A Fire Sparkling

by MacLean, Julianne

  “Promise me you’ll think about it,” Theodore said, leaning across the seat. “You have my number at the ministry. You can call me anytime.”

  “I will. And thank you for dinner. It was very nice.”

  Her heart raced with panic as she slammed the car door, worrying that her father might be peering out the upstairs window and wondering who she was with or where she had gone after closing the shop.

  Bounding up the stairs without looking back, she unlocked the door to the flat, and with a sickening knot of dread in her belly, tiptoed inside.

  All seemed quiet. She prayed that her father was asleep and hadn’t noticed her absence.

  The floorboards creaked alarmingly as she made her way down the narrow corridor to his room and carefully pushed the door open.

  He wasn’t there.

  Exhaling sharply with relief, she went to the kitchen to check the cupboards for something to cook for him whenever he returned.

  Suddenly there was a loud thump downstairs. She swung around at the sound of her father’s heavy footsteps pounding up the stairs, his key in the lock . . .

  Please, let him be sober.

  The door creaked open on rusty hinges, and she swallowed uneasily at the sight of her father’s tall swaying form, red-hot anger shining from his bloodshot eyes.

  “Where the hell were you?” he asked.

  “Nowhere.” She wished she could have come up with a better excuse on the spot, but maybe she was tired of working so hard to appease him. It felt as if she’d been doing that forever.

  “You’re lying. I saw you come back just now. You were with a man. Who was he?”

  A muscle twitched on her father’s cheek, just below his left eye, and she knew it was going to be bad this time. Instinctively, she took a few steps backward until she bumped into the sink.

  “No one you know,” she said. “And it’s none of your business anyway. I’m not a child anymore. And I’m not Maman. I can go wherever I please.”

  Her father staggered clumsily to the side. “What did you just say to me?”

  Oh God. Vivian inched her way along the sink, toward the pots and pans on the drying rack.

  “I said I’m not her. And you can’t tell me what to do.”

  It was a mistake to have talked back to him when he was already in a drunken rage. He came at Vivian like a steam train, gaining momentum until he wrapped his hands around her throat. He’d never done that before, and it caught her off guard when she was expecting a slap or a punch.

  She fought to breathe while he squeezed and squeezed with a viselike grip, his eyes blazing with hellish fury and violence. Stop! Let go! But words were impossible. She couldn’t utter a single sound because her trachea was clamped shut.

  “You want to make a fool out of me?” he ground out while her veins filled with blistering panic. She slapped at his arms, desperate to free herself. She felt dizzy and woozy, and then the world began to turn white, and her head tipped back. But she couldn’t let him do this to her. In a moment of wild desperation, she flung an arm to the side and gripped the handle of a frying pan.

  Whack!

  She swung it hard and fast into the side of her father’s skull. He let go of her throat and fell backward as she collapsed to her knees on the kitchen floor.

  It took a few seconds for the shock and panic to subside. Vivian struggled to catch her breath. Only then did she realize that her father was crumpled in a heap beside her, lying motionless.

  “Oh God.” She rolled him over and shook him by the shoulders. “Papa! Wake up!”

  Had she killed him?

  Pressing her ear to his chest, she listened for a heartbeat. When she heard a steady thumping, she sat back with relief. Then she checked his head, searching for blood, and found a lump forming where she had struck him.

  “Papa, wake up.”

  Finally, he began to moan, and the smell of liquor on his breath disgusted her. She feared she might be sick from the stress of it all.

  He blinked up at her drunkenly. “What happened?”

  The lie came easily. “You fell and hit your head.”

  “I did?”

  “Yes.”

  “What time is it? Is it time for the shop to open?”

  “No, it’s nighttime. We should get you to bed. Can you stand?”

  He nodded and sat up.

  Vivian helped him rise and stagger out of the kitchen and down the short corridor to his room. He dropped onto the bed like a felled tree and drifted immediately into a deep slumber.

  She wasn’t sure if it was the head injury or the liquor that had knocked him out so fast. It was probably a combination of both.

  Deciding that she would check on him every hour through the night, she withdrew from the room and prayed he wouldn’t remember what really happened. And it wasn’t just the fact that she had struck him with the frying pan that concerned her. She was more worried that he would wake up and remember why he had tried to strangle her in the first place—because she had dared to have dinner with a man.

  She thought of Theodore in that moment. How many more times will it happen? How many more bruises will there be before you finally leave?

  It was worse than that now. It was quite possible that her father might kill her one of these nights. He’d regret it, of course, when he woke up sober the next morning and realized what he had done. But that wouldn’t help Vivian at all, because she would be dead.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Theodore walked into the ministry at eight thirty, said good morning to Mrs. Latham, and took a seat at his desk to begin the day’s work. He had just begun to evaluate a proposed contract for small arms and munitions when Mrs. Latham rang him to let him know that a woman wished to see him. She had no appointment, but her name was Vivian Hughes. “From the wine shop,” Mrs. Latham added in a whisper.

  Theodore’s heart turned over in response. He had been working hard not to think of her and had resigned himself to waiting—at least a day or two—before he followed up on what they had discussed the night before. But here she was.

  “Thank you, Mrs. Latham. Send her in immediately.”

  After sliding the armaments contract into a file folder and closing it, he straightened his tie and then stood up when the door opened.

  In walked Vivian, wearing a coffee-colored suit with a cream scarf around her neck and dark sunglasses.

  Theodore moved around the desk to greet her. “Good morning. How are you?”

  Vivian waited for Mrs. Latham to close the door before she removed the glasses, untied her scarf, and showed him some bruising around her neck.

  He frowned with concern. “My God. What happened?”

  “If it’s all the same to you,” she replied, “I’d prefer not to go into it. I only came to tell you that I’d like to take you up on your offer, if it still stands.”

  “About the job, you mean?”

  “Yes. If you could start me in any position that’s available . . . I don’t care what it is. I’m a hard worker. I promise I’ll do well.” She raised her chin and held her head high.

  “I will find you a position this morning,” he said. “How soon would you be able to start?”

  “Tomorrow, if it could be arranged.”

  Obviously, the situation was dire.

  “I know it’s asking a lot on short notice,” she added.

  “It’s no problem at all. I’ll take care of it right away.” He was determined not to let her down. “Would you like to wait here for the particulars? It shouldn’t take long. I could let you know who to report to in the morning.”

  “No. I need to get back to open the shop by ten. You could ring me there when you know something. I’ve written down the number.” She dug into her purse and withdrew a small piece of paper with her contact information written on it. It looked as if it had been torn hastily from the corner of a book. “Please don’t say anything if my father answers the phone, although I doubt he’ll come downstairs today.” She paused and c
leared her throat, uneasily. “He has a headache. But I plan to tell him tonight. I’ll explain that he’ll have to manage the shop on his own from now on. And I don’t care what he says or how much he complains about it. My mind is made up, and I’m leaving.”

  Theodore slid the piece of paper into his breast pocket. “I’m pleased to hear it. But you’re sure it will be all right when you tell him?”

  She seemed unable to answer the question. She simply stared at Theodore until the confidence fell out of her eyes and she looked away. “I’m not sure about anything, actually. If you must know, I’m scared half to death.”

  Without thinking, he took two swift strides forward, reached her, and clasped her hand gently and reassuringly. “Don’t worry. We’ll find you somewhere to live. Mrs. Latham is very good. She’s placed some of the other girls in flats nearby. We’ll have something arranged for you in no time.”

  Vivian met his gaze. “Thank you. You don’t know how much this means to me.”

  She turned to leave, but he didn’t want her to go. Not back there, to a place where she was abused.

  She placed her sunglasses back on her face before she opened the door. “Thank you again, Mr. Gibbons. I’ll look forward to hearing from you.”

  It was the proper thing to say in front of Mrs. Latham, who was seated at her desk just outside his office, watching.

  As soon as Vivian was gone, Theodore asked Mrs. Latham to join him in his office.

  “I want you to set everything aside this morning and do something for me. It’s very important, and I’ll need to count on your discretion as well.”

  “Absolutely, sir.” She sat down, flipped open her notepad, and waited for his instructions.

  All day, Vivian kept her head down, serving customers and stocking shelves while she waited for the phone to ring. It wasn’t easy to act nonchalant, especially when her father appeared briefly to check on her before heading off to the pub, despite the fact that he had a painful lump on his head. She forced herself to pretend that everything was normal, just in case things didn’t work out and Mr. Gibbons couldn’t find her a position after all.

  But he seemed quite confident in his ability to find her something, and a place to live as well.

  What a thought. Her own flat, free from her father’s drunken rages, with other young women forging their own way in the world, with real jobs in the government. And with all the turmoil in Europe, it was bound to be a challenging and rewarding experience, working for the Ministry of Supply and helping her country strengthen its defenses against the disturbing aggressions of Adolf Hitler.

  And there was, of course, the added bonus of seeing Mr. Gibbons on a daily basis if they worked in the same building. He had been very good to her, always a perfect gentleman, which eased her mind about accepting help from him. She had a good feeling about it. There was just something about him that made her feel safe.

  But of course, she mustn’t get carried away. She must be cautious and sensible, because she knew better than to imagine that there could be anything respectable about an intimate relationship between them. He came from another world, and she was not a fool. She would have to keep a tight lid on any attraction she felt. Especially if he was going to be her superior at the ministry.

  When it finally came time to close the shop, she pulled down the window shade on the door, but after she locked it, someone rapped on the glass. She raised the blind to see who it was and locked eyes with Mr. Gibbons. He was standing just outside in his tailored black coat and stylish fedora. With a rush of excitement, Vivian unlocked the door and opened it.

  “I decided to come in person rather than ring you up.” His expression was serious as he handed her a large envelope over the threshold of the shop. “I have here a formal, written offer of employment from the Ministry of Supply. It includes a job description, your required hours, your salary, as well as a key to your new flat, which I hope you will not mind sharing with two other stenographers who began work with us last month.”

  Vivian smiled brightly and laughed. “My goodness. Yes, I accept! Come in. And thank you.”

  She took hold of the envelope, and he closed the door behind him.

  “Shouldn’t you read it first? In case you object to something?”

  “I won’t object to anything,” she said. “This is the best day of my life.”

  “Well then.” His eyes followed her as she moved to the counter and opened the envelope. “I’m pleased to be a part of it.”

  Vivian withdrew the documents. She glanced over the typewritten offer and rejoiced at the salary, but what delighted her most was the large brass key at the bottom of the envelope. She pulled it out, held it up, and looked at it with joy, for it represented everything she so desperately longed for: freedom, adulthood, and no more walking on eggshells if she spent an evening doing what she loved most—singing at the Savoy.

  She swung around to face Mr. Gibbons. “You’ve made me very happy.”

  “I’m glad.”

  She admired the friendly laugh lines at the outer corners of his eyes. There was such warmth in them.

  But there were still hurdles. She hadn’t told her father about any of this, and it was not a task she anticipated with pleasure.

  Mr. Gibbons seemed to read her mind. “Where is he now? Upstairs?”

  “No. He’s at the pub down the street.” Feeling her mood darken, Vivian slid the papers and key back into the envelope.

  “Your flat is available right now,” Theodore said. “I’d like to drive you there tonight, if that is convenient for you.”

  Now she understood why he had come here in person. He knew what might occur when her father learned what she had planned.

  “I’ll just need to go upstairs and pack a few things.”

  She moved to collect some crates from the storage room, and he helped her carry them up the stairs.

  Vivian had no intention of taking anything from her father’s flat, other than her own clothes and the framed photograph of her mother, which stood on her bedside table. It was a glamorous image, taken when her mother was still singing in the French cabaret, before Vivian was born. As a child, Vivian had often stared enchanted at that picture, because her mother looked like a famous Hollywood film star. It was the last thing Vivian squeezed into her battered brown suitcase before closing it.

  Theodore appeared in her bedroom doorway. “I’ve taken the crates to the car. Is there anything else?”

  “No, this is the last of it.” She snapped the metal catches shut on her suitcase, and Theodore approached to pick it up.

  “What about your father?” he asked. “You mentioned he’s at a pub nearby?”

  “Yes.” A memory, like a streak of lightning, flashed in her mind—her father’s tight grip around her neck, cutting off all access to air. It was difficult not to panic at the mere idea of telling him that she was leaving for good. She felt the color drain from her cheeks.

  “If you’re afraid,” Theodore said, “you could just leave a note. I would advise against revealing your new address, however. He might come after you.”

  “Yes. I believe he would. The drink makes him aggressive.”

  She was still considering the best way to make her exit when she heard the door open downstairs, followed by the frightening thud of her father’s heavy boots stomping up the steps.

  “That’s him. Heaven help us.”

  Theodore spoke calmly. “Don’t worry, Vivian. Everything will be fine. But your bedroom is not the best place for us to be. Let’s move to the kitchen.”

  He set her suitcase down on the rug.

  By the time her father reached the landing and unlocked the door to their flat and opened it, Theodore was seated at the kitchen table, looking exceedingly relaxed with one long leg crossed over the other. Vivian was at the sink filling the kettle with water. Her hands shook, and her pulse pounded so fast she feared she might faint.

  Her father walked in and frowned. “Who are you?”

 
; Vivian pasted on a smile that made her lips tremble, but she was determined to keep things light, if she could. “Papa, please allow me to introduce Mr. Theodore Gibbons. He’s the deputy minister of supply.”

  Her father’s lips tightened into a thin line. “What’s going on here? Is this the man you were with last night?”

  Vivian could have died from this humiliation.

  Theodore stood. “I was interviewing your daughter for a position at the ministry, sir, which she has just accepted.”

  “What do you mean? She works here. In the shop downstairs.”

  Vivian stepped forward and spoke plainly. “That is what I wish to tell you, Papa. Today was my last day. I start work at the ministry tomorrow, so you’ll have to open the shop in the morning by yourself. I’m sure you can manage it, and I hope you’ll be happy for me. It’s a good job.”

  His angry eyes darted back and forth between Vivian and Theodore. “Happy for you? What did you do to get a job like that? Did you disgrace yourself?”

  Vivian could barely breathe. All she wanted to do was flee down the stairs with Theodore, drive off, and never see her father again, not as long as she lived.

  Theodore’s voice was hard as steel. “I assure you, sir, the offer of employment is entirely respectable, and it’s an excellent opportunity for your daughter. Accommodations have been arranged for her, and she’ll be leaving with me now.” He turned to her. “Miss Hughes?”

  His confidence was contagious. “Yes, I’m ready. Goodbye, Papa.” She rose up on her toes and kissed him quickly on the cheek, then hurried to her bedroom to collect her suitcase. She met Theodore on the landing while her father watched from the kitchen, speechless and shocked.

  For a few brief seconds, she believed she had broken free, but as soon as she shut the door behind her, her father yanked it open again. He burst onto the landing, grabbed her by the arm, and pulled her roughly toward him.

  “You’re not going anywhere.”

  Vivian stumbled slightly. She barely had a chance to comprehend what was happening before Theodore inserted himself between her and her father. He swept her behind him and held up a hand to block her father from taking another step forward.