The Light Over London

by Julia Kelly

  She lifted her gaze to her new husband, but his expression was unexpectedly flinty. “I don’t want her brave. This bloody war . . .”

  “Really, Paul,” she chastised him lightly.

  He swore, snatching up his glass. “If you ask me, they should’ve never started women’s auxiliary branches. It’s too dangerous, not to mention the distraction.”

  “What?” She’d heard that argument more times than she could count, but she’d never thought she’d hear it from Paul. Of all the men in her life, he should be the most supportive.

  “We’re doing vital work,” said Charlie. “Everywhere you go there are posters and newsreels and radio reports telling women to join up and free up posts for men to go fight.”

  Louise jumped in, saying, “We’re protecting cities and helping fliers like you—”

  “Now I’m supposed to be grateful that you might shoot down a pilot I miss in a dogfight because I can’t hit him on my own?”

  “That’s not what I said.”

  He pounded his fist on the table. “That’s what it sounded like, and I won’t have it, Louise. I won’t have it at all!”

  Silence blanketed the table, and even Reggie stared. Louise sat frozen as her new husband lit his cigarette and threw the gold lighter down next to his plate. He took a draw and closed his eyes, and his shoulders seemed to drop an inch. When he opened his eyes again, his gaze slid from face to face.

  Instantly, his demeanor changed. He sagged in his chair, placed two fingers to his right temple, and rubbed the spot as though a headache was to blame for his outburst.

  “I’m being a brute, darling. An absolute brute. I’m sorry,” he said.

  He wanted her absolution, but she couldn’t give it to him. Not when his words still hung in the air.

  The worst part was, now that she thought of it, it wasn’t just this outburst. How many times had he written to her in the past five months arguing that Ack-Ack Command was too dangerous?

  “You don’t understand what it’s like knowing you’re in the middle of bombed-out London, waiting for the Luftwaffe to take potshots at you,” said Paul, his voice rough.

  “I do know,” she said quietly. “That’s how I feel every time you write to tell me that you’ve flown a mission or shot down a plane or been shot at yourself.”

  “But you’re a woman. You’re better equipped to deal with these sorts of things. Fear. Emotion. Men go off to war, and women stay behind and tend the home fires, like Odysseus and Penelope.”

  She shook her head. “I would have gone crazy at home waiting for you. I had to come out and do something.”

  I wanted to be something more.

  “Hear! Hear!” Charlie said softly, mimicking Reggie’s earlier outburst.

  Paul covered Louise’s hand with his. “One day, this will all be over and we can go back to the way things were.”

  “The way things were?” She laughed. “That was me in a pokey little town with no hope of ever leaving.” That would be her crammed back into a small life, her path planned out for her by other people determined that they knew what was best for her.

  His lips thinned. “You know what I mean.”

  “I’m not sure I do. I like wearing this uniform. I like working. Why do you want me to give that up?”

  “Come on now, darling. You can’t blame me for not relishing the idea of my wife going up on a roof to play around at war.”

  Her chest constricted at the insult. “Play? You think I’m dressing up and playing like a child?”

  His lower lip popped out in a sulk. “You know what I mean,” he said again.

  Never before had Paul shown this old-fashioned, stringent side of him. In his letters he’d expressed his worry for her, but she’d assumed he would appreciate and understand her situation. Now, for the first time since she’d joined up, she wondered if she’d had him all wrong.

  “When I go up to that gun, I’m as much in danger of being hit as any man,” she said as calmly as she could. “The Germans shoot at us because we’re shooting at them. They don’t think we’re playing.”

  “Well, yes, but—”

  “And I will not stand for anyone doubting the importance of that. Especially my husband.”

  The word seemed to snap Paul back to the charming man she knew. He took her hand, kissing the back of it. “Forgive me, Louise. I hate to be separated from you. You don’t know what it did to me leaving you behind in Haybourne.”

  “And what of the things it did to me?” she asked.

  “I know you left home and joined up because of me,” he said.

  That’s not true sat heavy on her tongue. Paul had been the catalyst, but the desire to cast off the restrictive future her mother dreamed of for her had been building in her long before she met him. She’d just been waiting for the right moment to break free and find her own life. One with work and friends and purpose.

  But she held back because they’d quarreled enough for one day—their wedding day. Delicately, she lifted her champagne to her lips but found that the bubbles had already started to go flat.

  Paul squeezed her fingers gently. “Be patient with me, darling. I’m trying my hardest.”

  She gave the slightest of nods.

  “I think it’s time for another bottle,” said Reggie, breaking through the mood.

  Paul threw his head back and laughed a little too loud, trying to show that the fight was nothing more than a lovers’ tiff. “Why not? How often does a man get married, anyway?”

  Reggie snorted and waved for a waiter. “Garçon!”

  Louise sat back as the waiter hurried over, watching her new husband’s profile. They had their entire lives ahead of them, but she was no longer sure it was the life she’d imagined.

  After the wedding breakfast, Louise and Paul retreated to the borrowed flat. She’d been prickly the entire way back, but when they crossed the threshold, he’d kissed her slow and deep, and her annoyance had diminished to a simmer. He’d made love to her, whispering all of the endearments she’d wanted to hear so badly from his lips over and over again.

  But later that night, when they lay in bed, the blackout curtains drawn and his arm and leg thrown protectively over hers, the fight at their wedding breakfast came back to her.

  “Paul,” she said as she stared up at the ceiling.

  He lifted his head from the pillow. “What is it, darling?”

  “We haven’t talked about what we’ll do when the war ends.”

  He rolled over and scrubbed a hand over his eyes. “That’s because this bloody war seems to be going on forever.”

  “I want to talk about it. It’ll give me something to hope for when things seem particularly difficult.”

  He blew out a breath. “I won’t be going back to Cambridge.”

  She turned to face him, propping her head on her elbow. “Why not?”

  “Aviation is the future. No one is going to want to take trains and boats when planes are faster. You mark my words—there will be a boom, and I plan to be one of the commercial pilots at the forefront of it.”

  “That’s exciting,” she said.

  He traced the line of her jaw. “And what’s your heart’s desire, darling? A big house, a big car, a mink?”

  She nudged him with her foot. “Be serious.”

  “I am. I’ll drape you in diamonds and pearls.”

  “And what would I do with them?” she asked.

  “Wear them?”

  “I’ve been thinking we could go to California. I could enroll at a university and get my degree. I’d like to study maths.”

  He frowned. “Maths? And what would you do with that?”

  “I could teach, do any number of things.”

  The creases on his forehead deepened. “You want to work?”

  “Well, yes,” she said.

  His gaze fixed on the ceiling. “Louise, I think it’s time that you come to understand something. If I’m a pilot, I’m going to be traveling a great deal. You’l
l need to be home, taking care of our children here. In England. It’s where my family is. It’s where your place will be.”

  “But Paul—”

  “No. This is not something that is up for argument. You’re my wife. Your role is to support me.”

  A chill went through her. He was serious. Deadly serious. Had she walked from one person’s idea of how she should live her life straight into another’s?

  “Now, we only have a few hours left before I have to report,” he said, rolling on top of her. “It’s time to make sure you remember me when I’m gone.”

  19

  CARA

  “We should establish ground rules,” said Liam.

  Cara turned her key in the ignition of her Vauxhall, the jangle of Granddad’s dog tags a comforting reminder of her childhood when Mum would get behind the wheel of the car and they’d go for a drive to a country pub, dog tags and keys clinking together merrily as they bumped along twisting single-lane roads.

  “I’m sorry?” she asked.

  “Passenger selects the music.”

  She laughed. “Driver has veto privileges. We’re sharing six hours of driving. I’m not sure I can put up with it if I find out you have a secret love of ABBA.”

  “ABBA is the greatest Swedish export since the Volvo,” Liam said.

  “I should’ve known. Of all the professors in the world, this ABBA-loving one gets into my car.”

  “Now you’re butchering lines from Casablanca. Don’t think I’ll stand for this for one moment.”

  A fizz of excitement rippled through her as she put her little car into reverse and backed out of the drive. Everything had come together so quickly. Liam had no lectures on Fridays or Mondays, so it had just been a matter of her asking for two days around the weekend. Jock had been surprisingly good-natured about it when he found out the trip was connected to the diary. The Star Inn was happy to give her two rooms next to one another as the season began to slow in October. Then it had just been a matter of packing and taking care of their individual tasks. Cara had gone to Gran’s, armed with tea cakes, to explain that she would be away for a few days to meet Katherine Mathers, neé Keene. It had been tense at first, both of them on edge after her last visit, but Gran had perked up when she learned Liam would be traveling with Cara.

  “But you’ve booked two rooms?” Gran had asked at least three times.

  “Yes. Liam will have his and I’ll have mine,” she explained. Again.

  “Wouldn’t it be more convenient for the two of you to just admit that you’re attracted to one another and save the money on the second room?”

  “Gran . . .”

  “Oh well. Since you’re being unreasonably puritanical about it, I’ll just have to hope there’s a freak snowstorm and you’re snowed in.”

  “In Cornwall?” Cara had asked with a laugh.

  “Or maybe the inn will have lost the booking and there will be only one room left when you arrive and you’ll have to share it.” Gran wiggled her eyebrows. “Wouldn’t that be something?”

  “One of these days, I’m going to come in here and take all of the romance novels off your shelves. You’re already dangerous enough without them.”

  “I need them,” said Gran with a sniff. “They’re good reads, and I’m also waging a campaign of seduction on Charles Erskine on the first floor.”

  “Does Mr. Erskine know?” Cara asked with a sigh.

  Gran’s brows danced a wiggle. “Oh, he knows.”

  Liam had the additional task of arranging for a dog sitter for Rufus who, when Cara had seen him a few minutes ago, was delighting in having a new friend with the boundless energy of a nineteen-year-old.

  Now their houses were locked up, and they were officially on the road, speeding—with any luck—toward answers.

  “Do you know, I keep thinking about Louise’s wedding,” said Liam as they hit the main road.

  “What about it?”

  “It read like a disaster,” he said.

  “I can’t imagine a wedding happening that quickly. How many days had they spent together?” Cara asked.

  “That’s wartime weddings for you.”

  “I wonder how many people were demobbed, came home, and realized they’d made a huge mistake.”

  The car fell silent until Cara merged on the motorway headed south. A thought rolled through her mind, nagging at her until finally she said, “I worry that Gran and Granddad were a mistake.”

  “Why do you say that?” he asked.

  She shrugged. “I hardly remember him. Most of what I know is because of stories she or Mum told me. But they married fast too. They’d only known each other for four months. Seeing Louise and Paul marry quickly and all of her reservations right after the wedding makes me wonder.”

  “Are those his dog tags on your key ring?” Liam asked.

  She nodded. “Mum started carrying them after he died. She once told me that having them with her kept him close.” She paused. “Mum had them on her during the crash. A first responder found them in the wreckage when they pulled her out.”

  “Cara, I’m sorry,” he said.

  She glanced over and gave him a little smile. “Thank you. Anyway, they’re a little dinged up after all they’ve gone through, but you can still read everything. Name, hometown, blood type, serial number, next of kin. It’s all still there.”

  “Do you ever worry that the more you dig into Iris’s past, the more likely it is that you’ll find something you wish you didn’t know?” he asked.

  “Constantly, but I need to know,” she said.

  Out of the corner of her eye, she thought she saw him open his mouth to say something, but when she turned, he was reaching for the radio and the latest auto-tuned pop hit began to groove out of the speakers.

  They traded spots midway through the drive, and at just five o’clock Liam turned into the Star Inn’s car park.

  “It’s huge,” Cara said, craning her neck to take in the entire stone building. It was shaped like a U, with wings flanking a central building. A sweeping lawn stretched up to a covered latticework porch that offered holidayers a shady place to sit along the front of the building, and three tall white flags on the roof flapped in the sea breeze.

  “Calling it an inn feels a bit like false advertisement, doesn’t it?” Liam asked.

  They climbed out of the car, grabbing their weekend bags from the trunk, and trooped through the front door. The interior was no less grand, with marble floors, chandeliers dripping in crystal, and light blue walls that picked up the white lattice room dividers mirroring the front porch.

  A woman with a prim bun and tailored green suit greeted them at the front desk.

  “I believe you have a reservation under McGown,” said Liam, sliding his ID across the desk.

  Cara held her breath as the receptionist tapped away on her keyboard, wondering if Gran’s wishes would be granted.

  “Yes, we have two rooms next to each other for you,” said the receptionist.

  Cara blew out her breath.

  The woman’s hand paused over the stack of blank key cards. “Is that satisfactory?”

  “Yes,” Cara said.

  After programming the keys and writing their numbers on the holders, the receptionist slid them across the desk. “Here you are. The lifts are just behind you. And the restaurant has asked me to let you know that your table will be ready at seven thirty, Mr. McGown.”

  “Your table?” asked Cara with an arched brow as they made their way to the lifts.

  Liam cleared his throat. “Yes. I thought we might have dinner here tonight since we’ve been driving all day. Too tired to get in the car again and all that.”

  There was something about this man, good-looking yet bashful, considerate as he was enthusiastic. She liked him in more than a friendly, neighborly kind of way.

  “I think that’s a wonderful idea. I’m glad you thought of it.” She was also glad, she thought as they stepped into the lift, that she’d thrown a blac
k dress into her bag.

  They stood in comfortable silence, the spark of energy that had been flowing between them all day quieter but still there. She was, for the first time in her life, on holiday with a man who wasn’t Simon. It wasn’t a romantic holiday, but she’d decided somewhere around Taunton that it counted. She wanted it to.

  “This is me,” she said, holding up her key slip to show him the 413 scribbled on it.

  “And this is me,” he said, pointing at 415.

  “I think I’m going to take a bath,” she said, realizing that even though they’d spent all day together she didn’t want to leave him.

  “I have some thesis proposals to read through,” he said.

  “This is taking you away from your work. I’m sorry.”

  He shook his head. “This is giving me some much-needed adventure. Shall I pick you up at your room just before half past seven?”

  “I’d like that very much,” she said.

  Liam looked as though he was about to say something else when his phone rang. He smiled apologetically and glanced at the screen. “I’d better take this.”

  “I’ll see you in a bit,” she said.

  The room was lovely—no great surprise, given what she’d seen downstairs. She dropped her purse and overnight bag in the center of the king-size bed and went to the window. The hotel had been built on top of a cliff, offering sweeping views out to the Celtic Sea. A sailboat heeled hard to one side in the wind, and if she shifted her gaze to the right, she could see a sandy little cove, about which several people walked.

  A glance at the clock told her she had about two hours until dinner. Plenty of time to wash away the grimy feeling of too many hours in a car. But first, she fished her phone out of her purse and called Nicole.

  Her best friend picked up on the fourth ring. “If you’re not snogging the professor by now, I’m hanging up.”

  “I’m not,” she said.

  “Hanging up,” trilled Nicole.

  Cara laughed. “Stop it.”

  “Fine, but the fact that we’re even having this conversation tells me that it isn’t out of the realm of possibility.”

  Cara sucked in a breath. “It’s not.”