by Pam Jenoff
“It’s all right.” In other circumstances, I might have been offended by him taking such liberties without so much as a date. Everything moved faster with the war, though. I saw couples intertwined in the corners of Green Park at dusk, lined up to marry at the churches on Sunday. It would have been fine if I was any other girl.
But I wasn’t—and my heart was still somewhere else. “I’m sorry, Teddy. I’m just not up for that right now—with anyone.”
Teddy raised his palms plaintively. “There’s been no one since I met you, Adelia. Not that you asked me to be exclusive. Heck, you haven’t even agreed to go out with me. But ever since I met you, I’m ruined for the rest.” He smiled bashfully. “My whole life I’ve felt as though I was writing the story. With you for the first time I feel a part of it.”
I took his hand. “I know, and I’m grateful.”
“That’s the last thing a fella wants,” he groaned. “We’re perfect together,” he added. Behind him the sun had dipped low to the buildings.
“The sirens are going to go soon,” I pointed out. Being caught out after curfew would result in a fine.
“I don’t care,” he said, still staring at me, his longing unabashed now.
“Good night,” I said firmly, my head swimming with confusion. I closed the door to the flat, shaken. For a moment, I might have liked him back.
But I couldn’t. The memories of home, and of Charlie, loomed large again. I remembered the envelope in my purse, still unopened. I pulled it out, too curious to resist any longer. As I opened it, a photograph fell out to the ground and I picked it up, choking back a cry. It was an image of myself and all four Connally boys set against the backdrop of Steel Pier that last summer. Usually I was on the other side of the camera, obscured from view. Who had taken it? I tried to remember. Jack was lifting Robbie playfully, as if about to toss him over the railing to the water below. Liam stood to the side, pretending to be disinterested, but even he smiled a bit around the eyes, his anger momentarily gone. Charlie hovered behind us, protective even in his mirth, arms spread above us like giant wings. His hand was brushing my shoulder casually and I could almost feel it there now, how that touch had sent shivers through me.
I ran my fingers over Robbie’s face. Though I could not remember the photo being snapped, I could feel the moment as if it was now. There was no return address on the envelope. I dropped the picture into the fire, watching as the edges curled and burned to dust.
“Your go.” Claire’s long tapered fingers, short nails filed round and painted the color of pomegranates, splayed coolly against the backs of the playing cards. Her nostrils flared with concentration.
I discarded a seven of clubs in favor of a jack of hearts. Now I just needed the queen to complete the suit.
But Claire picked up a card and then revealed her hand before her. “Gin.” She totaled the points. “Another round?” She was already gathering the cards to shuffle.
I had been surprised when a note arrived at my flat more than a month earlier inviting me around for tea. “A cuppa,” she called it when I’d turned up. Though I had liked Claire instantly, I had not expected to see her again. Surely the prime minister’s niece had lots of friends. “I do,” Claire had replied candidly when I asked on my first visit. “That is, lots of people who want to be around me and go to parties and such. But no one quite so...real.” I was not sure if that was a compliment. But I had gone again every Sunday afternoon since that first time I had been invited. We would sit playing cards for hours, sometimes chatting but sometimes not saying anything at all. Claire’s Kensington flat was warm and tastefully decorated in muted shades of mauve and beige; its three spacious rooms on DeVere Gardens were grand in comparison to my own tiny flat. Schmaltzy, I could almost hear Aunt Bess call it.
“I prefer to be on my own,” Claire explained once, when I remarked about it. She was at best a handsome woman, makeup skillfully applied, the flowing skirt designed to soften her large-boned frame. “Uncle Winnie wanted me safe out in the country but I wouldn’t hear of it—I would have died of boredom.” I smiled at her familiar reference to the prime minister. Claire had lost her own parents in a car accident at a young age and had been raised alongside Churchill’s own children—a history not so very different from my own.
“It’s nice to have one’s own space,” I agreed, nibbling one of the hard biscuits she’d put on the saucer. I couldn’t imagine inviting Claire to my flat on Porchester Terrace. I didn’t even have a second chair for her to sit down.
“I saw Teddy at the Berkley last week,” Claire offered, pouring more tea. She had a dizzying social calendar, out most nights at the concerts and dances that had persisted in London in defiance of the Blitz and the bombings that continued afterward.
“Oh?” I struggled to keep my tone neutral as I envisioned Teddy at the popular dance hall. I had not been there myself, but had heard stories from the other girls of dancing with RAF pilots until the gin ran out or an air raid siren sounded, whichever came first. But Teddy always seemed so hard at work; it was hard to picture him at a dance. Whom had he gone with? I knew I had no right to be jealous—I was the one who had pushed him away. He had not formally asked me out again since our kiss at my flat. But it was always there—the casual mention of a show I might like at a West End theater, the bit of chocolate he’d managed to get his hands on and save for me. Teddy was still hopeful—but he didn’t seem to be waiting around any longer while I held him off.
“He didn’t dance at all,” Claire added. “Just sat there a bit broodish. Not at all like him.” Her comments were subtle but persistent, questions hidden in them.
“That’s interesting.” I tried not to sound too pleased.
“Something’s got him wrapped up in knots.” Claire lifted her head from her cards. “It’s you, I suspect.”
“Me?” I set down my cards and picked up the teacup, willing myself not to flush. “Teddy’s my boss. We only work together.” He’d been gone these past few days, chasing another story without saying where.
“Someone better tell him that. He fancies you a good deal.”
“I very much doubt that. I mean, he asked me out once, a long time ago. But I hardly think he’s stuck on me.” I tried to keep my voice even as I waved my hand. “Teddy likes all the girls.”
“I disagree. He’s really smitten. Teddy’s used to women fawning all over him. Telling him no is quite a game.”
“I’m not playing a game,” I protested. I gazed out the window at the treetops of Hyde Park, just visible above the gray brick chimneys.
“What is it, then?” Claire pressed. “Because if men aren’t your thing, I know some lovely girls.”
“Claire, no!” I cut her off, shocked. “It isn’t that at all.”
“Then what? You don’t have to tell me.” Claire raised a hand. “In fact, I rather prefer the mystery.” But she continued to stare at me intently.
I bit my lip. Finally, I could hold it no longer. “Charlie.” The whole story began to spill out of how I had met the Connallys at the beach.
“A summer boy.” Claire smiled. “How lovely.”
“But it was more than that.” I continued, explaining the awful events that had led up to Robbie’s death.
“I might have guessed. There’s something about you, a bit dark and mysterious that says you’ve known heartbreak. How long were you together?” Claire asked.
I wasn’t sure how to answer. In reality it had just been that one night and the months of correspondence in between. “A bit. Forever. I don’t know. So then Charlie went off to enlist and he decided that we should tell everyone that we were together at Thanksgiving.”
“Charlie decided...” Claire’s eyebrows lifted. “Did you agree?”
“Yes, of course,” I replied quickly. In reality, I had been unsure, maybe even wanting to hold off. “And aft
er Robbie died.” I swallowed, the words hurting my throat. “Afterward, everyone just scattered. Then after a year apart I saw Charlie in Washington last November...”
“And you ran.” There was an unmistakable note of disapproval in her voice. “Because you didn’t want to be with him.”
“It’s not that simple.”
“You can’t be with Charlie, but you’re not giving Teddy a chance either. You are using grief as an excuse not to move on,” Claire pronounced, her voice pointed but not unkind.
I opened my mouth, ready to deny it. But that was the thing: I didn’t want to stop hurting. Because letting go of the pain meant accepting what had happened to Robbie, moving just a step farther away from him. Letting go. “I’m just not ready to start up with anyone new, even a fellow as swell as Teddy.” Despite Claire’s bluntness, it was a relief to finally talk to her about what had happened. Chatting with Claire about boys seemed so normal, a life I might have imagined but never really thought I would have.
“So you ran away to London. Are you happy here?”
I paused, the card I had just picked up midair. Happiness was not something I thought much about. I had been happy that one night with Charlie before it had all fallen apart. But sometimes I wished I had not known such joy in light of the unbearable sorrow that was to follow—having had it once made knowing it would not come again all the worse. “You could be happy, you know,” Claire said, answering her own question. “Be Teddy’s girl and enjoy life for a while.” I bit my lip, not answering. If only it was that simple. “Teddy and I knew each other as children,” she added.
“Did you? I had no idea.” I had assumed they were friends from the London social scene—I had not imagined them to have such a long history.
“Yes, when we were younger our parents thought we might wind up together.” There was a note of longing in Claire’s voice. Discomfort nagged at me—did Claire think I had stolen Teddy from her? “It never was on the table, though.”
“Do you mind at all?”
“Goodness, no! I’m having too much fun to settle down. Teddy isn’t for me,” she said. “And I’d like him to be happy. Plus a correspondent, how common.” Her protests came too quickly on top of one another, each seeming to contradict the last. “Anyway, there is someone else, but he’s married.”
“Claire!” I blurted, unable to hide my surprise.
“So you see, I know how it is to be stuck on someone.”
I wanted to protest that I was not stuck on Charlie, but it was the truth. “Who is he?” I could not help but ask. “Where did you meet him?”
She hesitated momentarily. “Lord Raddingley. He’s a member of Parliament.” Her voice was atypically breathy. But surely someone of Claire’s background would not have been impressed just by the title. “We met at a reception a few months back, and manage some time away whenever we can. Of course nothing can come of it,” she added quickly, checking herself. But the hope that lingered in her eyes made my heart ache for her. “You must think I’m dreadful.”
“Not at all,” I replied, too quickly. I was not one to judge, but I did not want to see her get hurt. “I was thinking of going to the Tate Wednesday after work, if you’d like to join me,” I offered, changing the subject.
“I can’t. That is, I would have loved to, but my unit has been called down to Portsmouth.” I tried not to let the rejection sting. Claire was a member of the Auxiliary Territorial Services, part of the women’s unit of the army. Last week as we finished playing cards, Claire had been going to a shift manning an anti-aircraft gun near Tower Bridge. She had looked so smart in her uniform, something altogether different than the society girl I had taken her for. She was fearless, intense and ready to fight. I envied her sense of purpose.
My shoulders slumped. “I’m of so little use. They won’t let the American girls join the corps.”
“You just keep reporting the news, doll. That’s you, doing your bit.” There was a hint of unintended condescension to her words. “Anyway, that’s Wednesday. I was able to put it off until then because the Spring Fete is tomorrow night. You’re going, of course?” I nodded reluctantly. Claire had pinned me down the first week I’d visited to attend the fete, a benefit the auxiliary had organized at the Savoy to raise money for the Red Cross. “And tonight we’re going out dancing.” Claire’s London circle was one of parties, too-late nights almost every day of the week with people who didn’t seem to like each other very much and fizzy drinks that left her with headaches the next day. “You’re coming with us.”
“Tonight?” I’d managed to demur the few other times Claire had invited me along. “I couldn’t possibly. I’m not even dressed.”
“One of my cousins is tiny like you. I’m sure she’s left something in the wardrobe that will fit.”
“But I can’t.” I searched for a good excuse not to go. Until now, I had been content to spend evenings curled up in my room with a book and some cheese on toast.
“But nothing. You can’t just sit here and mope. You’re here, so make the most of it. Come on,” Claire cajoled.
“All right,” I relented. “But I need to ring my landlady.” Mrs. Dashani knew that I spent the evenings in my flat and on Sundays she would sometimes bring up a bit of whatever she had made for dinner. I didn’t want to worry her if she knocked and found me gone.
Two hours later I found myself standing at the entrance to the Swan, a private club on a backstreet near Charring Cross. The dress that Claire’s cousin had “left behind” was nicer than anything I had ever owned, maroon silk and snugly fitted through the bodice, with a flared skirt that swished around my knees when I walked. The fascinator, which Claire insisted I wear, perched uneasily on my head like a bird’s nest. Inside, the club was noisy from the chatter of too many people crowded around small tables and a band that played unseen behind a floor full of couples dancing a jitterbug to a lively rendition of “In the Mood.” I swatted at the cloud of cigarette smoke in front of me, taking in the revelry that seemed a world apart from the rubble-strewn streets outside.
Claire passed me a glass of champagne and we angled to a table in the corner. Her own dress was black and tightly fitted with fur at the cuffs. She took in the room with a dismissive sweep. “It’s not the same since they bombed the Paris,” she sniffed. For a second, I thought she was talking about the city. But she meant the Café de Paris, a popular nightclub that had been hit by a German airstrike a few months earlier, killing scores of patrons just like us, who were simply out for a dance and a drink. I looked around the packed room warily.
“Perhaps we shouldn’t be here.”
“Now, now, if you start thinking like that, then Jerry has already won. That’s him,” she said, jumping topics with uncharacteristic abruptness. I followed her gaze across the room with confusion, half expecting to see a German soldier. But she had pointed out an older British man. “Lord Alastair Raddingley. The bloke I told you about.” Her voice was pinched.
The married one. I studied Lord Raddingley, trying to understand the attraction. He was bespectacled and paunchy, with hair more gray than black. With his expensive dinner jacket and cuffs, he was indistinguishable from a dozen other men in the room. But Claire stared at him, transfixed. “We love who we love,” Mrs. Connally had said once, not knowing that the boy I was pining over was one of her own sons. Lord Raddingley seemed benign enough. But taking him in, I was troubled: How far had things gone between him and Claire? Was it just a crush or something more?
The song ended and as the crowd on the dance floor broke, I spotted Teddy. He had not been at the bureau for the past two days and I’d assumed he was still away on a story, but there he was, looking fresh and relaxed in his dinner jacket. I started toward him, torn between feeling relieved and wanting to chastise him for chasing what was surely a dangerous lead. Then I stopped—he was speaking to a willowy blond-haired woman
I did not recognize.
“Amelia Hartwell,” Claire observed mildly from behind me. “Her father is a viscount.”
I had no right to mind Teddy talking to another woman, I reminded myself. It was me that had told him no. I started to turn away. But he noticed me then and excused himself from Amelia Hartwell and made his way across the room.
As he neared, my heart lifted—I was genuinely glad to see him, more so than usual. “Ladies.” He kissed Claire’s cheek, then quickly turned to me.
“You’re back,” I greeted him.
He leaned forward, as though he wanted to kiss me, too, his hair giving off a hint of Brylcreem. Instead, he took my hand awkwardly. “Only just this afternoon.” His face was somber. Why wasn’t he happier to see me?
He dropped my hand. “I thought you said you don’t go out.”
He was hurt that I had come here after turning him down for so long. “I don’t. But Claire insisted.” My explanation sounded flimsy. Perhaps Claire pressed me to come knowing that Teddy would be here. “You look busy anyway.” I gestured toward Amelia Hartwell, who stood watching us.
The orchestra struck up again, this time a slower song, “People Will Say We’re in Love.” “Shh, enough quibbling. Let’s dance.” His hand was shaking as he reached out to me, and it was the first time I’d ever seen him nervous. I hesitated, sensing that even more so than the kiss at my flat, the dance might be the start of a path I was not ready to go down.
“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.
