Armistice by Nick Stafford

knickers sitting tidily on the floor in front of the sink. Philomena had a vision of the owner stepping out of them and leaving them there. Had she been alone? She had a sudden vision of sex with Dan. She didn’t chase it away. She let it last as long as it wanted then washed herself, thinking again about Jonathan’s story, about Jonathan’s character, about what she felt about Anthony Dore in advance of ever having set eyes on him. She told herself to guard against pre-judging him, then went out in search of some breakfast.
    She re-introduced herself to Major James’ aide and asked if it would be possible to see the major for a few extra moments before she caught the train home. This was an untruth in the sense that it made it sound as if her train was imminent whenin fact she didn’t intend traveling home immediately, but it wasn’t a downright lie.
    There was a mirror in the waiting area. She saw that her eyes still displayed the bright dilation of the grieving and the scared. Everyone must be familiar with that look through the war, and now, in the aftermath. Big eyes in shrunken faces. The points of light on the tips of her irises were pronounced that day. She realized Major James was watching her look at herself, a wary look in his eye. Was he sneaking about or had she been preoccupied? He ushered her into his office. As before, she sat on the creaky seat and he perched on the front of his desk, but then she saw that he changed his mind and took his seat the other side, as if the necessity had occurred to him to be more formal.
    â€œThank you for seeing me again,” she said.
    â€œI’m pleased that I am able to,” Major James replied, showing his practiced smile.
    â€œThere is something that I meant to ask you yesterday, that I forgot to.”
    â€œOh?” said Major James. “Fire away.”
    She steadied herself. “I received several letters of condolence from military sources,” she said. “One of them puzzled me at the time because it referred to my fiancé’s death as a ‘crime.’”
    â€œA crime?” asked Major James. “Really?” He was acting as if he didn’t understand. “Did they elaborate?”
    â€œNo.”
    â€œThey shouldn’t have written that. Whoever they were.”
    Philomena ignored his oblique request for the identity of the writer.
    â€œBut something did happen? Something unusual?” she asked.
    He mused for a few moments. It was obvious that Philomena knew that something had happened. She hoped that he wrongly assumed—as she intended—that he knew who had written to her that Dan’s death was a crime.
    â€œThere was an unfounded allegation of a crime, made by a man who couldn’t substantiate any of it. No evidence of a crime. No witnesses. That’s all.”
    â€œWas there an inquiry?” she asked.
    â€œYes,” said Major James. He winced and seemed to lose his nerve: “Look, I really can’t tell you anything more.”
    â€œWas it a crime or wasn’t it?”
    â€œIt was an accusation. Whoever wrote to you was out of turn in bringing it up. I’m afraid that I am very pressed for time,” he said, rising suddenly from his seat.
    â€œLet me tell you what I know,” said Philomena, also rising. “I shall be very brief. Please give me just one more minute of your time.”
    â€œI have nothing to say except this,” said Major James. “Pursue it and you’ll end up in court.”
    â€œPlease, just confirm for me, was there an allegation that my fiancé’s death wasn’t at the hands of the enemy? Please!”
    Major James paused, nodded several times to himself then once to her. She felt herself shiver. Last night Jonathan’s story had seemed slightly dream-like, but now it was solidifying.She said: “One officer alleged that another officer had killed my fiancé?”
    Major James