Mac laughed. ‘Well, now, I don’t know any movie stars, but cowboys, that’s different.’ He drew on his cigarette. ‘My mother calls it God’s own country, and the mountains when they’re snow-capped, oh man, they’re beautiful. And vast, green plains all around.’ He leant back in his chair and stretched out his long legs. ‘There’s a river winds through our land. My grandfather taught me to fish there when I was a boy. I swear he could catch anything.’ As Stella hung on every word, she glimpsed the emerging cowboy beneath the warrior and forgot all about her mother’s warning as his voice melted away her reservations.
‘Now, how about you tell me more about you?’ His piercing eyes held her gaze, asking, prompting.
‘There’s nothing much to say. I live in a rural town, no siblings. After dad passed away, my mother bought a shop, and I worked there before I joined up.’ She stubbed out her cigarette. In truth, there was a lot more to say, such as her mother hoping to hear wedding bells imminently as she pushed Stella closer to Alex.
‘Well, I’m mighty glad you came here tonight.’ Mac leaned forward and rested his elbow on the table. ‘I hoped I’d run into you again.’ A soft smile tugged at his mouth.
A warm glow rose from Stella’s neck to her cheeks. The brief silence that ensued made her feel even more self-conscious. ‘Do you enjoy flying, Mac?’
His face lit up, and his eyes twinkled. ‘Well, now, I’ve loved it from the first time my father flew me up into the blue.’ He took a swig of his beer. ‘Dad was one of the first American pilots to see combat in the last war. When you consider the aircraft they had back then, he’s darn lucky to be alive.’ Mac gazed around the room with a faraway look in his eyes. ‘Yeah, real fortunate. Hey, listen to me yakking away.’
‘No, it’s fascinating, really. How old were you when you learned to fly?’ Stella sipped her punch.
‘Nine, and I remember it as if it was yesterday. Dad keeps a Curtiss Jenny out in one of the barns. It’s a light trainer aircraft and man can she fly. There’s nothing like it. My younger brother’s learning right now. He’s all set on joining the Air Force, but he’s only fifteen. I’d like to think this crazy war’s over before then.’ He stubbed his cigarette out in the ashtray and began fidgeting with the brown watch strap on his wrist. ‘You should see it up there, the land shrinking as you climb, endless blue all around and at the right time, the sunrise or sunset dancing on the horizon. It sure is one vast ocean.’
‘It sounds lovely, but I’m afraid of heights. I don’t think I could do it.’ Stella shook her head. ‘I’d be terrified.’
‘You can’t say until you try. Fluffy white clouds, just floating in the blue, like cotton candy.’ He grinned. ‘I’ll take you flying and prove it, once this war’s over.’ He gave her a tentative glance. ‘And I promise you’ll love it. You’ll be safe with me.’ He winked.
He wasn’t going to take her anywhere. It was all talk, and after tonight she’d probably never see him again, but a part of her ached for it to be true while another part chided her for daring to want more.
‘How about another dance?’ Mac stood up and held out his hand.
The band struck up the first notes of ‘We’ll Meet Again.’ Stella took his hand as he slipped his arm around her, guiding her towards him, his piercing blue eyes on hers as they fell into step once more. Her hand rested on his firm shoulder, and as they danced, her chin brushed his olive-green jacket, which was soft against her skin. The singer’s dulcet tones pierced all conversation, lulling them into silence.
Stella gazed up at Mac and lost herself for a moment, sinking into pools of blue. Only the present mattered as they moved to the music, close and swaying, their bodies utterly in tune.
His hold tightened, and she nestled her head against him, drinking in undertones of beer and cedar wood cologne. As the song ended and the final notes ebbed away, they stood, caught in the moment, as all around them couples began to leave the floor. Her skin prickled and her heart fluttered as Mac took her hand and led her back to their table.
‘How about I get us another drink?’ His face broke into that killer smile as he touched her arm.
Stella nodded as a fresh tingle coursed through her, as she watched him walk away. Everything was happening so fast, and her mind was in a whirl. It was wrong, and yet so right.
‘Room for one more?’ Vera sank into a chair, her cheeks as red as her lipstick, gasping for breath. ‘Penny for them.’
Stella sighed. ‘Sorry, I was miles away.’
‘Reckon he’s a keeper.’
Stella looked over at Mac, who met her gaze and winked. It was a certain smile, and she felt little flips in her tummy. ‘Vera, what am I going to do? What about Alex?’ She couldn’t lie to Mac.
‘It’ll be all right, Stell, you’ll see. Just go along with it for now. Have some fun for a change. Besides, Alex isn’t right for you.’
‘I know, you’re right. But he’s going through a difficult time.’
‘You already said, and I told you that Jenkins ran into him last week in a pub in Cambridge. It doesn’t matter how you dress it up, he doesn’t treat you right, and you know it.’
Vera’s words stung true. Why shouldn’t she have some fun? It was one night, after all, who knew what tomorrow would bring? Her tummy flipped again as Mac strode towards her.
‘Here you go.’ He passed her a glass of punch.
‘Thank you.’ She took a small sip, the glass cool against her palm.
‘Say, Stella, would you like to take a walk?’
She paused. ‘All right.’ She took his outstretched hand, which enveloped hers in warmth.
Outside, their breath hung in the crisp, icy air. A light covering of snow had fallen, and a sparse sprinkling dusted the ground and the trucks. The creamy moon loomed large and clouds were silhouetted against the glowing beacon as they sailed through the star-filled sky. Mac offered her a cigarette, and she leaned in for a light, raising her eyes to his. The music ceased, and a man’s voice carried out over the microphone as he shushed the crowd and began the countdown. ‘Ten, nine, eight . . . Happy New Year!’ A cheer erupted, and ‘Auld Lang Syne’ bubbled out into the night.
‘Happy New Year, Stella.’
Mac’s eyes captured the soft glow of the moon as he took her hands and drew her towards him. Tentatively, he kissed her brow, and even though she knew it was wrong, it felt right.
‘God, you’re beautiful,’ he murmured before kissing her on the lips, a soft lingering kiss as he held her in his arms, and when their lips finally parted, he brushed her cheek with his fingertips. ‘I’ve been waiting to do that all evening.’ He took her hands in his. ‘There’s something special about you, Stella.’
Was there? Alex never said so. A wave of tingling warmth coursed through her, and she longed to stay in his arms. But, Alex. ‘We shouldn’t. I can’t.’ She stepped away, her hands slipping from his hold.
‘There’s that word again.’ Mac sighed. ‘We’re not doing any harm.’ He took a drag on his cigarette. ‘Don’t you like me? I sure like you – I knew it from the first moment I saw you.’
‘It’s not that. There’s someone else. He’s in the RAF.’ She watched as Mac’s face fell and the sparkle in his eyes dimmed.
‘Oh, I get it. He’s the guy you were with at the other dance.’
‘Yes, Alex.’ Stella’s heart sank.
Since his friend’s bomber had crashed, Alex hadn’t been the same, and when she’d tried to persuade him to visit David at the burns unit, Alex had yelled at her and told her to mind her own business. It was as if he couldn’t deal with it. Then David died, and Alex begged her to stay with him. What sort of person would she be to give up on him so easily? Alex’s hands shook now when he tried to light a cigarette, and his eyes were like those of a hunted fox – wild and frantic. A forlorn tide swept through her. She was trapped, lost in a spiralling darkness.
‘Is it serious?’ Mac looked down at his feet. ‘From where I was standing, it didn’t look lik
e anything much, seeing how he left you alone for most the night.’
Stella stiffened, and a rush of adrenaline surged through her body. ‘You know nothing about it.’
Mac took a step towards her, his eyes widening. Those beguiling eyes she could get lost in forever. An ache gripped her chest as she tore her gaze away.
‘I should get back. It’s late.’
Mac threw his cigarette like a dart to the ground, grinding it beneath his shoe, but on the snow-covered ground, faint orange continued to glow.
Once they were back inside, Vera came rushing towards them through a sea of coloured balloons and a smoky haze. ‘I’m worn out. Any chance of a lift home, Mac? I don’t think I could bear the passion wagons a second time.’ She giggled.
‘I’d be happy to take you home.’ He glanced at Stella with a look that sought approval.
‘Vera, aren’t we supposed to go back with the others?’ Stella cast her friend a wide-eyed stare, but Vera took no notice.
‘I’ll take care of it. It’s not a problem.’ Mac met Stella’s glance, his lips pressed tight.
Stella felt the heat prick her cheeks. If only the ground could open up now and swallow her whole.
Outside, Mac turned his face to the midnight sky. ‘It’s a beautiful night for stargazing. You can see the Milky Way up there.’ He pointed to a hazy, large cluster of glowing, tiny white specks that flowed through the night sky. ‘When I was a kid, I spent night after night laying out on the grass, waiting for a glimpse of a shooting star.’
‘A stargazer?’ Vera arched an eyebrow and clambered into the front seat. ‘The only stars that interest me are on the screen. Lord, it’s freezing.’ She shivered, pulled her coat tighter and stamped her feet in the footwell. ‘Bloomin’ winter, I hate it.’
‘I sure hope you ladies are good navigators. I make it a rule never to travel without one.’
‘Oh, you’ll be all right with us, won’t he, Stell?’ Vera winked at him.
Mac held his seat forward as Stella clambered into the back then sprang into the driver’s seat. The jeep inched along the inky-black tree-lined lane. The dipped headlights, with their slotted covers and narrow beams of light, made little difference in visibility. ‘Jeez, I can hardly tell where the road is.’ Patches of silvery-white flecked the hedgerows and verges and shimmered in the moonlight.
‘Some nights it’s so dark you’re bumping into people. Mind you, that’s not always a bad thing, all depends on who you bump into.’ Vera flashed a wicked grin.
Mac laughed, his breath escaping as silver vapour.
‘This is my stop here.’ Vera pointed to a row of cottages on the left. ‘Ta for the lift.’ She paused and glanced at Stella. ‘See you tomorrow, love.’ She winked at Mac. ‘And don’t do anything I wouldn’t do, kid.’ She shimmied away.
‘What?’ Mac laughed. ‘You Brits sure talk funny. Say, Stella, hop in the front, and you can show me the way to your place.’
He held the passenger seat forward as she clambered out and then, tentatively, she climbed into the front.
‘Carry on along here, it’s just a little further.’ Stella looked straight ahead, trying to avoid Mac’s gaze, but she sensed his sideways glances. When she caught a whisper of cedar wood on the night breeze, she drank it in hungrily, desire flaring through her veins like a flame.
They crawled along the winding road, the wheels skidding on patches of ice when Mac took a corner too fast. ‘Lord knows how anyone can drive safe in this ink. Give me night-flying any day.’
When they reached the village of Bourn, Stella pointed to a row of houses on the left. ‘It’s just here. Lilac Cottage.’
‘Quaint name.’ He pulled up outside a small, detached, whitewashed house with a thatched roof.
Stella faced him. ‘Thanks for the lift.’ She tried to avoid his smouldering eyes as he edged forward. She shifted further away, her heart beating fast.
‘I had a good time tonight.’ Mac rested his arm on the back of her seat, his eyes meeting hers. The moon slipped behind the clouds, casting a shadow. ‘I sure wish things were different.’ He took her hand and brushed it with his lips. ‘Life’s what we make it.’
His touch was soft, with a rush of warm breath, and his thigh nudged Stella’s as he edged closer, setting her nerve endings aglow. She longed for his lips pressed against hers – those soft, parted lips she now realised were closer as he leaned in towards her and her breaths became more rapid – but she had to do what was right. She stiffened and turned away. ‘I should go. Thanks again for the lift, and drive safe.’ She jumped out of the jeep and hurried up the path, aware of his eyes watching her. As she reached the front door, she turned. He was waiting, casually resting his arms on the steering wheel.
With his charismatic smile and a wave, he called out, ‘Don’t forget you said you’d take me sightseeing. I’m holding you to it.’
‘Wait. I never actually said . . . ’
‘I’ll swing by two weeks today, say around eleven o’clock.’
The moon peeked out from behind the clouds as Stella met his gaze, her mouth open, poised to speak, but the breath caught in her throat as she fought for words.
‘See you next week, beautiful.’ With a mock salute and a broad grin, Mac drove away and olive green melted into the darkness.
‘Sightseeing?’ Stella muttered. She closed the door and turned the black wrought-iron key in the lock. If only she hadn’t rushed off, then he would have kissed her. His soft lips on hers. She groaned as her stomach fluttered and her mouth curved up into a smile. There was nothing wrong with being friends. What harm could it do? The grandfather clock stood at the end of the hall, its brass pendulum swinging in rhythm like a metronome.
A doubting voice niggled at the back of her mind. It whispered she was dancing with temptation. Her mother had a saying for that. If you play with fire, you’ll get burned. Yet Mac had awoken something inside her. It existed as constant as the moon and the stars. As constant as the thin strip of blood-red ribbon on the briefing map that stretched from Cambridge to somewhere in occupied Europe.
Chapter Four
Ward III, January 1943
The doors to the ward burst open, and two male orderlies swept through, wheeling a patient on a trolley. The trolley jolted, and the occupant groaned. From beds and chairs, curious faces peered at the scene, startled by the fuss and disruption. Archie glanced up from the notes he was reading in the confines of Sister’s office. He glimpsed a dark, charred face that resembled nothing living and he tried to quell the anger that flared inside him. This war had a knack of creating injuries that could shock even the likes of him. He dropped the medical notes onto the desk and fell into step behind Sister Jamieson, who had already risen from her throne and marched out to greet their new arrival.
‘Follow me, gentlemen.’ She passed them by and came to an abrupt halt at the end of the ward. ‘You must be Jack. We’ve been expecting you.’ She cast a warm smile at the young airman while holding open the door to the saline bathroom.
‘Be careful as you lift him.’ Sister Jamieson stood by as one orderly supported Jack’s upper body while the other grabbed his legs. Between them, they lowered him like a babe into the bath, uniform and all, as the young man groaned. Then, as he lay back with the water lapping at his clavicle, a calm descended over him like a mighty exhalation of breath, his shoulders dropped, and his eyelids flickered and closed.
Briny steam drenched the air, lining Archie’s nostrils, and beads of sweat tickled his brow. He removed his brown tweed jacket and draped it over a nearby stool. ‘Hello,’ he said, crouching by the side of the bath. His eyes raked over Jack from top to bottom. The blue-grey fabric of the boy’s RAF uniform had melted into the skin of his arms, chest and thighs, creating a weave of tissue and charred cloth. Sister unravelled the bandage on Jack’s left hand beneath the water. The appendage was swollen, the skin blackened and leather-like around the edges, the fingers blackened crisps. Beyond the wrist, the forearm was red
and raw. Jack glanced down, and even the horrific burns to his face could not mask the look of horror now etched upon it, his eyes wide, darting in every direction.
‘It’s all right. We’ll soon fix you up. Just rest and let the water do its work,’ Archie said. Jack was gaunt, with skin so fried the nerve endings would be damaged and numb in places. Years of surgery awaited him with multiple grafts. Archie sighed and stretched up, chin raised to address Sister Jamieson. ‘When did he last have morphine?’
She flicked through the notes, her long, bony fingers tracing sentences as she scanned the words with hawk-like eyes. ‘Two hours ago.’
‘Right. Well, by the time he’s had a soak for an hour or so, you could administer another dose. Let’s keep him as comfortable as we can.’ Archie glanced at Jack’s decaying form in the bath. Another bad burner. Why was it that some of these lads fared so much better in the flames than others? He shook his head and ran his hand through his greying hair, smoothing it down. Piano music flowed from the ward – ‘I’ll never smile again’.
Suddenly, Jack tried to heave himself up, but the sheer effort proved too strenuous, and he cried out like a wounded animal. The water, which almost filled the bath, began to swirl and slosh and overflowed, spilling onto the linoleum floor. ‘I gotta get out!’
‘Steady on.’ Archie placed his hand on the boy’s shoulder and looked into his eyes, which locked onto his – obsidian beads peering from a blackened, skull-like face. God, he was in a state. ‘Was it a Hurricane or a Spitfire?’
‘Hurricane.’
‘Header tank?’
‘Yeah. Direct hit. Exploded instantly. I almost didn’t make it out.’ Jack’s voice was barely more than a whisper.
Archie formed a mental picture of him wrestling with the ripcord of his chute with burned hands that barely functioned. ‘Jack, you have to stay in the bath. We need to get you cleaned up and dress these wounds, but first, this uniform has to come off.’
‘But I don’t have time for all that, doc. My girl, she’s having my baby. We’re supposed to be getting married.’
THE BEAUTY SHOP Page 4