by Pam Jenoff
“Go on,” Claire urged with a chuckle. “Give the bloke a break.”
Not waiting for an answer, Teddy took my arm and led me to the dance floor. For a moment, I considered pulling away. But his face looked so hopeful. He wrapped an arm around my waist, surer than I might have expected. Warmth swept over me as our bodies neared, giving in to everything I had fought these past months. My muscles relaxed and I leaned into him, leaning my head lightly against his shoulder. His breath was warm and smelled faintly of spearmint.
I wrapped my arms around his neck and tilted my face to his. “Now tell me where you’ve been.”
“No work talk. Can’t we just dance?”
I stopped swaying. “You can’t treat me like a partner on some stories, then shut me out entirely on others.” I pulled back, my frustration rising. “Don’t you trust me?”
“It isn’t that.” He faltered. “I went for you.”
I pulled back. “For me. Went where?”
“To Italy.” The ground seemed to wobble beneath me. “I tried to find out for you, about your family.”
I was suddenly angry. How dare he go traipsing into my past without asking me first? “I never asked you to do that.”
“I know, but I thought that you would want to know.” Because who wouldn’t, really? Part of me wanted to leave my parents where they had been, living my childhood in Trieste. But if that were true they would have come for me, would have written. No, they had disappeared.
“And?” I asked, fearing the answer.
“I failed, Adelia.” His face collapsed. “Trieste is occupied by the Germans now, you know.” Of course I did—I kept a map of Europe on my wall, updated the colored pins with every news story. “I couldn’t even get close. I’m sorry.”
Gratitude rose up in me then. He had tried, really tried, to help. I put my hand on his arm. “Thank you.”
“Anyway, you were right. Probably best to leave it alone.” There was a darkness around his eyes that had not been there before.
“What was it?” I pressed, but he would say no more.
He drew me close as another slow song began to play. I melted into him. Teddy was a good man, and he cared about me a lot. Claire was right: things really could be good between us, if I would just let them. I rested my head on his shoulder and let the song carry me away from my memories.
He pulled back to look deep into my eyes. “How do you do it, Adelia? Disarm me like this?” I saw then the depth of his feelings.
“Oh, Teddy,” I said, wrapping my arms around him. He whirled me around the dance floor until the lights became a blur and the past seemed to spin off me like dust. Everything else faded and just for this one moment it was all enough.
The song ended, and I stepped away from him reluctantly, not quite ready for it to end. “Thank you.”
“Another dance?”
But the room had grown warm, and the champagne caused my temples to throb. “I’m afraid I’m a bit weary. I should probably head out.”
He touched my arm, unwilling to let go of the moment. “Then I’ll see you home.”
I started to say no, that I could manage by myself. But looking in his eyes, I did not want to turn away anymore. “I should let Claire know. I’ll meet you at the door.”
I found Claire at the edge of the bar. “I’m going. Teddy’s taking me.” I waited for her reaction, but she seemed distracted. “Do you want to come?”
Claire shook her head. “I have plans.” Her voice was low and conspiratorial. Across the room, Lord Raddingley had disappeared. Claire must be going somewhere to meet him. I wanted to tell her not to do it, that she deserved so much better than this. But her eyes were aglow as she started for the coat check.
I debated going after her, then turned back to the gathering. Perhaps it had been a mistake to take Teddy up on his offer to see me home after all. There was something about the way he held me that suggested more between us—much more—and I was not at all sure that I was ready. But he had already started for the exit and lingered there, waiting for me expectantly.
I took a step toward the door, then froze. A roaring came in my ears, so loudly it seemed for a second as if there might be bombs. But the room around me continued unaffected. I stared at the door, unable to move or speak.
Standing behind Teddy, in the entrance to the club, was Charlie.
Charlie?
I blinked twice. Surely it was my imagination, like that afternoon by the buses on Trafalgar Square, or the dream that I had so many times. But he was still standing before me in that crisp olive green that seemed to have painted all of London. He was real. The uniform fit as though made for him, smooth across his broad shoulders. Over the months we had been apart, I’d seen his face in my mind a thousand times, his luminous brown eyes making me swoon just thinking about them. I’d wondered sometimes if it was my memory that had made him seem more beautiful than he was, but now I knew without question: he was the best-looking soldier—and man—in the room.
But what was he doing here, thousands of miles from where I had left him? Looking for someone, came the answer as I watched his head swivel, gaze predatory and intent. He scanned the room, assessing it, and for a minute he was back on the football field, in command and planning the next play. He had not seen me yet. I could duck into the crowd and slip out the side door, run away—again.
My feet remained planted, though, legs concrete. A moment later, Charlie’s head turned in my direction and his face lifted with recognition. It was Washington all over again. He did not look surprised, though, as he had then—this time he was looking for me, and his finding me here was planned and deliberate. Our eyes met. Several emotions seemed to cross his face at once: joy and relief (and yes, even a bit of anger) collided with one another, then exploded like fireworks in the air between us as he started toward me.
He crossed the room in three steps, seeming to slice through the crowd. “Addie.” His voice was guttural and hoarse with relief. He removed his hat and folded it, fiddling with the gold insignia pin. His hair had been shorn even shorter than in Washington, leaving a fuzz that reminded me of a baby chick. I wanted to reach out and run my hand over its softness. Once it had reminded me of the ocean on a breezy day, dipping and rising once more. But most of it, including the curly bits that had once brushed against his collar, was gone.
As he leaned in to kiss my cheek, a familiar whiff of aftershave tickled my nose. I fought the urge to turn my lips to meet his. He straightened and I stared at him. “You’re in London.” I still could not believe that he was actually here, standing before me. I reached out and touched his sleeve to be sure. “Are you following me?”
He laughed, a loud chuckle that unsettled me. “Hardly. You and I just have a way of always winding up in the same place.” Was that true? “I am sure as heck glad to see you, though.”
“It’s just so odd how we both keep turning up. First Washington, now here.”
“A kind of kismet,” he replied, taking it a step further. I didn’t believe in fate anymore, not since that night by the Delaware River. Because fate meant accepting that it was all part of a bigger plan, and that sweet-faced, twelve-year-old Robbie was meant to die. “My unit was transferred here,” he explained.
My eyes traveled to the winged pin on the front of his uniform. “You’re flying?”
He nodded. “We’re based out of the airfield at Duxford, East Anglia.”
But something did not make sense. “I thought you were infantry.”
“I was.” I had been almost relieved when he told me that back home. I remember thinking that it would take months, maybe a year, to get all of the soldiers over there by foot and perhaps the war would be over then. But now he would have to fly planes, presumably into enemy territory, because Charlie the Great always had to do something larger than life. My anger rose. Why
couldn’t ordinary ever be enough? “It’s a long story,” he added. “Anyway, that’s what brought me to England.” He had not come looking for me.
But something about his explanation still didn’t make sense. “If you’re stationed at Duxford, then what are you doing in London?”
He looked uncomfortably around the room. “I’d rather not discuss it here. Maybe if we went somewhere else.”
“Okay.” Over his shoulder, I glimpsed Teddy. He was still standing by the door holding our coats, his face puzzled. “That is, I can’t. I’m sorry.”
Charlie followed my gaze. “Theodore White?”
“You know him?”
He grimaced. “I know of him. What does he have to do with anything?”
Before I could answer, Teddy walked over. “Adelia, I thought you were ready to go.” He put his hand on my back, and I squirmed at the sense of ownership the gesture seemed to convey. His face was still bright and hopeful from our earlier dance. But my affection for him a few minutes earlier was dwarfed by my ocean of feelings at seeing Charlie standing before me.
“Teddy, this is Charlie Connally. Charlie, may I introduce Theodore White?”
“Not necessary. I’ve read your work.” The two men shook hands. Charlie’s eyes dropped to Teddy’s left hand, which lingered at my elbow, and a storm cloud formed on his face. “Addie and I are...”
“Childhood friends,” I finished for him. The phrase echoed hollowly, so far short of what it should have been. But I certainly couldn’t explain what existed between us then, or now. I held my breath, waiting for Charlie to contradict me and tell Teddy it was something more.
“Addie?” Teddy repeated the nickname, a bemused smile about his lips. “How charming.” I watched helplessly as the divide between the past and the life I had created here seemed to evaporate.
“Teddy,” a man called from one of the tables. Turning, I recognized Ed Reyes, the senior editor from the Guardian.
Conflict washed over Teddy’s face. “Ed... I’ve been trying to corner him for ages. Do you mind?” he asked me.
“Not at all. I’ll wait.” As he walked away, I exhaled silently.
“You’re with him?” Charlie said when Teddy was barely out of earshot. His voice was full of disbelief. My annoyance rose. Couldn’t Charlie imagine Teddy liking me? But it wasn’t that, I realized. He simply could not fathom me being with someone else.
I struggled for the answer. “What difference does it make?”
“Because when you left Washington I thought you were on your own.” Charlie had assumed that if I couldn’t be with him, I wouldn’t be with anyone, which until tonight had been true. I had done the same. In my mind, Charlie was frozen in time, alone with his sadness when I stood him up at the bar in Washington. Had he dated others in the time since I had gone? I had no right to be mad about it—even less right than he, since it was I who had done the leaving this time. But the notion still stung.
Around us the festivities seemed to intensify. The band swept into a raucous “Boogie Woogie Bugle Boy.” From the bar came the popping of a champagne cork, followed by a cheer. “You still haven’t said what you’re doing in London,” I pressed, even though Charlie had already said he didn’t want to talk about it here.
“I might have come into the city to make sure you were all right,” he confessed. “I can see you are.” His voice was unmistakably jealous as he gestured stiffly with his head toward Teddy. “I’ll just leave you two.” He started to turn away.
“Charlie, wait.” I reached for his arm and he seemed to wince slightly at my touch.
But he did not pull away. “You don’t owe me any explanations.”
“How did you know I was in London?”
“I went to the bureau in Washington and asked.” I tried to imagine Charlie confronting Mr. Steeves. “He gave me your address. I couldn’t come looking for you, of course, until I was transferred here. I got leave as soon as I could to come down to London. Your landlady told me where to find you. You left for England without saying a word.” His tone was accusing.
Like you did after Robbie died, I wanted to counter. He was the one who had first broken the silent pact I’d thought I had with the Connally boys to always be there for one another. But I was not ready to rip open that scar, which ran so deep.
“You didn’t come to meet me at the bar that night,” he said. I stepped back as sharp thorns seemed to form a barrier in the space between us.
“I never said I would,” I countered lamely. “I just couldn’t bear it after everything that happened.” I searched for an explanation that would somehow make what I had done better and found none. “I’m so sorry.”
“It’s okay,” he said, his anger ebbing. “I’m just glad to see you. But I don’t want to crash the party.” He tilted his head in the direction of Teddy, who was still talking to Ed Reyes but trying not to stare at us. “I should go.”
“Wait!” My voice rose, swallowed into the din of the gathering. Was he really going to leave, just like that, after we had only found each other again? In Washington, I had not been ready to talk. Now I was hungry for his company, his presence a dream I did not want to end. “I mean, we haven’t even had the chance to catch up.”
“No.” His face brightened a shade. “We haven’t.”
“Perhaps tea tomorrow?”
“No good, Ad. We tried that once, remember, planning a meeting? You stood me up.” I wanted to tell him that would not happen again. But he was right. “Let’s get out of here right now.”
“I can’t.” My eyes traveled to Teddy, who was still watching me. I could not simply walk out with another man right in front of him. But I desperately wanted to talk to Charlie.
“Meet me outside,” I said in a low voice and suddenly we were back home, our fledgling relationship a secret in the shadows of the beach houses.
“Good evening,” Charlie said loudly enough for others to hear. He put on his hat, then started for the door.
I walked over to Teddy, who rose as I approached. “Sorry to interrupt. I just wanted to say good-night, Teddy, I’m going home now. I’ve got a bit of a headache.”
His brow furrowed as he handed me my coat. “Are you ill?”
Hearing his genuine concern, I felt instantly guilty. “Just the champagne, I suspect. But I’m going to call it a night.”
“I can go with you.”
“Goodness, no. You stay and talk. I’ll just take a cab and see you first thing.” I kissed his cheek and then sailed away before he could argue. Though I did not turn back, I could feel his sadness and confusion at losing what had almost, but not quite, been.
Outside the air had chilled and the streetlights and theater marquees of Shaftesbury Avenue were blackened. I scanned the block, straining to see through the low fog that had rolled in. Charlie was not there. My heart sank. Had he given up on me or had I misunderstood?
I started for the taxi stand at the corner. Charlie appeared suddenly from the shadows of a shop doorway. I looked over my shoulder. We needed to go before Teddy came after me. “Come on, let’s walk,” he whispered.
I paused uncertainly. We had walked often back home during summers at the shore, on the beach while the surf crashed in the darkness or by the calmness of the bay. He had walked me home in the city. But it seemed odd to take to the night streets for no reason. “It’s past curfew, and there could be an air raid.”
He waved his hand, seemingly unconcerned as one who had already touched death too closely. “This way.” He pulled me down a narrow lane, away from the main thoroughfare. I followed him and we traveled wordlessly across the slick pavement, past the backs of shuttered shops, silent except for some rustling around the garbage cans. Even in this city thousands of miles from home, he led me, sure in his path.
The passageway ended at a wide street
. Charlie started around the corner, then jumped back, drawing me close against a building. “What is it?” He put a hand over my mouth, skin warm against my lips, as the yellow of a bobby’s flashlight flickered into view. Then he pulled me in the other direction and back down the alley, turning off in a different direction. We ran swiftly and silently, children not wanting to get caught at a game of hide-and-seek.
A few minutes later, the street opened up at Embankment, the panorama of the Thames unfurling before us. Barges glided silently in both directions, skaters on dark ice. I tried to catch my breath as we slowed.
We paused, staring across at the far bank in silence for several minutes, taking in the full scope of the destruction in the cool moonlight, some buildings half-standing or destroyed, still others untouched. I could not help but marvel at the randomness of it all, strikes as happenstance and unfair as Robbie being snatched from us.
Charlie looked back over his right shoulder, where Big Ben and Parliament loomed, standing sentinel. “It’s funny, isn’t it, just a couple of kids from South Philly here in the middle of all this?”
I nodded. “Sometimes I think I stepped into the wrong story.” But right now it was the two of us, just the same as on the dock or in the city back home.
“You shouldn’t be here,” he said, a note of protectiveness rising in his voice. “It’s too dangerous, with the bombings.”
I wasn’t sure whether to laugh or take offense. “You’re here.”
“And I kinda like it,” he admitted. “There’s a realness to it all.”
“I know,” I replied, understanding. Here, the danger was apparent, not hidden as it had been back home. We should not be out though, I thought, casting one eye uneasily to the sky as I had begun to do since coming here.
“Come.” Seeming to read my thoughts, Charlie led me down the Strand, stopping before a pub called The Dog in the Woods. Though the windows had been blacked out and it was well after closing time, boisterous laughter seeped through the cracks. I hesitated. I wanted to be alone with Charlie, not in a place packed with others. But it was too dangerous to stay outside, and I didn’t dare to invite him to my flat.
