant, he lowered and stowed the canopy. The breeze was pleasantly warm and Edward couldn’t stifle the smile as he drove west. The roads were quiet and he was able to put his foot down. He allowed his attention to drift. New billboards bore witness to the flourishing shoots of economic life: Guinness is Good For You, Keep That Schoolgirl Complexion, Try a Worthington. He drove quickly, darting out to overtake slower moving traffic. As he headed further west he passed through slumbering commuter towns, new bungalows springing up on their outskirts like crops of mushrooms.

A gardener’s van was parked outside the entrance to Halewell Close, the man painting the gates. He doffed his cap to Edward as he turned off the road and onto the drive. Edward returned the gesture, rattling across the cattle grid and accelerating away. The house appeared as he crested the final hill and he found himself thinking with something like wistfulness of the poor neglected property, quietly sliding into decay. A place like that needed an owner who would cherish it, who would lavish the kind of attention on it that it deserved, and he could not help but think that the Costellos had allowed it to go to seed.

He pulled up and a large black dog trotted from the
porte cochère
and started to sniff around the car. Chiara followed after it. “Good morning,” she called.

Edward stepped out of the car and kissed her on the cheek. She was wearing a simple cotton frock and a pair of leather sandals. The dog ambled over and sniffed his proffered hand. It was an old Labrador, black with grey tufts on its chin. “Who’s this fine fellow?” he asked.

“This is Roger,” she said. “My old dog. He’d like to come with us on our walk. Is that alright?”

“Of course,” he said.

“How was your drive?”

“Lovely. Your brother has a very fine motor.”

“He loves it,” she said, dismissing the car with a flick of her wrist. “Shall we set off straight away?”

“Where are we going?”

“This way,” she said, linking her arm through his.

They made their way through the gardens to the north of the house. There was a wide lawn, then a copse of fir and ash, and then a wild meadow that stretched away over gently undulating hills. There was a rough path trodden into the grass at the edge of the meadow and they followed it, brambles on one side and the open space of the field on the other. The landscape was open for several miles, fringed in the distance by a thick wood. Edward became aware of the treacly weight and torpor of the air. The last few days had heralded the start of an Indian summer, unseasonably hot for October. From across the fields, dulled by heat and distance, there came the grind and crunch of farm machinery, and calling voices.

They walked in companionable silence for half a mile. Roger trotted alongside them, occasionally picking up his pace to scout ahead. He would disappear around a corner and then wait for them, his tongue draping from his wet muzzle.

“How much do you know about the girl Joseph met at the restaurant?” he asked. “Do you know her?”

“I don’t know her at all. I believe they were seeing each other before he was conscripted.”

“Joseph said they were sweet on each.”

She laughed happily. “That poor girl is going to be completely bombarded. My brother can be very single-minded when he thinks he wants something––women especially. I wouldn’t be at all surprised if he really goes after this one. He’s very keen. It won’t matter if she’s cool on him. He won’t accept no for an answer. He’ll try and try and try until she gives in.”

“What a coincidence, to see her again after all that time!”

She shook her head. “He won’t see it that way. It will be ‘providence.’ You know how superstitious he is?”

“Is he really?”

“My goodness, yes! It’s all nonsense, of course, but he doesn’t see it like that. You know he’s religious, for example?”

“
Religion?
” he said as they crossed a stile. “Joseph?”

“Oh yes. Catholic. Well––most of the family are, one way or another. Violet is especially keen, but it’s only because she thinks it’s the right thing for an Italian family to do. Appearances, you know, same as always. Joseph went through a period when he was younger when he was mad about it. It’s not so bad since he came back again. I suppose the things that you see and do in war are enough to make anyone doubt that sort of thing.”

“Or embrace it more,” Edward suggested. “You’d be surprised.”

“Well, quite.”

She turned her head, as Roger let out two or three sharp yelps. While they had been talking he had been nosing his way through the hedge at the side of the field, but now there was an agitated flapping on the other side of the hedge and he disappeared into a gap in the brambles.

“He’s going after a bird,” Chiara said. “These used to be our birds once; they’re Mr. Austin’s now, after we sold the fields and the woods to him. He won’t like it if Roger gets hold of a partridge. Roger! Come back! Come here, you idiot dog!”

The dog returned, his head dipped bashfully, his prey uncaught, and they walked on. Edward found that he had relaxed completely into Chiara’s company. She was nine years younger than him but there was a quiet, reserved wisdom about her that made her seem older. Her serenity was contagious. Edward typically felt a buzz of nervous anticipation when he was with other people, a constant background stress that derived, he knew, from the need to remember the all lies that he had told or would tell, the continual effort of recalling the correct lie for the appropriate person. He did not feel that way with her. He almost felt as if he could be himself, or at least insofar as that could ever be possible with anyone.

“Can I ask about your parents?” he said. “Joseph has never really spoken about them to me. I was wondering, since they weren’t at your party.”