He flexed his fingers on the steering wheel.
“Something wrong, Alec? You seem nervous,” Sylvie said.
He drew in a deep breath to steady his nerves, and the faintest warm scent touched his senses. She smelled exotic, lovely, but not overpowering.
“It feels good to be out of the city.”
“You mean it feels good to be out of the bombing.”
“Yes. That’s probably it too. The bombing and the fires have set me a bit on edge.” He didn’t tell her that his nerves were frayed to bits and shredded.
“I’m so sorry. I know what you mean, though. I’m having a hard time relaxing too.” She turned on an excellent fake English accent. “Maybe we should buy a bottle of wine, darling, and find somewhere to drink it all.”
“Sounds wonderful. I mean it, let’s do it.”
“No, no. I didn’t mean it. If we did that and you were trying to drive…”
“Well, we could buy one tonight and simply drink it all. What about that cottage on your grandparents’ property? Is anyone leasing it?”
“No. But I have no idea what condition it’s in.”
“I’ll make a promise.” Excitement took him over. “We’ll meet there at ten tonight. We’ll risk the Jerries seeing us, but it’ll be worth it, don’t you think?”
He didn’t believe she’d agree, and he almost held his breath.
“I love it. A wonderful idea.”
Surprised, he glanced over and caught her wide smile. “It’ll be like being children again, don’t you think?”
Her smile disappeared just as quickly. “You know what happens when we let our hair down.”
Frustration prickled over him. “Sylvie, don’t be so bloody uptight. What do you think will happen if we share a bottle of wine?”
“Friendly conversation without our family members knowing. Well, you know they’d disapprove of the idea.”
“We shouldn’t care what they think.”
“No, we shouldn’t.”
“But you do. You’ve always been the voice of reason.” He heard disappointment in his own voice.
“Sometimes. I’m spreading my wings. It’ll take a bit for me to find my stride.”
But she didn’t sound convinced, and his frustration level included his own thoughts. “We’re a mess.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean we are adults. We have a right to live our lives without parental guidance or influence if we choose.”
“A novel idea.”
“It is for me.” He also hated to admit what he planned to tell her now, but felt he needed to get it off his chest. “Having a friendly drink won’t be like the last time we were irresponsible. We were kids then.”
“Yes. But you are blind in one eye because of it.”
He nodded. “How can I forget? I live well enough. I’ve fought fires for almost a month and done things I never thought I could until this year. I think I can drink a bottle of wine without becoming completely irresponsible.”
“Of course.”
But he didn’t hear confidence in her voice, and that disturbed him. God, he’d show her just how responsible he could be.
She started to hum a tune that sounded familiar to him, but he couldn’t put a name to it.
“Good to get away from the city,” he said again.
She sighed, and the sound turned into a little moan that made everything inside him respond on a primal level. His groin tightened, and no matter how much he wanted to stay only friends with her, his body wanted more.
“You’ve been fighting fires almost every night, haven’t you?” Her smooth, soft voice asked.
“Not every night. I’ve had a few days off.”
“Did you stay at your friend’s house?”
“No. He’s considering moving out into the country. His parents are begging him to leave London.”
“What about this car? If he leaves, what will happen?”
“I told him to take the car with him if he goes. He might leave as early as next weekend. I’m sleeping in the fire station. It is easier.”
After they went silent for a short time, she asked, “How is sleeping in the fire station working for you otherwise? The accommodations aren’t that comfortable, are they?”
He smiled. “It’s wretched. But it is for everyone else too.”
“You sound so tired.”
“I am. I was hoping to sleep through the weekend.”
“Do you think you’ll get that chance at your parents’ house?”
“I’m going to try.”
As they came closer to their destination, she said, “I’m looking forward to the picnic. A slice of nature will be wonderful. Peace will be wonderful.”
He smiled, her smooth voice like liquid desire in his veins. “I’d hoped you’d be free this weekend, but I didn’t think you would be.”
“Why?”
“I thought you’d want to stay in the city for more stories.” He almost didn’t say his next suspicion, but he had to know. “Or perhaps you and Pendleton would be together.”
“Stories? Well, I suppose I could have stayed in London for that reason, but I’m frankly too tired. Second, why would I be with James?”
Damn, if she wasn’t being coy. “Come on, Sylvie. I’ve known you most of my life. You like the man.”
God, he hated saying that. Hated that she liked him. Hated that he cared.
“You’re right. I do like him. He seems like a very decent man.”
She didn’t elaborate, but he had to understand more of what she meant. “Good. I’m glad he’s a decent man. It almost makes up for that wanker Benjamin.”
Her laugh came, a sweet sound on his ears. “You’re awful, but I agree. He’s much nicer than Benjamin.”
She went on to fill him in on so many of the things that had happened with her work in the days he hadn’t seen her. Benjamin, Betty Parks’ antics, and the other challenges she’d faced.
At the end of that explanation, she said, “I’m glad I had the station tour, met your fellow AFS people, and rode along to a fire. It was terrifying but exhilarating.”
An epiphany hit him full force, and his foot let off the gas pedal a little. This was one thing he liked about her. No…adored about sweet Sylvie. She was strong, beautiful, intelligent, and more than that, she told the unvarnished truth.
“Few people are up to admitting they are scared when bombs fall every night. I can see why you’re a war correspondent, Sylvie.”
“You can see why, but you don’t approve of me being a journalist.” Her voice sounded a bit resentful.
He wrestled with his feelings, uncertain. “No, you’re wrong. I approve of you and your work, Sylvie. You’re an amazing woman. But I care about you. I worry about your safety, that’s all.”
“Do you?”
“Yes. How do I prove it to you?”
“I’m sorry.”
“About what?”
“It’s just that I’ve faced a lot of opposition this last month. It’s very tiring. It seems most men want me to stay in my place.”
“I’m sorry you had to endure that, Sylvie. It’s mad, of course. I support you.”
He caught her smile in a quick glance, and suddenly he wished he didn’t have to keep his gaze on the road. He wanted to bask in her beauty, in the warm feeling being with her gave him.
“Thank you so much, Alec. You don’t know how much that means to me.”
“You’re welcome.” What else could he say?
When he realized he’d much rather be with her for a while before dropping her off at her grandparents, he said, “Should we stop at the Chinese Bridge in Godmanchester before we go to your grandparents?”
“I’d love that.”
Pleased, he continued driving until they found a parking space in Godmanchester and made their way to the pedestrian bridge, which arched over the Great River Ouse. The day was cool, a breeze drifting over the area. Peace filled him and eased away apprehensions. Fo
r this moment, he savored the calm he hadn’t felt in so long. They stood on the bridge with the river beneath them. The quiet held him enthralled. He soaked in the feeling, not knowing when he’d enjoy such peace again. Wind blew through his hair—he’d left his hat in the car.
Sylvie touched his forearm. “You’re so quiet.”
“Yeah.” He turned toward her even though he leaned on the railing of the bridge. “I’m glad we came here.”
“It’s a little slice of heaven, isn’t it?”
“Yes.”
He slipped his arm around her shoulders and brought her close. White and black swans stayed in repose on the river. He held the peace inside him. They stood for what seemed forever before he spoke again. “I’m glad you came to England, but you might regret it.”
“Why should I regret it?”
“The war.”
She sighed. “War can’t be avoided. It’s here now. I think it will come to the United States too. Whether we like it or not. I’m meeting it a bit earlier than most Americans, that’s all.”
Fierce protectiveness hit him broadside. He drew her closer and tighter until she turned slightly toward him. He kissed her forehead, and she buried her face in his shoulder. They remained that way a while longer before they headed back to the car.
Her grandparents’ estate came into view soon, and his heart sank that he would leave Sylvie here. Excitement sang in his veins that he’d see her tonight at the cottage. He couldn’t recall the last time he’d felt such grinding need to be with a woman. The fact he felt more than pleasant anticipation about seeing her tonight concerned Alec. He’d reminded her not so long ago that she’d leave England eventually. Starting anything with her wasn’t wise. He knew that. God, he knew that. Before he could dwell on the thought longer, they were in front of the house. He helped her with her luggage and took her bags upstairs.
“Looks like your grandparents are out. Please give them my regards,” he said.
“I will. Alec…”
“Yes?”
Her pretty lips parted. “See you tonight.”
He smiled, soaking in that gut-wrenching feeling, that longing. He left without another word, intent on getting to his parent’s house.
Once there, he found his mother in the parlor, her face drawn and pale. Her head snapped up as he walked in, eyes wide and almost frightened.
“Mum? What is it?”
She stood and went to him, throwing her arms around his waist and sighing. He slipped his arms around her shoulders and held tight, taking in how thin and fragile she felt.
“Mum, what is it?” he asked.
She pulled out of his arms, tears in her eyes. “I’m just so happy to see you in one piece. Mrs. Hennessy down the road…she…her son was killed in one of the raids on London last night.”
He drew in a sharp breath. He’d gone to school with Daniel Hennessy but never been good friends with him. In all actuality, Hennessy had been a mean child and a rotter of a man, cruel to his widowed mother. His mother was probably better off with Hennessy dead. He bit back the awful statement that wanted to leave his lips.
“That’s horrible news,” he said instead.
She made her way back to her chair. “Her family is gathering around her. Your father and I thought we’d go over there this evening and pay our respects.”
“Of course.”
“Would you come with us?”
Damn. If he went with them, he’d have to make sure they didn’t linger past a certain time or he’d miss seeing Sophie. “Yes.”
Alec sat next to his mother on the couch. His father came in a moment later along with Cook Helen. She carried biscuits and cookies. Father shook hands with Alec, his expression grim and thoughtful. Not an unusual look for his father, but today he seemed to frown more deeply. He looked distracted and frankly not much interested Alec was there. Alec tried engaging them in conversation.
“I brought Sylvie home as well,” Alec said.
His mother looked up, her expression brighter. “How lovely. Perhaps we can get together with them all Sunday. Would you call her and see if they’d like to?”
His mother’s enthusiasm surprised him. “All right, but they may have other plans.”
His father sipped tea. “Alec, tell us how the AFS has been for you since you started.”
Surprise hit Alec between the eyes. His father never asked his opinion or experience. He didn’t know whether to feel happy or suspicious. He chose suspicious.
“Brilliant. Everyone works hard.”
His father sat back in his chair. “That’s it? Everyone works hard?”
Alec drew in a slow breath and settled back against the couch. “I don’t know what else to say about it. There are fires most every night, and most of the time we try to help, even if it isn’t in our area. It depends on the night and the fire.”
“We’ve been so worried.” His mother patted her hair as if nervous. “What we’ve heard on the wireless sounds awful. My imagination runs wild. Is it as bad as they say?”
Alec snorted. “It is worse. Sylvie was with me early on at one of the fires. I was afraid we wouldn’t get out of the mess in one piece.”
Father’s eyebrows flew up and his teacup clanked against the saucer. “Good Lord. What was she doing in the midst of it?”
Alec expected the reaction. “Being a war correspondent.”
“How irresponsible letting a woman do that.” His father’s chest actually seemed to puff out. “What were you thinking?”
Alec didn’t expect anything else from his father, but it still sent a small fire burning in his gut. “I have no hold over her, Father. She’s an adult and does what she likes. It’s her job.”
“How horrible she’d have to endure that and that you wouldn’t insist she not come with you,” his mother said.
Alec almost groaned. “She’d do it anyway, with or without me. I’d rather she be with me where I can try and protect her.”
Father made his usual grunting sounds, which conveyed disapproval better than anything else. “I still don’t think it’s a good idea.”
Alec’s patience snapped. “Well, I don’t think she bloody well cares what you think.”
“Alec!” Mother’s voice went up and sounded exactly as it had when he was a child. “Apologize to your father at once.”
Alec stood slowly, his body weary and his heart heavy. “I’m off to take a walk. I’ll be back later.”
His mother didn’t protest and neither did his father. Alec left the parlor and closed the door. He hurried down the hall and into the kitchen, hoping he wouldn’t see anyone. The kitchen was empty, and he grabbed an old hat off a peg close to the back door. He threw on an equally ragged long jacket and headed into the sunny day. Clouds eased across the sky slowly, their whispery arms and legs reaching. Birds chirped and a light breeze rustled tree leaves. He wandered through the garden for a short time before moving past the back gate and onto public land and a trail he used to walk as a child. Local lore claimed a Roman villa had once stood here, but now it was buried beneath these fields. Archaeologists had explored this region a long time ago and taken all the artifacts. Yet he always felt as if he’d stepped back in time when he’d walked the area. Beyond that, it gave him a chance to clear his head. Nature always gave him balance, and he needed it now.
He’d handled his parents badly. Things didn’t always work the way they wanted anymore—people changed over time and so did society as a whole. The war would change society even more. Perhaps when he saw Sophie tonight, her level-headedness would prove inspiring. He’d ask her what she thought and what he might do. At the same time, he felt hollow and uncertain.
By God what would he do two months from now? Three months from now, if the war still raged onward? He needed to master the beast inside him and learn to tame his anger while he still could.
He walked until he reached a small creek, and then settled on the bank and listened to nature talk to him. Trees rustled, a breeze threaten
ed his hat. He took off the hat and held it while he breathed in the cleansing, cool air. It smelled so good after London; he committed it to memory. He wished Sophie was sharing this with him. The creek’s gentle sound soothed him, and he considered sitting here all day. He might have if a sound hadn’t interrupted his enjoyment.
He recognized the sound of those aircraft engines and wished he didn’t. A German bomber flew at a fast clip over the area, and for a second, anger mixed with sheer terror. He stood, wondering if the crew could see him and if they’d drop their payload on him out of sheer spite.
What the hell were they doing way out here? They turned, and the large craft made a sweep toward his family home more than three miles away. As their engines faded and the aircraft disappeared down below a ridge, an explosion echoed over the valley. His heart froze. He sprinted home.
Chapter 12
Sylvie sighed as she lay on her bed, her heart set on a nap. She’d had a small repast with her grandparents, and they’d gone to the garden to work. She’d offered to help them, but they insisted she rest. The quilt beneath her was cool, the pillow soft and more comfortable than even what the Savoy had to offer.
A rumble went through the house and shot her into sitting position. The sound echoed in the air and through her entire body.
The noise was familiar to Sylvie, a distant, vibrating sound. She recognized it immediately, and the fear it inspired inside made her hair stand up on her arms.
“Oh, God.” She sprang off the bed and went for her shoes.
She rushed for the window and looked outside. She couldn’t see smoke, and it didn’t sound as if the bomb had landed on her grandparents’ property. After throwing on her coat, she made her way downstairs just as her grandparents came inside from the garden. Their voices were rushed and louder than usual.
“What on earth—where is Sylvie?” her grandmother’s worried voice asked from below.
Sylvie came down the stairs quickly. “Here. That was a bomb.”
Her grandfather moved slowly with his cane, his eyes wide and his mouth tight. “We saw smoke toward the Kent place.”
Fear shot a hot spike straight through Sylvie. “Oh, no. No.” Without another thought, she said, “I’m driving over there. Where are the keys to the car?”
One London Night Page 19