One London Night

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One London Night Page 22

by Denise A. Agnew


  He closed his eyes and thought of how delicious Sylvie had tasted. How he’d wanted to touch her more intimately and discover just what it felt like to sink into her sweet body. He wanted her writhing under him as he brought her to climax—he wanted to see the wild and uninhibited part of her that he believed lived inside her. This wasn’t the first time he’d imagined her like that, naked and having sex with him. But it was the first time he’d admitted to himself how powerful the urge had become.

  Immersing himself in the AFS had worked to keep them apart for long stretches of time, but it also served to push her into another man’s arms. Pendleton might not be a bad chap, but Alec didn’t know if he could stand the idea of another man having her. He sure as hell didn’t like imagining Pendleton kissing her, holding her, or having sex with her. Jealousy burned a green path through him.

  Disgusted that he couldn’t control it, he stood and hurried back to the house to rescue Sylvie from her grandparents’ wrath. He’d deal with his family’s deceit later.

  Once in the house, he heard voices coming from the parlor. He walked in without hesitation, ready to face the firing squad. Sylvie wasn’t in the room, and that surprised him. Her grandparents and his mother sat there with shocked expressions, as if they hadn’t expected him at all.

  “Where is your father?” Alec’s mother asked.

  “I don’t know. He came back to the house before I did. I’d like to speak with you alone, Mr. Hunnicut, if I may?” Alec asked.

  The women stood and moved out of the room, closing the door behind them.

  “Mr. Hunnicut—”

  “I don’t suppose you plan to marry my granddaughter after sullying her reputation?”

  That stung, and Alec took a deep breath before he replied. “No. It isn’t like that. It wasn’t like that between Sylvie and I. We are simply close friends. In any case, I wanted to reassure you that my intentions are honorable, and I’d never hurt your granddaughter. That’s all I have to say.”

  Alec didn’t give the old man a chance to harangue him or make accusations. He left the parlor and headed back to his room to change. There was a lot of work to do at his parents’ home before the weekend concluded.

  * * * *

  “That was a tense weekend, wouldn’t you say?” Sylvie asked as they drove toward the small park on the outskirts of Huntingdon Sunday afternoon.

  Alec’s face remained stoic, as it had all day while they’d worked on boarding up the windows on his parents’ home.

  “I think that is an understatement of epic proportions,” he said.

  Awkwardness filled every corner of the weekend, and Sylvie couldn’t do a thing about it. No, she wasn’t being forced into a shotgun wedding with Alec, but the coolness the rest of Sunday came more from her grandparents and Alec’s parents than it did the weather. The windows on Alec’s parents’ house were boarded up, along with everyone’s feelings. Everyone had walked around her grandparents’ home as if a great tragedy had happened. She had a sense there was more going on with Alec than she understood, and she decided to use her journalistic acumen to discover the answer.

  As they pulled into the small park on the outskirts of some small houses that dotted the Great River Ouse, she wished Alec hadn’t also turned quiet and sullen. Maybe this small stop before they made the trek to London would clear the air.

  Alec carried the picnic basket as they wandered to a sturdy picnic table and settled down. Although the park was small, several mothers watched children playing ball, and another couple sat on a blanket on a patch of grass at least fifty yards away. Mist floated in the breeze, and she allowed the cool softness to fill her lungs. She savored more peace. They’d never walked down to visit his sacred spot, so now was the time to soak in quiet before they reached London. He sat across from her on the picnic table rather than next to her. As they drank water from flasks and munched cheese sandwiches, she decided to break the silence.

  She swallowed a bite of sandwich. “I’m sorry how everything happened earlier today.”

  He didn’t look at her, but stared off into nothing. “Not your fault.”

  “Still…I’m sorry my grandparents got so…” What? What could she call it?

  “They were concerned about you.”

  “Now you’re taking their side?” She smiled, genuinely amused.

  “They come from a different generation. When we’re their age, we’ll probably be the same way.”

  She laughed. “I hope not. I want a bigger range of experiences. I want to do and see so much more.”

  “You are.”

  She reached across the table and touched his forearm. “Are you angry at something? At me?”

  He finally met her eyes. “Of course I’m not angry with you. It’s just…the weekend didn’t turn out like I thought it would.”

  “No, it didn’t for me, either. Is that all that’s bothering you, Alec?”

  He turned his gaze to her, and his eyes held a sadness that worried her.

  “No.” He took a deep breath and puffed it out. “I didn’t know how to tell you this because I’ve been processing it myself…I don’t know what to think other than to be angry as hell.”

  Apprehension tingled her spine. What now? “Oh?”

  He placed his folded hands on the picnic table. He explained the conversation he had with his father that morning and the disappointment his father felt. “He was more than worried your grandfather would insist I marry you. My father told me he called in favors in government. People who assured I would get into the AFS regardless of my abilities.”

  Oh heavens. How could she respond to that? “Oh, no. Alec, I…”

  His gaze narrowed on her. “You aren’t surprised.”

  “I’m…I’m not.”

  “At one time you acted as if you believed I could qualify for the AFS. You’ve seen me working. What changed?”

  She’d done it now, and knew by the look in his eyes there would be consequences. An odd fear welled inside her. “Nothing changed. I always have believed in you, Alec. I’ve never doubted you or your abilities.” She reached out and placed both of her hands over his. “When I first arrived back in England, your mother confessed that she worried about you joining the AFS. I understood that because I worry too.”

  “And?”

  “And she told me what your father had done.”

  She practically held her breath waiting for his reaction—fearing she already knew what he’d do and say.

  He pulled his hands out from under hers, and when he spoke, his voice was hushed. “You kept this from me.”

  “I did—”

  “Why?” His voice rasped the question harshly. “Why?”

  “She asked me to.”

  He stood and began packing their trash up, his expression not wounded, but filled with deep disappointment. In her.

  “Alec, I did want to say something to you.” He started walking to the car. She snatched her pocketbook and gas mask box and headed after him. “Alec, wait.”

  He turned on her. “There is no good reason why you didn’t tell me. We’re friends, Sylvie. We’ve been through hell together, and still you don’t respect me enough to give me the truth.”

  She grabbed the lapels of his jacket. “I respect you more than any man…any person I’ve ever known. I just didn’t want to create conflict between you and your family. Besides that, it could have made you doubt yourself before you went to the AFS.”

  He pulled out of her grip and kept walking. She’d done it now, all right. An ache started in her breast as she realized what she may have just lost. After they climbed into the car and headed back to London, the silence was deafening. When they reached the Savoy, Alec dropped her off without saying another word.

  Chapter 14

  News Of The Day

  New York Herald Tribune

  October has so far been a mixed month for London and Britain as a whole. The sheer scope of damage isn’t astonishing so much as it is sobering. Since October 1,
the Germans have used their main bomber force mostly in darkness. Daylight brings small and fast Ju 88s along with Messerschmitt fighters flying at high altitude, carrying bombs. This happens every day. Every night London is attacked by an average of 150 bombers. With such strenuous bombing, the war blends together into such a thick morass of misery that it becomes difficult to separate one bombing from another.

  This month airfields, factories, telephone exchanges, and even St. Paul’s Cathedral have been hit. On October 9 Winston Churchill was elected as Tory Party leader to replace Neville Chamberlain, who retired for health reasons. Churchill reports civilian deaths from air raids at one time reached 6,000 a week, but now have been halved. We can only hope the casualty numbers drop farther. October 14 Princess Elizabeth delivered a radio message to the Dominions and United States in a broadcast for the 13,000 children evacuated there. In a show of solidarity with their people, the King and Queen have decided the princesses should not go to Canada.

  * * * *

  Monday, October 14

  Alec groaned as he struggled through yet another push up. He’d done so many he lost count. He collapsed over on his rear and allowed the air to cool his bare chest. He reflected on the raids last night. The bombs, which he thought would never end, had pounded London. He longed to be in two places—Huntingdonshire and here…right here with his fellow firefighters taking on the flames. He didn’t know why, but he had a feeling today and tonight would be worse. Dread hung over him in a thick wave.

  He’d hammered out dozens of sit ups and what seemed a million jumping jacks. It wasn’t just the need for keeping up his strength, but exercise helped him to forget that he hadn’t spoken with Sylvie since the day they’d returned to London. As much as he wanted to forget how they’d ended that day, he couldn’t. He’d had a long time to think, but he couldn’t swallow the fact she hadn’t told him the truth. Correction—hadn’t told him what she knew. He’d called his parents more than once over that first week after the bomb landed in their garden. Fortunately other people in the surrounding area had come to their aid as well. Windows were replaced within a couple of days rather than weeks, and their lives had returned to normal. Well, normal in a sense. With the garden damaged, they had more issues with obtaining vegetables they needed. To their credit, the Hunnicuts had proved invaluable friends to his parents. While that surprised him, he was happy for the good fortune. His family hadn’t brought up Sylvie, and he hadn’t spoken of her.

  “What’s wrong with you?” Sally’s voice snapped him out of a daze.

  “Nothing.” He rose to his feet and reached for his shirt draped over a broken wooden chair nearby. “Why?”

  She stared at his chest, her gaze thorough and admiring. Holy cow. The woman didn’t seem to care if she was married or not, the way she ogled him. As he hastened to button his shirt and tuck it into his pants, she wandered closer.

  Sally’s smile grew wide. “You looked deep in thought.”

  “I was.”

  “Not the happy deep in thought…but the ‘I want to punch someone’ look.”

  Ah, hell. “You’re mistaken.”

  She sighed, and as she crossed her arms, she looked officious and impatient. Until she smiled again and tilted her head to the side. “You’re quite angry. I can see that.”

  He slipped into his uniform jacket. “Why do you care, Sally?”

  She walked toward him, her petite frame and determined expression telling him she wouldn’t be deterred. “I care about all the blokes here at the Fleet Street Station. We’re a family when we aren’t with our families.”

  He settled on the picnic table nearby and perused the misty sky. Sitting on the bench reminded him of his last day with Sylvie. “My family is mad, so I appreciate everyone here.”

  “You’ve made a lot of friends on Fleet Street, Kent. Even the skeptical chaps like Felix and Bink.”

  He’d earned his place, but it hadn’t been easy. Even Senior Fireman Arnie Matheson had treated him better in the last week.

  Sally sat next to him, but not too close. If she hadn’t been married, he might have been tempted to ask her to a movie.

  Sylvie’s face flooded his mind—damn, that kiss he’d shared with her had ruined him.

  “You’re tensed up over something, Kent. What is it? The quality of this morning’s coffee? That was Edna’s fault. She made it this time.”

  He chuckled, and he thought his face might crack. He hadn’t smiled much lately, he knew. “No. That isn’t it.”

  “Since you came back from the country, you look as if someone stole a million pounds from you. Can’t say I blame you, though. With the Jerries practically wrecking your house.”

  “House is repaired and my parents are safe.”

  She grinned. He tried to resist her smile, but hers only grew larger and destroyed his resistance. “You’re hiding something. Is it that girl of yours? The journalist?”

  “She’s not my girl.”

  “All right. But there’s definitely something going on with you.”

  “Have you always been this nosy, Sally?”

  “Yes.”

  He laughed with her. Nothing ever seemed hidden with Sally—she allowed her emotions to lie on her sleeves for all the world to see. He wished sometimes that Sylvie was like that too.

  “I think Miss Hunnicut is a right lovely lady,” Sally said. “What do you think of her?”

  “You already know the answer.”

  “I don’t. You’ve never said.”

  “You claim I’m half in love with her.”

  “Aren’t you?”

  The question rolled around in his mind. He didn’t have a chance to answer. Susie Orland and Edna Manchester came into the back yard. He caught the seriousness on their faces and knew immediately something was amiss. He almost held his breath. Sally waved them over, that smile of hers indicating she hadn’t noticed or didn’t care about their most wretched faces.

  Edna held an envelope. As they arrived in front of Alec and Sally, Edna silently handed Sally the envelope.

  Sally’s face fell as she looked down at the envelope. “What is this?”

  “A telegram.” Edna’s young voice was hushed.

  Sally drew in a slow breath, and then looked up at the three of them, her eyes wide, her mouth a straight line. She paled. She tore the envelope in quick jerks and removed the note. She read it hastily, and her hands started to shake. She covered her mouth with one hand. Alec dared to read over her shoulder.

  We regret to inform you…

  Her husband, a RAF pilot, had met his death over the ocean yesterday fighting Germans.

  “Sally,” he said softly.

  His attention flicked upward to Edna and Susie and caught their worried expressions. Sally’s normally cheerful eyes had clouded to stunned grief. Edna reached for Sally, but Sally held up one hand.

  “No.” Sally headed for the door to the building. “No.”

  Edna started to follow, but Susie caught her arm. “Leave her be. She needs time.”

  Susie’s bottom lip trembled as the impact of her fellow AFS member’s loss hit her. Alec felt the raw emotion hit him at the same time.

  “The hits just keep coming,” Edna said.

  “Yes.” Alec didn’t know what else to say.

  The three returned inside, and the mood of the entire station remained somber as the day moved onward.

  Later that afternoon, Edna rushed into the recreation area, alarm clear on her face. “Sally is on the roof. I’m afraid she’s going to jump.”

  Several of the men stood, including Alec. His instincts kicked in, along with fear.

  As if he was being led to take charge, Alec’s voice rang out, “Wait. All of us shouldn’t go up there at once. I’ll go with Edna.”

  Arnie, Bink, Felix, and Edna followed Alec to the roof. Alec’s sense of urgency swamped him. If he didn’t get to her quickly and she jumped, she’d never survive the trip.

  Daylight faded over London as they st
epped onto the flat roof. Sally stood not on the ridge line, but right next to it. This roof didn’t have a safe edge. All she’d have to do is take one sure step, and Sally would sleep with the angels.

  “Oh, God,” Bink said, his young voice strained with fear.

  Bink never looked that afraid of a fire, but the possibility of a fellow AFS member taking a dive off the roof seemed to strip him to the core. Felix clapped a hand on Bink’s shoulder.

  Alec held one hand up, and the rest of them stayed in place and went silent. Alec only moved forward a little. He didn’t want to alarm her.

  “Sally? It’s Alec. Listen, you’re frightening me. Can you move back from the edge please?”

  Sally didn’t turn to face him, but she did look down.

  “Christ,” Alec said under his breath. Nausea made him swallow hard. “Don’t look down.”

  Sally said, “I’ve been up here two hours. Before that, I was trying to sleep. Can you imagine that? What kind of wife am I that I thought I could sleep after finding out my husband went down in the ocean?”

  “Sally, grief treats us all differently. And there’s a lot of grief hitting many people hard lately. We all need each other to be strong.”

  Sally made a snorting sound mixed with a mocking laugh. “Strong? We’ve all been strong for more than a year now and then these bombings every night. It’s enough to splinter a mind to pieces.” Her voice broke. “I can’t…not anymore. My husband was a good man. He…I didn’t really love him, but he was a good man. Maybe if I had loved him, he’d still be alive.”

  She didn’t love him?

  Alec thought fast. “I think you did love him, at least a little. That’s why you’re grieving now. It’s grief having its way with you.”

  She made that laugh again, one filled with disregard, disbelief, and maybe contempt. “Maybe if I’d been a better wife…”

  Her nonsensical statement kept him silent for a few seconds, and then he rushed to fill the quiet. “Sally, listen to me very carefully. When I lost sight in my right eye, I was only fifteen. Going blind in an eye isn’t as horrible as losing a loved one. But to a child that age, it feels like it. I understand what you’re feeling. You know that this weekend my family home was almost bombed. We lost the garden. I was away from the house, walking in a field. When I thought, even for one second, that I’d lost my parents…the terror was complete. I can imagine the worst, Sally. Let someone help you get through this. Let us help you.”

 

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