Archie drained his whisky and set the glass down on the table with a clunk. ‘And what about all those men who were disfigured in the last war? Some of them simply disappeared. Left their families, friends, just walked away from the lives they had. Dear God, it’s unthinkable. If our boys need anything, anything at all, then they shall have it. I mean that, Blackie. They’re to have a life when all of this is over. It doesn’t matter how disfigured they are or what people think of them, they must live their lives. Besides, society needs to get used to them, and we can’t do that without getting them out there among the people.’
And this he’d started to do already in East Grinstead, along with occasional trips to see a show in London. As for the rest of the country, well, that would be up to the boys themselves. Hopefully, they would gain the confidence at home first. ‘They’re not the first to suffer, you know, and they won’t be the last.’
‘I hear what you’re saying, and you’re right, but we can’t be there for them all the time, Archie. Even you can’t play God. What about your own life and family?’
‘Oh, don’t you worry about me.’ Archie sat back and thought for a moment. Since the Battle of Britain had begun, pilots and bomber crew had kept both him and the staff at the hospital rather busy, and life as he’d known it had ceased to exist. His days brimmed with surgical operations, patient assessments, and travels to other hospitals in his quest to discover the most severely burned servicemen who required his expertise. Even if his wife and children had never left, he doubted whether there would be much time for them, as he barely had any for himself. ‘Right now my family is safely tucked away in America, and that’s where I hope they’ll stay. Adonia isn’t happy – she can’t settle, but at least she and the girls are safe. As for life, well, once the war’s over, we’ll all be able to breathe easier.’
He stubbed out his cigarette, while his wife’s latest letter preyed on his mind. Adonia had insisted on returning home. Of course, he’d written a reply telling her she must stay put; after all, it was far too dangerous to risk a voyage across the ocean in the midst of this bloody mess. Lord knows the German navy had sunk many a ship. Hunting like wolves above and below the waves of the Atlantic, their prey being any Allied convoy bearing passengers, food or military supplies. No, it would be sheer madness, and he couldn’t allow them to set sail. Besides, he had enough to worry about here. ‘Did I ever tell you about a fellow by the name of Leonardo Fioravanti?’ Archie strode over to the drinks cabinet and poured himself another whisky, gesturing to Blackie, who shook his head.
‘Fior who?’
‘Ah, now, there’s a story.’ Archie lit his pipe and took a few puffs to get it going. Smoke swirled and rose. ‘The chap was an Italian surgeon and an early pioneer of plastic surgery. He witnessed a duel in Africa in 1551 where one of the poor fellows lost his nose. It was sliced off and fell into the sand. Well, Fioravanti said that he picked up the nose, urinated on it to cleanse it,’ Archie’s lips flickered into a suppressed grin, ‘and then sewed it back into position. After applying medicated balsam, he bandaged it.’
‘Oh, dear Lord. Nowt like a bit of innovation.’ Blackie chuckled.
‘Now, you might laugh, but when they removed the bandage after eight days, that damn nose was attached, healing and healthy.’ Archie puffed his pipe. ‘If only it were as simple as that today, eh?’
‘Aye, then you’d be out on your ear.’ Blackie leant forward to tap his cigarette on the side of an ashtray, and grey smouldering ash tumbled into amber glass. ‘Roll on summer,’ he blurted out. ‘This blackout and these dark winter days are all gloomy. It’s about time we had a little warmth and sunshine.’
‘Oh, absolutely. Well, it’s almost April.’ Archie pictured his beloved New Zealand. He missed the Dunedin sun and had never become accustomed to the damp, British climate – it made his bones ache. A few years ago, before the whisperings of war were in the air, it had been his dream to buy a villa in the South of France and spend some time in the sun. Back then, he’d enjoyed performing surgery on young children the most, repairing cleft palates and harelips, which he’d found to be incredibly rewarding. Now the world had turned itself upside down, scattering his plans to the wind, shattering everyone’s dreams.
Blackie took out a packet of John Player’s and Archie sucked his pipe. ‘Jack’s lucky his young lady didn’t desert him.’
And then it cut in, scything through the rural peace, drowning out the spitting fire, the wail that gradually built up like a wave; eerie and haunting. ‘Shit!’ Blackie glanced at Archie, who was unmoving.
‘Bugger Jerry. It’s been one hell of a day, and I’m not going anywhere except to my bed.’
Chapter Eleven
A Whirlwind Romance
‘Stella, love. There’s a letter for you,’ Mrs Brown bellowed upstairs, her voice quavering into a falsetto. ‘I’ll leave it on the kitchen table, dear. I’m off out to my WI meeting.’
Stella swung open her bedroom door, ‘Thanks, Mrs B.’ She had a whole day off and nothing arranged. Vera was working – her shifts had been changed at the last minute and she was fuming, yet she’d conceded, ‘There’s a bleeding war on, you know.’ The front door slammed shut just as Stella reached the foot of the stairs.
A rumbling outside drew her attention, and she peered out of the living room window. Seconds later, a convoy of military trucks roared past the cottage, tearing through the rural peace. She looked on as the last of khaki green slipped around the corner. The early morning frost had thawed beneath the sun, and the cloudless, milk-blue sky promised a beautiful day ahead.
With a sigh, she sauntered through to the kitchen. Two fresh eggs sat in a bowl on the table with a note: Help yourself, dear. Would you believe it – Matilda finally laid.
Stella giggled. ‘I can have an omelette with those,’ she muttered.
The letter lay upon the scrubbed farmhouse table, propped up against the small vase filled with late-blooming daffodils. Stella glanced at the handwriting and her heart sank. She sank down onto a chair and ripped it open.
My darling girl,
It was wonderful seeing you again last week. I hope you’ve forgiven me – I couldn’t bear it if I lost you now. Life here is just the same. One minute we’re flying, then we’re training. It’s relentless. Anyway, I have some leave next month, and you said you were free, so I thought we could nip down to Devon for a couple of days. Mother’s looking forward to it. I’ll meet you there. All you have to do is take the train to Exeter on Saturday morning, and I’ll pick you up at the station. I can’t wait to see you. You will be there, won’t you? I need you, Stella. Well, I must dash. We’re on ops tonight, so Jerry best watch out. Write back as soon as.
Love,
Alex xxx
Stella dropped the letter onto the table, gazing down at the kisses after his name. Kisses he seemed to give more readily in ink. She sighed, remembering how safe she’d once felt in his arms, although she’d never felt sure about the depth of his feelings. Alex’s kisses were wet and clumsy on her lips whereas Mac’s left a sensual taste and set all her nerve endings ablaze. She recalled something Alex’s cousin, Peter, had said the last time they met. I’m afraid you’re simply a passing phase. His family won’t allow it – a shop girl, you’ll never be good enough. His mocking voice echoed in her ears, now the voice of a dead man. Things between her and Alex had cooled afterwards.
She knew what forgiveness Alex was asking for, and it had nothing to do with punching Mac, only to do with not getting in touch and letting her know he was safe. Typical. Alex turning up out of the blue was a shock, but his jealousy was alarming. She’d never seen that side of him before, and after everything, all his little indiscretions. She stiffened, fighting the urge to scream and shout. And Mac had borne the brunt of it. Her lips trembled.
She wished she hadn’t told Alex about her leave next weekend. Since the Bassingbourn dance, Mac had become her friend, companion and far more. He occupied her mind when she awoke e
ach morning and before she fell asleep each night. And at dawn, when the B-17s roared up into the first light, her heart lurched as she agonised whether Mac was up there with them.
The flagstone floor was cold beneath her stocking feet as she padded across to the range to make a cup of tea. She hadn’t heard from Mac since the night of the fight. Vera had told her he was fine, a message passed on from Sam. It was a busy week for the Eighth Air Force and even Sam hadn’t been able to get away. She sighed. Alex was grieving, but even so, it didn’t excuse his behaviour. Stella knew he was in a dark place right now, though, and definitely not in the right frame of mind.
An inner turmoil brewed and gripped her gut. She couldn’t abandon him when he needed her most. Not after Peter. Alex’s words in the letter replayed in her head: I couldn’t bear it if I lost you now. The kettle whistled impatiently, and she lifted it from the hot plate. She fetched her cup from the dresser, stepping over the resident black cat who lay sprawled in a triangular sliver of sunlight flooding in through the rear window, his eyes half closed.
‘I suppose I’ll have to go, won’t I, cat?’
There was nothing for it. She would have to tell Mac next time she saw him.
Her mother was so thrilled about Alex. Money and class had always seemed important to her. Not for Stella, though. She would marry for love and wouldn’t settle for anything less. She sipped her tea as she watched the cat flick his tail to and fro, his slit-like turquoise eyes catching the glint of golden sun. The problem was how to avoid disappointing her mother, whose words now rang out. If your father were here, he’d be so proud. Stella swallowed, and tears pricked her eyes. She was trapped, slowly suffocating, unable to break free, and she wanted to yell and run. But where would she run? Her heart screeched one direction while her muzzy head floundered in the darkness.
A weekend away was daunting, but perhaps she ought to go. Staying loyal to Alex as a friend was the right thing to do, and yet her heart protested. A loud knock at the front door broke her reverie. She paused as her hand hovered over the handle and took a deep breath before wrenching it open. Mac stood with the sunshine behind him, his cap in his hand and the warmest smile on his face and her heart leapt. The evidence of his scuffle with Alex remained, a fading yellowish-brown bruise on his chin.
‘Hi there, beautiful.’ He stepped forward and kissed her on the mouth.
‘Oh, Mac.’ She reached out to trail her finger across his cheek, but he took her hand in his, drawing it away. His tunic jacket brushed against her bare arm, sending a frisson of desire coursing through her. ‘I’m so sorry you got hurt.’
‘Don’t worry about it. It’s only my pride. I’ll get over it.’ His blue eyes twinkled.
She stepped back. ‘You’d best come in. How did you know I’d be home today?’
‘I figured I’d take a chance and here you are.’ The corners of his eyes crinkled as his face creased into a crooked half-smile.
He closed the door behind him, and Stella caught his clean, fresh scent on the slight breeze that flowed and she longed to be in his arms. Her beating heart wooshed in her ears, but a pang of guilt sliced through her as she remembered the letter. As she led the way through the hall, he pulled her back towards him, wrapping his strong arms around her.
‘Hey, not so fast.’ He nuzzled the top of her head as she buried her face in his chest, drinking in undertones of cedar wood. Here, she felt safe and cherished. Here, a sense of belonging wrapped around her like a familiar friend. She couldn’t look up because then she would be tempted. She’d already gone too far, but now his hands had lowered to her waist and were slipping further still, resting on her hips. Tingles sparked up her spine, and she lifted her chin to intense blue.
‘Jeez, Stella, you’re so damn beautiful, you know that?’ He kissed her, softly at first and then with more passion, his lips on hers, asking, wanting, his tongue urgent. His right hand caressed her hip before moving upward to cup her breast. She gasped, and he drew her closer, their bodies moulded as she tasted shaving soap on his lips.
‘Mac, we can’t . . . ’
He stepped back, releasing her. ‘I know.’ He sighed and flashed an apologetic smile. ‘I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have, it’s just . . . God, you’re so darn irresistible, and I’ve missed you.’
Stella took a deep breath. ‘Come on. I’ll make some tea.’ She had to do something to distract him. For a moment there, she almost lost control.
‘I take it Alex went back to Lincoln?’ He followed her into the kitchen, placing his crush cap on the table.
‘Yes.’ She placed the kettle on the stove, aware of his eyes following her every move. Once she’d filled the teapot, she set it on the pine table and sat opposite him. It was probably best to put a little distance between them. ‘I’ll be mother.’ She placed a china cup on the saucer, poured a little milk out, and then reached for the teapot.
‘What?’ His mouth stretched into a wide grin.
‘Mother – oh that’s what we say when we decide who’s pouring the tea.’
Mac laughed as he poked at the dark brown vortex of liquid with a spoon.
She noticed his eyes, tinged with dark circles, and when he yawned, he seemed even more tired. ‘Did you fly yesterday?’
‘Yeah. One hell of a trip.’ He glanced down at the swirling vortex of tea. ‘Can’t say I’d recommend it.’ His gaze lifted to hers. ‘I sure am glad to be here with you, though.’ He took out his cigarette case and offered it to her, but she shook her head. He plucked one and lit up, taking a long drag.
Stella sensed it must have been a rough mission. Sometimes there were things you just couldn’t talk about. Afterwards, they stepped out into the garden to sit in the spring sunshine. Mac slouched on the wooden bench beneath the trees and yawned, his long legs outstretched. Weathered boughs swayed overhead as leaves rustled in the light breeze.
His thigh pressed against hers, firm and warm, and her heart fluttered. ‘Have you heard from your family?’
‘Yeah. A letter came the other day. They’re all fine. My folks asked when I might be coming home.’ He blew a cloud of smoke into the air. ‘It’s funny, but it seems as if I left years ago, and yet it’s only been five months. I tick off the missions each time we come back, always counting.’ He gazed at Stella. ‘Hey, don’t worry. Nothing’s going to happen to me. In fact, I was thinking of maybe signing on for a second tour.’ He placed his arm around her.
‘No, don’t do that.’
‘What, can’t I hold you now?’ He sat upright, flashing that half-smile.
‘No, I mean don’t do another tour, please, Mac.’
His smile faded, and his eyes grew intense. He bent his head to kiss her; a soft, unhurried yet passionate embrace that filled her with a desire she could no longer fight. Stella slipped her arms around him, revelling in the firmness of his body. When he finally lifted his lips from hers, he held her close. If anything happened to him, she didn’t know what she’d do. Oh, God. She couldn’t go on like this. It was tearing her in two. The Americans had to fly twenty-five missions before they were sent back home unless they signed on again. She didn’t want him to go anywhere and the realisation of losing him, whether it was to his own country or worse, suddenly dawned on her and a hard lump knotted in her stomach.
‘It’s mighty peaceful here, and beautiful,’ Mac said.
The sun blazed and rays danced between the branches, dappling the lawn gold as she clung to his arms, the swell of his biceps prominent beneath her hand.
‘Stella, what happened last week was unfortunate, and I didn’t fight back because I didn’t want to hurt you.’ He took her hand in his and gazed into her eyes. ‘Truth is, I fell for you the moment I saw you at that dance in Meldreth, and then when we met again at the base, well I couldn’t believe my luck. Now I’d say that was fate, and I just knew we were meant to be. I love you, Stella.’
The breath caught in her throat. Should she say it back? Words she longed to whisper formed on her lips but were
repressed by thoughts of Alex. She was a hypocrite, and inside everything shrivelled. ‘But you hardly know me. It’s madness.’
‘It feels right. Besides, the whole world is upside down right now.’ He smiled, and his dark blue eyes twinkled with mischief. ‘And just so we’re clear’—he pulled her firmly towards him—‘it’s not madness, honey, it’s love.’ He kissed the arch of her brow and held her close.
He loved her. Her entire body glowed, and desire flowed through her veins, but the memory of divided loyalties halted the rush in its tracks. ‘Alex.’
‘Yeah, what about him?’ Mac’s body stiffened next to hers.
She swallowed. ‘He’s written asking me to visit him at home next weekend while I’m on leave.’
Mac sighed. ‘I thought that maybe you might have told him about us.’ His voice had a crisp edge, chilling the air between them.
‘No, I just haven’t found the right time.’
‘Are you going?’
She couldn’t lie, and she hated the thought of hurting him. ‘I think so.’
He stood up, dropped his cigarette, and ground it into the grass. ‘Gee, Stella. We never did get to talk about him, but after everything that’s happened, I can’t believe you’re going.’ Mac gazed at her, his eyes flashed and his brow furrowed. ‘The guy doesn’t deserve you, that’s for sure.’
‘Mac, I’m sorry, but I can’t let him down. I don’t want to hurt him.’ She glanced down at a mound of wet, decaying leaves, as barren boughs swayed overhead.
‘Why not? Hasn’t he hurt you enough times?’
What did he know about it? Unless Vera had said something. She saw the pain in his eyes and her stomach tightened. ‘He’s not in a good place right now. He’s just lost his best friend and now his cousin. He’s changed, and he’s, well, he’s . . . ’
‘He’s what? He’s suddenly decided that he wants you now? Is that it?’ His eyes were cold and dark.
THE BEAUTY SHOP Page 10