One London Night

by Denise A. Agnew

  Her heart slammed in her chest, and she reached over and snatched the phone off the table.

  “Sylvie, it’s James.”

  She eased back on the couch and closed her eyes, waiting for her heart to slow down. “James. How are you?”

  “At the Savoy, working. Pugs is out on a story, and Benjamin is somewhere with Betty. I thought I’d call and see how you are. Will you be moving back into the Savoy?”

  “I…” She hesitated for the smallest moment. “No. The Tribune won’t pay for it.”

  Leave it there.

  “I don’t blame you for not paying to stay here.”

  “Oh?”

  James expelled a breath, almost a sigh. “Expensive if the paper isn’t paying, and you’d just work rather than take time away if you stayed here.”

  “You sound like Alec.”

  “Smart chap.”

  She laughed softly. “He is. You heard what happened…that Betty is trying to replace me?”

  “Yes. Not right as far as I’m concerned. And I told Benjamin just that.”

  Surprise held her silent.

  He asked, “Are you all right, Sylvie?”

  “Yes, of course. I just…you took me by surprise. You didn’t have to defend me.”

  He made a noise in his throat. “Yes, I did. Even Pugs did, and he doesn’t usually defend anyone.”

  “That is a surprise. Thank him for me, will you?”

  “Of course. On another note, is there anything we can do about…Annie?”

  Those treacherous tears filled her eyes again. “Her boss at The Lady said she has no living relatives and only a few friends.” Sylvie wiped tears as they fell. “I’m taking responsibility for her. I’m going to the funeral home tomorrow to make arrangements and decide on a possible cemetery.”

  “You’re going alone?” he asked.

  “Yes. Alec is back on work tomorrow.”

  “I see. Would you like someone to come along?”

  She almost said yes. “No. I need to do this myself.”

  “Are you certain?”

  “Of course. I can’t rely on you and Alec to prop me up all the time.”

  “No, you can’t. I don’t see it that way, though.” His sigh came over the line. “Please let me know when you have it all decided. I’d like to attend her funeral, and I’m sure Pugs would too.”

  She fingered the cord on the phone. “Of course.”

  After they finished the phone call, she expected to lie down again but remembered she hadn’t called her grandparents. She’d called them yesterday to let them know she’d survived the bombing in case they heard details on the wireless. They’d promised to send a telegram to her parents so they, too, would hear she’d survived the attack. She hadn’t told them where she planned to live for the next few weeks.

  “Do it now before you lose your nerve,” she said.

  She dialed out and Grandmother picked up on the second ring, as if she’d stood next to the phone in anticipation.

  “Grandmother, how are you?” Sylvie asked as she interjected cheerfulness she didn’t feel.

  “Sylvie dear. So good to hear from you. I’m splendid now you’ve called. Your grandfather is out at the post office right now.”

  “I see. Well…” She almost didn’t know what to say, overwhelmed with feelings she couldn’t put into words. Not from talking to her grandmother, but from all that happened recently.

  “Dear, how are you?” Grandmother asked.

  Sylvie explained what she hadn’t yesterday. She also took a deep breath and prepared to explain where she’d stay for the foreseeable future.

  “You won’t be at the Savoy anymore?” Grandmother asked.

  “Not for now. I’m staying with Alec in his friend’s flat.”

  “His friend’s flat?” Grandmother sounded confused.

  “Alec’s friend went out to the country, and Alec asked him to take care of his Bentley. Anyway, Alec called his friend and asked if it would be all right if I stay here.” Sylvie almost held her breath.

  “You’re staying there alone?” Grandmother asked quickly, voice laced with suspicion.

  “No. Alec is staying here too.”

  “Oh dear. So you’ve moved along with your…situation with him?”

  What could she say? Yes, she had. But no, she wouldn’t say it. “He is sleeping on the couch.”

  “I see. I can’t say your grandfather or your parents will be thrilled about this.”

  “I’m sure they won’t be. What about you?”

  Grandmother sighed. “You already know what I think. But I don’t believe you honestly care, do you, my dear?”

  The sting of her words filled Sylvie with indignation. “No. This flat is safer than the Savoy by the way. It’s a basement level.”

  “I see.” Her grandmother’s sigh held a long-suffering sound. “We’re just happy that you’re safe. As for that newspaper job, you don’t really need it, you know.”

  “What do you mean?” Sylvie asked with caution.

  “At the end of the day, if that woman wants your job, it probably saves you from a lot of unpleasantness. All the things you’ve had to see in London. Your grandfather and I were discussing that perhaps you should come here. It certainly isn’t seemly for you to stay with Alec, even if he is sleeping on the couch.”

  Sylvie hardened her words, even as a fresh spate of tears ran down her face. “I’m not leaving London. I should go, Grandmother. Give Grandfather my love.”

  After they hung up, Sylvie felt an ache within her she couldn’t remove. No doubt Alec’s parents would find out from her grandparents that she was staying with Alec. Alec hadn’t talked to them since yesterday. Yet her grandparents spoke with Alec’s parents on a regular basis and had done so since the bombing in the garden. Too many things had happened in this war already for her to process. Combine that with not having a job for the time being, and it left a hole within her a mile wide.

  Tomorrow she’d face making arrangements for Annie, but right now she grieved.

  * * * *

  News Of The Day

  New York Herald Tribune

  November has been a bad month in London and Britain as a whole. Earlier in the month, heavy raids on London did untold damage. Many myths about the war are spread throughout Britain as a whole. Propaganda would lead many to think, with so many men off to war, that Britain’s women would be fully employed in more than the home.

  Even with many single women becoming Land Girls, working in many other capacities for the war effort, more British women are unemployed than they were before the war.

  Women here assist with plotting enemy aircraft movements in RDF stations and can also be found in anti-aircraft batteries and naval command centers. They are always in non-combat positions. Many of these women, however, are thoroughly dismayed by the menial jobs they’re assigned. Despite all the things they can do, they are more often assigned to cooking and cleaning than anything else.

  * * * *

  Thursday, November 14

  The train into Brookwood Cemetery rattled along the rails, and the click clack lulled Sylvie into an almost-trance. She stared out the window to her right, her awareness centered on the green fields and lofty trees passing beyond the window. A child crying from somewhere in the train broke her out of her dreamlike state. Her head itched under the black hat she’d purchased yesterday. She smoothed her hands down the simple black dress she’d also purchased down the street from the haberdashery. She yawned and pushed away the sleepiness that haunted her on a daily basis. She’d slept quite a bit since the day Annie died.

  That’s the way she thought of it these days. Not by the date, but the event. It seemed particularly ghoulish, riding a train to a cemetery. As if she rode to her own funeral. She shivered.

  Alec reached for her gloved hand. “All right?”

  She smiled, happy for his support. “Yes.”

  Annie’s friends, some on this train, others driving, would honor her today
in a short service. There would be no coffin or urn. All they’d discovered of Annie was the hat and ring. Instead, flowers would mark a spot where a memorial stone would reside within a month or so. They’d wanted this ceremony as a closing, an honoring of Annie’s life.

  “Maybe I should have her hat and ring buried in her…spot,” Sylvie said suddenly.

  Alex’s fingers curled around her cold hand. “Of course. Whatever you want.”

  “Thank you for contributing to her stone. I mean, you certainly didn’t have to do that.”

  “I wanted to.”

  A wave of affection and comfort flowed over her as she glanced over at him. Her eyes locked with his, and the solace she experienced from his presence wrapped around her like a blanket. She could do this. It helped that the sun promised to brighten the day. She’d thought of Brookwood Cemetery in Woking, Surrey, for Annie.

  Sylvie had been there before to visit her great-grandparent’s graves when she was a child. Five hundred acres had been beautifully laid out in 1854. No one knew Annie’s religious background, and she’d never spoken of religion to Sylvie. So Sylvie made a decision and her memorial would lie in the Anglican section. The South train would take them where they needed to go. Sylvie knew in her heart Annie would appreciate the amazing beauty of the place.

  A few seats back, Benjamin, Betty, Pugs, and James sat. Anger welled up in her that she couldn’t control.

  “I wish Betty and Benjamin weren’t here,” she whispered under her breath. They’re just…they weren’t even her friends.”

  “I know. Perhaps they had some affection for her anyway.”

  She laughed, but the sound lacked real mirth. “Good thing they don’t know what she honestly thought of them.”

  He grinned. “God, Sylvie. Quiet or they’ll hear you.”

  Despite the sadness, she couldn’t deny the thread of joy welling inside her. Her emotions had run the gamut since Annie’s death. At times, over this last week, she’d felt more joy at being alive, a weathering of all the storms coming her way. And in the last week she’d weathered a few.

  “Perhaps the Tribune is right about me,” she said softly.

  “What?” Alec asked.

  She kept her gaze on their linked hands. “Think about it, Alec. When you haven’t been with me, I’ve stayed in the flat. I’ve hardly gone out except to get food when you’re working.”

  “Why is that a bad thing?”

  She pondered, recognizing how scattered she felt. “I used to go out without a problem before the bomb.” She rubbed her free hand over her face. “Listen to me. I’m calling it ‘the bomb’, as if there was only one that day or any day when there have been hundreds. So many lives have been shattered by bombs, why am I allowing one to do this to me?”

  He turned her face toward his so she had to look at him. “Because the bomb killed your friend. That’s the difference for you, Sylvie. Don’t be so harsh with yourself.” He released her chin. “You’re a little shell-shocked right now, just as so many others.”

  Stubbornly she said, “I don’t want to be shell-shocked. I want to go on as I was before. Alec, I have to forget the fear so I can do my job again.”

  He lowered his voice. “Take the time they’ve given you. Keep reading Jane Austen and relaxing as much as possible. When you’ve decided you’ll run mad if you don’t work, then you’ll know you’re ready.”

  She looked back out the window. “You make too much sense.”

  “It doesn’t have a thing to do with your competency as a correspondent.”

  She didn’t answer him, but she wanted to believe it. Instead she stared out the window until the train slid up to the platform where they’d disembark for the cemetery. After they left the train, Alec took her hand again and they walked toward the area near the chapel where Annie’s memorial would be held. Behind them the others trailed along at their own pace. She was aware of eyes upon her, Benjamin, Betty, Pugs, and James along with ten of Annie’s other acquaintances and people she knew from The Lady.

  Sylvie and Alec entered the area next to the chapel and were greeted by a Mr. Henderson and an Anglican priest who would perform Annie’s service. Sylvie took a deep breath, and as they entered the chapel and found a seat close to the front, she soaked in the peace the quiet chapel gave her. She’d left Annie’s hat and ring at the flat. She still didn’t know what she wanted to do with them. If there had been anything of Annie to bury, she would have put it in a coffin, perhaps. Alec sat next to her and once more took her hand.

  After the priest gave his gentle sermon on life and death, he moved away from the podium. “Miss Hunnicut, would you like to say a few words?”

  Sylvie stood and walked to the podium. She looked at Sylvie’s friends and coworkers, her heart heavy. She’d cried so much in the last week over Annie, she didn’t have any left, and for that she was thankful.

  She cleared her throat. “Thank you for everyone who is with me today celebrating Annie’s life. I believe she would want us to celebrate her more than mourn her. I never saw her with less than a mischievous smile.” Sylvie glanced up; a few people were grinning at her comment, and it lifted her spirits and spurred her forward. “In just the short time I knew her, she became a close and dear friend. I admired so many things about her, including her strength. She lived through the Great War, a time perhaps more terrible in many respects than what we live through now. She lost family and friends and her betrothed in that horrible time. Yet she came out stronger and more resilient. She understood that the dead want us to go on, to give of ourselves to others, to support each other through this war. For it’s only by pulling together that Britain will win this war, and I believe Annie knew that and wishes we would all give of ourselves. I will never forget Annie Hollister. She’ll always be a sister in my heart.”

  Feeling lighter and happier than she expected, she returned to her pew. The priest returned to the front of the room, his calm expression firmly in place.

  “Is there anyone else who would like to speak about Annie?” he asked.

  Sylvie heard murmuring and the clack of heels down the aisle. Betty came to the front. Sylvie’s stomach did a plunge. What could this woman possibly have to say? Sylvie about held her breath, dreading Betty’s speech.

  Betty held a handkerchief in her hand and dabbed her eyes. Eyes devoid of moisture. “My dear friends. I had to be here today, even though Annie’s death has been so…so enormously awful for me. I think about her every day. My grief at her loss keeps me up at night.”

  Oh, my Lord. Sylvie’s hands clenched around her purse, her mouth tightening. She resisted the urge to glance at Alec and witness his reaction to the ridiculous woman. Betty had truly shocked Sylvie this time with the sheer idiocy of her fake grief. She hoped everyone could see through this woman.

  Dabbing her eyes again, Betty said, “I’ll mourn her for days and days to come. I won’t forget her smile, her generosity, her sense of humor, or her willingness to accept everyone…even those who clearly had problems.”

  Betty directed her gaze to Sylvie and they locked eyes. Sylvie felt the game of wills start and refused to look away. Betty pouted and turned her gaze away.

  “Thank you all so much for coming today,” Betty said in a soft, defenseless tone that made Sylvie want to tear out the woman’s eyeballs.

  Sylvie was a bit distressed at the violence of her own thoughts, and she stewed in them while others went up and paid small tributes. Alec didn’t because he didn’t feel he’d known her well enough. Once the service in the chapel was over, they all returned to a new train to head back to London. Sylvie slumped in a seat with Alec next to her. She closed her eyes.

  “All right?” he asked.

  She opened her eyes and smiled. “You ask me that so often, Alec. I’m not that fragile.”

  He grinned. “You’re too tough sometimes. Makes it hard to tell when you need help. When you’re really hurting.”

  “Don’t worry. I’m not going to fall apart. I promis
e you.” She touched his hand, and he gathered it between both of his. She lowered her voice to a whisper, glad Betty and Benjamin had chosen to sit far away. “Can you believe what Betty did?”

  Alec’s gaze met hers. “It didn’t really shock me.”

  Sylvie sighed, feeling weary now the ceremony was over and the train moved back to London. “I was surprised, and I hate it. Did you see all the men fawning over her before we got on the train? Are you all so brainless you don’t see what she is? Who she is?”

  Alec smiled and chuckled. He leaned toward her and spoke softly. “Most men are too bloody idiotic to see around a woman like that. I’d say that’s how she got on Benjamin’s good side, but I think any beautiful woman could wrap him around her finger. Don’t worry about her, Sylvie.”

  She drew in a slow breath. “You’re right. I won’t think about her for the rest of the day.”

  She glanced out the window to her left and watched the countryside go by. She had forty-five minutes back to London.

  “Thank you, Alec.”

  “For what?”

  She returned her attention to him. “You’re an amazing man. You’ve done so much to take care of me, even when I didn’t want it.”

  “You’re a strong woman, Sylvie. You would do well enough even if I wasn’t here.”

  “That may be true, but I don’t want to do it without you.” The words escaped her without thought, a confession she hadn’t known she’d speak before that moment.

  Alec’s gaze held a sparking warmth, a heat that promised so much in the days to come. “I wish I didn’t have to work this evening.”

  “I’ll be fine. I plan to read more Jane Austen.”

  He smiled again, and before she knew it, he leaned in and kissed her. If she expected a sweet, gentle brush of mouth against mouth, she received far more. His mouth took hers with a quick, hot intensity that sent a wild shiver through her body and liquid heat straight to her loins. He drew back quickly, but in those moments her feelings for him took another step forward.