Mrs. Hunnicut’s expression grew guarded, and Alec’s mother looked as if she wanted to run from the room. Alec marveled at how buttoned-up and stuffy all of them were, even though nothing should surprise him anymore.
“I understand women are barred from press briefings. I don’t understand why,” Alec said.
Instead of soothing Sylvie, the mention seemed to make her bolder. “Yes. We are working at getting that changed. Many of the papers prefer that we write about less combative things. How caring the nurses are, the Land Girls. Things of that nature.”
“What I’m unsure of is why a woman would want to put herself in such danger,” Mr. Hunnicut said.
Sylvie walked to an unoccupied chair and settled into it. She crossed her legs. “I can only speak for myself. Many women are doing jobs they have to do but may not wish to. Just the way men are. They are doing what they have to. Women are already very good at doing what is required and not liking it.”
Alec’s father sat up straighter, his eyes not filled with as much disagreement.
“I suppose that makes good sense,” Alec’s father said.
Silence drowned the room for an uncomfortable moment, and then Alec couldn’t stand it anymore.
“I hear Jacob is an RAF pilot,” Sylvie said with a smile to the whole room.
Alec’s tension didn’t ease. “Completed all his training recently. He should be flying against the Luftwaffe any time now.”
“So terribly frightening, really,” Mrs. Hunnicut said. “To have a son flying one of those things. How do they stay in the air?”
Alec’s father laughed. “By the sure power of the British might.”
Alec almost rolled his eyes but thought better of it.
Alec’s mother leaned forward slightly, her eyes serene. “We are extremely proud of him.”
“Indeed.” Alec’s father nodded vigorously.
Alec knew he shouldn’t be a sod, but the jealousy rolling up inside him threatened to corrupt his even temper. He kept his mouth closed.
“How wonderful,” Mrs. Hunnicut said. “Is he married yet?”
Alec almost snorted. Sylvie’s grandmother was looking at Jacob as a potential suitor for Sylvie. Over my dead body. Alec winced at the vehemence of his thoughts.
“He has several lady friends who think he is the cat’s meow,” Alec’s mother said.
“What about you, Alec?” Mrs. Hunnicut asked, her gaze disapproving.
Alec gave the old lady his broadest smile and deliberately kept his gaze averted from Sylvie. “Not a one in sight.”
Alec’s father made a sound in his throat. “Never thought it was good for a man to make gestures to a woman during war time.”
Alec wondered if his father believed that men and women played by his set of rules. “They shouldn’t have inconvenient feelings at the wrong time.”
Alec’s parents glanced at him sharply.
“I would agree with that. Besides, it’s hard to tell what the right kind of woman is in wartime,” Mr. Hunnicut said.
“Right kind of woman?” Sylvie asked.
Hunnicut nodded. He drank the last of his wine in one gulp. “Certainly not one of those women that works in a munitions factory or with the Auxiliary Fire Service.”
“Or a war correspondent, Grandfather?” Sylvie asked with a thin veil of contempt.
“What do you think, Alec?” Mr. Hunnicut asked. “Should women be allowed in the AFS?”
A trick question, but Alec wouldn’t fall for it. “It doesn’t matter what I think. There are already women in the AFS.”
Barton entered the room. “Dinner is served.”
“Thank you, Barton.” Alec’s mother smiled at the room in general. “Not a moment too soon. I daresay I’m famished.”
Relieved the conversation hadn’t degenerated into unpleasantness, Alec led the way. His mother gave directions on where she wished everyone to sit. Alec’s father sat at the head of the long table, his mother to his father’s left. Alec to the right. Sylvie to his mother’s left. Mr. Hunnicut sat to Alec’s right and his wife next to him.
Their meal started with a potato soup and bread. Alec ate like a starving man, primarily because he was. When he glanced over at Sylvie, she watched him with amusement. He returned her smile. The next course came, an uninspiring stew with mystery vegetables and little flavor. Was that a turnip? He couldn’t say for certain. Not that Alec would complain. He understood rationing and was grateful to have anything at all. He never took for granted that he had food when so many in Europe starved.
The conversation bounced from politics to whether the bombings in London would continue. Sylvie never failed to liven the conversation, always polite but never backing down when her grandfather or his father tried to keep her in the place they thought she belonged. Admiration doubled inside him. A yearning grew within that threatened to derail any detachment from her. He swallowed his feelings. It didn’t matter. She had her job to do and he had his. They wouldn’t see much of each other soon once he got on the AFS. It was probably for the better.
If you get on the AFS.
“I think the Germans will continue to bomb London as long as the weather conditions allow,” Sylvie said.
“Perhaps we should hire an Indian to do a dance and bring rain,” Alec’s father said.
Sylvie smiled. “An American Indian?”
“Yes,” Alec’s father said.
“I don’t think they’d be interested,” she said, a wry smile on her face. “Besides that, I don’t know any to ask.”
A laugh went up around the room.
“Truly, you’ve never met an American Indian?” Alec’s mother asked.
Sylvie sipped her glass of water. “Never. I would like to someday, however.”
“Is there still conflict in the west between cowboys and Indians?” Alec’s mother asked.
Sophie blinked, her lips open as if she’d started an answer and forgot what she planned to say. She found her voice. “No, that sort of thing doesn’t happen anymore.”
“Thank goodness,” Alec’s mother said.
Alec felt a twinge of the ridiculous run through him. He couldn’t believe his mother had asked that.
Dinner finished and Alec was relieved when Mr. and Mrs. Hunnicut pleaded tiredness and didn’t stay too much longer. His parents didn’t seem to take offense, so he considered that a win.
“Alec, do you have a few minutes?” Sylvie said before they reached the front door.
Surprised, he almost didn’t know what to say. “Of course.”
“You wouldn’t mind driving me home?” she asked.
Again, he found an answer without even thinking. “No.”
She turned to her grandparents. “Would you mind going without me?”
Her grandparents didn’t look pleased.
“Sophie, really…” her grandmother said.
Sophie touched her grandmother’s arm. “I promise I’ll be perfectly safe with Alec. Won’t I, Alec?”
God, what a question for her to ask. “Of course.”
Still looking doubtful, her grandparents said their good-byes and his parents went upstairs.
Caution made him hesitate in the foyer. “What did you want to talk about?”
She glanced around. “Do you mind talking in the parlor?”
He did mind, actually. “Are you sure you want to be alone with me?”
She laughed, a soft, sweet sound that started an ache inside him. One that threatened to travel straight to his groin. Damn her. She had no idea what she asked of him. He didn’t want to spend this much time this close to her. Every moment longer gave him one less excuse not to kiss her.
“Come on,” he said softly and led the way to the parlor.
After she entered and he shut the door, he stood near it with his hands stuffed into his pockets.
“What is this all about? I feel like a boy caught doing something I shouldn’t,” he said.
She smiled and walked into the center of the ro
om. Good, he wasn’t so close to her now.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to be so clandestine about all this. I didn’t think you’d want your parents or my grandparents involved.”
“Well, they’ll wonder now, won’t they?”
She crossed her arms and small frown lines formed between her eyebrows. “Probably. I have a proposition for you.”
Just the word proposition made his blood stir. She looked too beautiful and tempting. Almost as if she had a magnet and he was metal, he drifted closer until he stood right in front of her. She didn’t step back, and he breathed in her scent, a lovely flower he couldn’t name.
His gaze fixed on her mouth. “Careful. That isn’t something you can say to every man.”
“Alec, you always were a joker.”
“I am not joking now.”
“All I mean is that I want to apologize for the other day.”
“The other day?”
“I shouldn’t have refused your offer of a ride to London. It’ll be so much nicer than taking the train into the tube.” Uncertainty widened her eyes. “That is, if the offer is still open.”
Pleasure and curiosity rushed over him. She unfolded her arms, and the temptation of her made him want so much more than he should.
“The offer is open. What made you change your mind?” he asked.
“I realized I was assuming some things about you. That you might make the trip unpleasant.”
He didn’t like the sound of that. “What? Why?”
“Because of what happened all those years ago.”
Oh, she was right. He did have feelings concerning what had happened all those years ago, but perhaps not the ones she believed.
“Don’t be concerned.” Alec wanted to say more, to get out in the open so many things left unsaid between them. Instead it backed up in his throat.
She nodded. “Good. Because the past is the past. We can’t change it. We can’t do anything about what happened, right?”
Her voice wobbled a bit, and he wondered at the strong emotion that raced over her face. “No. We cannot change it to the way it was before the accident.”
He thought he saw sadness in her eyes, but he couldn’t be certain. He ached to touch her, to see if her skin would feel as soft as it once had.
“I’m hoping you might do me one more favor,” she said.
Suspicion made him change his stance from relaxed to hands on his hips. “What?”
“I’d like to do an interview with you, or perhaps a series of articles for the paper.”
He paused, considering and half inclined to refuse outright. “An interview with me? Why?”
She edged forward an increment, and that meant they were close. Very close. “You’re joining the AFS. I want to know everything I can about it. I’m certain no other American war correspondents have done full-fledged stories on a member of the AFS.”
Disappointment filtered around the pleasure he’d felt when she said she wished to ride with him. “I see. You’ve researched it? No one else has written an article?”
“I haven’t found any stories yet. I want to jump on this opportunity first thing.”
“Right. And riding with me to London would make your first interview convenient, wouldn’t it?”
She shook her head, the vigorous denial tossing her hair about her shoulders. “No, it isn’t like that. You won’t be in the AFS when I’m riding with you.”
Doubt made his words sharper. “Doesn’t matter, you can still get the lay of the land. Pick my brain.”
She tilted her head slightly to the left. “No. That isn’t it. I really want a ride from you, and I hoped I’d get a story later on. When you’re…when you’ve been hired into the AFS.”
“I doubt they would allow you to follow us around.”
“No one ever got a good story without taking chances. I’ll get permission from my new boss on Monday to do the story. I think he’ll love it.”
Despite the realization she wanted him more for his information than anything else, he yearned to spend more time with her. She was an elixir in his blood that made him drunk.
“Alec, please.” Her voice, so soft and sweet, made him ache.
“All right.”
She smiled, happiness clear on her face. “Thank you.”
He took her home in the Bentley, a quick drive where they remained mostly silent.
After he left her at the front door of her grandparents’ house and returned home, he knew he’d dream about her that night, and every night until Friday.
Chapter 4
Friday, September 13
Sylvie sank down in the passenger seat of Alec’s Bentley as he drove them toward London. They’d left Chestville not long ago, all their luggage and belongings with them. The big car hugged the road and made her feel secure. She didn’t understand what made this car different, unless it was the man in it.
She had one question she couldn’t help asking, even if he thought it was mean. “Why did they let you have a driver’s license?”
He snorted softly. “I suspect my father had something to do with that. I think he talked to people who could make a difference. But I also did a wonderful job on the test.”
She rubbed her gloved hands together. “I’m sorry. I think that question is what you English would call insufferably rude.”
“No. I’m surprised you didn’t ask before.”
She rubbed her hands together again.
“Cold?” he asked.
She nodded and rubbed her hand over the lap robe her grandmother insisted they take. She wore her woolen pants and boots, so it could be worse.
“I’ll be fine. It’s England and I always get used to it.”
“It is damp in New York, right?”
“Yes, but there’s something biting in an English fall sometimes that passes up New York.”
He flashed a quick grin at her. Time went on and she stayed silent.
“Are you all right?” Alec asked her as he kept his gaze on the road.
Her attention centered on his handsome profile. He hadn’t bothered to shave, and his too-long hair touched the back of his collar and then some. It waved across his forehead in a roguish fashion. Her gut reacted with a dip and a warm rush of womanly appreciation. What she’d felt for him as a young girl had changed into a very adult need, and yet she couldn’t act on it. She couldn’t take what she wanted.
He glanced at her briefly. “Sylvie?”
“I’m fine. You?”
His mouth barely quirked. “I’ll be better when I’m in the AFS and working.”
She jerked her attention to the road in front of her and the miles they’d spend together. “What makes you so eager to join the AFS?”
“You mean what makes me think I can join?” His voice held a hint of anger.
She rushed to say, “No, of course not. You’re going to do what you can for the war effort, but…”
“But what?”
“I’m worried, that’s all. I’m sure being in the fire service is dangerous already. Having Hitler dropping fire on you makes it worse.”
He glanced over and caught her gaze. “So you’re worried about me?”
“Yes. You.”
Frustrated with her ability to communicate, she patted at her hair, happy enough with the loose style she’d created. If it was windy, her hair would fly all over the place, but she hated being too coiffed.
He laughed softly, and the rich sound tickled her ears. One of those rare smiles curved his mouth. “Thank you. I didn’t expect that.”
“Why not?”
“Because you’re…we didn’t part on good terms, if I remember correctly.”
“Your family and my family didn’t part on good terms. It wasn’t us. Did everything we experienced together just disappear after that day?”
“No.” He sounded grave. “It doesn’t do any good trying to forget. I can’t wipe it from my mind. I remember every moment.”
Pain flickered through her. She c
ould take his words two ways. That he couldn’t get horrible thoughts of the car accident from his mind. Or he couldn’t forget the good times. She hoped it was the latter. She didn’t know how to answer, so she said nothing.
“Are you afraid to go to London?” he asked after a moment’s quiet.
“No. Why should I be?”
“The bombings. This isn’t like anything you’ve experienced before.”
“I know.” She shifted on the seat and gathered her coat closer around her neck. “But you know me.”
“Always climbing trees and getting into trouble.”
That made her smile. “You do remember.”
“There isn’t one day I will ever forget.”
Her heart leaped. Did he really remember all those times they’d had together with fondness? Like she did? She didn’t want to feel this quickening of her breath just being so near to him. While she trusted him to the core, a strange skittishness came over her. Maybe she should fear London because he’d be there and on her mind. As they merged into the main road, the traffic thickened into an unexpected jam.
“Blast,” he said. “This could take a while.”
“Gives us more time to talk.”
He drew in a deep breath and seemed to relax into the seat. “There’s no help for it. The traffic, I mean.”
“So what have you been doing all these years?”
“I suppose since you can’t run away screaming, I can tell you.”
She laughed. “There’s something that will make me scream?”
“Possibly scream with boredom. I attended Oxford. Reading English and thinking about being a barrister like my father.”
“You’re not, though. Why?”
“I don’t feel it’s what I want to do with the war on. I won’t help anyone staying in a little corner village trying to hide from bombs.”
“I see.”
She felt his gaze but didn’t look at him. “What do you think you see?”
Oh, dear. She may be in a jam now. “Jacob’s a pilot, so he gets a lot of attention, right?”
She looked straight at him and watched dismay march over his face. “You think I’m jealous and wish to show up my brother by joining the AFS?”
One London Night Page 5