Free The Expendable Man by Dorothy B. Hughes

The long table was festooned with sweet white flowers. Spire white candles pointed their pale flames. Clusters of white camellias were at each setting. All of this for Clytie, secure, happy Clytie. And in a cold and dark place, a girl who’d never had anything lay unwanted, unknown; lay dead.
    Hugh found their chairs and seated Ellen. “If I ever have a daughter I’ll insist that she elope.”
    â€œMy sister did. Mother was distraught but I must say Father bore up well.”
    Hugh didn’t sit down until he heard Ellen’s disturbed inflection.
    â€œAre you sure you aren’t expecting someone? You keep watching the door.”
    He laughed then and dropped into the chair beside her.
    â€œI could disappear, you know,” she said. “The Air Force is most accommodating.”
    He closed his fingers over her wrist. “Disappear with them at your own risk. I warned you what would happen if they moved in tonight.” He could feel the throb of her pulse. “I didn’t realize I was watching the door.” He must guard himself. “It must be force of habit, expecting someone to rush in with ‘Emergency, Dr. Densmore!’ ”
    â€œIt isn’t a she?”
    He made it definite. “It is not.” Not a ghost.
    She was laughing. “Or too many shes?”
    â€œDon’t believe Celeste. She’s inclined to brag about big brother. Gets it from Gram—you know my Gram?”
    â€œI know your Gram. She’s in love with you.”
    â€œAnd I with her.” And I could be with you. But his eyes jumped from her face to the opening door. It was only a uniformed hotel attendant with a salver of messages for Clytie.
    Later he wondered how he ever got through the interminable dinner. He was there, laughing, listening, making the proper responses; eating without tasting, drinking too much champagne, falling in love with the charm of the girl beside him. But he wasn’t there, he was in a fearful secret cave, waiting for approaching footsteps to sound, for the shape to emerge, the terrible voice to speak.
    It was Ellen who had been speaking. Again he had to ask her what she had said. “I don’t even know.” She laughed. “Nothing important.”
    But he saw the puzzlement in her eyes and realized he’d been away once too often. He spoke softly. “I’m sorry. I’m truly sorry.” He hesitated but he had to say it, to make her understand. “I do have a problem, a very serious problem.”
    â€œWould it help to talk?”
    â€œIt would. But not tonight.” He recalled his earlier figure of speech. “There must be no specter at a wedding feast.” He just touched her hand. “I won’t go away again.”
    There was reassuring strength in her fingers as they clasped his. “Hold tight,” she said.
    After the dinner there was dancing and it was better then. There was no need for talk with her in his arms. When the Air Force took her away, he danced with Gram, then sat with her, not having to respond to her unending commentary.
    At midnight the band played the plaintive bachelor song, “Good-bye, Girls, I’m Through,” and the assembled voices were a choir serenading Clytie and John. The evening was over. Nothing had happened. Hugh’s relief was so great that he felt lightheaded. He found Ellen in her usual encirclement. “Go home, little boys,” he said blithely. “The party’s over.” He caught Ellen’s hand, this time his had strength.
    Her eyes were bright as jewels. “No more problems?”
    â€œNot tonight. Shall we wait outside?”
    She was demurely provocative. “Shall we?”
    They skirted the crowd making farewells and slipped out the door into the night. The temperature had dropped to desert cold. They half ran to the parking area.
    Before they reached the car, Hugh saw the two men, one large, one slighter, emerge from the