by Rue Allyn
“It’ll soon warm up,” she said, as she took off her wet jacket and rubbed her hands in front of the gathering warmth of the logs burning in the grate. “Let me take your jacket, sir, and hang it by the fire. I’ll fetch you another one. We don’t want you catching a chill.”
“You’re worried about me, Katie, and that’s very sweet.”
“You wouldn’t have got soaking wet in the first place, if you hadn’t been running after me.”
He smiled. “I ran after you?” he said, and raised an eyebrow.
“In a manner of speaking, sir.”
He said nothing, but reflected upon the fact that she could have outrun him, had she been determined to. He felt a little surge of happiness and excitement, because there was only one conclusion to be made.
She wanted to be caught.
Chapter Eleven
Katie approached the village hall on Arthur Perkins’ arm. The music was already blaring into the street. The girl taking the money at the door held the blackout curtain out of the way, and they went inside.
“This is very jolly, isn’t it?” Arthur seemed extremely pleased with himself.
“Yes!” Katie gazed up at the crepe paper streamers, all fanning out from a central point in the middle of the ceiling.
“Shall I fetch you a drink?”
Katie nodded and hoped desperately that Arthur wasn’t getting the wrong idea. Perhaps it would have been better to have rejected all the invitations. But she couldn’t help being a little curious about the last and the liveliest part of the May Day celebrations in Market Farrenden. It was world famous, if you believed the locals.
France may have fallen, and the Allies ousted from Dunkirk, but Hitler wasn’t going to stop the village dance. Now that she was here, Katie was glad. The convivial atmosphere lifted the weight of responsibility from her shoulders. The hall was rather brightly lit and lots of people, young and old alike, chatted animatedly getting into the spirit of the evening. Some of the keenest dancers were already trying out their best moves.
Arthur headed for the corner where punch was served, weaving through the crowd greeting people as he went. And over on the far side, closely guarded by Mrs. Mallory and other stalwarts from the Women’s Institute, was a long table covered with a red checkered cloth. Those refreshments — the big draw for some of the people here — would be savored later.
Katie scarcely had time to sip her drink when Arthur begged her for a dance. And she was amazed to find that when she wasn’t dancing with Arthur, she was in hot demand with the other villagers, too. There was Harry Hammond, of course, who offended his own date to haul Katie into an energetic rumba. One by one, the butcher’s boy, the bank clerk with the bad leg and several young men in uniform approached her. Katie danced all night, and when she wasn’t dancing, she had to accept the drinks they offered, just to get a chance to catch her breath.
• • •
Michael waited for her in the darkness, idly running the wheelchair across the marble tiles in the hall. He stopped when he thought heard her footsteps, but it was a false alarm.
He fumed, thinking of the reasons why she was out so late, cursing himself for not taking her to the dance himself. He couldn’t think of a worse punishment than watching her forming an attachment to some oaf from the village.
Finally he heard her light step on the stone terrace. He wheeled himself backwards a few inches and lurked in the shadows until she came indoors. He saw her skirts swirl as she closed the door. He heard her high-heeled shoes clattering across the floor, the very sound of a happy, carefree woman.
“Did you have a pleasant evening?”
She gave a gasp of surprise. “You gave me a start, sir!”
Michael rolled out of the shadows, and looked up at her. “I was just asking about the dance.”
“It was fun, yes.”
She looked lovely, he thought as he admired her curvaceous little figure and her red, red lips. She must have been the belle of the ball. “Did Hammond drop you off?”
“No, I wasn’t risking a drive at night with him,” she said, with a slightly tipsy laugh. “Heaven knows where I would have ended up.”
“So who dropped you off? I heard a car. I thought you went with Constable Perkins, and he’s only got a bicycle.”
“You are very well informed about my social arrangements, I see.” Katie’s tone was colder now.
It was none of his business, Michael knew that, but he was determined to get it out of her. “Who dropped you off?”
“If you must know, it was Marjory Mallory. She borrowed the van from the grocer and took it upon herself to take nine of us home. I was the last one, since I live all the way out here with you.”
There was a long pause while Michael digested this information.
“Does that satisfy you?”
“I suppose so.” He said, fuming inwardly. What right did she have to talk to him about satisfaction? “Did you dance with lots of men, Katie?”
“No, not really. Many of them are away at the war. Apparently there were lots of wallflowers.”
“I don’t believe you were one of them,” he said, in what he knew was an acid tone of voice. “Did you kiss anyone?”
“Sir! You said that what happened between us was nothing, and that I was free to do as I pleased.”
“God, you did! Who was he? Surely it wasn’t Perkins?”
“The only kiss I got tonight was a peck on the cheek from the vicar,” she insisted. But when he studied her, a flush colored her cheeks — he could see it even across the gloom in this room.
“I’m not sure I believe you, Katie.”
She sighed, and gave a short impatient glance upwards. “If you wanted to keep an eye on me, sir, why didn’t you come to the dance?”
“I hate dance music. You know that.”
“You listened to it here, with me and the children, just the other day.”
He paused, knowing what he wanted to say, knowing it was unwise. He gave in to the temptation all the same. “Would you have gone to the dance with me, if I’d asked you, Katie?”
“I wouldn’t have had much choice.”
It was not the answer he wanted to hear. He gave a huff of despair and released the brakes on the chair. He made it pivot smartly, and turned away from her. He wheeled himself away down the corridor, moving swiftly along to his rooms, hoping she wouldn’t follow.
If she did, she would see him in tears.
Chapter Twelve
“Katie. I have an appointment in London on Friday,” Michael announced when their paths crossed by chance outside the library. “I’m seeing another surgeon about my back.”
Good, Katie thought. A breathing space from the angst. The kiddies might calm down at least. “I hope it goes well, sir.”
“Thank you. I need you to come with me.”
Katie was certain she must have misheard.
“It’s just for a couple of days. I’ve booked us into the Savoy.”
“The Savoy Hotel?” she said, in astonishment.
“Yes, I always go there.”
“You want me to go to the Savoy Hotel with you?”
“That’s about the size of it. Can you make the necessary arrangements with Jessop?”
“Sir, is this some kind of joke — some schoolboy prank I am not familiar with?”
“No. I need you to come to London with me on Friday.”
She could see he was starting to get annoyed. Katie shook her head. “It’s impossible, sir. I need to stay here with the children.”
It must have been the look on her face just before she shook her head that really angered him. His grip tightened on the polished wooden arms of the wheelchair. “There was a time,” he said, through barred teeth, “when any girl I asked would have been thrilled to go to London with me.”
Katie looked up at him, feeling more disgusted than ever before. “Even if she were one of your servants?” she asked.
“Especially if she was one of my servants
.”
Katie shook her head. “I can’t agree to it, sir.”
“As your employer, I could insist that you obey me.”
“You could, sir,” she said, “but that would be unreasonable. It would be most improper for us to go to London and stay the night there. What will people think?”
“May I remind you that they will not think you are having a torrid affair with a man in a wheelchair!” he yelled.
“Michael, you engaged me to look after the boys. Someone has to get them up and ready for school, somebody has to — ”
“I’ve approached Marjory Mallory, and she’s willing to come up on Thursday night and stay until Saturday afternoon, when we return.”
He had it all worked out.
“Why don’t you ask Mrs. Mallory to go with you to London, then, if she’s so ready to help?”
“Because I would much prefer to go with you. I don’t want Marjory bossing me about as if she was taking me to prep school for the first time!”
He had a point. That’s exactly how Mrs. Mallory would treat him. But it was still highly irregular and would cause no end of gossip in the village. “I don’t want to be the foolish girl that everyone is laughing about, sir.”
“Katie,” he pleaded. “I’m sorry. It was offensive, what I said before about taking girls up to London. I don’t know why I imagined making you think I’m a cad would help.”
“I can assure you it hasn’t.”
“I’ve got to see a new fellow, a specialist. He runs a private clinic in Harley Street. He’s my last hope as far as getting out of this thing goes. My very last hope.”
She bit her lip.
“Please, Katie. I’m … I’m nervous.”
He had to force that last word out.
“You’re nervous?” she said, with just a hint of skepticism.
“Very. It would help if I had someone with me, especially if it isn’t good news. Someone who will help me discuss the doctor’s advice.”
“That might be rather a lot to expect from an ignorant Irish nursemaid.”
“Katie, you are not that.”
“Irish? I can assure you that I am,” she said. “I’m pretty sure I’m a nursemaid, too, and unless the terms of my employment have changed, trips to Harley Street were not included … ”
“Ignorant. You are not ignorant.”
Katie went upstairs to pack. She was going to London, with a man — her employer, no less. The stationmaster would tell his wife, and she would tell her sister, who ran the post office and she would tell the entire village.
Katie looked through her meager collection of clothing. She had a smart navy blue hat, because hats were not on ration. That was a start. She tried it on and admired herself in the mirror. It set off her auburn curls to perfection, and with scarlet lipstick and fake pearls, she’d look presentable, but only from the neck up. It was what to wear below that bothered her. Her serge skirt was perhaps the next smartest thing she possessed, but it had seen a lot of wear and had been patched and darned. She had a gray blouse and a cardigan that she had knitted herself out of darning wool. It made a shabby ensemble. She imagined herself going through the door of the Savoy Hotel and sighed.
“It isn’t important how I look,” she murmured, “it’s what I do for people that counts. Michael sacrificed his health for his country, and he needs me. Supporting him is the right thing to do.”
“You’re talking to yourself again, Miss Rafferty.”
Katie gave a start, and swung round to find Roy standing in the doorway with Bob beside him. The smaller boy came in, uninvited, and knelt shyly on the bed, fingering the shiny buttons on Katie’s clothing.
Bob had a surprising interest in ladies apparel, Katie had noticed.
“What are you going to wear at night?” he wanted to know.
“This,” said Katie, and stuffed her long, shapeless blue nightie into the bag. Bob immediately got it out again and examined it critically.
Roy sniffed. “Not very alluring, is it?”
Katie was surprised Roy even knew the word.
“And what would you know about being ‘alluring,’ Roy?”
“More than you’d think. Me mum was a working girl.”
“What did you say?”
“A tart. A one-woman knocking shop.”
“Roy! Don’t speak about your late mother like that! I’m sure she was no such thing. She’d probably be mortified to know you’d even uttered those words.”
Roy sniffed again. “She’d have gone for shocking pink. Or black, with lots of lace and not much material.”
“Yes, yes, well I don’t possess anything along those lines, Roy, so I’ll be taking my ordinary nightie, thank you very much. It’s not as if I need to impress anyone. I’m not packing my trousseau.” And most likely, she never would, Katie thought to herself. She hadn’t exactly succeeded in saving herself for a white wedding.
“He’s got a crush on you, anyone can see that. That’s why he wants you to go with him.”
“He has to have someone go with him, Roy, he can’t manage otherwise.”
“He didn’t ask Mrs. Jessop, the crumbly old hatchet face. And he’s taking you to the bleedin’ Savoy, for goodness sake. There’s only ever one reason why a toff takes a girl like you to the Savoy. Grow up, Katie.”
Katie was scandalized that she was receiving these home truths from a twelve-year-old boy. She reddened with horrified embarrassment. “Will you shut your mouth before I ask you to wash it out with soap and water?”
Then she realized that Bob was trying to put on the blue nightie, and had almost gotten lost inside it.
“Don’t do that, Bob, there’s a dear, you might put your foot through it,” Katie declared. “And then what will I do?”
“You’ll have to sleep in the altogether,” Roy said with a snigger.
“Roy, I am going to slap your face in a minute. Bob, give me that right now.” She reached out and wrestled the blue nightie away from the child and flung it down into the depths of her overnight bag.
“Out, the pair of you!”
Reluctantly, the smaller boy scuttled out of the room and Roy sauntered off.
Katie was left to ponder two important questions. Had Roy’s late mother really been a “one-woman knocking shop,” and was he right about his lordship’s intentions?
Chapter Thirteen
Katie grabbed her hat and coat and picked up her bag from where it was sitting on the concrete bed. She checked her makeup in the tiny mirror and hurried downstairs to the front hall, where Michael was waiting for her. Her heart almost died when she saw him.
“Why are you dressed like that?” she said, in alarm.
It was six o’clock in the morning. He was wearing his RAF uniform — the whole outfit, including the peaked cap. The dress uniform of a flying officer. It was air force blue, like his eyes, and it suited him.
“I’m perfectly entitled to wear it,” he said tersely. “I’m still in the RAF.”
She tried to slow her breathing down to normal. She was anxious enough about this trip to London, without this. It probably was the same jacket. The one he had worn that night in the Tube station. She could remember the rough texture of the wool against her face. She remembered him calling her a brave girl. And then the pain and the heartache that came after.
“Technically, I’m still on sick leave,” he explained.
“Sick leave?”
“Yes. I’ve come up for review a few times, and I keep putting them off.”
“Why, for heaven’s sake? They’ll have to discharge you in the end.”
“Not if I get better first.”
But you aren’t going to get better. She stopped herself just in time from saying it aloud.
Hammond arrived to take them to the station. It was a cold, crisp morning and Katie shivered as they loaded Michael and the wheelchair into the old black Austin. She tucked a plaid blanket over his knees.
“Don’t,” Michael grumbled. “I feel
like some decrepit relic from the Boer Wars when you do things like that.”
“I don’t want you catching a chill.”
Perhaps it was too late. His manner was very chilly indeed.
• • •
Michael picked at the plaid blanket that lay over his knees and fumed. For years he had caught trains at this platform — trains that took him away to boarding school or to the seaside during the holidays. Trains to Cambridge University where he was a madcap student with all his friends. Trains to London to see shows, and to flying school, and away to the war.
Never before had he caught a train looking and feeling like this.
“Bloody train will be late, of course.”
Katie smiled weakly at him. “It isn’t even ten to, yet, sir. If it came now it would be early.”
He ignored her and made a few more gloomy predictions about how long they might have to wait. “These days the trains don’t run according to the timetable at all. I think it’s a deliberate strategy to confuse the enemy — and it will, if the invasion ever comes.”
“God willing, it won’t,” Katie said. “You RAF boys have seen to that.”
Michael was rather gratified to hear her talk about him like that. RAF boys. That was the world he knew. That was where he belonged. Miraculously, the train steamed into the station only seven minutes after it was due.
Michael bore the indignity of being carried onto the train in the porter’s arms as stoically as he could, and finally they were on board, in a compartment all to themselves.
Michael arranged his useless legs in front of him so they looked like the legs of any languid young man. His smartly pressed RAF trousers were loose enough to hide the wasted muscles, and his black leather shoes had been polished to a high shine.
Katie was sitting beside him, wearing brown hand-knitted gloves — awful things some elderly aunt in Ireland must have given to her for Christmas, he supposed, and Katie was much too thrifty to throw them away. He’d love to get her some new clothes, but that was complicated, what with the shortages. He supposed he’d have to get her something on the black market. He’d like to get her out of those clothes, though. Then he smiled. Yes, he’d love to get her out of those clothes.