One London Night

by Denise A. Agnew

  “I won’t leave you to write a story.”

  Jester reappeared at the top of the stairs to the basement shelter. “Are you daft? Get down here!”

  They ran. They were on the stairs when the first bomb found them. She heard the whistle when she was halfway down the stairs. Seconds later a white flash and incredible roar banished all thought and awareness.

  *

  Alec felt as if his entire world had exploded. He groaned as pains prickled him everywhere. Perhaps the bomb had blown him to bits and he was on his way to heaven. He knew he lay face down on something hard and unforgiving with jagged things poking him here and there. He didn’t want to die. He had too much to live for. Someone to live for.

  His head pounded, his ears rang. Above him the world was going to hell. The constant bang, pop and whistle of bombs ravaging London, the sirens in their never-ending wail. He forced his eyes open. He saw a table leg nearby. Chairs. Things that looked perfectly untouched. Why was it so easy to see? The electricity was obviously out. Fires. Had to be fires and the searchlights. His rattled brain finally came fully awake. Terror sent a shock straight through him. He was still at the top of the stairs. Sylvie.

  “Sylvie.” The name came to his lips as a groan. “Sylvie!”

  No answer. Sweet Christ.

  He shoved to his hands and knees and shook the fog from his brain. He ached but didn’t feel broken bones or other obvious injury. He staggered to his feet and fell against a chair. He flopped into the seat and stared right at the pile of bricks and wood that covered the opening to the basement. He shoved to his feet and ran to the mess, hands flying as he dug for Sylvie. His love. His beloved was down there.

  “Sylvie!”

  He’d pray to a thousand gods if he could hear her voice again. He would kiss her and love her and never let her go ever again.

  “Sylvie! Please answer me!”

  There were too many boards, pieces of wall, and bricks. He’d never get all of this open in time if she was trapped down there needing air. Jester and his wife were down there too. The backside of the building had collapsed and so had some of the interior walls. The front and sides of the building and most of the roof remained intact. The second floor had gone straight into the basement. Imagining all that crushing weight on Sylvie made him move faster.

  “Sylvie, talk to me, damn it! Sylvie!”

  He need more help, and fast. He ran out the side door and into the main street. Fire raged on the other side of the street, the six-story building filled with choking flame and heat. Smoke made him cough. Down the street came a familiar sight. Two cars with pumps on the back. AFS. They might even be from Fleet Street two streets over.

  He ran.

  *

  Sylvie awakened slowly, each moment becoming aware of sensations and sounds. The drone of airplanes overhead, the pulverizing pressure of bombs crushing and destroying. Everywhere. How long had she been out? She didn’t hurt so much as ache in what seemed each muscle. Shivered under a deep cold. A strange calm stayed with her, but she fought it. Where was she? She coughed at the smell of smoke.

  Then she remembered. At the pub and heading downstairs when a bomb hit. She was alive. Alec. Oh, God. Alec had been right behind her on the stairs. Her eyes popped open. The area above her seemed damaged, a jumble of wood and maybe bricks, and she could see a spot of sky where light flickered here and there. A searchlight crossed the sky as another rumble erupted nearby. The roof was open to the sky, and cold air mingled with the smell of wood burning touched her nose.

  “Alec.” She shivered and tried to move. Her legs and arms moved easily enough without pain. “Alec? Alec?”

  No response. Fear slugged her in the gut. She sat up quickly and a wave of dizziness assaulted her. One hand to her stomach, she closed her eyes and waited until the sensation passed. She looked around and in the semi-darkness saw two arms sticking out of rubble on one side of the cellar. It looked like a man’s hand and a woman’s. Jester and his wife. The bricks and wood lying on them…oh, God. She ran to them, touched their cold, cold wrists. No pulse. She choked back a sob.

  “Hello!” She shoved to her feet. “Alec! Anyone?”

  Her right ankle ached, and she hobbled toward the stairs, which were covered halfway up by rubble. No sign of Alec. If he’d been buried under all that…

  “No.” Her throat went so tight she thought she’d strangle on the panic. “No.” She took the few steps up, her legs shaky, her body protesting each movement. “Alec! Alec!”

  No answer.

  Water streamed down her face, tiny trickles. She wiped at her face. Wait. It wasn’t water…it was tears. The crushing thought that she could have lost Alec, that he could be gone from her forever, sent a sob to her throat.

  “No, damn it!” She slumped down on the stairs, her body shaking with cold and reaction. She buried her face in her hands as the real possibility that he was gone started to rip her to pieces. “No!”

  “Sylvie!”

  She opened her eyes. The voice sounded far off. A long way off. Had she imagined it? Had her soul-crushing grief played tricks on her?

  “Sylvie!”

  The male voice was closer, but it was muffled. She perked up, hope lighting a new energy inside her.

  “Alec?” Her voice came out as a croak. “Alec! I’m down here! I’m here!”

  “Come on.” It was clearly his voice, powerful and strong.

  Relief made her stagger, and she sat on the stairs again. Still she looked up toward the piles of debris keeping her prisoner.

  “Alec! I’m in here! I’m here!”

  Sounds of the debris shifting above her made her heart sing.

  “Sylvie, thank God!” Alec’s voice came through loud and clear. “Are you hurt?”

  “No, no I don’t think so.”

  “Good.” His voice sounded broken, as if he choked on emotion or smoke. “Stand back, sweetheart. We’re going to get you out!”

  She cried harder, her amazement that he was alive gripping her tightly. She was sobbing but didn’t care.

  “Jester and his wife. They aren’t…I don’t think they’re alive,” she shouted.

  “Okay. We’ll get you out soon. Just hang on.”

  “Should I start pulling stuff away from down here?”

  “No!”

  She moved away from the stairs and waited, tucking her hands under her armpits for warmth as she continued to shiver. Her entire body quivered uncontrollably. Her ankle throbbed like the devil.

  For what seemed forever, while bombs rattled the world above, she listened to her rescuers work. They shouted instructions to each other. She had no idea who was up there, but she thanked the heavens they had help. The smoke was getting thicker, and she coughed frequently now.

  “God damn it! We have to hurry.” Alec’s curse ripped through the louder sounds all around them. Panic in his voice made her heart pound. “Hurry!”

  “We’re almost there,” another male voice assured him. “We’re goin’ to get her out.”

  A few moments later she saw more light as hands pulled away the last boards and brick. She tentatively went toward the stairs, and a few seconds later Alec rushed down the remaining steps toward her.

  “Sylvie.”

  She rushed into his arms as he reached the last step. He crushed her to his chest only for a moment, but it seemed a lifetime.

  He drew her toward the stairs. “We have to get out of here, sweetheart. The buildings across the street are on fire and it’s getting closer.”

  “Gladly,” she said with a weak smile.

  When they reached the top of the stairs, Felix and Bink were there in full firefighting regalia, smiles broad. Dirt and sweat marred their faces.

  “Miss Sylvie,” Bink said. “Are you all right?”

  “I’ve never been better. Let’s get out of here.”

  Alec kept his left arm tight about her shoulders. As they left the building, two more firemen she didn’t recognize rushed toward them.
She heard them talking to the men as the other side of the street crackled, danced, and whirled with fire. She’d seen this before, but it didn’t terrify her any less.

  “I need to get her to the hospital,” Alec said to Felix and Bink.

  “No. I’m all right,” she said above the endless roar of fire and bombs. “My ankle’s sore, but it’s all right.”

  “Still, we’re getting you out of here. There’s nowhere to sit this out.”

  “There’s the tube station just down the block. You can go there until this blows over,” Bink said above the racket.

  “This is going to hell fast,” Felix said. “Most of the bloody firefighters are out of town for Christmas.”

  Sylvie understood what he meant, certainly. Fewer firefighters to fight more bombs. A recipe for tragedy.

  “Hey, get over here!” Another fireman waved to Felix and Bink. “We’re getting to it!”

  Alec nodded. “Right. Let’s go.”

  Although her ankle ached, she didn’t let on how much it hurt. They took off down the block, hand in hand. All her nerves felt wired to electricity, as if any minute she could expect another bomb to find her. From their vantage point, she caught a glance at buildings far to the west and east as far as she could see both ways down the street. Other trailer pumps used by the AFS drove down the road toward another fire, their cars racing at an almost reckless speed. Although everything was pitch black, red silhouetted the buildings in a hellish glow.

  They reached the shelter and headed down the steps, down until they reached the area where hundreds of others clustered on the platform and tracks. There wouldn’t be more trains tonight. Few people looked up at them. At one side of the platform, she heard people singing a song she didn’t recognize. Many people bunched together for warmth.

  Alec drew her into his arms when they stopped walking, his entire body wrapping around her. All his heat and hardness protecting her slowed the relentless banging of her heart. She encircled his waist and rested her head against his shoulder. At least here the war above them was muffled, the rumble distant. Her body relaxed slightly.

  “Alec, the whole world is on fire,” she whispered, shivering.

  “I know, sweetheart.” His voice was rough, and when she looked up at him, his eyes were wet with tears.

  “Alec…”

  He kissed her, his mouth warm and tender. A taste of lips on lips that promised and cherished. He drew back a moment later.

  “I thought I lost you,” he said, the emotion in his face stark and undeniable.

  “You could never lose me.”

  A smile erased the fear in his eyes, and he drew her into another hug. She fisted his jacket lapels in her hands and held on for dear life. There was so much to say, so much to do.

  He drew her face into his palms, and the sweet warmth she saw there removed the last visages of fear.

  “I love you, darling Sylvie,” he said so softly.

  Maybe the world paused in that moment. She didn’t know. All she knew was the soft, sweet moment that hung in the air, that swept over her as the most beautiful feeling she’d ever known.

  Her heart soared even as fresh tears came to her eyes. “And I love you.”

  Their lips met again.

  * * * *

  Monday, December 30

  Sylvie opened the door to her room, and as she slipped inside, Alec was with her. Blackout curtains made the room dark, so she flipped on the light switch. The lamp next to the bed came on, bathing the room in a soft glow. He locked the door behind him. They’d made it across town after the all-clear sirens heralded the end to the attack. It had taken them a long time to reach the Savoy even though they weren’t that far away, first on foot through the ravages of the city and finally by taxi. Fires were still burning, and working their way to safety around roadblocks had taken work. They’d accepted inquiries about their health—the front desk asked if they needed a doctor. They’d declined. Her ankle felt much better, but she knew they both looked a mess.

  “I need a bath,” she said softly.

  She tossed her coat on the chair and slipped off her shoes. With a smile she went into the bathroom and stripped from her filthy clothes piece by piece. They landed on the floor, and she left them there. She ran a bath and quickly soaped up in the warm water. After she’d scrubbed and rinsed thoroughly, she dried off and wrapped a snowy white towel around her torso. She had no hesitation in what she wanted to do. None at all. She opened the door. Alec sat in a chair, his gaze on the wall, lines of fatigue on his face. When he looked up and saw her, his expression brightened a thousand times. Heat and happiness and sheer desire filled his eyes. He stood and walked toward the bathroom without a word.

  She smiled and sat on the edge of the bed, unable to process all the thoughts, all the wants and needs rushing through her mind and body. Instead she sat there, marveling at what they could have together, at the love they could share. Her heart ached for London, at the horrendous devastation they’d seen. Her mind whirled at the implications. Yet she knew one thing in a world of uncertainty. She loved Alec Kent now and forever.

  After what seemed an eternity, the bathroom door opened. Steam wafted from the room, and Alec stood with a towel around his waist. As he walked toward her, she savored watching him. The broad chest and rippling muscles in his arms, the long, powerful length of his legs. She met him halfway across the room. They stood inches apart.

  He cupped her face in one hand. “Hungry? We could have eaten before we came up…”

  “No.” She touched his forearm and slid her fingers over taut muscles. “No. I want…”

  “Yes?” He drew her into his arms. “What do you want?”

  She smiled. “Anything and everything you want to give.”

  His returning smile held all the warmth, all the love in the world. “You know what I really wish? That you and I were in the wilderness where Jerry couldn’t find us. Where no one could. We’d have a full cupboard, enough tea and enough of each other we wouldn’t need anything else.”

  She laughed. “Well, I hope we never get enough of each other.”

  “I could never get enough of you. Right here, right now, there are no bombs and no war. Even if I die tonight, being here with you would be worth it. All of it.”

  Tears touched her eyes, but happiness caused them. She touched his face. “You aren’t dying tonight. Or tomorrow night or—”

  He kissed her.

  The sweetness of his kiss changed into a luscious meeting of lips and tongues, the softness and the heat taking her to a new place she’d never been. Warmth speared down to her loins, and she couldn’t see him fast enough, couldn’t have him fast enough. She’d never slept with a man before, but her drive for him erupted on an instinctual level. She felt his skin, savoring every motion of her fingers over his steel-hard muscles. He was softness over hardness, an exciting combination of everything she needed and desired. His touch was gentleness and passion in amazing brushes of skin over skin.

  He tore his mouth from hers and trailed delicious kisses across her collarbone and skimmed her flesh above the towel. The tantalizing strokes drove her to madness. She was achy, hot between the legs. Though she’d felt this way before, this time it was a driving force as compelling as a thunderstorm and just as unstoppable. Her towel loosened and fell to the floor. Moment blurred into moment as his hardness brushed against her mound. She yanked his towel off his hips, and he groaned against her neck. His hands cupped and stroked, and her body reacted on the most primitive level. She drew away only long enough to throw the covers back on the bed and hold her hand out to him. His fingers clasped hers and drew them to his mouth, a desperate taste. His eyes rose to hers. She inched onto the bed and brought him with her.

  They became a tangle of limbs, and she savored every brush of his hard body against hers. Intimate touch came upon intimate touch. She arched into his body as he explored and tasted, each stroke of his fingers along her flesh bringing a new song alive inside her. His p
atience brought her arousal higher until she ached with it, until there was no mistaking how much she desired him. His mouth pressed to her neck, to the globes of her breasts. His fingers teased, brushed. Tested. He found evidence of her need and traced moist circles where she needed him the most.

  Sylvie cried out in excitement, then writhed as he pulled her into his arms and kissed her. With magic strokes he showed her the way. He played her, and Sylvie panted in his arms, alive and on fire. She quivered and shook under the force, finding a haven in the stars as he brought her to the highest point.

  “I don’t want to hurt you, darling,” he said, poised above her.

  “You couldn’t in a million years.” As more tears fell from her eyes, he kissed her lashes. “You couldn’t, Alec.”

  She cupped his waist as his thighs spread hers wide, and she drew her legs up. He was gentle. So gentle as he took her to a place she’d never been. As he found his place inside her, she cried out with the wonder. And when the strokes began, she knew only a delicious excitement that made her smile. As heat broke open inside her and she shivered in delight, Alec groaned and filled her with everything he had to give. She clutched his back, holding on for dear life as they rode out the storm. He was a part of her now and forever.

  She cried, but not from fear or pain. Only sweet, sweet ecstasy.

  He gasped into her ear, his voice hoarse with emotion. “I love you, Sylvie. I love you. Marry me.”

  She clasped him tighter, her eyes closed, her heart wide open. “Yes, yes of course I’ll marry you, my love.”

  Epilogue

  May 5, 1945

  Sylvie’s ears filled with sounds of people singing and the giggles as they tried to dance. All along the way to Trafalgar Square, people sold balloons, whistles, flags, streamers, ice cream, and fruits and drinks.

  Alec and Sylvie walked arm in arm through the tremendous crowds filling the square. Celebration filled the land as the war’s end came. Thousands were here to enjoy.

  “This is really loud,” she shouted.

  He turned toward her, and as he’d done so many times, her husband kissed her sweetly. Since they’d married January 1 of 1941, they’d enjoyed their life together as if day were the last. Her parents and grandparents and his parents had been a bit disappointed they couldn’t attend the quick wedding performed in a church in London. But, as if they’d understood the urgency to marry, they hadn’t complained much. Alec had stayed in the AFS all that time, and Sylvie remained with the Herald Tribune.