Catherine put a hand on his arm and smiled, her eyes alight with joy. “She was rather vain about her beautiful hands. Did you know?”
“I’ll take your word for it,” he said, amused by her enthusiasm.
Her touch was gone too soon as she moved along, exclaiming with delight at every new artifact.
All he could do was watch and marvel. Catherine had no idea she held his heart in her hands. He’d only admitted as much to himself that morning. He thought about her constantly, and there was something in the light in her eyes when she looked at him that told him she felt the same way. It made him feel giddy. Positively swept away.
“Oh! Jonnie, Jonnie,” she gasped. She tucked her hand inside his and then pulled him to the next display.
Euphoria. He had no idea what she was saying and smiled at the realization. Her sparkling eyes, her pretty, bow-shaped lips, the feel of her warm hand in his—it was all he could do to keep himself from taking her into his arms and kissing her.
Finally, his hearing cleared enough to let some words filter in. “Dr. Dee…spells…occult…scrying.”
“What? I’m sorry,” he said, scrambling to make sense of Catherine’s words. A shiny pitch-black mirror stood propped on a pedestal in the center of the room. Transfixed, he gaped at it, unable to look away.
“This says it’s Dr. John Dee’s obsidian scrying mirror,” Catherine explained, examining the display card. “It was brought over from the Americas and originally belonged to an Aztec priest. Dr. Dee was a mathematician, astronomer, astrologer, and advisor to Queen Elizabeth I.”
She continued to talk, but her words became muted as he stared at the object. Scrying mirror. He wanted to touch it, look into it.
“Tirratarratorratarratirratarratum…” a man’s voice whispered in his ear.
“Jonathan!” Catherine screeched.
Startled, he came out of his reveries as a curator shouted from across the room. He focused on Catherine’s shocked expression and looked down to see his right hand splayed across the face of the mirror.
What had he heard? When had he put his hand on it? Mortified, he pulled away just as the irate curator arrived at his side.
“My good sir,” the fellow huffed. “It is absolutely forbidden to touch anything on display in this room or anywhere in the palace, for that matter. One would think a grown man would have sense enough to know that. I’m afraid you have forfeited any right to remain on the premises. Please leave at once.”
“Forgive me, I—”
“Out, if you please. Now.”
Still puzzled and terribly embarrassed, Brandon allowed Catherine and his father to guide him out of the building and into the bright light of the garden.
“What in the world happened?” his father asked.
He shook his head, mystified. He had no answer.
“Jonnie.” Catherine stopped, put her hands on his cheeks, and looked him in the eye. “Are you well? What’s wrong?”
He frowned. She seemed truly worried. With an effort, he straightened and looked around in an attempt to gather his thoughts. A garden. Hatfield House. The scrying mirror. A shiver ran through him. What the hell was wrong with him? What just happened?
“I, uh…” He cleared his throat and rubbed his temple. “It just seemed… I simply wanted to have a good look at the thing. My head is throbbing. Perhaps we should call it a day.”
He noticed a look of deep concern pass between his father and Catherine.
“Yes, it’s been a long day, Jonnie,” Catherine said. “Perhaps we should head back to town and take lunch in your back garden, instead of staying here?”
“Jolly good idea,” Nigel said. “When do you see your physician next, Jonathan? I’m worried about your sudden headache.”
His mind was still reeling. “First of the week.”
Catherine and his father exchanged another look before linking arms with him and heading toward the car park.
The ride back to town was quiet. Still puzzling over the strange occurrence in the museum, Brandon didn’t mind the lack of conversation. What a colossal muck-up I’ve made of this outing.
Catherine sat close beside him and held his hand the whole way. The gesture soothed him as his training took over and he pondered the aftereffects of the concussion he’d suffered when his hospital was bombed. A visit to a neurologist seemed the best course of action.
His head didn’t hurt, but the ruse had provided an explanation the others could understand. Whatever happened at Hatfield, he now felt absolutely normal.
At that moment, he pushed his troubles aside and smiled at Catherine, determined to enjoy the rest of his day.
Chapter Five
2 May 1945, Stratford, London
Early Tuesday morning, as Catherine dressed for work, she heard a knock at the front door. She glanced at her wristwatch. It was too early for visitors. Puzzled, she pulled aside her curtain and peeked outside. The sky was pearly gray, just enough to illuminate a partial pant leg and shoe. Could it be Jonnie? Who else would it be?
What brings him here at such an hour?
She hurried downstairs just as her parents came out of the kitchen. She opened the door to Jonnie and Nigel. Both men looked serious.
“Ah, it is you,” Catherine said with concern. “What on earth? Is something the matter?”
“We’ve had some news,” Jonnie said. “It is unconfirmed as yet, and there are no details, but Germany announced late last night that Hitler is dead. So far, there’s been no denial of the story.”
Stunned silence. Hopeful silence. Could it be? After so much death and suffering?
“Jonnie?” Catherine’s lone word held a world of questions.
“The dispatch stated he had ‘fallen at his command post in the Reich Chancery.’ They’ve put another bloke up in his place, Admiral Doenitz, but there’s no knowing if he plans to continue fighting, or if this is the end. I’m sure the news will broadcast in short order, but I wanted you to know.”
They went to the lounge, and her father turned on the radio. They huddled nearby as he fiddled with the dial to get the clearest reception, then turned up the volume to hear bells tolling.
A woman’s voice announced, “We are interrupting this broadcast to bring you a news flash.”
Silence followed, and Catherine gripped Jonnie’s hand. A man’s voice crackled over the airways, and she held her breath.
“Here is a news flash. German radio has just announced that Hitler is dead. I repeat, German radio has just announced that Hitler is dead.”
Her eyes filled with tears, and suddenly all five of them were clinging to one another, silent and crying with joy.
…
The rest of the week and weekend held hope and anxiety in equal measure, although hope seemed to be winning out. Would the war truly end soon? It seemed so. Everyone stayed glued to their radios and poured over their newspapers, wondering what would happen next. Crowds milled about everywhere, breathless with anticipation.
During his regular broadcast the previous evening, Catherine heard Prime Minister Churchill hint the end was near, but he refused to give specifics.
As Catherine parked her bike outside work, she knew the women at the Voluntary Service would be talking of little else this day. Would their boys be coming home soon? Even the POWs? It felt as though time was suspended as all of Britain—surely even the whole world—waited for confirmation, one way or the other.
She’d seen Jonnie several times since he’d arrived at the house with news of Hitler’s death, but only in brief snatches as he was busy getting ready to return to active service. He had his cast removed, and they joked about how much his arm had shrunk while encased in plaster.
Their encounters were fleeting. Nevertheless, their relationship had grown into something far stronger than friendly dating. Her parents were nearly as smitten by Jonnie as she, and she knew in her heart Jonnie was her man.
Catherine smiled at her certainty. She and Jonnie were to have s
upper tonight at his favorite pub, and, sadly, in two days’ time he would return to base. She hung up her hat and jacket, then started toward her work station. It was eight a.m. on the nose.
The radio was turned up, a common occurrence during the past week, but this time she noticed everyone stood quite still, with looks of deep concentration on their faces.
“…The hopeful have gathered in their masses outside Buckingham Palace this early morning chanting, ‘We want the king. We want the king.’ Here at the news desk we’ve received no indication from the Palace that we should anticipate any sort of official announcement from them; however, it is rumored a truce was signed—”
“Look! Look” A lady Catherine didn’t recognize came rushing through the room, weeping and tossing pamphlets as she passed. “They’re handing these out all over London.”
Catherine picked one up and read, Celebratory Rules: Londoners may build bonfires; however, any material deemed salvageable is not to be used. The drinking of alcohol in the streets will be permitted, although public drunkenness will not. Looting in any degree will be met with fines and imprisonment.
She looked up to see Susan and Mirin grinning at her.
“What are they waiting for?” Catherine asked. “Why aren’t they making an official declaration?”
Susan laughed. “I don’t know, but if they’re telling us how to celebrate, then a celebration must be warranted.” With a whoop she tossed her pamphlet in the air, and Catherine and Mirin followed suit.
“Ladies!” Gertrude grumbled.
Catherine and her friends quieted and tried to look contrite.
Gertrude huffed. “Our boys will still be needin’ us, mind you, whatever news we may be gettin’—or not gettin’—from the Palace or 10 Downing Street. We can’t let up until they’re safe on home soil. Now please, ladies, let’s get to work.”
It was a wonder they got anything done. Every time the radio had an announcement, all activity stopped. But the broadcasts only updated the fact that nothing had, as yet, been made official. What in the world was taking so long?
As soon as the clock struck five, Catherine hugged her friends, grabbed her jacket, and headed for the door. With some brisk peddling, she would get to King Edward’s Pub, and Jonnie, by half five.
When she arrived, he greeted her with a grin and a peck on the cheek, then steered her inside. “The pub is packed to the gills, but I’ve claimed a table for us. What a day it’s been!”
“Oh, I quite agree,” Catherine replied, taking a seat. “It was a disaster at work with everyone so focused on the radio. I don’t think we managed to fill more than twenty POW boxes between us.”
Jonnie ordered two pints and bangers and mash, which they shared.
“Do you have to be in early tonight?” Jonnie asked. “I thought we might go out for a stroll and take in some celebrations.”
“I’d like that very much. Perhaps we can stop by the house and let Mummy and Dad know, so they don’t worry? I can leave my bike there.”
The pub grew more and more crowded as they finished their meal. They’d had enough by a quarter past seven. Once out on the street, Catherine happily drew in a gulp of fresh air as they got her bike and started to walk home.
When they arrived on her street, they found her neighbors outside, shouting and singing. Heart racing, Catherine rushed up her front steps, Jonnie following on her heels.
She opened the door. “Dad? Mummy? Is it over?”
The house was empty, but a note was set out on the kitchen table. She and Jonnie read, “We’ve gone out to celebrate THE END OF THE WAR! Ministry of Information just announced tomorrow is an official holiday, because Germany has capitulated! Love, Mum.”
With a shout of joy, Catherine grabbed Jonnie’s hand, and they rushed back outside. Music blared from open windows. People cheered and danced at every turn. As darkness came on, bonfires of “unsalvageable material” lit the night. They burned for hours until a furious thunderstorm drenched all of London. At that point, Catherine and Jonnie finally called it quits and hurried back to her house.
Shivering from the damp chill, she had a hard time getting her key into the lock. “I can’t b-believe I’m so cold,” she muttered through chattering teeth. Suddenly, the door burst open to reveal her parents grinning from ear to ear and also soaking wet.
“We’ve only just arrived ourselves,” George said, rubbing his bald head with a towel. “Do come in and dry off. We’re making tea for the lot of us.”
“Have you got anything stronger, sir?” Jonnie asked.
“Indeed,” George said with a wink. As they went inside, he tossed the towel to Jonnie with a laugh.
…
The next evening, deliriously exhausted, Catherine and Jonnie walked toward the Underground station to take the train to Piccadilly Circus. They wanted to be part of the official celebration of Victory in Europe Day, or as it was starting to be called, VE Day.
They’d gotten home just after midnight the night before and stayed up chatting with her parents until well past two. Catherine managed to sleep until ten, but, as her mother always said, “It’s the hours before midnight that count for sleep.” Although she’d meant it as a warning against high living, today Catherine believed every word. Her legs felt like noodles, and her brain seemed terribly unfocused. Plus, she wasn’t sure if her poor utility suit would ever be dry again.
“I’m as drained as I can be, but we shall remember these days forever, Jonnie.” Catherine looked up at him and grinned. “I’m so glad we’ve the good luck to share them together.”
Jonnie laughed. “And I shall never fully comprehend my good fortune in finding you.”
They arrived at Piccadilly Station. When they got to street level, they were swept into a huge crowd, everyone streaming toward the square. Jonnie held her hand and apologized to strangers as they pushed their way toward the center.
People danced, sang, and rejoiced as Jonnie stopped near a lamppost, then climbed it and pulled Catherine up beside him. With barely a toehold on its base, Catherine clung to Jonnie for support.
Suddenly, a huge roar lifted from the crowd, and they turned to see why. There, on a balcony overlooking the square, was the man of the hour and everyone’s hero—Winston Churchill. He raised his hand and waved to the crowd.
“Oh, Jonnie, there he is!” She pointed.
“Catherine!” Jonnie shouted to get her attention.
She could barely hear Jonnie over the din, but the intensity of his gaze abruptly claimed her full attention.
“Catherine, I love you! Will you marry me?”
The noise, the war news, the whole world fell away in that moment. She gazed at this man she loved, then tilted back her head and laughed for joy. “Well, of course I will! What took you so long?”
He laughed, too, and pulled her close. Their position on the pole was awkward and tenuous, but he managed to give her a quick kiss. As they clung to the pole and each other, they watched Churchill speak to the multitude, thrilled to be witnesses to history.
8 May 1945. VE Day.
And her engagement day!
Catherine glanced up at Jonnie, overcome with joy.
…
Later that evening, Brandon and Catherine rode the tube back to Stratford. It had been a wonderful day, momentous in so many ways. Brandon smiled as he escorted Catherine—his fiancée—home. He glanced up at the night sky, remembering the RAF bombers that had thundered over London earlier in the day, dropping thousands of red and green flares. The people roared their approval, as though they’d saved their voices for just that moment.
His own throat raw from cheering, his voice came out like a whispered croak. “We shall tell the story of this night to our children and grandchildren so often they’ll be able to recite it by heart.”
“Yes,” Catherine replied, her voice equally raspy. “The poor dears will roll their eyes and moan. They’ll never fully comprehend the impact of it all.”
Brandon nodded, an
d they continued on. He thought back to the moment they perched together on the lamppost. He knew he’d picked the right time, the right day to ask Catherine to marry him. He only wished there’d been an opportunity to get down on one knee and do the thing right.
Do it right. Yes, I must find a way. He vowed then and there he’d take a knee before Catherine. Not here. Not tonight. But one day soon. Somewhere unique. It was important she know how very special she was.
He’d had a few wartime affairs already, the most recent with a nurse, Audrey Lister. It was during his early convalescence, and she’d made it clear she wanted no real involvement, as she had a fiancé back home in York. That was fine with him. Although she was a lovely girl, he’d known even then she was not “the one.”
Not like Catherine.
Brandon laughed when he recalled Catherine’s bold response at Piccadilly Circus. “What took you so long?” she’d shouted with a grin.
At the sound of his laughter, Catherine glanced up with curiosity, and then he saw her look above his head and her eyes go wide.
“Catherine?” he asked, and turned to look.
Where once London’s night skies had remained dark, a great V of light cut across the heavens for all to see.
A knot of emotion caught in Brandon’s chest, and he pulled Catherine close as they looked at the sky.
Yes, indeed. Victory!
…
The weeks since VE Day and their engagement passed slowly for Catherine. Jonnie returned to full service and hadn’t gotten leave since then, and his absence made her lonely. They even missed celebrating his birthday in early June, but she was determined to make up for it the next time they met.
On top of that, her friends were, for the most part, unavailable. She’d not seen Poppy more than a few times since the bombing, such were the rigors of her friend’s physical recuperation routine. She worried Poppy was having difficulty with her mental recovery as well. Susan had begun dating someone, but she wasn’t yet ready to introduce him around, and Mirin was busy taking evening classes to further her education. It seemed Catherine’s world had gotten brighter and lonelier all in one go.
Begun by Time Page 3