‘Wow, honey, you’re an absolute knockout.’
Her hair curled softly about her shoulders, spilling onto her navy-blue evening dress with a matching wrap. His gaze slipped over her defined waist, and he couldn’t help noticing the way her dress draped over her hips and accentuated her hourglass figure. He smiled when he saw how her cheeks blushed scarlet. She really had no idea how beautiful she was.
‘Say, have you seen a cute little WAAF around here? I left her a couple of hours ago.’ He smirked. ‘Didn’t I see you in a movie?’
‘Mac.’ She laughed, and a wide grin tugged at the corners of her mouth.
‘There’s just a little something missing.’ He pulled a small velvet box from his tunic pocket and flipped it open.
Stella gasped. ‘Oh, Mac. It’s beautiful. You shouldn’t have.’
He smiled and took the gold heart-shaped locket and placed it around her neck. ‘There, perfect.’
She gazed in the mirror admiringly, and as Mac dipped his head and brushed her neck with a silken kiss, she tingled.
The Chesters had a grand country home. Smart, manicured lawns stretched up towards the house, and as they strolled along the tree-lined drive, the heady floral scent of rhododendrons rose to greet them. The front door was open wide, and voices drifted out, bubbling over musical notes into the sweet, evening air. Mac steered Stella inside, and they stepped into a spacious hall with a black and white tiled floor.
Piano music flowed from another room, and Mac spotted familiar faces among the crowd. The musk of cigarette smoke blended with beer and flowed through the house. A group of guys chatting burst out laughing, all except for one. He had no lips to smile with, and his face remained expressionless, but his shoulders heaved up and down, and his body shook. Yeah, he was laughing all right.
‘Ah, another one of Mr McIndoe’s fellows, I presume.’ A tall, middle-aged man smoking a cigar descended the sweeping oak staircase. He buttoned up his navy suit jacket and held out his hand, ‘Alistair Chester. Welcome.’
Mac shook his hand. ‘Thank you for the invitation, sir. You have a beautiful home.’
‘It’s very kind of you to say so. Well, enjoy your evening.’ Mr Chester smiled at Stella. ‘There’s a bar in the dining room, just over there.’ He pointed the way, and Mac glimpsed a waiter in a white jacket standing behind a real bar, pouring a drink for a lady in a black cocktail dress.
‘Look, Archie’s here.’ Stella pointed at a group of men who stood in the middle of the room, chatting.
‘Oh, yeah. That’s John Hunter with him, one of the anaesthetists. The guys call him the gasworks.’
Stella grinned. Archie’s jolly laugh pierced through the hubbub of voices and true to form, the Maestro was holding court, with guests hanging on his every word. Mac glimpsed Pete, Doug, and Dickie, who were chatting to some very glamorous-looking girls.
Stella glanced around. ‘How generous of them to open their home like this.’
Mac plucked two drinks from a waiter’s silver tray as he sauntered by. They stood for a few minutes, sipping punch while they listened to the piano music drifting in from the next room.
‘I love classical music,’ Mac said.
‘So do I.’ Stella smiled. ‘That’s something we have in common.’
‘I bet we have a whole heap of stuff in common.’
‘How can you tell?’
‘I just know.’
She gazed intently into his eyes. The pianist ceased to play and a minute later, ‘In The Mood’ swung out, casting an air of energy throughout the house, and people leapt up to dance. A disfigured young airman asked a svelte brunette in a red floral dress if she would like to dance. She took his outstretched hand as he twirled her around. Archie danced with Mrs Chester and Mac caught sight of Pete twirling Bea around the floor and smiled to himself. He knew she was sweet on him.
‘Shall we?’ Mac put his glass down and held out his hand.
‘I thought you’d never ask.’
He drew Stella close and gazed dreamily into her eyes, which tonight burned bright with an intensity he’d never seen before. She seemed different all of a sudden – more assured. Her blonde hair glinted beneath the grand crystal chandelier. The other people, sights, and sounds faded into the background. Damn, there was no denying it. He loved her, body and soul, and longed to marry her, but the last thing he wanted was for her to be left alone, maybe with his child. He nuzzled the top of her head as she rested against his chest.
As musical notes melted away, Archie strode over flashing a wide grin. ‘It’s lovely to see you again, my dear. How are you?’
‘I’m absolutely fine, thank you. Fully recovered.’
‘Well, that’s a relief, because I’ve got a favour to ask.’ He raised his eyebrows and glanced at Mac. ‘Didn’t I say she was a fighter?’
‘You sure did, doc.’
‘Stella, would you sing for us? You have such a beautiful voice, and it’s such a shame to waste it.’
She smiled and a rosy glow tinted her cheeks as she took a deep breath. ‘Just the one, then.’
‘Splendid. Come this way.’
They followed Archie into the drawing room, and he introduced Stella to the pianist. She opted to sing ‘The White Cliffs of Dover,’ watching as Mac ambled across the room to chat with a couple of the guys from the ward. As Stella sang the first words, a hush descended, and people looked up, while others came forward to listen, but Stella kept her eyes on Mac. His heart swelled, and the hairs at the nape of his neck bristled. When the song ended, she bowed while everyone applauded, but her most enthusiastic supporter was Archie, who smiled so broadly his cheeks must have ached.
‘Doesn’t she have a beautiful voice, Mac?’ Archie slapped him on the back.
‘She sure does.’
‘Well done, my dear. Have you ever thought of singing professionally?’
‘Oh, I don’t think I’m that good.’
‘Nonsense. You’re a natural. It’s worth considering, if you’re ever at a loss. Perhaps once this war’s over.’
‘Are you propositioning my girl, doc? She isn’t going to have time for that anyway, not with what I’ve got planned.’ Mac cast a knowing smile, and he took Stella’s arm and led her outside into the garden. Alone at last. The late evening sky grew scarlet, with a streak of peacock-green, but the light remained as the setting sun clung to this side of heaven.
‘It’s a beautiful night.’ Stella turned her face to where a star glittered all alone.
‘It sure is from where I’m standing.’ He smiled coyly, losing himself in emerald green. He took a deep breath. ‘Stella, there’s something I have to say. I’m having another operation next week, and that might be all I need for some time.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Well, after that the doc says he can discharge me, so they’ll be sending me back to my squadron.’ Her face fell, and he drew her to him and wrapped his arms around her. ‘You know I have to do this.’
‘I know.’ Her voice was thin and high. ‘Only I can’t bear the thought of it.’ She squeezed her arms around him.
‘At least I’ll be near you again, and we can see each other as often as we can. It’s been killing me being so far away.’ His lips brushed the top of her head, and she began to tremble. Was she crying? ‘Hey, honey. Look at me.’ He cupped her chin with his hand, and slowly she turned her face to his. Her misted eyes glinted with the last vestiges of light.
‘Please, Mac. Don’t ask them to take you back. Do something else. Anything but flying.’
He stiffened. ‘If I don’t do this, I’ll regret it for the rest of my life.’
Her face reddened, and she stepped away from him and wrapped her arms around herself, her ruby lips settled into a tight line.
If only he could make her understand. His chest tightened as he slipped his hand into his jacket pocket and grasped the small velvet box. ‘I can’t explain it. I don’t want to do it. I have to do it because it’s my duty. It’s
the only way to make sure we win this war.’
‘But why you? You could be safe.’
He heaved out a breath and gazed up into the sky as if he could pluck an answer from among the sailing clouds. Safe.
‘Were you safe caught up in the bombing? You sheltered just around the corner from a direct hit.’ Red drained to soft pink as her eyes widened. ‘You were nearly killed, for God’s sake. No one’s safe anymore, and it’s up to us to do something about it.’
He closed his eyes for a few seconds and Bill’s face slipped into view, wearing that grin of his that stretched from ear to ear when he heard the news he was a father. His words sang. I have a son. A son he would never see. Jesus. A savage pain squeezed Mac’s chest, catching his breath, and he uncurled his fingers from velvet and dragged his hand from his pocket. He couldn’t do that to her. This was hard enough, and it was crushing her. He couldn’t make promises. Not yet. He folded her in his arms and nuzzled her hair. Piano music drifted out through the open windows, velvety notes. ‘Clair de Lune,’ he murmured. And it would have been so perfect. ‘I love you so much, and I always will.’
Stella sniffed. ‘I’m scared. I do understand, really.’
He cradled her against him. She didn’t have to explain. They were all scared. How could you not be when everything was so uncertain?
‘I love you, Mac.’
Four silken syllables, heaven-sent. He closed his eyes. ‘You’re my girl, always will be.’
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Battle, Conflict & Love
‘I can’t wait to get there. It’s been a while since I spent time by the ocean.’ Mac laughed. ‘Although I’ve sure flown over it plenty.’
Flying. An icy prickle crept across her back, and she shivered. The party had been perfect yesterday until he mentioned returning to Bassingbourn. The way his eyes had flashed when she begged him not to do it surprised her. An empty hollow grew inside her as she realised that a desk job for someone like Mac would be soul-destroying.
‘Which train is it?’ Mac’s voice broke her from her reverie.
‘Sorry? Oh, we’ll have to check,’ Stella said, a little flustered. ‘I thought you had this all worked out?’
‘I figured I could leave that to you, what with me being a foreigner in a strange land.’ His face creased into a broad smile, his blue eyes twinkling.
The train was just drawing into the station. With tickets hastily purchased at the ticket office, they dashed across the platform. The train was heaving, and a large number of Canadian servicemen spilled out of overflowing carriages and lined the narrow corridor. The guard ushered Stella and Mac through the sea of khaki, squeezing past men and kitbags, into a compartment near the rear of the train where there were two free seats. Stella wedged herself between a vicar and a middle-aged woman travelling with a little girl. Opposite, two Canadian officers sat slouched, one of whom was asleep. Mac stowed their bags in the overhead luggage rack before sitting next to them, away from the window.
Stella cast a sideways glance at the woman next to her, who was reading Life magazine with a picture of Clark Gable on the cover. Hollywood glamour had arrived in England, what with Gable now serving as a gunner with the Eighth Air Force. There was no escaping the war. She turned her gaze to the window as the Ashdown Forest flashed by. Half an hour later, the train slowed as it huffed into Battle.
Mac hailed a taxi outside to take them to the guest house. Hastings and the surrounding area had taken a pasting since the war began, with the Luftwaffe bombers jettisoning bombs on their return home. More recently, two hotels had been reduced to rubble in a bombing raid, killing and injuring some Canadian troops stationed there, along with many civilians. Stella recalled reading the news in the paper while visiting Mac in the hospital.
The guest house lay within the gaze of the abbey and had a country cottage feel. After checking in, they found their rooms, and Mac followed Stella into hers.
‘What a lovely view,’ she said, gazing out of the window at the church. To her right, she could just see the abbey. ‘Such a pity we can’t see it properly. I had no idea it was being used as a military hospital.’
Mac laughed and drew her close, brushing his lips across the top of her head. ‘You couldn’t be any more perfect if you tried.’
Stella’s cheeks glowed, and her heart quickened as she drank in his woody scent. She loved being in his arms, loved his touch, his smell, everything about him. Mac pressed his lips to hers, and she softened in his arms, kissing him back, her breath mingling with his. His hands moved down her back, coming round to skim upwards over her hips and then up towards her breasts. Stella gasped as he slipped his tongue into her mouth, and he pulled her even closer to him, his desire for her all too evident. He kissed her neck, drifting down to her chest before stopping himself.
‘We can’t do this, not yet, not here.’ He dragged a hand through his hair and huffed out a sigh.
‘No, I suppose not.’ A heaviness caught her chest, and she turned away.
‘Jeez, Stella, it’s not that I don’t want to. The truth is, I’m dying to, you know, it’s just I wouldn’t want you to think I was taking advantage.’ He glanced down at the floor as a faint red glow coloured his face. ‘Why don’t you get freshened up and we’ll go out for something to eat?’ He headed to the door. ‘Come and get me when you’re ready, honey.’
Hmm, she was ready now. Talk about a hasty retreat. She sank down on the bed, then fell backwards, and lay staring at the ceiling. For heaven’s sake, what’s it going to take? So much for being oversexed! She sighed. An image of Jean flashed in her mind. Poor girl. A life snuffed out before barely having a chance to live it. Stella had an overwhelming urge to grasp life and live each day as if it might be the last, whereas Mac seemed to be holding back, although she understood why. She sighed and began to unpack.
Later that evening after an excellent meal in a local pub, they strolled along High Street, arm in arm. It was half past nine and still light, the sun dipping down in the west, the horizon nibbling at it piece by piece. Mac hadn’t said much in the pub and Stella had noticed some people staring, although nothing was said, but he was clearly uncomfortable. A shadow had passed over his face, but when he looked into her eyes he cast that half-smile and chased it away. People were bound to stare, it was only natural, and they had to get used to seeing the scars, just as Mac had to.
They slipped past Battle Abbey, the custodian of the town, and wandered into the churchyard where they found a seat and sat down. He draped his arm around her shoulders as she snuggled up to him. She loved the softness of his tunic, the clean smell of him, the press of his warm, firm thigh against hers. The sky was awash with colour and in the distance, black specks buzzed as the sound of Merlin engines filtered in. The dark shapes grew and merged into a squadron of Spitfires, probably heading back to their base.
‘Your guys.’ Mac watched until black faded into the twilight sky.
‘You wish you were up there, don’t you?’
‘The only place I want to be is here, with you.’ He leaned in and kissed her. ‘Since the first time I saw you, I knew you were the girl for me.’
‘You did?’ A smile tugged at her mouth.
‘I sure did.’
Stella’s neck warmed. ‘How did you know? I mean, when you saw me at the dance, I could have been anyone, a spy perhaps.’ She laughed.
‘You, a spy? Man, that’s cute.’ She thumped his leg. ‘Hey!’ He turned to face her, taking her head in his hands, his face serious. ‘I just knew. It was a hunch, and something whacked me hard out of the blue, and I couldn’t take my eyes off you. I knew you had another guy, but it didn’t matter, not when you looked into my eyes that first time. And if I’m honest, that’s when I knew for sure, and I wanted to hold you in my arms and never let you go.’
‘Which you did as I literally ran into you.’
‘Yeah, you were heaven-sent all right.’ Mac pressed his lips to hers. ‘I love you so much I can’t bear to b
e without you.’ He pulled her to her feet, and she nestled against his chest as he wrapped his arms around her, enveloping her in safety, a place she longed to remain forever.
The next day after breakfast, they took a taxi to Hastings. Mac gaped as they passed mountains of rubble strewn amidst rows of Georgian and Victorian buildings. Ugly barbed wire blocked off the beach, and the pier, closed since the war began, seemed desolate now that a twenty-five-foot section of it had been demolished – all part of the coastal defences in case of an invasion.
They went to the Cutter Inn for lunch and afterwards they strolled along to the beach, the fresh, briny breath of the ocean warm on their faces. They found a seat, and Mac slipped his arm around Stella, drawing her to his side as they gazed out to sea. All along the seafront, a stream of khaki and RAF blue marched along in twos and threes, their faces upturned to the sun. The ocean glinted like diamonds and a Royal Navy destroyer bearing the White Ensign at the stern danced close to the shimmering horizon. Mac flicked a gaze at the anti-aircraft gun which overlooked the beachhead.
An older couple walked by, gawping at him, and Mac squirmed and turned his head away. ‘Jeez, could they make it any more obvious? Haven’t they seen injured people before? God, I hate this.’
Stella caught his hand and held it tight. He blew out a breath and looked into her eyes as anger thundered through his veins. She smiled. Man, that smile – so pure, brimming with promise. She deserved the best and yet she’d settled for him. The thunder calmed as he drew her towards him, his eyes fixed on hers. She gave him strength and courage when he needed it most. It lay in her touch and flickered in her eyes, and she dazzled him each time she smiled.
As she rested her head on his shoulder, a droning noise filtered in and a dark speck sailed into focus from across the sea, growing, sputtering, and belching out black smoke.
Stella looked up. ‘Oh, Lord, it’s a Spitfire.’
Mac grabbed her arm. ‘Move, now!’ He half dragged her, forcing her to run with him to the other side of the road. ‘Come on.’ When they reached the other side, he spun round. The Spitfire had descended and the pilot made a sweeping turn as he lined up for his approach.
THE BEAUTY SHOP Page 25