After minutes that were probably only seconds, Paul looked again at Lorna’s face. She suddenly wished she had put on the pink lipstick properly, and instinctively licked her bottom lip to feel if any of the smudge she’d applied upstairs was still there.
“I think your American will be a very lucky man,” Paul said.
Before Lorna could point out that there was no such person as her American, Nellie burst into the kitchen, singing “Rose-Marie” at the top of her lungs, and clip-clopped over to Lorna on her ridiculously high heels.
“Come on then, duckie! I’ve got my dancing shoes on, so let’s go find us some gorgeous Yanks!”
Thirteen
The driver looked like he was going to have a heart attack when he saw Nellie tottering up to the bus stop, waving at him to wait. Nellie’s dress was lush and red, wide-shouldered, low-cut, and figure-hugging, and it proudly pushed up her “assets” into an even more impressive cleavage than they formed naturally. Not the kind of outfit normally found on a number 126 bus to North Berwick, even on a Saturday night.
The dress ended just below the knee, but it clung to her thighs so tightly that Lorna had to hoist Nellie up onto the bottom step of the bus, causing loud giggles from Nellie—and more strangely, from the bus driver—and loud tutting from the two old ladies sitting in the front seat. Nellie could barely make it down the aisle in her red patent heels. How on earth would she dance in them?
As they sat, Lorna caught sight of Nellie’s legs, which looked unusually tanned and smooth. Where had Nellie got nylon stockings? No one could buy nylons in stores at the moment, even with clothing coupons. Perhaps having an American boyfriend offered more than the obvious benefits.
Once the bus set off, Nellie instructed Lorna to apply not one, but three coats of the bright pink lipstick. Working quickly between jolts and sways as the bus hit bumps in the road and wound around corners, Lorna used the mirror in Nellie’s powder compact to get the lipstick on perfectly. Nellie chatted to the bus conductress for most of the journey to East Fortune, about how she’d achieved her hairdo, gesticulating wildly as she described curling her hair into such tight waves at the back, while sweeping it up at the front into two dramatic rolls high above her forehead.
“You look just like Betty Grable, hen,” cooed the conductress.
As Lorna sat listening and watching them chat, she couldn’t help but wish she looked even half as beautiful as Nellie. Even with the powder and lipstick, her own face felt plain and bare, while Nellie’s cheeks were rouged pink, and black mascara coated her eyelashes until they seemed inches long. And of course, there was the red lipstick.
At home, Lorna had felt radiant, as if she were the most beautiful girl in all Scotland. Then Nellie had appeared, looking stunning, sexy, and grown-up, and suddenly Lorna was only a plain bread roll sitting on a plate with a fondant fancy.
Lorna wished that Paul had not seen them side by side. He had seemed to like how Lorna looked, but then he’d seen Nellie . . . how could he think of Lorna with beautiful Nellie there?
Walking into the dance at East Fortune air base drove Paul from Lorna’s mind. As she let Nellie pull her by the hand from the black-curtained hallway into the brightly lit aircraft hangar, Lorna felt as if she was being pushed back out again by the noise.
The huge room was decorated with sparkling drapes, and there was an enormous American flag down one wall. Below it, on a stepped stage, was a band bigger than Lorna could ever have imagined. Rows and rows of men, splendid in their dark blue uniforms with buttons shining, were playing “Little Brown Jug,” a tune Lorna knew from the wireless. In front stood the bandleader, slender and lithe, bouncing on the balls of his feet, waving a fine white baton.
Lorna was mesmerized. How on earth would she ever be able to describe all this to Iris? This was certainly nothing like the tea dances or the village ceilidh band.
Nellie was on her tiptoes, looking for someone across the crowd. Lorna doubted they would ever find anyone. There must have been close to four hundred people in the hangar. Couples flowed around the enormous dance floor, and there were so many men, all in uniform, standing in groups against a long bar, laughing uproariously and slapping one another on the back.
There were women too, dressed to the nines, with powdered faces and dark red lipstick like Nellie. Many of them were also in uniform, yet they still managed to look unbearably elegant, and straight out of Hollywood.
Despite the crowds, Lorna found her spirits rising, buoyed by the glitter and the noise. She drew herself up on her toes, moving her hips until the soft silkiness of her dress brushed against her thighs. She lifted her chin until the pins holding her hair pressed against her neck and she squeezed her lips together searching for the reassuring oiliness that meant her pink lipstick was still in place. But even without moving, Lorna could feel the slight pressure at her throat of her mother’s silver butterfly, and the warm touch of Paul’s hand on the small of her back, and his breath on her cheek. . . .
“There they are!” cried Nellie, tugging Lorna’s hand and waving frantically in the direction of the bar.
Lorna let Nellie pull her along in the direction of four airmen, all standing holding glasses and cigarettes. Their dress uniforms were pristine and their hair slicked back. They were all very handsome, but what struck Lorna most was that they were much older, even than Nellie, in their late twenties at least.
Before they reached the men, Nellie spun to face Lorna.
“The redhead is mine,” she said, “and the dark brooding one is yours. And don’t forget, I told them you’re the same age as me.”
Nellie gave Lorna a quick and brilliant smile, and dragged her to stand in front of the men.
The same age as Nellie? How could anyone look at Lorna and think that she was twenty? She wasn’t even eighteen yet, and even with her dress, lipstick, and hair, compared to Nellie, Lorna was sure she still looked like a little girl.
Nellie looked stunning and she knew it, and the men did actually look stunned. However, all four seemed to be staring, Lorna noted with distaste, at Nellie’s cleavage rather than her face as she bounced around in front of them.
“Hello, darling.” Nellie gave the red-haired man a kiss full on the mouth, leaving behind a smudge of rich red lipstick, all without letting go of Lorna’s wrist.
Did she think Lorna was going to run away?
Lorna realized that such an idea, right then, seemed quite appealing.
Too late.
“Gentlemen, may I present my very good friend, Miss Lorna Anderson.”
The men grudgingly looked up from Nellie’s chest to Lorna, and she was glad that their gaze actually met her eyes.
“Lorna, this is my fella, Charles,” Nellie said, running her flat hand possessively down the front of the redhead’s jacket. “Or Charming Charlie, as I always call him.”
“It’s very nice to meet you, Miss Anderson,” Charles said, “but most folks call me Chuck.” He smiled at her, his freckled skin flushing pink.
Nellie shifted Lorna to face the next man. He was darker than Chuck and even taller.
“Lorna,” Nellie twittered, “this very handsome gentleman is Eddie, and he’s your partner for tonight.”
“Actually, it’s Ed,” said the man, “not Eddie.”
“Ed, Eddie, either way.” Nellie shrugged.
“It’s just Ed,” he repeated.
“And isn’t Just Ed divine?” Nellie said in a stage whisper to Lorna. “Like Rhett Butler from Gone with the Wind.”
Nellie was right: Ed might have stepped straight out of the screen at the Palace Picture House. His shoulders were wide, his face tanned, chiseled, and handsome, and his deep-brown eyes regarded Lorna with an unnerving intensity.
Ed proffered a hand, and to Lorna’s embarrassment, Nellie lifted Lorna’s hand into his. Her hand looked delicate and pale against his tanned and strong fingers. But his hand was warm and rather damp. Not like Paul’s.
“As I recall it”—Ed’
s voice was deep and his accent strong—“Rhett Butler was from South Carolina, whereas I’m from Georgia. But I suppose we are both good Southern gentlemen.”
Beside Lorna, Nellie gave a squeak, and Lorna almost giggled. His American accent did make it sound like “gennelmen.”
“And if you would care to be my Scarlett O’Hara this evening,” Ed continued, breaking out a dazzlingly white smile, “then I’m sure we’ll have a mighty fine time.”
Ed bent and lifted her hand to his mouth, and Lorna’s blush burned even hotter. His lips left a warm glow on her fingers, and Lorna wasn’t sure what do next, but since Ed didn’t immediately let her hand go, she left it in his. It felt strange, but exciting, and it made concentrating on Nellie’s next introduction hard—had she said his name was Brian? He raised his glass to Lorna in greeting, but the fourth man, younger than the others and introduced as Pete, was already looking over Lorna’s shoulder and didn’t even bother to acknowledge her.
She found Ed studying her. Though his eyes didn’t leave hers, they somehow also roamed over her body, and her skin prickled.
“Can I get you ladies something to drink?” Chuck said, slipping his arm around Nellie’s shoulders. “I’m afraid that this here’s a dry bar, no alcohol allowed, so it’s a choice between lemonade and iced tea.”
Tea with ice? That was strange. Lorna was used to drinking her tea hot enough to burn her tongue.
“Though perhaps we can help out you ladies with some cocktails of our own.” Chuck patted his pocket and gave a throaty laugh as he winked at Lorna and then headed for the bar.
Lorna didn’t know what he meant, but his easy manner had made her warm to Chuck already. She could see why Nellie liked him so much; he looked as if he would be fun to spend time with. She wasn’t so sure about Ed, though. He made her feel very young and rather wanting. But still, this was her first dance, and she would enjoy it.
And for a while she did. Chuck came back quickly with their drinks, and he whispered something to Nellie, who whispered something back. He glanced quickly at Lorna and whispered again. Nellie shook her head. The two of them casually turned their backs to Lorna, glasses in hand. After a moment or two, Chuck slipped a silver hip flask into his pants pocket before raising his glass to Nellie.
“Cheers!” he cried, and knocked back the whole glass of lemonade in two gulps.
“Bottoms up!” cried Nellie, and she gulped down her drink too. Lorna glared at Nellie, but she didn’t seem to notice.
Unlike Chuck, Ed didn’t bother to hide his hip flask. He held it over Lorna’s glass, hesitating before pouring, and Lorna noticed that the flask quivered as if Ed was struggling to keep his hand steady. Lorna was torn for a moment. Would he think her childish if she refused the alcohol? But no, she wasn’t used to drinking, so accepting his offer could only lead to trouble. She covered her glass protectively. Ed shrugged and splashed some of the clear liquid from the flask into his own lemonade. He then raised his glass toward Lorna.
“Here’s to my good fortune in having the most beautiful young lady in the room to dance with.”
Lorna was flattered by his gallantry, even if it was plainly not true, so she lifted her glass to his. Then she sipped the lemonade self-consciously and surveyed the packed dance floor, trying to unflush her pink face simply by force of will. What could she say that this handsome man would find both interesting and charming?
“So,” she tried, with casual airiness, “do you fly the planes?”
“No, ma’am, I’m a navigator. Pete over there’s our pilot, new, just arrived a day or two ago from the training camp.”
He nodded toward a group of men nearby, but Lorna couldn’t quite remember which one was Pete, even though she knew she’d been introduced to him only minutes before.
Ed continued to regard her but said nothing further, not even when Chuck brought Lorna a second glass of lemonade. Chuck might have winked at Ed, but then again, it might just have been a trick of the flashing mirror ball above them.
Feeling painfully awkward, Lorna studied the pink smudge on the rim of her glass before sipping the lemonade again as she cast around for something more to say.
“And, em, what sort of planes do you fly, I mean, do you . . . em . . . navigate . . . in?” Her nerves were firmly in control of her mouth now. “I saw them outside, but I’m afraid I don’t know your planes very well. My brother and I used to study all the British planes when we were younger, but . . . I mean, I could see that they were bombers, but I didn’t recognize what they were.”
She knew she was chattering, but she couldn’t work out how to shut herself up. Ed must be sick of her already.
But he continued to smile indulgently.
“Flying Fortresses. We all fly in those Boeing B-17 Flying Fortresses.”
He indicated all the men in their vicinity with a circle of his cigarette, but then there was another silence.
“Gosh,” said Lorna. “That’s very, em . . . And have you always flown in the same plane?”
Lorna immediately knew she’d said something wrong, because Ed’s smile hardened into a tight, thin line.
“We sure as heck tried to,” he said, and dragged at his cigarette. “Until we found a gaping hole where our tail used to be.”
Lorna swallowed hard. What had Nellie said the other evening? Something about these airmen having had a tough week?
“So we had to beg old Uncle Sam for a new one. And a new rear gunner. And a new pilot.”
Ed raised his empty glass toward Pete, though if Pete saw, he ignored it.
Lorna was mortified at her crass mistake. To cover her embarrassment, she lifted her glass, but it was empty now too. Ed studied the glowing tip of his cigarette, but after a moment he lifted up his head and shook it, almost as if he were shaking raindrops from his hair. Then he gave Lorna a wide smile that was only slightly less convincing than his earlier one.
“So, Miss Lorna . . .” Instead of finishing the thought, Ed pulled at his cigarette and blew the smoke out the side of his mouth.
To Lorna’s relief, Nellie appeared at her side, snatching Lorna’s empty glass from her hand and handing it to a passing waiter.
“Come on, you two,” Nellie giggled, gathering up Lorna with one arm and Ed with the other. “Are we here to dance, or what?”
As soon as they reached the dance floor, Nellie and Chuck flew off into the swirling crowd.
Lorna looked up into Ed’s handsome face, feeling like she should apologize, but before she could say anything, Ed held out his hand to her again.
“Miss Lorna, may I have this dance?”
Perhaps to dance would be the best apology.
So she laid her hand lightly in Ed’s, and he put his other hand on her waist. As they moved off into the throng, Ed pulled her close to him, shifting organza to stiff serge, and Lorna had little choice but to follow.
Ed was a very good dancer, light on his feet for such a big man, and Lorna really began to enjoy herself. When the dance allowed, they made small talk about their homes. Ed had been brought up on a cotton farm and told her his uncle grew peaches. Lorna laughed, replying that cotton and peaches seemed so much more exotic than the carrots and turnips they grew at Craigielaw.
Every so often Ed went to the bar and brought more delicious lemonade—another wonderful thing that Iris was missing—and Lorna drank hers down quickly and they danced some more.
“This doesn’t taste much like lemonade, you know,” she said to Ed after her fourth glass, and she leaned against him as she spoke. She was getting tired.
He gave her another matinee-idol smile and laid his hand low in that same familiar place in the small of Lorna’s back, pulling her toward him until their hips touched, and Lorna found she didn’t even mind. Then Ed bent to whisper a secret in her ear.
“That’s because it’s American lemonade.”
That was strange. She hadn’t noticed the American lemonade tasting any different from any other lemonade at the beginning of the
evening, but then they were off dancing again.
When the bandleader announced that there would be a short break, everyone groaned in disappointment. Chuck and Ed brought over more drinks, along with two slices of rich and luscious chocolate cake for Nellie and Lorna, the first real chocolate cake that Lorna had tasted in years.
“Chocolate cake?” she asked Ed through a mouthful. “Does the American Air Force not understand rationing?”
“You forget, Miss Lorna, that we’re Americans, which means that we always like to get what we want.”
Ed dragged the tip of his little finger across the top of her cake. Without looking away from her, he licked the thick brown icing from his finger. Lorna was revolted, and for a split second she contemplated throwing the cake away, but then again, Ed was just being playful, wasn’t he? And when might she get chocolate cake again?
As Lorna finished her last mouthful, Nellie demanded that they swap partners for the next dance.
Chuck wasn’t as capable a dancer as his friend, but they managed without too many bumps. Lorna wondered again how Nellie could dance with him so effortlessly in those high heels. It was hard enough in Lorna’s flat pumps.
As the fox-trot ended, Lorna bobbed Chuck an unsteady curtsy. Chuck giggled, sounding not unlike Nellie, and gave her a low, sweeping bow. Then Ed handed Nellie to Chuck and came to stand behind Lorna, wrapping his warm arms around her as they waited to hear what the next dance would be.
“Miss Lorna,” Ed murmured against Lorna’s hair, “you are not like any of Nellie’s other friends that I’ve met. You’re quite different, and far more enticing.”
Lorna felt wonderfully happy and light-headed and let her head rest back against Ed’s shoulder. With all the dancing and the music, and Ed’s charming attentiveness, her anxieties seemed to have vanished. She barely noticed anymore the bitter smell of sweat and tobacco that she’d noticed during her first quickstep with Ed, all those dances ago.
The bandleader tapped his microphone, just like on the gramophone record.
Wait for Me Page 11
