“All right,” Gloria went on, undaunted, “tell me about what happened at Irridaddy, or whatever it is. That’s if it’s not classified.”
Arthur Winchester sniffed and granted us a little smile. “Irrawaddy. It happened six months ago, so it’s hardly classified,” he said. Then he paused, sipped some more tea and rubbed the bristly bottom of his mustache with the back of his hand. I glanced toward the window and saw the rain slanting down, distorting the shapes of the people passing by on Victoria Street.
“Burma,” he went on, “as you probably know, stands between India and China, and it would be of inestimable value if our forces could reopen the Burma Road and clear the way to China, which could then be used as a direct base for operations against Japan. This, as I say, is general knowledge.”
“Not to me it isn’t.” Gloria lit a Craven A. “Go on,” she prompted, blowing out a long plume of smoke.
Arthur Winchester cleared his throat. “To put things simply, since Burma fell, we have been trying to get it back. One of the offensives with this end in mind was the Chindit Operation, launched in February. They began east of the Irrawaddy, a river in central Burma. While they were there, the Japanese launched a major offensive on the Arakan Front and the British had to withdraw. Are you following me?”
We both nodded.
“Good.” Arthur Winchester finished his tea. “Well, the Chindits were trapped behind the enemy lines, cut off, and they began to filter back in some disarray.” He looked at Gloria. “This, no doubt, is why no one has been able to give you any specific information about your husband. He’s an engineer, you said?”
“Yes.”
“Hmm.”
“What happened next?”
“Next? Oh, well the Chindits had suffered severe hardships. Most severe. Not long after, they were ordered to leave Burma.”
“But we’re still trying to get Burma back?”
“Oh, yes. It’s of great strategic importance.”
“So there’s still a chance?”
“A chance of what?”
“That someone might find Matthew. When the British win back Burma.”
Arthur Winchester glanced out of the window. “I wouldn’t get your hopes up, my dear. A long time might pass before that happens.”
“Were the losses heavy?” I asked.
Arthur Winchester gazed at me for a moment, but he wasn’t seeing me. “What? Oh, yes. Rather worse than we had hoped for.”
“How do you know all this?” Gloria asked.
Arthur Winchester inclined his head modestly. “I don’t know very much, I’m afraid. But before the war, before this Government work, I was a history teacher. The Far East has always interested me.”
“So you don’t really have anything to tell us?” Gloria said.
“Well, any excuse to take tea with a pretty lady will do for me, if you don’t mind my saying so.”
Gloria got to her feet in a fury and was about to storm out of the place, leaving even me behind, when Arthur Winchester blushed and grabbed hold of her sleeve meekly. “I say, my dear, I’m sorry. Poor taste. I really didn’t mean to offend you. A compliment, that’s all. I meant no hint of any sort of prurient suggestion.”
If Gloria didn’t know what prurient meant, she never let on. She merely sat down again, slowly, a hard, suspicious look in her eyes, and said, “Can you tell us anything at all, Mr. Winchester?”
“All I can tell you, my dear,” he went on gravely, “is that during the retreat, many of the wounded had to be left behind enemy lines. They simply couldn’t be transported. They were left with a little money and a weapon, of course, but what became of them, I can’t say.”
Gloria had turned pale. I found myself twisting the fabric of my dress in my fist over my lap until my knuckles turned white. “Are you saying this is what happened to Matthew?” she asked, her voice no louder than a whisper.
“I’m saying it may be what happened, if he is simply being described as missing, presumed dead.”
“And what if that was the case?”
Arthur Winchester paused and brushed an imaginary piece of lint from his lapel. “Well,” he said, “the Japanese don’t like taking wounded prisoners. It would depend how badly wounded he was, of course, whether he could work, that sort of thing.”
“So you’re saying they might have simply murdered him as he lay there wounded and defenseless?”
“I’m saying it’s possible. Or…”
“Or what?”
He looked away. “As I said, the wounded were left behind with a weapon.”
It took a second or two for what he was getting at to sink in. I think it was me who responded first. “You mean Matthew might have committed suicide?”
“If capture was inevitable, and if he was badly hurt, then I’d say, yes, it’s a possibility.” His tone brightened a little. “But this is all pure conjecture, you understand. I know nothing at all of the circumstances. Maybe he was simply captured by the enemy, and he’s going to while away the rest of the war in the relative safety of a prison camp. I mean, you’ve seen how well we take care of our Germans and Italians here, haven’t you?”
It was true. The Italians in Yorkshire even worked on the farms at planting and harvest times. Gloria and I had talked to them on occasion and they seemed cheerful enough, for prisoners of war. They liked to sing opera while they worked, and some of them had beautiful voices.
“But you said the Japanese don’t like taking prisoners.”
“It’s true they despise the weak and the defeated. But if they capture fit men, they can put them to work on railways and bridges and suchlike. They’re not fools. You did say your husband was an engineer, so he could be useful to them.”
“If he cooperated.”
“Yes. The main problem is that we don’t know a lot about the Japanese, and our lines of communication are very poor, almost to the point of not existing at all. Even the Red Cross has great difficulties getting its parcels delivered and getting information out of them. The Japanese are notoriously difficult to deal with.”
“So he may be a prisoner of war and nobody has bothered to let anyone know? Is that what you’re telling us?”
“That is a distinct possibility. Yes. There are probably hundreds, if not thousands, of others in that same position, too.”
“But you said you’re a teacher. You know about the Japanese, don’t you?”
Arthur Winchester laughed nervously. “I know a little about their geography and history, but the Japanese have always been very insular. Comes from living on an island, perhaps.”
“We live on an island, too,” I reminded him.
“Yes, well, I mean insular more in that they’ve screened themselves off from the rest of the world, actively resisted contact with the West. We knew practically nothing at all about them until the turn of the century – their customs, beliefs – and even now we don’t know a lot.”
“What do you know? What can you tell us?” Gloria asked.
He paused again. “Well,” he said. “I don’t want to upset you, but you asked me to be honest with you. I’d say it’s best to hope he’s dead. It’s best that way.” He paused. “Look. It’s wartime. Things are very different. You have to let go of the past. Your husband is probably dead. Or, if he isn’t, he might as well be. Nothing will be the same when it’s done. All over the city people are living as if there’s no tomorrow. How long are you staying in London?”
Gloria looked at him suspiciously. “Until tonight. Why?”
“I know a place. Very nice. Very discreet. Perhaps I could-”