by Julia Kelly
He tilted his head to the right, studying her. “Overstepped?”
“When I offered to cook. You’d already done so much that day and I wasn’t thinking—”
“Do you know what I did when I got home?” he asked, the corners of his lips tilting up.
“No.”
“I kicked myself for turning you down. I must’ve been out of my mind.”
“You turned down dinner,” she said with a laugh, remembering all the times he’d disparaged his own cooking.
“I turned down dinner with you,” he said.
Her heart squeezed, and she dipped her head. “I thought my life became small after the divorce, but I realized that it already was before that. All I did was work and come home. I didn’t see my friends, have hobbies, or explore. I wasn’t living a full life. I’m trying to make sure that doesn’t happen again, but it’s been a long time since I’ve reached out to anyone.”
He tucked a strand of her dark hair behind her ear. “Then I’m honored you’ve made a little room for me.”
For one mad moment, she wanted to lean into his hand. Instead, she stayed stone-still, hardly breathing for fear of breaking the moment while she relished being cared for just a little.
Slowly, he drew back. “Do you know what I think we should do right now? You should write to Laurel Mathers, and I’ll go check on my dog.” She was about to protest when he added, “Then I’ll come back and pour the tea.”
“Why don’t you bring Rufus? I hate to think of him all alone while we’re here,” she said.
He grinned and leaned back against the sofa cushions, looking for all the world like he belonged.
“I’d like that very much, Cara. Very much.”
As soon as Rufus came through the door, Liam rubbed him down with a towel and the dog went to Cara’s side. Rufus accepted a head scratch and then dropped to the floor by her feet with a content sigh.
“I think he likes you more than me,” said Liam with a laugh.
A happy warmth spread through her, and she simply smiled.
“Did you email Laurel?” he asked.
She nodded. “Now I keep staring at my phone, waiting.”
“Well then”—he snatched a biscuit off the tray and bit into it with a snap—“I’m glad we have provisions. I’ll pour the tea.”
“No, don’t worry about that. I’ll get it.”
But as she began to set the diary down, Liam held his hand up. “Rufus looks like he’s in heaven. I’ll do it. Just tell me which cabinet the mugs are in.”
“To the right of the sink,” she said, secretly pleased at his offer. It had been ages since someone had offered to bring a steaming cup of comfort to her while she read. She was growing to like her independence, but there were little things about having a partner she missed.
Snuggling a little deeper into the burgundy throw pillows she’d ordered just a few weeks ago, she gave the dog’s head another pat and went back to her reading. It was strange to think her once-anonymous diarist had a name now, but perhaps no stranger than the realization that Cara had started to think of Louise as her own. Despite having no relation to her, she felt a deep connection with this woman that went beyond the desire to return the diary to its rightful family. She understood something of Louise’s journey from shy and unassertive girl to gunner girl, as glamorous and brave as she was determined and hardworking.
Liam returned to hand her a cup of tea that had enough milk in it to turn it the color of a ginger buscuit—just the way she’d told him she liked it.
As he settled back onto his end of the sofa, she thanked him and asked, “Have you read to the part about Louise and Paul going off to his friend’s flat together?”
“Yes. Very saucy, even if she doesn’t give much detail.”
She chuckled. “I don’t know why I was so shocked at that. Of course people slept together before they were married.”
“We think everyone before our generation was Victorian in their attitudes to sex, when it couldn’t be further from the truth. People have been sneaking off together for millennia.”
“I suppose you’re right,” she said.
“Plus, there was a war on. From what I’ve read, there were a lot of men and women falling into each other’s arms because they didn’t know what tomorrow would bring.”
“You don’t know if your air raid shelter will be destroyed by a bomb, so you might as well live it up,” she said.
“Exactly.”
Cara paged forward in the diary, but other than a few more entries in September, the dates began to spread out again as Liam had said.
“Not much left,” she said.
She watched Liam fish around in the biscuit tin until he pulled out the locket. The hinge moved easily, despite its age, as though it had been opened and closed countless times. He held up the picture of Paul, handsome and smiling, next to the photograph of Louise. They would’ve made a beautiful couple; he was glamorous and sophisticated, while she was sweet, her smile full of genuine joy.
“What do you think?” he asked.
“It’s a shame we don’t have a photograph of them together,” she said.
“Maybe Laurel Mathers has one,” said Liam.
On the coffee table, her phone dinged and they both craned their necks. An email notification illuminated the screen.
“Is that from Laurel?” Liam asked.
Cara scooped up her phone and looked up sharply. “It is.”
Quickly, she keyed in her pass code and pulled up the email from Laurel. She read it out.
Dear Ms. Hargraves,
I must admit, I was surprised to receive your email. My mother did have a cousin named Louise Keene who served in Ack-Ack Command during the war. Sadly, she passed away six years ago peacefully in her sleep.
My mother, Katherine Mathers, is nearing the end of her life but is blessedly lucid. I moved back to Haybourne after my divorce almost twenty years ago and have been taking care of her in her later years. She enjoys nothing more than reminiscing about her girlhood in Haybourne and her time in the ATS. She tells me that those were the best years of her life, serving in Belgium, Egypt, and Greece.
I was at my mother’s care home when I received your email. She would like very much to meet you if you ever come down to Haybourne. I think it would bring her a great deal of joy to tell someone new all of the stories we’ve heard dozens of times, but I would encourage you to come soon. I don’t know how much longer my mother’s health will hold out, as she seems more frail by the day.
“And then she gives her phone number and a recommendation of a hotel to stay in. It’s the Star Inn Louise wrote about. I guess it was renovated about ten years ago and a chef trained in a Michelin star kitchen was brought on,” Cara finished.
“You have to go. I don’t think you’ll get the answers you’re looking for if you don’t speak to Katherine,” he said.
“Kate,” Cara corrected him with a smile. She petted Rufus as she thought over the prospect of driving down to Cornwall to see an old woman in her last days. But then, she’d been invited, and Laurel didn’t seem put out by the idea. Still . . .
“Come with me,” she said.
Liam swallowed a large gulp of tea. “To Cornwall?”
“You’re as much a part of this as I am,” she said, growing more assured of the idea as she realized how much she wanted him there. It was strange to think that at the beginning of September she’d shied away from this warm, generous man when his sister had suggested something as simple as dinner. Yet there was something here, small and delicate, but growing, and she no longer wanted to hide from it. Instead, she’d rather nurture it with patience and trust, giving it a chance to flourish.
“I’m happy to pay for our accommodation,” she offered.
“I couldn’t let you do that.”
“Why not?” she asked.
“For one thing, I’d like to be there as much as you would.” He paused. “You really want me to come with?”
&
nbsp; “Yes.” And the more she thought about it, the more certain she was.
“When?”
“Laurel makes it sound as though her mother may not have much longer.”
“I’m free next weekend,” he said.
Whatever was between them grew a little stronger. “So am I.”
“If we leave on Friday and come back on Monday, we could find where Bakeford’s stood, and the Smuggler’s Cave.”
“I’d like that.” She paused. “You’re sure?”
He spread his hands wide. “I’m all yours, Cara.”
As they settled back to continue reading the diary together, she lifted her tea to her lips to hide her smile.
23 September 1941
I spent last night with Paul, wrapped up in him in that borrowed flat off of the Earl’s Court tube stop. Maybe I should feel guilty about that, but I don’t. Not when I think about tomorrow. Not when it felt right.
I came back to the billet this morning to pack my dress uniform and bring it back to the flat, but I’m taking a few minutes to write to Da. The one thing I regret is that he won’t be there tomorrow. He and Mum, because I do want her there too. If she’d made an effort to know Paul even a little bit, I think she would’ve been impressed with him. Not just that he’s posh and from London, but that he’s kind and he loves me.
18
LOUISE
Louise’s wedding was nothing like she’d imagined. When she and Paul climbed out of a cab—an expense he’d insisted on, much to her delight, because she’d never been in a cab before—Charlie had been waiting outside a church that looked as though it had sustained at least one hit from a bomb. Paul had laughed at her horrified expression and patted her hand. Because the church had been damaged, they’d be married in the vicarage around back where Father Norwood was staying because his own parish had been even more horribly damaged in the Blitz.
Then Reggie, Paul’s childhood friend, had rolled around the corner, weaving as though he were standing on the bow of a ship. He was spectacularly drunk, but Paul slapped him on the back and introduced him to Louise.
“Caught him, have you?” Reggie laughed, bringing Louise’s hand to his lips and giving it a loud smack. “I hope you plan to keep him on a pretty tight lead.”
Paul had laughed, but Louise and Charlie exchanged startled looks.
“Has he been drinking since he woke up?” whispered Charlie, watching Reggie try three times before he successfully lit his cigarette while Paul had a word with Father Norwood. “It’s barely eleven in the morning.”
Louise stared in shock. “I really don’t know. Paul told me we were lucky Reggie was able to come at all. He’s attached to the foreign office, and it was touch and go as to whether he’d be able to take a day’s leave.”
“Good lord, if that’s who’s working in the foreign office, we’re all doomed,” said Charlie.
When Paul jogged back to them, she pulled him aside and whispered, “What on earth is wrong with your friend?”
Paul glanced over as though realizing for the first time that Reggie was three sheets to the wind. “Oh, don’t worry, darling. He’s always like that.”
“Will he be able to even witness the ceremony? Will it be legal?”
Paul kissed her on the cheek. “Everything’ll be right as rain. Come on now.”
The ceremony, such as it was, was swift. Father Norwood sped through the appropriate readings in the vicarage’s front room while Louise clutched her bouquet hard enough that she surely bruised the stems. Everything about it was surreal, as though everyone else had been handed a script and she was the only one who was really present, until Paul produced a ring from his uniform pocket.
“Darling,” he murmured. She let out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding and gave him her hand. Paul was all that mattered.
As he swore to love and protect her, a lump formed in her throat. She was so far from the path she’d thought her life would go down. This wasn’t Gary, the local golden boy; it was Paul, a sophisticated man who told her he was crazy for her. Educated, erudite, brave, and handsome, he was everything a girl should want.
But still, it wasn’t perfect. The groomsman was drunk, the priest seemed more intent on getting through the ceremony than in imbuing it with any weight, and she knew she and Paul would be separated less than a day after they were married and would return to their respective services. Yet she was determined to make the most of it until they could be reunited to start their lives together in earnest.
She repeated her vows, her eyes locked on his, and lifted her lips to his as Father Norwood pronounced them man and wife. Reggie shouted “Hip hip hooray!” A smile broke out over her face even as Paul kissed her. She was married to Paul Bolton.
They’d decamped to the Dorchester in Mayfair. Louise couldn’t help but stare at the vast dining room with its mirrored walls and soaring gold chandelier as they were led to their table in the center of the room. The menu was limited, a concession to the war, but the consommé was excellent and Paul ordered champagne, sending her back to the day in the Star Inn where she’d tried it for the first time. Unlike on that day, however, today she felt as though she belonged in this glamorous world of champagne and three-course luncheons served on translucent bone china. Whether it was because of the man by her side or the uniform she wore, she couldn’t be certain, but she held her shoulders back and lifted her chin with a confidence she wouldn’t have believed a year ago.
That boldness softened as the meal progressed. When the main course was cleared and a third bottle of champagne opened, Louise felt light as a feather, tipsy on bubbles. Everything seemed to shimmer around her. As Reggie boasted about another posting in another city, she smiled at Paul. He raised her hand to his lips as he’d done several times throughout the meal.
“And then I said, ‘We should all just go to the pictures,’ ” said Reggie.
“And where was this?” Charlie asked, her head cradled in her hand, her tone bored but tolerant thanks to a liberal application of champagne.
“Edinburgh, I think,” said Reggie. “This was when you were at RAF Dyce in Scotland, isn’t that right, Bolton?”
“I have no idea.”
“No, you remember, you were there,” said Reggie. “You used one of your forty-eight-hour passes.”
Through the fizzy haze of tipsiness, Louise’s brain grasped onto that information.
“Forty-eight-hour pass?” she asked.
Reggie laughed. “Bolton’s always up for a jaunt when the RAF lets him off his leash.”
She pulled her hand back. “You’ve had leave? When was this?”
“It was nothing,” Paul said, shooting a glare at his best friend. Reggie, oblivious, merrily snatched up his wine and took another slug.
“Reggie, when did Paul see you in Edinburgh?” Louise asked.
Reggie blew out a loud breath. “I’m not very good with time, but it wasn’t that long ago.”
“Reggie,” Paul barked, but Louise was already rounding on him.
“You said your commanding officer wasn’t allowing you to have leave at all. That you had to stay on base and that’s why you canceled your visit to see me. Why I couldn’t come to you,” she said.
“Reggie’s wrong, darling. It was last July. When I was flying over the North Sea. Before I met you.”
“But you never told me you were stationed at RAF Dyce,” she pressed. “You mentioned being based in Devon for Coastal Command and that you did your training at RAF Halton, but not Scotland.”
“There are a lot of things I haven’t told you about,” said Paul. “But I promise I will. We’re together now.”
She sat back heavily in her chair, her eyes fixed on a little stain of sauce on the tablecloth. He was trying to placate her, and she didn’t like it. Reggie might’ve been confused about the dates, but she didn’t think so. Paul had been too sharp with his friend, as though he was desperate to shut the man up and control the damage.
“We
need more champagne,” said Paul loudly. “I’d like to make a toast.”
“Hear! Hear!” Reggie nearly shouted, until Charlie smacked him on the arm to hush him.
“You can’t agree with a toast until I say it,” Paul said with an exaggerated scowl. “Now, I’d like to make a toast to my beautiful bride, Louise.” He tipped his glass to her as she watched him with a thin smile. “You are the bravest woman I know.”
Reggie laughed. “She’s brave for taking him on, that’s what I say.”
“Brave in all ways,” said Charlie. “You all forget that I’m the only one who’s actually seen Louise in action.”
“Do tell,” said Reggie, leaning on the table and nearly putting his elbow in the butter.
“The first night we were stationed at Woolwich, we were shot at and our commanding officer went into a state of shock,” said Charlie.
“You can hardly blame her though. It was terrifying,” said Louise.
“I can blame her when she spent our entire time at Oswestry convincing us that she’d been through battle and back. It turned out she’d been an ATS clerk who’d hardly even heard a live round until she was promoted and transferred. What they were thinking putting her in charge of the women in one of the first mixed batteries, I’ll never know.
“When Bombardier Barker snapped, it was Louise who stepped up and got us all to focus again. A fighter was shooting at us and bombs were falling, but Louise kept a cool head and did exactly what needed to be done.” Charlie smiled. “So you see, Paul, you may just have married one of the bravest women in the ATS.”
Louise waited for embarrassment to rise up, but then she stopped herself. Charlie was right. She had done those things. She had every right to be proud, and she was. Since joining up, she’d done things she’d never dreamed of, and she was eager for more. It wasn’t the destructive power of her job that drew her in but the knowledge that she was doing something that mattered. She wasn’t tucked away in a corner of the country, whiling away her days in a shop and waiting for a life of village committees and gossip. Her work was important—just as important as Paul’s.