She told him about Petrov’s flat and the herbs, and to her surprise, he said, “Bring ’round a bit of the one you don’t know. It’ll be like old times, trying to figure out the identity of some nasty plant, won’t it?”
She agreed, unsure if she wanted to revisit those old times. “Did you learn something from your uncle?”
“I did, indeed. Let me see … Yes, Corporal Alexander Theodoros Ashton.Theodoros, Everleigh.” He chuckled. “Enlisted in 182ndBrigade out of Warwickshire—”
“Warwickshire?” Saffron repeated in disbelief.
“—belonging to the 61stMidlands. Saw action in Fromelles, injured 16 July 1916 and sent home to coalesce 3 August.” Lee hummed, and she imagined him stroking his jaw. “Warwickshire. That’s Birmingham, isn’t it?”
“Near it, I think,” she replied absently. “But … Alexander lives in London. He was born and raised in London, I thought. What was he doing enlisting close to Birmingham? That’s hours away.”
“Not sure. Shall I tell you about Major Nicholas Andrew Hale now?”
“Go on.”
Lee rattled off details of Nick’s service. Nick had joined a staff college well before the war to be trained as an officer, then had served in various places over the course of the war. He’d received a Distinguished Conduct Medal in 1915 for service in a place called Chunuk Bair, which Lee said he’d discovered was in the former Ottoman Empire.
Alexander had served briefly in France, and Nick in what was now Turkey. There was no overlap there.
“There was also,” Lee said slowly, “something about Salonika.”
Surprise had her staring blankly at the scuffed wall of the telephone vestibule. “That’s in Greece, isn’t it? Wasn’t there a campaign fought there?”
“Yes, quite a long one, too. Not really in the city, of course, but that was the sort of headquarters for our side. Ashton went there in 1916. Might be a reference to his family, but my uncle mentioned it, so—”
“It might be in reference to his military service,” Saffron finished, mind racing. “Could Nick also have been in Greece?”
“Not a clue, old thing. ’Fraid you’ll have to ask Ashton about it,” Lee said. “The younger one. How go things with the elder Ashton?”
“I don’t know. Thank you, Lee.”
Saffron rang off and stared at the receiver, still swinging from its handle with the force of her hanging up.
Alexander had lied to her. She’d asked him about his service in the military. She’d thought he’d been honest—open, even—about hisinjury and his service. She’d cherished that conversation, carried out in the early hours of the morning after a shared adventure when the mysterious man she’d dragged along had offered her the story of his scars. She’d been touched that he’d shared something so personal with her.
Had it all been a lie?
She stood and slipped from the telephone nook. She was going to find out.
The knocking on the door was polite for the first two or three times, but soon became an impatient pounding that would no doubt disturb his neighbors if Alexander didn’t answer it soon.
He swung the door open, half hoping it was Adrian. It wasn’t.
Usually, the sight of Saffron at his door inspired enthusiasm, even excitement. But after the afternoon he’d had, and the evening he’d made for himself, he’d rather it be Adrian, sloshing over with drink.
Her color was high and her mouth held tightly. “I would like to speak with you.”
He stepped back. “Come in.”
He led her to the parlor. She stepped inside and blinked, looking from wall to wall, then she turned and gave him a swift, scrutinizing look. “What happened?”
He wasn’t sure what about the parlor he’d spent the last hour cleaning indicated anything had happened, but he told her the truth anyway. “Inspector Green is questioning Adrian again.”
Her irritation fell away. “But why?”
“Inspector Green learned some new information,” he said heavily.
“About Petrov?”
