The Daughter of Victory Lights

by Kerri Turner

  Tears fogged Evie’s eyes and she looked down, fiddling with the lace trimming at the edge of her nightgown. He was right: she had been glorifying the war years. Her new life had distracted her from the shame of such feelings, but it came back now, clogging her throat with its bitter taste.

  Flynn took up his pacing again, striding this time so it only took three steps to cross the cabin. Pad pad pad swish. Pad pad pad swish.

  After a third set of pads, there was no swish; instead, Evie could hear him struggling to open the porthole. It was stiff from sea water and salt air, but after a couple of minutes she felt the cool breeze from outside wash over her.

  She glanced up just in time to see Flynn flick his cigarette through the porthole, then close his eyes, his face pressed against the opening. The breeze caressed his hair, making a lock of it fall onto his forehead. He took a few deep breaths, then turned to face Evie.

  ‘I’m sorry.’

  He ran his hands over his face.

  Despite her hurt Evie ached for him. His expression was so lost. She wanted to take his hands in her own and do something to comfort him. But she stayed where she was, seated on the bed, unsure.

  ‘I didn’t mean to say that,’ he added. ‘I’m just … I’m just tired.’

  He walked over to kiss her gently. He did look tired: there were dark circles under his eyes and lines at the corners of his mouth. She went to put her hand to his forehead to see if he was unwell, but he stopped her.

  ‘I need to go to bed. That’s all.’

  Evie stood up to give him a goodnight kiss, but he was already gone. She went to the door he’d left ajar and saw Alvin standing in the hall, frowning after Flynn’s disappearing back.

  When he turned to see Evie, his eyebrows rose a fraction. ‘Everything okay?’ he asked.

  Evie tried to smile. ‘It was just a little tiff.’

  ‘I didn’t realise you two were in the position to be having tiffs.’

  ‘He didn’t tell you?’ Evie knew their relationship was a secret, but Flynn and Alvin shared a brother-like bond and she’d thought Flynn might have at least told him the truth. ‘What are you doing up so late?’ she asked, trying to hide her disappointment. ‘Couldn’t sleep again?’

  Alvin raised the mug he was holding. ‘Warm milk. Supposed to aid sleep, but I don’t know if it does. A little brandy or whisky in it helps though.’

  Evie turned back to her cabin, but Alvin spoke before she could shut the door. ‘Go easy on him, won’t you?’

  Before Evie could snap that she wasn’t the one lashing out, Alvin was already disappearing into the cabin he shared with Flynn.

  After Flynn’s outburst, things between him and Evie never quite went back to the way they had been. Sometimes he stayed in her bed for an hour or two after making love, but more often he’d flee so fast it was as though he was trying to escape some unknown thing.

  His temper too seemed to sit closer to the surface than it once had—if temper it could be called. Sometimes he would snap hard words at her, but at other times he disappeared somewhere inside himself, to a place she couldn’t reach but which seemed impossibly sad. The suddenness of his swings in mood unsettled her—she could never predict what might set him off—but he was quick to remorse, and it always seemed genuine.

  ‘I don’t know why I’m like this,’ he said to Evie when she finally shouted back at him. He was in her bed, and this time it was she who was pacing the tiny cabin.

  She’d already put her hair in pin-curls for the night, and one pin was irritating her. She tried to needle it out of the way with one finger, and when she turned she saw Flynn had his hands twisted in his own hair. It was like he was trying to pull it out by the roots.

  ‘Flynn?’ she said, all traces of anger dissipating. He didn’t move.

  She kicked her velvet slippers off and climbed onto the tartan counterpane. With hands as gentle as she could make them, she twisted his fingers free.

  He made a strangled sound, and Evie realised it was a sob. She bit her lip, then pulled him towards her, wrapping her arms around him, letting his tears stain her cotton nightgown.

  As she held him, she slowly became aware of something shifting in her. She didn’t just want to enjoy physical comforts with this man; she wanted to take his pain away, find a way to make everything better. Was this love? She didn’t think so. But it was something more than it had been. It was something which could, perhaps, lead to love.

  ‘Sometimes I think the war broke my brain,’ Flynn said finally, pulling away from her and leaning back against her pillow. His eyes were closed, and his eyelashes were spiky from tears. ‘Before, I wasn’t so … volatile? Unpredictable? Pathetic?’

  ‘You’re not pathetic. I do know what the war was like, Flynn. At least a little.’

  Perhaps it wasn’t the right time, but Evie didn’t know what else to say. If she was going to fall in love with Flynn, she wanted to do it on the right terms. She wanted him to understand her. So she told him about her work lighting the bombing sites, how she’d become familiar with the metallic scent of blood and the rattle of a final breath. How she knew the feel of recent death, the body still warm so you thought the person was only sleeping.

  Flynn was silent, but he opened his eyes, staring blankly ahead.

  When she had no more to say, Evie sat back on her heels, watching him. Goosebumps began to prickle her bare arms, and she rubbed her hands up and down them.

  Flynn pulled the counterpane aside, making room for her. She crawled up the bed and snuggled in next to him.

  ‘Perhaps it’s time we stopped hiding this from everyone?’ she asked.

  Flynn’s eyes darted to hers, then away again.

  ‘The war is over,’ she went on. ‘We have freedom. Why don’t we use it instead of creating more walls around ourselves?’

  ‘Easy as that,’ he said, and his fingers curled.

  She knew he wanted a cigarette, but didn’t have any to offer him. She’d have to remember to buy some next time she was on shore, to keep in her cabin for him.

  Flynn stayed the whole night with her that night. It was the first time he’d done so, and Evie was sure it marked a change in their relationship.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  When Flynn left in the morning, it was with a kiss so sweetly lingering that Evie wanted to pull him back and close the door on their work. But there was too much to do. It was their last performance in Nantes that night, and afterwards the cast and crew were holding a party. The next day would be spent travelling back down the Loire River to the Bay of Biscay and there would be no performance after, so they were making the most of the break. Evie didn’t see Flynn all day, and she assumed he must be helping with the party preparations.

  That night, once the audience had finished throwing out fistfuls of money and had rowed themselves back to shore, Evie clipped filters to the junior floods and gave the light a wide spread so the deck of the Victory was bathed in a wash of dim blue. She didn’t often use the blue filters anymore because they gave off a negligible amount of light compared to the others, especially with no cyclorama to bounce off. At least tonight they would get some use, although it wasn’t the one Humphrey had hoped for when he wrote a large cheque for them.

  Along with the blue filters, she’d turned on some of the battens. She hadn’t yet managed to get reflectors for all of them, but those that were equipped with them threw a warm glow over the tables that had been dragged from below deck and laid out with a stunning array of cooked ham, saucisson, pâté maison with bread, rum pancakes, grapes, Roquefort cheese and peaches. The alcohol was being kept below deck, where there was less chance of the bottles breaking with the motion of the boat.

  Evie changed into the same borrowed pink and blue dress she’d worn when they’d almost caused a riot in the club at Saint-Malo. She carefully applied lipstick, dug out her old pair of Utility Oxfords with the squared-off toes and cork Cuban heel, and although she didn’t have time to set her hair into victory
rolls, she did borrow one of Bee’s jewelled combs to sweep one side off her face.

  She was jittery with excited anticipation as she made her way to the deck. Flynn hadn’t said as much, but she was almost certain he would use this party as the opportunity to make their relationship public. Evie thought she and Flynn might be the target of some good-natured ribbing, but figured that would be the worst of it.

  The women had replaced their stage make-up with more demure faces and spritzed themselves with perfume so that wandering the deck was like walking through a women’s department store. The men had pulled out crumpled ties and pocket squares to lend a sense of occasion. Someone, thinking themselves funny, had put on a record of Lou Preager’s ‘Cruising Down the River’.

  Someone else had hung a dartboard on the side of the bridge and a mixed group was getting louder and louder as each new player missed the board. Bee had hit the bullseye twice, a formidable foe for those who had drunk much less than she. She gestured for Evie to come play with them, but Evie declined, choosing instead a dominoes game at one of the tables.

  She played two rounds with Alvin, a dancer and a contortionist who’d apparently joined the boat by smuggling herself onto it, losing francs in the first game and pounds in the second. Alvin made them pause the next game while he fetched drinks: cider for himself, and for Evie pastis—an aniseed-flavoured liqueur to which he’d already added the water that changed it from gleaming gold to milky yellow.

  ‘Did you see what happened during Bee’s performance tonight?’ Evie said, accepting her drink with thanks and sliding over a plate of food she’d assembled for him in return.

  Alvin sat, then placed a double-ended six on the table. ‘No, I was below deck during her act, getting my paraffin oil. What happened?’

  ‘You mean no one’s told you?’ Bee yelled. ‘One of my finest moments. One of the ropes holding the corner of my platform broke. I managed to catch myself on the rope, but a fellow below grabbed hold of the dangling edge of the platform.’

  Evie knew a great deal of effort had gone into measuring Bee’s platform so it stayed just out of reach of the audience, and this was a breach none of them had anticipated.

  ‘What did you do?’ Alvin asked.

  ‘Why, I used my toes to ground his fingers against the board. He was so startled he toppled right out of his boat. Made quite the splash.’

  Everyone erupted with cheers just as Humphrey emerged from below deck and joined them.

  ‘Did I see you kiss the man that was dangling off your platform?’ he asked.

  Bee nodded, the silver sequins of her dress bouncing shards of light. Evie briefly wondered if she could get her lights to mimic the dress’s effect.

  ‘I needed to keep him happy while I sent him into the water,’ Bee said. ‘Figured that ought to do it.’

  A coin appeared in Humphrey’s hand and he flicked it at Bee. She caught it mid-air with one hand.

  ‘That’s why you’re my star performer,’ he said. ‘People, this is how we handle it when things go wrong—as they’re bound to in the theatre!’

  Evie turned back to her game and, for the first time all evening, caught sight of Flynn. He hadn’t bothered with party attire like the other men; instead he was wearing his usual work outfit of a plaid button-up shirt tucked into gaberdine trousers, with a light alpaca jacket over his shoulder to protect him against the cooling night air.

  Evie raised one hand to greet him as he glanced around the deck, but his eyes flitted over her and landed on another table where a game of whist was underway. He joined them, throwing his jacket over the back of a chair.

  Evie, realising Alvin was talking to her, tried her best to listen instead of looking back at Flynn. But her attention was divided, and after she’d lost the next game she gave her spot to a clarinet player who’d been hovering impatiently behind her. She went to the whist table to sit on the arm of Flynn’s chair, but he turned away from her ever so slightly. Evie blushed, and tried to hide it by bending closer as though she were examining his cards.

  ‘Are you alright?’ she asked, soft enough that no one else could hear. This close she could see there were shadows beneath his eyes, and he smelled as though he’d been drinking before joining the party.

  He leaned across the table to pluck a grape from a bunch someone had left there. ‘What say we make this game more interesting and up the bets?’ he asked, popping the grape in his mouth. He still wouldn’t look at Evie.

  She straightened, deciding to watch the game and only speak when she was spoken to. She didn’t want to ruin the night by losing her temper at Flynn’s mood. But he seemed determined to outlast her, and eventually she wandered over to where Bee and Alvin were dancing. They were kind enough to stop and chat with her, until Alvin declared he might finally be able to fall asleep easily for once and left.

  The party was dwindling, but Bee insisted Evie stay with her for one more drink. Heading for the stairwell, they bumped into a couple who were dancing.

  ‘Pardon me,’ Bee said, tap dancing an exaggerated step back.

  The woman—Humphrey’s assistant in his magic act—gave a laugh, but she was the only one. Evie was staring at the couple, her heart frozen in her chest as she took in Flynn’s hand resting on the small of the woman’s back, the tiny amount of space between their two bodies.

  ‘Let me get her out of your way,’ Flynn said, his dark eyes resting on Evie for only a second.

  He picked the woman up and threw her over his shoulder as though she were a sack of potatoes. She squealed, kicking her heels in delight.

  A hiss of air escaped Evie’s mouth, audible to all four of them.

  The woman stilled, turning her head. ‘Is that the one?’ she asked, twisting to try and see Evie.

  ‘Come on, party’s over. We can start one of our own if you like,’ Flynn said, hauling her away.

  It was like Evie had been slapped. She took a step after them, hoping that Flynn might throw a glance over his shoulder, or give some word of explanation. But there was nothing, and a moment later she hated herself for wishing there had been.

  She turned away and grasped onto the railing. It was as though water was rising around her, muffling her hearing as she tried to make sense of what had just happened.

  ‘Oh, sweetheart, you didn’t, did you?’

  Bee’s voice pushed through the murky waters and Evie grabbed on to it, forcing herself to come up for air.

  ‘What?’ Her voice was weak and wounded, and she closed her eyes against the pitiful sound. Music and softly drunken chatter floated across the deck and she tried to focus on that instead, letting it erase all other thoughts.

  ‘There’s no need for me to ask again,’ Bee said. ‘I’m surprised. A smart girl like you, I would’ve thought you’d know better.’

  ‘I don’t know what you mean.’

  Evie opened her eyes, then clambered onto the railing, not caring that she was crushing the skirts of the dress she’d thought Flynn would find pretty. The dress she’d worn to remind him of that night they’d danced in Saint-Malo.

  ‘Careful,’ Bee said, reaching out a hand to steady her.

  Evie shot her a look that said she wasn’t about to throw herself overboard. Bee retreated, but kept her hand raised just in case.

  ‘Flynn’s the kind of man all the girls want but none can keep hold of,’ she said. ‘Every new girl on the boat has tried, but none of them, no matter how fetching or clever they are, have succeeded.’

  It was like being hit again, only this time a punch, right in her stomach. Evie had to grip the railing to keep from reeling back with the pain and tumbling into the dark water below.

  ‘Why didn’t you tell me?’

  ‘It wasn’t my place to. And as I said, I thought you’d be smart enough to figure it out for yourself.’

  What on earth had made Bee think Evie would be smart enough? She knew nothing. She never would have guessed even if it had been written on Flynn’s forehead. She shook her hair ba
ck, hoping the breeze might cool her feverish skin.

  ‘It would have been common decency to warn me, given how closely we—he and I—work together,’ she said tightly.

  ‘Common decency is for people who live in houses with white picket fences. Besides, if one person starts blabbing about secrets, then none of ours are safe.’

  Bee looked as though she might have said more, but two men came up, making suggestions that once would have shocked Evie but now only made her stomach roll a little at her own naivety. She turned her face away, looking down at the pitted surface of the water. She wished she could hear the soothing lap of the waves, but it was drowned out by Russ Morgan’s ‘So Tired’, a song whose lyrics were so painfully apt Evie wondered if someone had put it on just for her.

  ‘Not tonight, boys. I’m not in the mood,’ Bee said. Once they were gone, she put her hands on Evie’s shoulders. ‘Listen to me. Flynn’s not worth wasting tears on. None of them are. Even the best ones are only good for a bit of fun. Go find yourself another man, if that’s what you want, but don’t ever give him the power to hurt you. Because men will take that power and wield it in unimaginable ways. Consider this a lesson, the only cost of which was a little heartache.’

  She squeezed Evie’s shoulders, pulled her off the railing—apparently still not trusting her up there—then left.

  Evie could hear a few people still arguing over the dregs of a domino game, and the snores of someone who’d fallen asleep. She made herself put one foot in front of the other until she reached her cabin. She closed the door, and found the ginger cat on her bed as if she’d known Evie would arrive at that very second.

  Evie sat down next to her and the cat stepped onto her lap, her feet padding against her in a way that wasn’t quite affectionate but seemed to say, ‘I know you.’

  Evie lowered her face until it was resting in the warm ginger fur. And began to cry.

  Flynn put the giggling magician’s assistant down in the corridor in front of his cabin door. Alvin would be already asleep inside, but Flynn knew if they woke him he would decamp to another cabin for the night.