Anne’s eyes shifted and found his. She smiled, tenderly. “What a nice thing to say. It gives me hope… It makes me wonder about Chicago.”
“You’d like it there.”
She looked away, her expression suddenly gloomy. “It’s so far away.”
“Not so far.”
She smiled at him. “Well, it’s fun to play pretend, isn’t it?”
His eyes narrowed on her. “I don’t want to pretend, Anne.”
Anne felt hopelessness and anxiety, but she smiled them away. “This morning, I was remembering how we parted at the underground in Piccadilly, the night we met at the dance at the Rainbow Corner all those weeks ago. Who could ever forget that name? It was anything but a rainbow.”
“You changed the subject, Anne.”
“Because I have to. Things are too uncertain; too, I don’t know, unreachable, at least for now.”
Ken readjusted himself on the bench. “Yeah, I suppose so.”
“But you do remember that night, don’t you?”
He grinned with pleasure. “Yeah, you know I do. I’ll never forget the wall-to-wall people. And who could dance? Everybody was bumping into everybody else. Now that I think of it, I don’t even remember how I got there.”
“But we managed to dance, didn’t we? I’m so glad you asked me.”
“You were the prettiest girl in the place and, when you smiled at me, well, I was a goner. It was kind of like magic that drew me to you… that still draws me to you.”
Anne’s eyes traveled over his lean face, taking in his fine features and dignified air. “What are your parents like?”
“They’re good people. Dad’s an attorney, or, as you say over here, a barrister, and Mom’s a housewife.”
“And you said you have a brother?”
“Yes, Gary. He’s in the Navy, fighting in the Pacific.”
“What’s Chicago like?”
“It’s a big, muscular, bustling town, filled with hardworking people. There are a lot of swell neighborhood spots to eat, where you can have a beer and get together with friends. It’s cold as the dickens in the winter when the wind blows off Lake Michigan and, in the summer, you hang out on the Lake and go to the ball parks to watch baseball. It’s a great town to raise a family.”
Anne considered that as she watched a yellow butterfly flit about a hydrangea and then flutter away.
Ken kissed her hand and then leaned over, pushed up the bill of his cap and kissed her warm, moist lips.
When they broke the kiss, Ken held her eyes, exploring their depths. “I miss you, Anne.”
“But I’m here.”
“But not when I’m flying at twenty-five thousand feet.”
She gave a quick shake of her head. “I’m not sure I want to be way up there at twenty-five thousand feet, Lieutenant Taylor.”
“Well, it is cold.”
“And very high.”
“And I think of you, and I think to myself, is she thinking of me?”
“You know I am. You know I want this terrible war to be over, so you don’t have to fly your bomber over Germany.”
Ken’s forehead pinched in thought.
“What are you thinking, Kenneth?”
“I love the way you say Kenneth. It’s breathy and intimate, and very romantic.”
Her smile was a flash of easy desire. “And so I love your name, and your blue/gray eyes… and right now I hear the motors in your head grinding away.”
Ken nodded, his mood changing. “I was just wondering what it was like for you before the war… I mean, how was it with your husband? I guess I think about that sometimes when I’m flying. Were you in love?”
Anne lowered her chin and sighed. “Yes, Kenneth. We were in love, at least for a time, anyway. I was so young. It seems so long ago, and yet it seems a week ago. As Dad would say, time is both long and short and nobody can grab the thing by the tail and pin it down.”
Ken grinned. “I like that.”
Anne continued, going inside herself, to a small, sad place. “What I remember so keenly and dream about so often is what it was like when all the lights in London went out for the first time in 1939. We knew then that the war was about to begin. Basil and I had been planning to be married in two months, but that night, the night the lights went out, we decided not to wait. We decided to get married straight away.”
Anne stared into the middle distance as if she were seeing the past projected onto a movie screen. “We were standing on the footway of Hungerford Bridge, midway across the Thames. London was lit up like a dreamland, in a brilliance that dazzled the sky, and then one by one, different areas of the city went dark, as if someone were pulling a switch.”
Anne paused, inhaling a breath and letting it out. “The city reminded me of a patchwork quilt of lights, and they were being extinguished, first one and then another, until there was only one patch still lit. I held my breath, and my hands formed fists. I vividly remember doing this, because I squeezed my hands so tightly that my fingernails dug into my palms. And then the last lights went out. My heart sank, and we both shut our eyes. There was nothing more to see, anyway. We knew then that war was inevitable, and that Basil would have to fight. I had never anticipated that we would have to fight a war in the dark, or that the smallest light could bring down German bombs.”
Kenneth let her words sink in. “It must have been terrifying.”
Anne looked at him. “When the Gaiety Theater closed, its brown velvet curtains drew a high price at auction. They were converted into excellent blackout curtains.”
Anne sat up, forcing a smile. “But no more war talk or sad talk. We’re together for a whole day and most of the night. What do you have planned for us tonight?”
Ken grew excited. “All right now, close your eyes and imagine it.”
Anne laughed, but did so. “I’m ready.”
“Squeeze your eyes shut.”
“Come on, Kenneth, tell me.”
“Okay, here goes. What is the most swell place in town to get a juicy steak?”
“Well, let me think.”
“No thinking. We’re going to The Ritz.”
Anne’s eyes popped open in surprise. “The Ritz?”
“So go put on your best dress and your dancing shoes, and pray there’s no air raid tonight.”
On impulse, Anne reached up, wrapped a hand around Ken’s neck and pulled him down for a kiss. When they broke it, Ken lifted an eyebrow. “Holy smoke. Now why didn’t I take you to The Ritz on our first date instead of to the Coventry Street Lyons?”
“Because we got caught in an air raid and had to spend the night. But the breakfast was lovely. I remember everything you ordered. Now let me see,” she said, grinning and glancing up into the blue sky to gather her thoughts. She ticked off the items on one hand. “Porridge, bacon, fried bread and marmalade.”
“And a pot of tea because you don’t like coffee,” Ken added.
“Yes, and the tea was perfection. All right, I have to rush home and check on Mum and Tommy.” She rose. “What time shall we meet at the Ritz?”
Lieutenant Taylor pushed to his feet. “Seven o’clock. That will give me time to get back to the Savoy and clean up.”
He bent and kissed her, a long passionate kiss.
When their lips parted, Ken said, “Anne… You know I’ve fallen in love with you, don’t you?”
She touched his lower lip with a finger. “Yes, Kenneth. I know… And I’m so scared for both of us.”
CHAPTER 28
London 1944
First Lieutenant Kenneth Taylor wandered in a kind of fog, despite the bright, sunny day. He was troubled and worried. He’d left Anne an hour before and she’d never said she loved him. He’d seen the conflict building in her eyes while he talked, and he’d hoped she’d say the words he was waiting to hear, but she hadn’t. Instead, she’d touched his lips and his cheek with her delicate hand and said she’d see him at seven by the velvet circular couch in The Ritz Hotel lobby.
So
Ken Taylor had walked Anne to the underground, kissed her gently and then watched her go. He’d shoved his hands into his pockets and started on a brisk walk, cursing the war and his bad timing.
What a time to fall in love, he thought. He needed to walk the streets and think. But London in 1944 wasn’t an atmosphere conducive to clear, clean thought.
Prostitutes wandered the streets of Mayfair in their gaudy finery. Soldiers rambled over with shy smiles, or hard stares, or confident nods. The girls charged between ten shillings and £1 an encounter, and since shop girls could earn as little as £1 a week, it was an easy temptation. At night, the girls would stand in doorways and flash pencil torches on their faces.
Coming from Chicago, Lieutenant Taylor wasn’t naïve, but he had principles and pride, and he thought all the loose living and careless attitudes were further proof that the world had gone insane. It was all about living for the day because tomorrow you might be dead.
“Get as much out of life as you can today, Lieutenant, because tomorrow you may be dead for all eternity,” his bombardier, Joe Paxton, had said while they sat on the train heading for London. “Hey, we’ve ten more missions to go and that might as well be fifty. You know we’re going to be flying to Berlin, where the flak is so thick you can walk on it, and if we don’t get air support from the P-51s, the German 109s will cut us to pieces. More head-on attacks, and more dead pilots and crews.”
Ken idled along the streets, battling his thoughts and depression. It was one thing to focus on flying, keeping his B-17 in tight formation, concentrating on the job you had to do, and it was another thing to push thoughts of Anne from his mind. He’d fallen for her. He’d fallen hard and there was no going back. He didn’t want to let her go. He wanted to marry her and take her home to Chicago. Was he being a sap, especially if she didn’t love him?
LATER, AFTER KEN HAD A NAP, a shower and a fresh shave, he left the Savoy—anxious to meet Anne at The Ritz. London was packed with men in various kinds of uniforms, wearing khaki, navy blue, steel blue and forest green. The pubs were crowded and loud, and Ken heard snatches of lusty songs bursting out from men who were well along on their night of drinking.
The nightly blackout was strictly enforced, up and down the streets, by wardens, but Ken often saw the flare of a cigarette lighter. He also saw a line of soldiers walking arm in arm, maybe ten or more, heading for some bistro or pub. As he passed two such pubs, the singing and shouting were deafening, but no one seemed to care. Despite all the ugliness of war, there was friendship and laughter and song and, if it was possible to find a good part of war, Ken thought this was it.
KEN WAS WAITING INSIDE The Ritz’s lobby when Anne entered, saw him and went over, expectation hanging in the air. After a kiss, Ken stepped back, checking her out.
“Nice coat.”
“Thank you, Lieutenant Taylor. It’s part of the ‘make do and mend’ fashion.”
Anne released the buttons and held it open, revealing her printed, rayon crepe dress, artfully modeling it for him, turning this way and that.
Overwhelmed, he pressed a hand into his cheek, taking her in, her full red lips, her victory curls and her glowing eyes. “Holy mackerel, you look like a million bucks.”
Anne lifted her chin, proudly. “A pretty dress, a new perm, a new me. Well, the dress isn’t new; I bought it at Swan & Edgar in 1940, I think.”
Ken offered her his arm and they swept off to the below-stairs Grill Room, which was called ‘La Popote’. The walls were packed with sandbags, kept in place by wooden props and naked metal struts. Graffiti adorned the woodwork, and candles burned in the necks of wine bottles set on utility tablecloths. A kind of makeshift candelabra, composed of even more bottles, lit the modest dance floor, crowded with swaying dancers.
Displayed on the wall near the dancefloor was a poster depicting a Union Jack, with Winston Churchill’s bulldog face in the background, and a haggard soldier in the foreground holding the hand of a frightened mother clutching her child. The bold black caption read:
PEOPLE OF BRITAIN! KEEP BUGGERING ON!
Anne’s and Ken’s table was somewhat private, placed in the back corner in dim light. On the stage, the swing band was romping through the song Shoo, Shoo Baby, and the mood was loose and festive, the cigarette smoke hovering in stringy clouds.
They danced before their steaks arrived and danced after they’d finished eating. Back on the dance floor, they were pushed and shoved by the dancing crush. The music was bouncy, the smiles broad, the booze plentiful.
When Anne stopped to draw a breath, a loose-limbed sailor cut in.
“Hey, beautiful, can I have this dance?”
“Not on your life, sailor,” Ken shot back. “She’s all mine.”
Unsteady on his feet, the sailor’s glassy-eyed stare fell on Ken. He shrugged. “Okay, then how about you and me go for a little dance, fly boy?”
Ken playfully shoved him back into the crowd, both men laughing.
Ken shouted to Anne, “I bet the MPs will drag his hung-over body out of jail in the morning.”
“It’s getting stuffy in here,” Anne said. “Want to go somewhere else?”
Outside, Anne and Ken strolled through a city in darkness, with its cries of laughter, honking horns and the dreaded anticipation of an air raid.
“Where would you like to go?” Ken asked.
“I don’t know. I’ll leave it to you.”
“All right then, I say, let’s go to the Bazooka Club. It’s near the Strand and a lot of the RAF go there. It’s fun. You’ll like it.”
Twenty minutes later, they entered the pub-like atmosphere, where the talk was loud and lively. Ken found Anne a seat, then picked his way to the bar and ordered two pints.
It was a spirited, crowded room, mostly connected to the Allied Air Forces. There were Australians, Canadians, South Africans and men from the Free French and Free Polish Air Forces. The men mixed surprisingly well, as they shared their dramatic combat stories and their narrow escapes.
When Ken returned to the table, there were two Royal Air Force pilots sitting with Anne.
“Hello, Yank,” the pilot with a mop of blonde hair said. “I’m Jeff, and we’ve swooped down to whisk your girl away from you. But I think I’ve stalled out at a thousand feet, and I’m about to crash into the Channel.”
The other RAF pilot, a redhead with freckles named Harry, said, “But Anne here told us you are a jolly good fellow and you only have ten missions left to go. So I say, old boy, I think you should buy us a couple of pints, for good luck.”
Ken grinned. “I’m not going to leave the two of you here with Anne, while I go back out there and fight that crowd.” He jerked a thumb toward the bar. “You get the pints, old boys, and I’ll pay for them.”
Both pilots laughed. “Good show, Yank,” Jeff said.
After introductions, and after they all had a pint before them, the men began exchanging stories.
Ken asked, “What do you fly? Wellingtons?”
Harry said, “No, Jeff and I fly Lancasters.”
“I don’t know how you guys fly those night missions,” Ken said. “I’ve had to fly two, and it scared the dickens out of me.”
“Some nights it’s a piece of cake,” Jeff said. “Some… well, it’s a rough show, I can tell you, especially when the Jerries catch you in their search lights. We’re stone blind until we get clear of them.”
Anne said, “Let’s not talk anymore about the war. Now, Jeff and Harry, where are your girls?”
Jeff scratched his head, while Harry glanced about the room. “They were with us when we got here, but…” he shrugged. “I don’t know where they are now. They probably flew off with an Aussie or Canadian. You’ve got to watch those Canadian blokes. They’re like night fighters. They swoop in before you see them, shoot you down and then zip away.”
When the air raid siren went off, everyone froze, and then everyone cursed.
Ken pounded the table with a fist. “Dammit!”
<
br /> “The Jerries are at it again,” Harry said.
Harry looked up at the ceiling, angry steel in his eyes. “You bastards! We’ll give you some of your own back tomorrow night.”
The room burst to life, as the music stopped, the dance floor cleared, and the bar emptied. Ken took Anne’s arm and led her through the surging crowd, out the door and onto the street. The bombers were nearly overhead, the booming sound of the anti-aircraft guns blasting, flashing angry red light. Search light beams crisscrossed the sky, catching the shadow of a German bomber here and there, their bombs whistling down.
Anne and Ken made a dash for the underground, just slipping inside as the bombs exploded, rumbling, smashing, splitting open the night.
Although the government had discouraged using the underground as a public shelter, the public used them anyway. They were dry, warm, well-lit and, from inside them, the raids were inaudible.
Anne and Ken found an empty space near a wall and they rested there, Anne leaning her head on Ken’s shoulder.
“I had a grand time, Kenneth.”
He kissed her hair. “When can I see you again?”
“When can you get away next?”
“I don’t know. I’ll call you.”
“I’ll bring Tommy next time. I want him to meet you, and you to meet him. I hope you like him.”
“Don’t you worry about that. Tommy and I will get along just fine. I know it.”
The crowd was huddled and somber. Babies cried. An old man hung his head. A woman knitted, her eyes spilling tears.
Ken took Anne by the shoulders and looked directly into her eyes. “When I finish my missions, I want us to get married. I know you’re not sure about it, but once I’m finished… once I’ve done what I came here to do, I want us to be together, always. But I have to know. I have to know if you love me. I have to know if you want us to get married.”
He studied the look on her face, but he didn’t know what it meant. “Do you love me, Anne?”
She turned her eyes up. “You know I love you, Kenneth. You must know. It’s just that I’m so very scared, and I don’t want to be. I want to be brave.”
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