The Last Embrace

by Pam Jenoff

  “That’s awful.” My heart sunk as I pictured a girl version of Leo, stranded somewhere dark and ominous. “How can they do such a thing?”

  “They don’t want more homeless children in London. They say there aren’t enough resources to care for the ones we’ve got without an individual sponsor for each.”

  I stopped at the entranceway to the kitchen. “Is there any sort of appeal process?”

  “No. The policy isn’t likely to change any time soon. And we don’t have time. The children that were left behind are in a dreadful spot close to the coast. If they aren’t relocated soon, they’ll be taken by the Germans, or caught in the fighting.” Her eyes filled with tears. She brushed them back. “We’ve saved this lot and that’s something.”

  Not to him, it isn’t, I thought, looking at Leo who finished his bread, unaware. He had lost his whole family, except for the sister that could still be saved.

  “I’ve contacted colleagues of mine in Canada to see if they can take some children,” Sister Jayne said. But even if they could save the others that way, Leo and his sister would be an ocean apart. “I’m sure something will work out,” she added without conviction.

  The children were finishing their breakfast now and clearing their dishes. “Well, thank you for showing me around. I must be going,” I said, remembering Charlie.

  “Thank you for the bread—and for checking on us.” I started back toward the river, my footsteps heavy. Dark clouds had formed, blanketing the sky that had just been so bright. I’d found the children safe from the bombing, but was more worried than ever about those who had been left behind, especially Leo’s sister. There had to be a way to help.

  I ducked into the red phone booth at the corner, pulled some coins from my purse and dialed Claire, one of the few people I knew who actually had a phone in her flat. But there was no answer. Perhaps she had found Lord Raddingley at the fete after all. I should have said something about seeing him with another woman. Bile rose in my throat at the thought of the jerk who didn’t deserve her.

  Pushing it down, I dialed again, this time the news bureau. “Hallo,” Teddy’s familiar voice greeted, answering his own line because he was the only one in yet. “White speaking.” He was always in the office at dawn, not needing more than a few hours’ sleep.

  “Teddy, it’s me.”

  “Adelia, is everything all right?” His voice was alert, filled with concern. It was not like me to ring.

  “I’m fine.” I swallowed. It seemed unfair, asking him for help right as I was about to marry Charlie. But I wasn’t asking for me. “But remember the group of orphans I told you about?”

  “Of course, that little chap you rescued, Leo.” Teddy had a great head for names.

  “Some of them, including Leo’s sister, are stuck in northern France, and can’t get papers. Their visas have been denied.”

  “Dreadful.”

  I licked my lips. “Do you think there’s anything to be done?”

  There was silence on the other end of the line. I held my breath, waiting for him to tell me it was impossible. “I’ve got an old classmate from Magdalen who heads Immigration.” I exhaled slightly. Teddy knew everyone. “No promises, but I’ll try.” It was no small thing I was asking, but he did not want to let me down.

  “Thank you.”

  There was a moment’s silence and I could hear him wondering about the previous evening, where I had gone after leaving the Savoy. “You’ll be in?”

  I knew I should tell him that I would be late, but I could not bear to tell him why—not until it was done. “Yes. See you soon.” I set down the receiver. Teddy would try, and that was better than nothing.

  Rain had begun to fall heavily, a sudden morning shower. I hesitated, looking uncertainly in the direction of the river. I needed to get back home quickly and change, but did not have enough money for another cab. I ran to the corner and ducked into the underground station. I hurried down the escalator onto the platform, which was three deep with passengers, crowded even for the morning commute. There was an impatience in the air that suggested travelers had been waiting for a while.

  But after only a minute, a train rumbled into the station and we jostled aboard. I stood, pressed closer than was comfortable between an older suited man and a woman holding a miniature poodle. As the train began to move, Charlie appeared in my mind. Today was my wedding day. Was this really happening? I was suddenly light-headed. A quick trip back to my flat to change, then off to meet him. I mentally inventoried my few dresses, none of which seemed quite right, even for standing up in front of a chaplain. It should have been so much different. Somewhere familiar, the Connallys’ shore house perhaps, with both of our families present. But that world no longer existed. I wrapped my arms around myself. At least we were both here and together.

  The train slammed suddenly to a halt, wheels grinding with an awful screech. I grabbed the pole to stop myself from falling. Women cried out and the poodle scrambled in its owner’s arms, paws scratching me as it tumbled to the ground. The lights in the car went out, pitching us into total darkness. Around me there were groans and whispered swearing, the failings of London transport all too familiar.

  Several minutes passed, the smell of perspiration and cheap perfume seeming to intensify by the second. I drummed my fingers against the pole impatiently. I wanted time to wash and dress, to make myself look as pretty as possible for this most special of days. I seldom took the underground and it had not occurred to me that I might get stuck. I exhaled, willed myself to be calm. Surely we would move soon.

  But we did not. Though I could not see a clock I could feel the passage of time, twenty minutes, then thirty, like water dropping slowly from a leaky cup. People suggested theories to one another in low voices or into the air in front of them: mechanical trouble, a broken track ahead.

  I leaned against the pole. Others, weary of standing, dropped to the floor of the train car. There came a distant rumbling. The poodle whimpered from below. Voices grew louder and more frantic: what was happening? I tensed, fear mingling with my urgency. Daytime air raids were rare, but they had happened. My skin grew moist in the too-warm air. I had left just enough time to get to the orphanage and back to change and meet Charlie. But it had to be at least nine o’clock now.

  Finally the lights came back on and the train started moving again. There was a smattering of applause. I relaxed slightly. I could still make it. Then the train stopped once more. Though the lights remained on, we did not move. The minutes ticked on endlessly. A man produced a screwdriver and tried to pry open one of the doors, to no avail. Someone else suggested breaking a window. But even if we could free ourselves from the stuck car, the tunnel around us was dark and close, nowhere near a station. We were trapped.

  “A breakdown ahead,” came a whisper, passed down through the car, though whether it was from an authoritative source, I could not tell. The thought, even if true, was of little consolation. I had no idea how long something like this might last. I had to get to Charlie. Please, I prayed silently, not today of all days. He would be waiting for me at the chapel.

  And I was going to miss him.

  But still we sat, not moving. I imagined Charlie in his freshly pressed uniform, wearing a curiously twisted expression as he told himself that I would not stand him up a second time. This could not be happening. I willed him to somehow know that I would be coming, and that nothing would keep me from him this time.

  Finally the train began to roll slowly forward. I held my breath, this time too afraid to hope. We rolled into Green Park station and I pushed my way to the door. There was no time to go home and change. I needed to meet Charlie right away. I took the underground steps two at a time to the street where rain no longer fell and ran through the puddled streets toward the chapel near Grosvenor Square. The clock above the embassy read ten forty-five.

 
; A soldier waited anxiously in front of the chapel, clutching a handful of gardenias. But he was shorter, with red hair and freckles. “I’m looking for Sergeant Charles Connally.”

  “Don’t know him,” the soldier replied distractedly.

  I ran inside the chapel and repeated the question to the minister. “There was a young man waiting here for about an hour in his dress uniform.” My heart wrenched as I pictured Charlie, thinking I had stood him up again. I started in the direction of the soldiers’ hotel. I would explain everything.

  The hotel looked smaller and more run-down in the light of day, rotting apples fallen from trees covering the broken cobblestones. Inside, the lobby was deserted except for a maid sweeping the hardwood floors. The smell of stale beer and cigarette smoke hung heavy in the air. The cleaner eyed me and I sensed that the sight of a woman in the previous night’s clothes was not an unfamiliar one here.

  “I left something upstairs.” Not waiting for an answer, I ran up the stairs to Charlie’s room. The door was unlocked and the bed stripped. None of his belongings remained. It was as if he had never been here at all. I ran my hand over the mattress, remembering the previous night and half wondering if it had been a dream.

  I noticed then a scrap of paper on the nightstand. Shipping out, the hastily scrawled note read. I could see the bit of his thumb growing inky as he wrote it from that way he always held the pen too close. Wait for me. He’d left it here, hoping I’d come back, or perhaps because there hadn’t been time to send it. There was a damp spot on the paper. A raindrop, perhaps, or something else?

  Clutching the paper, I hurried to the window. If he had not gotten far, I could run after him and explain. But the street was empty. With tears in my eyes, I took one last look around the room where we had shared everything, then slipped out into the cold gray morning.

  An hour later, as I stepped freshly washed from my flat on Porchester Terrace, I was still in a daze: Charlie was gone. I thought back to the hotel where we had been so happy just hours earlier. He must have known the previous night that he was being deployed soon. I recognized now the finality in his words, the reason for his urgent push to marry me. But he hadn’t wanted to pressure me or use his leaving as an excuse. If I’d known the truth, I would have hurried to the chapel, instead of risking the detour to the orphanage. And we would be married.

  I started east along the pockmarked pavement which had begun to dry under the rising sun, headed in the direction of the news bureau. It was late morning now and commuters should have been at their offices but as I reached Oxford Street, I realized that something was different. People clustered at the shop windows, huddling close to listen to the radios. Outside a music shop, someone had set up a speaker. I moved closer. “What is it?”

  “Haven’t you heard?” a man asked. “The Americans have gone across. The invasion of Europe has begun.” So that’s why Charlie had left. Though his reconnaissance work would not like have made him part of the initial invasion, he would be needed to fly more than ever now. Panic seized me as I pictured the dangers that he would face. I pictured him lying beside me just hours earlier, everything we had always wanted finally ours for the taking. And now he was gone—perhaps this time for good. If only I had made it to the chaplain’s on time! He still would have left, I knew, but we would have been man and wife. Now he was gone to face terrifying danger, not understanding why I had failed to meet him yet again, perhaps believing I didn’t love him.

  Tears began to gather in my eyes as I ran, trying to block out the drone of the broadcast that spoke of anti-aircraft fire and tanks and casualties. The Americans entering the war in Europe was something I’d wanted for so long. But now all I could see was the peril Charlie faced.

  A few minutes later, I stopped, breathless. I knew I should go to the bureau as planned. Stories of the invasion would be bursting, Teddy trying to cover all of them at once. But I was on the edge of Hyde Park, not far from Claire’s flat. I headed in that direction, eager to confide in her about Charlie and have her help me make sense of it all. Then I stopped, remembering Claire’s unkind words the previous night, the resentment I’d glimpsed for the first time about the attention I received from Teddy and Charlie. It was just the liquor, I told myself. She was still the closest thing I had to a friend.

  Claire answered the door looking fresh in her auxiliary uniform, no sign of weariness from the previous night’s revelry. Of course, with the invasion on she would be deploying herself, and have more important things to do than chat with me. “I’m so sorry to show up unannounced.” I searched her face for any sign of the anger she’d shown last night.

  But she smiled warmly, then stepped aside and let me in. “Not at all. I’ve got to report in an hour, but there’s time for a quick cup of tea. Is something wrong?”

  I followed her upstairs to her flat. “Charlie.”

  Claire’s face tightened to a storm cloud. “What has he done now?”

  “It’s nothing like that. It’s just that...” I faltered, wanting to confess everything but somehow unable.

  Then she smiled devilishly. “You’ve done it, haven’t you?”

  I stepped back, mortified. “You can tell?”

  “Only me, yes. No one else will see it, not even Teddy, I promise.” Teddy. He would have been so hurt to know about me and Charlie if we had gotten married. “There’s a glow about you. Was it wonderful?”

  “Better than that,” I confessed with a flutter of excitement as I remembered the feel of Charlie pressed close. “Only now he’s gone.” My tears came then in spite of myself. I swiped at my eyes, ashamed to be moping about such things when there were so many bigger problems of war and suffering to worry about.

  “There, there.” Claire handed me a tissue. “You can’t cry now with all of the soldiers going and whatnot. Very un-British, stiff upper lip and all that. Don’t be glum. You had your moment, that’s the most any of us can hope for right now. More, even.” I waited for Claire to reassure me that Charlie would be all right, that he would come back. But after everything she had seen, she would not make false promises. “Wait here,” she instructed instead, then disappeared into the kitchen.

  As I looked out the window across the treetops, my shoulders slumped with exhaustion. Maybe I should go home. Charlie wanted me to, and Teddy would surely understand.

  Claire returned a minute later with some toast and tea. I hadn’t eaten since the previous day. “Better?” I swallowed and nodded, not really sure if that was true. “Good. No sense moping about.”

  “I suppose.”

  “Poor Teddy,” Claire mused. “I suppose he doesn’t have a chance now.”

  No. “How could he?” Even gone, Charlie had all of my heart. “I’ll have to tell him.”

  “Why? Charlie is gone and things with Teddy are just for fun. Don’t be so stiff about it all. Just take it as it comes.” I wished that I could be as light as Claire. But an image of Charlie pulling farther away into the darkness shrouded my mind.

  “Anyway, it wasn’t just fun with Charlie. He asked me to marry him.”

  “Oh?” Claire’s eyebrows rose. “You hadn’t mentioned.”

  “No.” Was that because I feared she might disapprove? “We’d originally planned to wait until he came back, but then Charlie decided we should do it sooner.”

  Claire cut me off. “He decided.”

  “Yes.”

  “Again.” It was not a question. I could see where Claire was going with this, the way it seemed to reaffirm her perception that Charlie called the shots. I wanted to take issue with how Claire was interpreting the facts. But now seeing it laid before me, she was right—Charlie had made the decision for both of us, had presumed I’d want what he did.

  “He rang looking for you, by the way. Teddy, that is.” Her point about Charlie having been made, she seemed content to change the subject.
>
  “Did he?”

  “Last night. Said you weren’t at your flat.” So Teddy had come looking for me after the fete. “I nearly forgot to mention.” But had she really, or had the omission been planned?

  I gazed out the window at a woman sitting on the ground by the park’s edge, holding a swaddled baby in one hand. A hat lay upturned in front of her in hopeful anticipation of a few coins. How silly my problems seemed by comparison to the suffering and struggles of others! Leo and the orphans popped suddenly into my head.

  “There’s something else. Remember the orphanage I told you about? There’s a small group of children left stranded in France and they can’t get papers to come over.”

  “And you want me to ask my uncle.” I nodded, relieved she had guessed what I did not have the nerve to raise. “Oh, Addie, how can I possibly right now? I’ll try but the immigration laws are passed by Parliament, and now everyone is completely tied up with the invasion...” She stopped, seeing the pleading in my eyes. “I’ll try, but don’t get your hopes up.”

  “Thank you, Claire, I know it’s a lot to ask.”

  “I’ll have to do it when I get back.”

  I started to protest that it wouldn’t be soon enough, then stopped, her words sinking in. “Back? Where from?” Until now, Claire’s assignments had been day trips or overnight at most. But there was a rucksack, smaller and smarter than Charlie’s, leaning on the wall by the door.

  “We’re going over,” Claire said, with a tilt of her head south, implying the coastline. She said this so casually that she might have been speaking about a day at the seaside. It took me a minute to realize that she meant crossing the Channel into war-torn Europe.

  “You can’t be serious.”

  “A group from the Auxiliary is organizing at Portsmouth. We won’t deploy right away, of course, but once the Americans have pushed inland, we’ll be headed to France to bring supplies to the medics. I’ve gotten special clearance to join them.”