“He was killed at Dunkirk.” Cathy’s voice cut across her thoughts, all the more startling for its matter-of-fact tone. “It was the day before Mikey’s birthday. He was only three. When I told him, he asked me if his dad would be able to send his present from heaven.”
“Oh, Cathy,” Eva began, “I’m sorry, I should never have—”
“No, it’s okay,” Cathy said quickly. “Sometimes it helps to talk about it. Funny, though, isn’t it, how you can feel even more lonely in a great big place like this?”
The band struck up another number. “Do you want sit down?” Eva glanced toward the side of the hall, where men in uniform were craning their necks on the lookout for partners. Dilys was still on the dance floor, holding hands now with the soldier from Holland, who looked way too old for her.
“No, let’s keep dancing.” Cathy hooked her arm through Eva’s. “I shouldn’t have started talking about Stuart—you of all people don’t need to hear me wallowing in it. Come on, let’s have some fun!”
“All right, ladies and gentlemen,” the MC boomed, “it’s time for something a little different! Can I have all the gentlemen—and I mean all the gentlemen—making a circle in the center of the floor, please!”
There was a rumble of chairs and feet as the men at the margins of the room rushed forward.
“Come on, now, spread out,” the MC called. “Make a big circle, facing outward—and ladies, I’d like you to make another circle round the outside.”
“I think we’re about to be paired off,” Eva hissed. “Are you sure you—”
“Now, ladies,” the MC cut in, “I don’t want any of you sitting this one out! Let’s give a special welcome to our visitors!” He gestured to the men standing awkwardly in the center of the room. “From Holland!” A forest of hands waved as the women cheered. “And from the US of A!”
It was then that Eva noticed the black soldiers. She hadn’t seen any of them on the dance floor. Now, while their white compatriots waved for all they were worth at the cheers and whistles, the black GIs simply raised their hands to chest height in a halfhearted gesture, as if they were embarrassed at being recognized, Eva thought.
Suddenly the band struck up and the MC was barking out instructions.
“I haven’t got a clue what this one is.” Cathy giggled over her shoulder as the women and the men marched past each other, forming two giant wheels turning in opposite directions.
Eva’s mind was not on what her feet were doing. She was scanning the circles, searching for Dilys, worried that she might have sneaked off somewhere with the Dutchman. So preoccupied was she that when the music stopped and a pair of muscular arms grabbed her from behind she let out a little squeal of shock.
“Don’t worry, lady, I don’t bite!”
It was a voice from a movie. An American voice. His hands were on her shoulders. She could feel their warmth through the fabric of her jacket. As she twisted around, he released her. She saw only the uniform at first because her eyes were level with his chest. And then she looked up.
“Good evening, ma’am.”
His lips slid into a wide smile. Lips the color of bonfire toffee, just a shade darker than his face. With a hint of pink at their inner edges. His eyes, above sweeping cheekbones, were a deep, fathomless brown, almost black. They crinkled at the edges with his smile.
Suddenly aware that her mouth was open, she clamped it shut.
He made a sort of bow, his eyes fixed on her face, not running the length of her body the way some men’s did when they encountered a woman. Then he held out his hand. A giant’s hand to match his height. The palm was pink. She stared at it for a moment, fleetingly aware that she hadn’t known this; hadn’t noticed it with the old man who’d come to the house selling brushes. And at the same time something was bubbling up inside her, a mixture of fear and wonder. Slowly, nervously, she held out her hand to him.
Their fingers had barely touched when the music struck up again and the MC’s voice barked out more instructions. Before she could register the words, he was whisking her off in a promenade, his arm tight around her waist. She could smell his uniform, a scent of warm wool and something spicy, like oranges spiked with cloves. As they spun together, she felt her feet leaving the ground. It was an odd sensation, feeling a man’s arms around her after so long. She tensed, thinking of Eddie. The scent of this man was so different from that old, familiar smell of sweat mixed with cigarettes. As they danced, she felt the heat of him through her clothes and the bubble of fear turned into something else, a long-forgotten sensation that surged beneath the silk against her skin.
“And release your partner!” The MC’s voice rose above the music. “That’s right, ladies and gentlemen—back into your circles, please! Here we go again!”
She wasn’t sure how, but he managed to get around to the very same position, opposite her in the men’s circle, a second time. As they danced, she felt his hands travel from her shoulders, down her spine, coming to rest halfway down her back. That rush again. She broke away as the rhythm of the music changed, diving back into the anonymous crowd of women in the outer circle. But she had underestimated his determination. She danced with only one other man before he caught her again.
“Can I have a proper dance with you? After this, I mean?” Because of the volume of the music, his mouth was very close to her ear, his lips brushing against it. She gazed at him, fascinated by the velvety brown of his skin. His eyes were hypnotic, daring her to say yes.
“I . . . I’ll have to sit the next one out.” She looked over her shoulder, searching for Cathy. “It’s so hot in here—I could do with a drink.” She needed to find Dilys. She glanced back at him. His eyelids were lowered, the spell broken. She hoped she hadn’t hurt his feelings. She wanted to say that she’d be glad to dance with him later, but she held back, unsure whether she should be encouraging him.
A woman pushed past them—a woman she recognized from the rail gang—arm in arm with another GI. He was white. Childhood images crowded her mind. Not the brush seller this time, but skipping with a rope in the playground, singing words that made nine-year-old girls snigger with ignorant mischief: She likes coffee, she likes tea, she likes sitting on a black man’s knee . . . You had to jump with the beat. The rope would go faster and faster. And if you tripped on those last few words, they would point at you and fall about laughing.
“Can I get you something? There’s beer if you like it; not much else, I don’t guess. Maybe some lemonade?”
She took a breath, gave a single nod of her head. Like she was giving herself permission. “A shandy would be lovely.”
“A shandy?” A puzzled, lopsided smile. It made his face puppy-dog cute.
“Half-and-half.” She smiled. “Beer mixed with lemonade. Can I meet you by the bar in a minute? I have to find my friend—and my sister.”
“Sure,” he shrugged. “Will they drink shandy?”
“Oh, you don’t have to . . .”
He held up his hand. “It’s not a problem. I’ll come find you.”
As he turned away, she caught sight of Dilys clapping enthusiastically near the stage. Cathy was standing next to her. Eva made her way through the crowd as the band struck up the opening bars of another number. Before she reached them, she saw Dilys turn away, led back onto the dance floor by the same Dutch soldier who had partnered her before. As Eva made eye contact with Cathy, she felt a hand on her shoulder.
“Can I have this dance?” Twisting her head, she saw blue eyes beneath an RAF cap. The edges of the mouth formed a familiar, lascivious smile. He was the other man who had stopped in front of her at the crucial moment during that last dance. And his arm had brushed against her breast—accidentally-on-purpose, she thought—as they joined hands for the promenade. Now it felt as if he was looking right through her clothes to her lace-trimmed underwear. She shifted uncomfortably and glanced back at Cathy, who was coming toward them.
“I’m sorry.” Eva gave the airman a hard stare. �
�I’m sitting this one out—and I’ve promised the next dance to someone else.”
“Oh, all right.” The airman was totally unfazed by her reply. His gaze switched to Cathy, who was beside her now. “How about your friend?”
Cathy glanced at Eva, whose eyes said yes, go ahead, he’s all yours if you want him.
“Watch his hands,” Eva whispered as he led Cathy away. “Wave if you need rescuing!”
As they disappeared, Eva caught sight of her other dance partner coming across the room with a tray of glasses. It was like watching a giant crossing an undulating ocean. He was head and shoulders taller than the majority of the men in the room. The unhealthy pallor of the underfed civilians made his smooth brown skin all the more striking. He walked very erect, very dignified, as if his mission was of the utmost importance. He was looking for her; hadn’t spotted her yet. She could disappear if she wanted to. Did she want to? She tugged at the hem of her jacket. Then, as if some invisible wire was pulling it, her arm rose over her head and waved.
“I never asked your name,” he began as he set the glasses down on the table. “I’m Bill. Bill Willis—pleased to meet you.” He held out his hand once again and this time she shook it properly, smiling self-consciously.
“Eva. Eva Melrose.” She slid her fingers around the stem of her glass so that he wouldn’t see the nails, stubby and broken from digging out tracks.
“You live round here?”
She nodded.
“Guess you come here all the time.”
“I don’t, actually.” Eva shrugged. “This is the first time I’ve been here since . . .” she hesitated, wondering how much she should tell him. “Since the war started.”
“Really?” He raised his eyebrows.
She nodded. Safer to let him think that. Safer? She took a large gulp of shandy.
“Well.” He smiled. “The way they dance over here sure don’t make it easy for a guy. Getting round that line to you was harder than a game of Chase the Queen.”
She felt a blush rising up her neck. “What’s that?”
“Oh, just a card game we play back home—takes a lot of concentration.”
“And where is that? Home, I mean.”
There was a sudden eruption of laughter from a group of men gathered near the stage. Bill glanced over his shoulder before replying.
She frowned at the unfamiliar word. “Nwoorlins?”
“You heard of it? It’s in Louisiana.”
“I don’t think so. How do you spell it?”
She laughed when he reeled off the letters. “New Orleans! Stupid me—it sounds so different with an American accent.”
“Sounds real fancy the way you say it,” he chuckled.
“What’s it like? Is it nice?”
He pursed his lips. “That depends.”
“On what?” She wondered where his smile had gone. His eyes had a troubled look now, darting from side to side as he drank his beer.
He shook his head. “Guess it’d take some explaining. They call it the Big Easy. Easy place to make a living.” He blew out a breath. As he set his glass down, the music changed to a faster rhythm. Instantly his fingers took it up, rippling over the lacquered surface of the table. “Could we dance to this?” That eagerness was back in his eyes. It was contagious. Moments later they were bouncing across the floor, his hand squeezing her waist. She could feel his breath on her cheek as he moved, sure of each step, his body fused to hers.
“You’re a very good dancer.” She wasn’t sure if he could hear her above the music.
“You think so?” He gave her a curious look, as if weighing her up. Then he smiled, setting off that surge in her stomach again. She fought down the feeling. I’m only dancing, she told herself. Nothing wrong with that.
Suddenly all the lights went out. There was a loud “ooh” from the crowd. Eva felt Bill’s fingers tighten around her waist, pulling her to him, as the MC’s voice rang out in the darkness: “Don’t panic, ladies and gents! It’s not an air raid—just the Blackout Stroll, specially requested by our hosts, the Royal Netherlands Regiment!”
With a rush of panic Eva thought of Dilys. In the excitement of dancing she had forgotten all about her. Where was she? What was she doing?
“What on earth’s the Blackout Stroll?” Eva heard a familiar-sounding voice somewhere to her right. It sounded like Cathy. She opened her mouth to call out but before any words came she felt Bill’s hand glide up her back. His fingers were stroking the bare skin at the base of her neck.
“Can I kiss you?” The scent of him engulfed her as his mouth found her ear. She felt the slight graze of stubble as his chin moved across hers. As their lips met, a current of heat shot down her body, as if she were melting. She felt the tip of his tongue sliding into her mouth, tasting her. And his hands cupped her face so gently, as if she were something delicate and expensive that might break. The irony of this made it all the more delicious. She pressed her fingers into his back, feeling the muscle beneath the fabric of his shirt, drawing him closer, closer.
But it was over in seconds. The lights snapped on to reveal couples in clinches all over the dance floor. She looked into his eyes, shamefaced, awkward. What had she done? He was smiling, but she looked away. Looked for Cathy. Looked for Dilys. But all she could see was a tangle of bodies and unfamiliar faces.
“Hey, Bud!” An American voice boomed from a few feet away. “Yes, you!”
A white soldier sauntered over to them, hands on his hips. He was shorter than Bill but much heavier. “You better make the most of that while you’re in Britain, boy,” he said in a languid, menacing voice. “’Cause by God, if you was in Texas, you wouldn’t be doing it!”
Bill let go of Eva, squaring up to the man. “Well, we’re not in Texas,” he said, his eyes narrowing, “so why don’t you do like the British do?”
The punch sent Bill staggering backward into Eva’s arms. She felt her legs buckle as she caught him. Somehow he managed to spring up from his back foot, saving her from falling underneath him. But as she lurched sideways, the strain on her tight blue dress was too much. The stitching ripped from the waist to the hem.
Chapter 4
Eva was half kneeling, half crouching on the floor. She heard shouts as two Dutch soldiers grabbed the white GI and frog-marched him off the floor. Where had Cathy and Dilys gone? Bill was bent over her, cradling her shoulders. A mottled graze marred the skin beneath his left eye.
“Are you all right, honey?” he said. “Did I hurt you?”
“Never mind about me!” Eva forced a smile. “You’re the one who got hit—are you all right?”
“Oh, I’m fine,” Bill closed his eyes for a second. Eva was not sure if he was in pain or trying to summon some inner strength.
“Let me help you up.” He started to lift her.
“No!” she whispered. “I . . . it’s my . . .” she faltered. “Could you lend me your jacket?”
“Sure,” he said, taking it off and placing it around her shoulders.
“Thanks.” She slid the jacket down, knotting the arms around her waist. She caught the puzzled look on Bill’s face as he helped her to her feet. “Could we go outside? I think I could do with some air.”
“Me too,” he replied, taking her arm before shouldering his way through the crowd.
He pushed open the two sets of blacked-out glass doors and led her out into the twilight.
“Are you sure you’re okay?” she asked.
“Uh-huh.” There was no edge to his voice; nothing to convey what he really felt about what had happened. They stood there in uneasy silence. In the gathering darkness it was difficult to make out the expression on his face.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered.
“Sorry for what?” He sounded gruff now, almost angry.
“For what happened in there. It was disgraceful. That idiot punching you like that . . .”
“Oh, it’s nothing to get riled up about,” he said. “It’s what I’ve come to expe
ct from the likes of him.”
“But he’s a soldier.” Eva frowned. “He’s an American . . .”
“Sure he is.” Bill gave a low, sardonic chuckle. “A white American. And this is a white town.”
“What do you mean?”
She heard him sigh. “Colored guys like me, we don’t usually get to come here. Far as Uncle Sam’s concerned, it’s for white GIs only. We get taken to a little town called Bridgnorth, about ten, fifteen miles from here for Rest and Relaxation, as they call it—the kind of place that’s too small for us to cause any trouble. We only came here tonight ’cause it’s a special occasion.”
“You mean they separate the whites and the . . .” she broke off, uncomfortable with the word he had used to describe himself, the same word Iris had used in the station canteen.
“Yes, ma’am. Separate barracks, separate jobs, separate dances—the works!”
Eva suddenly remembered the train. Carriage after carriage of white soldiers, then Iris pointing at the one bringing up the rear: See that lot at the back? Look at their faces!
“You’re shivering,” Bill’s voice cut across her thoughts. “Do you want my jacket around your shoulders?” His hands went to her waist, untying the knot she had made with the arms. “What was this for? Are your legs cold?”
“No. It was my dress . . . when we fell on the floor.” She stopped, too embarrassed to explain. As he draped the jacket over her, he pulled her to him, his lips hungry.
“I . . .” She hesitated again. I what? The touch of his lips and hands made her heart flip with excitement. What should she tell him? That she was married? Why, when she didn’t even know if it was true any longer?
The Color of Secrets Page 3