“You must have known her brothers quite well,” Alexander said, sitting down next to her.
“Yes, our families spent a lot of time together,” Saffron replied. “Wesley was just two years older than Elizabeth and me. Usually he was chasing me around or throwing things at me. Just before he left, we became quite close.”
“It must have been a shock to hear of his passing.”
“It was soon after my father died. It was a hard year.” Saffron busied herself with the book in her lap. Pages slipped past without her taking them in; she was too focused on the sting of grief and the contrasting guilt and appreciation of Alexander’s warmth at her side.
They sat together in silence for some time. Saffron continued thumbing through the pages. “I was home for the Easter holiday when we heard. My father was stationed at Ypres. He was among the first attacked with mustard gas.”
Glancing up, she saw Alexander’s eyes had widened in understanding. He swallowed hard. “I’m sorry.”
“Thank you. It was quick, at least.” She remembered the strangeness of that sentiment, so often repeated, that it was better her father had died right away rather than linger with some of the horrifying effects that only became apparent months later. Her eyes seemed to drift to Alexander’s scarred arm of their own accord. “Where were you stationed?”
“In France, Fromelles.”
She nodded. She didn’t know what to say. Coming of age during the Great War and immediately after, the false hope and positivity that came with the end of the War left a bitter taste in her mouth. There was nothing hopeful about her father being gone or her first love dying.
Alexander reached for the book. “We don’t have to talk about it. It was all anyone talked about for years. It’s probably time to find something else to discuss.” He turned to a random page. “For example, this terrifying creation.” He pointed to a flowering Dracula simia, whose jeering face peeked out ominously from within its pointed petals.
The click of the lock and the squeak of the door, followed by a long-suffering sigh, announced Elizabeth’s arrival. Her voice carried through the flat, complaining that the lord requested her to work on Saturday to prepare for a special event. She turned into the sitting room and stopped with a delighted smile when she noticed Saffron sitting with Alexander on the couch, obviously not spotting the open book in their laps.
In a dramatic swirl of magenta and with a brief, “Oh, beg pardon!” Elizabeth noisily retreated to the kitchen.
“You’ll have to excuse me a moment,” Saffron told Alexander with a grimace.
In the kitchen, Saffron found Elizabeth fighting a smile as she filled the kettle.
“Saff, you bad girl, you haven’t offered your guest a refreshment! You must have been distracted by something to so neglect your hostess duties,” she scolded.
“I know what you’re thinking, Elizabeth,” Saffron said in a dignified voice, “but you’re entirely wrong.”
“I’m wrong to think that you’ve made up with your biologist and you were in here studying … biology?” Elizabeth didn’t try to hide her grin.
“Eliza!” Saffron couldn’t help but smile too. “All right—you are very nearly correct. You did rather interrupt, though.” Saffron was actually glad of her interruption. It didn’t feel right to be so happy sitting on the couch with Alexander after discussing her father and Wesley. It had gotten easier, but that guilt was never far from her mind, even after five years.
“Shall I recall a sudden appointment?” Elizabeth offered.
“At eight in the evening? That might be a little obvious,” Saffron replied with a sigh. “Come along, then.”
Elizabeth followed Saffron back into the sitting room.
“So, how goes the preparation for your expedition, Alexander? Have you gotten your itinerary?” Elizabeth asked smoothly, busying her hands with preparing tea.
Alexander accepted a cup. “We’re to sail on the seventh of next month, arriving the twenty-first.”
Elizabeth continued peppering him with questions as they sipped their tea. Saffron was pleased Alexander didn’t balk at her friend’s polite interrogation, though he responded without embellishment to each question.
Finally, he said, “We’ll land in Brazil at S?o Luís, but our base will be Macapá, at the mouth of the river. Several groups will go much farther up the river. Dr. Henry seems—or rather, seemed—very sure most of our time would be spent camping out along the river.”