A young woman came up to them and sat in front of them. “Hallo. Are you both all right?”
After they acknowledged they were fine, James explained about the bomb they’d narrowly escaped.
“And you’re war correspondents?” the think young woman asked.
“Yes.” Sylvie took a swig of her Tizer’s.
“Lord, that’s fascinating.” The woman held out her hand. “Maggie Brightwood. I’m down here with my mum. She’s back there in the other corner. I got tired of listening to her moan, so I thought I’d ask what you two saw outside.” She rattled onward. “You are wearing trousers.”
Sylvie knew what Maggie meant. “I wear them most days. People look at me strangely, but I’m not putting brown gunk on my legs and painting a seam down the back of my legs so it looks like stockings.”
Maggie laughed softly. “You’re brave. I’ve painted my legs. Thought I’d never get the stuff off.”
They laughed together. James joined in, and some elderly people nearby gave them dark looks. No mirth allowed during a bombing, apparently.
“So what is it like out there? It sounds worse than it’s ever been.” Maggie asked.
James answered this time. “More bombs and fires.”
Maggie settled deeper into her chair. “It’s so tiresome being down here. But what can we do but endure it?”
They talked with Maggie for a long time. Although Maggie chatted incessantly, she didn’t recognize that she was as talkative as her mother. As the night grew longer, eventually Maggie moved back to her mother’s side. Some people had fallen asleep, which Sylvie didn’t want to do. Before long James had fallen asleep, and she realized she hadn’t thanked James for protecting her. She closed her eyes, leaned her head back, and listed to the dull thud and rattle of bombs pounding London into dust.
* * * *
Alec ran in slow motion. At least it seemed to him that time crawled as he witnessed the building crumbling with Bink and Baxter in danger.
“Run!” Alec rushed their way.
Bink ran flat out toward Alec, not looking back. The wall fell on Baxter, bricks piling high and flames added to the mix. Alec’s heart wanted to stop, and for a moment he feared it had. Bink’s face, reflected in the fire, was etched with fear as he continued to run full onward.
“Bink! Run!” Alec’s voice broke through the ear-splitting roar of the building crashing into the alley and against the next building. “Run!”
The building wasn’t done yet. Alec was sure of it, and he turned to high-tail it out of the alley. No time to save the car and pump. Bink came alongside him at a dead run, and they both escaped the alley just as another horrendous cracking noise split the air. He finally turned and caught the building filling the rest of the alley with burning debris and destroying the car and pump. Metal shrieked as the building crushed everything in sight.
Bink skidded to a stop near Alec. Other firefighters ran toward Bink and Alec.
Felix and Arnie spoke at the same time, their questions running together. “Are you hurt?”
Alec found his voice, but it was a husky croak. “No. Baxter…”
What could he say? By the looks on their faces, they all understood without him explaining.
Alec looked up toward the roofline of both buildings. The fires whipped across the next building’s roof and set it full alight.
“Oh, God. Holy God!” Bink’s eyes widened, tears streaming down his face as he pulled the protective goggles and balaclava off his head along with his helmet.
Alec cringed inside as the flames became a swirling vortex rotating into the sky.
Arnie threw orders this way and that, and Alec and Bink fought alongside the others to contain the two buildings before another structure succumbed to the inferno. All the while Alec’s mind was seared with an image he couldn’t reject. Baxter unable to escape, his body splintered before he could speak.
Alec shivered deep inside. One thing kept him going—Bink was alive, miraculously, without a scratch on him. But Bink’s cockiness had vanished, replaced with a soul-weary face and hollow-eyed resignation. Alec could imagine he looked like that. A man who’d escaped certain death by the skin of his chin. The night was long and his heart heavy. They battled fires until after four in the morning, and when they returned to the station, Alec thought he’d fall into bed and sleep like the dead. Instead he lay awake for many more hours before exhaustion pulled him down into a black unconsciousness. When another raid came that night, Arnie wouldn’t allow Alec or Bink to deploy with the rest of the station. He insisted they stay at the firehouse. Alec found himself drinking coffee to stay awake. Instead he fell asleep in the chair.
He woke up a short time later when someone called his name. One of the other firemen was talking to him from the doorway. “There’s a call from a lady for you. Miss Sylvie Hunnicut?”
He almost jumped on the call, wanting her voice to soothe him. He wanted to be sure she was all right. At the same time, the weight inside him felt too damned crushing. “Is she all right?”
The fireman’s brow furrowed “Seems like she is. She asked if you were all right.”
“I can’t talk to her right now. Do me a favor, ole chap? Tell her I’m fine and that I’ll call her in a day or two.”
The man nodded and left. A few moments later Alec fell asleep in the chair again.
Chapter 15
News Of The Day
New York Herald Tribune
On October 15 quite a few horrendous events took hold of Britain. Unusually heavy raids on London and Birmingham took a large toll on both areas in terms of damage and death. Waterloo Station and all but two of the rail lines were severely damaged. Train service was cut by more than two-thirds. The Underground was severed at five places and many roads were blocked through the city. Three gasworks, two power stations, and three docks were hit. All told there were 900 fires in London and over 1,200 deaths. If the people of London depend on shelters for safety, they have quickly discovered even a shelter is no guarantee. Sixty-four people taking shelter in Balham Underground station were killed. The BBC lost seven people when a bomb hit Broadcasting House during the 2100 hours local news program. Bombs destroyed the main artery of London’s water supply at Enfield. A second evacuation of London’s children is underway. Children leave at a rate of two thousand a day. More than 20,000 left in September. Eighty-nine thousand mothers and children will leave this month. Indeed, after the September 7 bombing, many people from the East End left and camped in Epping Forest, knowing the rest of London was no refuge. Reports tell us about 10,000 Londoners live in Chislehurst Caves in Kent. Many of the people who left the city then have returned, however. The collective fortitude of the British is an uplifting sight. The British people, though bruised, are not beaten.
* * * *
Thursday, October 17
Sylvie cleared her throat that morning and read part of her report to James as they sat alone in the Tribune office. “Buildings had split apart, wood lying like scattered matchsticks here and there. Navigating the street took work in the semidarkness. Bricks littered the way, and bits of unrecognizable items lay in the rubble. I watched the ground, aware that a tumble could mean serious injury.”
Morning at the Tribune had passed quietly with Benjamin out doing God-knew-what and Pugs on assignment, and Sylvie felt uplifted in a way she hadn’t for a long time. Though she had suffered through scary moments lately, she was happy for a great story. Even Benjamin had praised Sylvie for her work lately.
“Very nice,” James said.
His expression seemed more neutral than she expected. She didn’t want applause for her work, but she could tell something was off.
“Is something wrong?” she asked.
James sighed and closed his eyes. “I think the raids on the fifteenth took more out of me than I realized. I need more sleep.”
She yawned and her reaction pulled a small smile out of him. “Me too. I’m having a hard time sleeping in that shelter a
lmost every night, lately.”
“Yeah.” He returned to his typewriter. “It’s a hardship.”
The sarcasm in his voice took her by surprise. “I’m not complaining, James. It’s a far better shelter than most have. I’m just not sleeping well.”
He gave her faint smile. “I apologize. I didn’t mean it like that.”
“Of course.”
Instinct told her more than the bombing had gripped him, but she couldn’t say what. His attitude concerned her, but she pushed it aside. She couldn’t do a thing about what he thought or did. He’d turned into an excellent friend since she’d come back to England, and she knew their relationship caused gossip. Still, she didn’t feel a spark for him, that certain something she expected to feel in a romantic relationship. Maybe it would evolve and develop.
He’s a better match for you than Alec. He’s American and both of you will go home to the States someday.
The strange thought took her by surprise.
The phone on Benjamin’s desk rang, and James sprang up to grab it. His gaze snapped up to hers after he’d answered it.
“Right. How are you, Mr. Kent?”
Sylvie’s heart leaped in anticipation, her mind instantly awhirl with excitement and apprehension.
“Good. Yes. She’s right here,” James said.
Sylvie stood and went to Benjamin’s desk. She flopped down in the man’s big chair, and James handed the receiver to her. James smiled, and after grabbing his hat off the stand, he left the office.
“Hello, Alec. How are you?” she asked.
His voice came through rusty, as if he had chewed glass and roughened his vocal chords. “I’m fine. You?”
She leaned back in the leather chair and closed her eyes, basking in his voice. “I’m good. Had a few tough nights lately. I’ll bet you have too.”
He tossed out a mirthless laugh. “An understatement. The fifteenth was…brutal. Listen, I’m sorry I didn’t take your call at the station. I was…I’d slept a lot and I wasn’t clear-headed. In fact, I slept again right after you called. Couldn’t seem to get enough.”
Concern spiked inside her, the way it had when she’d finally reached a phone at the Savoy and made a call through to him. “I was worried, Alec. I’m sorry I didn’t call sooner, but even after James and I made it back to the Savoy the night of the fifteenth, I couldn’t get a call through.” The line was silent for so long she thought the connection had dropped. “Alec?”
“Yes, I’m still here.” This time his voice sounded edgy. “You were out during the bombing?”
“Yes.”
“Did Pendleton insist on it? Insist on your going out to get a story?”
She heard the anger in his voice but chose not to react in kind. “James doesn’t do my thinking for me, Alec. We both decided if there was a heavy raid, we’d go out and get a story. Benjamin was thrilled with our stories, which is amazing for him.”
“That’s because he’s a git.”
She laughed, genuinely amused. “Do you talk to all girls like this?”
“No. Sorry. My mother would be appalled by the number of obscenities I’ve taken on lately.”
“It’s all right. Alec, you know you can always talk to me. You can always speak how you want…obscenities and all. I don’t want you to hide anything from me.”
She heard him take a deep breath, almost feeling the palpable strain across the line.
“Where are you?” she asked when the silence went on too long again.
“I’m at my friend’s. He left me a key when he departed London and took the Bentley.”
“It was nice of you to let him use your car.”
“It was nice of him to allow me use of his flat. It’s a basement level and quite nice. He’s got a Morrison shelter in the closet for when it gets rotten outside.”
“I’m glad you have somewhere safe. I thought you were sleeping at the station.”
“I was. But his flat isn’t far. I was at the station working rather than having my time off, and the senior fireman told me to get out.”
She grinned. “I see. And you listened.”
“Yes. For once. I wanted to be alone…but then I started thinking. I was hoping…”
“Yes?”
“Would you like to come over here tonight and have a meal?”
His invitation surprised her, and he must have interpreted her silence to mean something other than it did.
“If you don’t want to, I understand,” he said before she could answer. “After the way we left things before…”
“I’d love to have dinner with you, Alec. We can talk about the way we left things…if you wish.”
“It’s a good idea.” His tone held warmth, so perhaps he’d soothed the anger in his mind.
“What time would you like me to be there?”
“When are you off?” he asked.
“Benjamin told us to get out of the office by three today, which is uncharacteristically generous of him. He’s been grinning like a…well, I don’t know what you’d call it, for a few days now.”
“I’m glad you can stop by. Take a cab, though.”
“Why?”
“It’s a bit of a walk.”
“Believe me, I’ve taken a lot of long walks in the past few days.”
“I’m sure you have.”
She shook her head. “It’s all right, though. I’m tired enough that a cab is a treat I’ll take.”
“Brilliant. I’ll see you then, Sylvie.”
After they hung up, she stared at the phone and listened to the tick tock of a wall clock nearby. Amazement held her immobile. She hadn’t expected his call, and she couldn’t know that everything was all right between them. But she also couldn’t ignore the anticipation and excitement dancing through her veins at the thought of seeing him again.
* * * *
At three fifteen Sylvie dashed out of the cab and through the rain. Thank goodness for inclement weather. It might keep the Germans away for the rest of the day, and God willing, for tonight. This row of houses in Belgravia hadn’t seen a bombing yet, amazing as that seemed. She had no doubt at some point they would. The brown building in front of her resembled narrow row houses in New York City. Before she could reach the steps, Alec opened the dark wood door. He must have spied her from the small windows alongside the door.
She trotted up the stairs, but his gaze snagged on her with such intensity, she came to a halt halfway. His expression held unexpected warmth. Somehow, despite his invitation, she’d expected a cooler welcome.
He held out his hand. “Hey. Come on up.”
She finished the steps, and he took her hand and pulled her gently inside. Dampness touched her hair. She’d forgotten her umbrella at the hotel.
The large foyer opened up into a high ceiling with a crystal chandelier dangling and twinkling in what little light made it inside.
He gestured for her to follow him. “This way.”
Toward the back of the building they took a staircase down, and she closed the door behind her. The basement level wasn’t completely underground. Light trickled in from three generously sized half windows high on the wall.
“Can I take your coat?” he asked.
She slipped out of her wool coat, and as she handed it to him, his gaze caressed her. A sweet, tight sensation danced in her stomach and lower. Just as it had the night they’d spent in the cottage at her grandparents’ home. Only this time the sensation was stronger and brighter, demanding she do something to extinguish the fire.
“Beautiful dress,” he said with a husky rumble, her coat looped over his arm.
Feeling flirtatious, she twirled. The turquoise blue looked good with her hair and complexion. The silky material flowed in a sophisticated drape over her body. The long sleeves and bodice hugged her curves, and the somewhat pleated skirt twirled about her legs.
“God, Sylvie, that is incredible,” he said.
She dared look into his eyes and saw sincerity and a hea
t she couldn’t deny. “Thank you. One of the few dresses I brought to England. It feels nice to dress up a bit and wear some real stockings. Though I’m sure I got a half dozen dirty looks from some women in the Savoy because I have a real pair of stockings.”
He smiled and hung her coat in a closet. “They’re jealous.”
“Hmmm. I don’t know.” She put her purse and her gas mask container on a small table near the front door. “What a quaint place. Almost looks like a woman lives here.”
“My friend’s sister used to live here. She had permission to decorate it by the flat owner. There are several apartments.”
“Three, but very narrow. I’m surprised.”
“This flat takes up the whole basement.”
He offered her tea, and while he fixed it, she settled on the couch. She could hear him moving around the kitchen, which was out of her sight. The pink and blue theme in the room gave the flat a newer feeling, unlike most of the residences she’d visited in England. Modern furnishings graced the room rather than an old Auntie’s antiques. Although she loved antiques, she appreciated the brighter, lighter room. There was no fireplace, so a chill lingered. She heard the radiator under the windows making a tick-tick sound.
“My goodness, how does your friend keep warm in here?” she asked, raising her voice slightly.
“Radiators as you can see. But there still isn’t much heat.” He returned to the reception area. “I wear sweaters. I’ve put the kettle on. Are you hungry? I can start cooking.”
“Starving. What are we having?”
“I’ve managed to snag some ham and eggs. Real eggs. An amazing feat. It’s not gourmet, but it’ll do I hope.”
Her stomach growled. “Here, let me help you fix it.”
One London Night Page 24
