One London Night

by Denise A. Agnew

  “Alec, I’m going to the Savoy.”

  “I know.” He looked resigned. “Perhaps some time apart will give us a little…clarity.”

  “Clarity?”

  “Everyone has commented to me…well almost everyone…on the fact you and I are living together. Even Sally said something about it.”

  “Sally?”

  “She came to the Fleet Street station today.”

  The heat of her frustration went down to a low simmer. “How is she?”

  He leaned over and planted his elbows on his knees. “Good. She said something to me that made me realize that us living together might be ruining things for you.”

  “Ruining things? What do you mean?”

  In the distance she heard a rumble, the beginning of the Germans destroying the city once more.

  He ruffled his hands through his hair. “Your reputation, even with the Tribune, is being ruined because you’re living here with me without benefit of marriage.”

  Marriage. The word, so sudden and important, knocked her speechless. He stared at her, his eyes, intense and bright with emotion, took her breath away.

  “If you were concerned about my reputation, why did you ask me to live with you?” she asked quietly.

  “You were shell-shocked. I wanted to look after you. Give you a place to recover.”

  “I see.”

  She searched in her mind for the right question to ask him, the question that would explain to her satisfaction what she wanted to hear from him. What did she want him to say?

  “I don’t think you do see,” he said.

  A fire started inside her. He made her feel this way, so damned vulnerable and confused.

  She wanted clarity. “I’m recovered now. I’m going back to the Savoy tomorrow after work.”

  His mouth moved, softening the slightest bit. Her gaze snagged on it, and her breath hitched in her throat.

  “Very well,” he said. “It’s a good thing that you go.”

  She made a contemptuous sound in her throat and reached for her journal. She picked up her pen and started writing.

  “What does that sound mean?” he asked, his voice dark with a hint of anger.

  “It means that you confuse me. You make me insane. You…I’m…”

  He slipped off the bench, dropped to his knees, and in a flash he was close. So close. His body wedged between her thighs. Her journal and pen slipped from her fingers and hit the floor.

  The bench height meant his hips were the perfect height to nestle between her parted legs. She gasped as he left no space between them, and his hands cupped her waist.

  “Alec what—”

  “This is why you shouldn’t live here anymore.” His mouth went to her ear. “Because what I want and what I can have are two different things.”

  The heat of his breath in her ear, the intimacy of his touch, sent a shiver through her that was so hot and divine she clasped his shoulders and shivered with a pleasure and excitement that she’d never experienced with another man. He drew back to look at her, and his eyes blazed with a hunger she understood instinctively. She wanted what he wanted, even if in that quick, heated moment she didn’t know what to call it. They hung on the precipice of something divine.

  His mouth came down on hers. Surprise and passion slammed into her. Sylvie threw her arms around his neck and held. His mouth tamed hers, his tongue plunging deep to give and take. She gasped as he caressed her relentlessly, his hands as hungry as his mouth. She dove into the feelings taking over. Need. Desire. His mouth left hers to trail a delicious path over her neck. Under his relentless caresses, she quivered with a building awareness that every touch brought them closer to an edge. A sweet precipice where they couldn’t retreat. While the bombs rattled the outside world, they had this. Only this.

  A terrible roar shook the shelter and broke them apart. She cried out in surprise. He took only a second to look at her.

  “That was too close. We have to see where it hit,” he said.

  He opened the door and smoke was filling the area.

  “Damn it!” he said. “Come on. It broke the windows. It must have landed outside. We have to go.”

  He grabbed her hand and she reached down to get her journal. She could leave everything but her writing. As they exited the shelter, she looked to the right. Light sparked beyond the window. Flames. Too near. They ran and soon they were out of the building and on the steps. Others had also come out, at least thirty or forty people. Smoke drifted over the building.

  Above them the sounds were so loud, Sylvie put her hands to her ears. Ack ack guns threw their hazardous metal into the sky while searchlights looked for the enemy. In the distance a couple of more bombs fell, but they were far away.

  “I’ve got to see what’s happening over there and see if I can help,” Alec said, kissing her forehead. “Stay here.”

  He slipped between the buildings, and she stood with other women and men and discussed the near miss to the building. She rubbed her arms as the cold night seeped through her clothes. This would be a long, long night.

  * * * *

  “Well dearie, that’s how we used to do it back in the old days,” Mrs. Honora Weldwalker said as she served Sylvie and the horde in her reception room trays of biscuits and tea.

  Although she used a cane and looked to be older than Methuzalah, Mrs. Weldwalker refused help. Old men and young men tried to help her, but she refused, ever the genial hostess.

  “That’s for certain,” another old lady chimed in. “I don’t think most young men have any idea what our brave boys put up with in the Great War. Why, my long, lost Simon…”

  Sylvie didn’t want to hear the conversation anymore, she just couldn’t take the pontificating. “Every war has its awful moments that surpass the one before. There weren’t parachute mines in the Great War.”

  A younger man with a cast on his right leg made a sound of agreement and then asked her, “Do you think that was a parachute mine that fell outside the building?”

  “It was,” another young man said. “I was out front when I saw it come down. I ran like the devil was after me and made it around this side of the building before it blew up.” The man looked shaken by the idea that he’d escaped almost certain death. “Those mines. I swear they are the worst. At least with the others you can hear death coming for you first.”

  Sylvie didn’t know what else to say, and luckily no one else seemed inclined to continue a morbid conversation. She felt chewed up and spit out.

  Everyone was being a dear, but she’d had enough sweets and tea to float a boat. Her back ached from sitting in the hard wooden chair for what seemed forever but must have been only two hours. After Alec had run to see what had happened behind the building, Mrs. Weldwalker had opened her door and waved everyone inside out of the dampness. Sylvie carried her journal with her, and it sat on her lap now. When everyone realized she was a war correspondent, the conversation became lively. No one seemed skeptical, at least. All she wanted was to either get back into the flat to clean up the mess or head to the Savoy, whatever came first. Two men had gone out to check what was happening and discovered the AFS, Alec included, had finished putting out the fire.

  A knock on the door sent one younger man to the front door, and a few moments later Alec appeared in the reception room entrance covered in soot and grime.

  “Hello.” His voice sounded rusty, no doubt from smoke. “Very sorry. I thought I’d let you all know it’s safe for the rest of you to go home if you want to do cleanup. The building only has broken windows and a little smoke damage.”

  “Hellfire, if that’s all the place has wrong with it, we can count our lucky stars,” one man said.

  “Anyone dead?” another man asked.

  Alec’s mouth tightened. “Not that we can see.”

  Sylvie took the implication in his words and left it there. She didn’t want to know. Sylvie thanked everyone and soon they’d left the house.

  “Are you okay?�
�� she asked Alec.

  “Dirty, but otherwise I’m great.” Alec didn’t smile. “But we have a mess on our hands, most likely.”

  They returned to the basement flat where they spent a few hours cleaning up the glass in the living room. They didn’t talk about what had happened between them earlier, and Sylvie didn’t know what to think of their situation.

  “It smells like smoke in here. The curtains will have to be washed,” she said.

  Alec scrubbed at his scalp as if it itched. “I think we should take our stuff and go to the Savoy.”

  “And how do you think we’re going to get there? We don’t have a car, and I doubt there are any cabs or buses running this late. We’ll have to wait until tomorrow.”

  “You’re right.” His half-smile barely erased the exhaustion from his face. “I guess it’s sleeping on the couch for me again.”

  “I’m so tired I can’t see straight. Goodnight.” She started to turn away, but he clasped her elbow.

  “Wait.” His hair lay in a tangled mess, his face dirty, the scent of smoke clinging to him. “I’m sorry about what happened earlier. I took advantage of you.”

  She drew her arm out of his grasp. “If you mean the kisses, that wasn’t taking advantage of me.” She shook her head, too weary to discuss any more. “Good night Alec.”

  “Wait,” he said again.

  He drew in a deep breath, and she saw the misery on his face. Although she ached from weariness, she also ached for him. She stayed in place, half in anticipation for what he could possibly say next.

  “Never mind.” He wiped his face. “You’re right. We’re both too exhausted to talk with tonight. Let’s sleep on it.”

  With that she turned around and headed for the bedroom and a rough night of sleep.

  Morning came and the dawn didn’t present itself any better. Sylvie had feared all the grime on her would dirty the sheets, so she’d stayed in her clothes and slept on top of the covers. A groan slipped from her lips as she left the bed. Stiff and sore, though she couldn’t say why, she left the bedroom. The entire flat smelled of the disaster that had fallen nearby last night. She slipped into the bathroom long enough to run a brush through her hair. She looked, as her mother would say, like something the cat had dragged in.

  She stuck her tongue out at her reflection. “God, Sylvie.”

  A twist of the spigots produced no hot or cold water. She gave up and left the bathroom. Alec lay on the couch, his face pale and his body limp. The flat was also cold, but he he’d slept without a blanket. She wandered toward the couch, intent on waking him. She stared at him for too long. Even with dirty hair and face, he looked as dangerous as any man she’d seen. Under the mucked-up man lay an honorable, protective person, but she admitted the disreputable appearance suited his bone structure.

  His shirt was open to the waist and his pants unbuttoned and unzipped down to his drawers. While she’d always been aware of his strength, what all that masculine, very adult power looked like took her breath away. His wide shoulders and chest boasted hard pectorals sprinkled with dark hair. That dark hair arrowed downward over a stomach that rippled with muscle. The line of hair disappeared under the waistband of his drawers.

  A renewed tingling, very much like what she’d experienced last night in his arms, settled to a dull, pulsing throb in her lower belly. She longed to touch all that male beauty. To kiss it and commit his sculpted male perfection to her memory.

  Without a sound, she mouthed the words, “Oh, my. Look at you.”

  His eyes popped open. Startled, she almost jumped back. “Hey. Good morning.”

  She averted her eyes and turned toward the kitchen. “Good morning. There’s no water or electricity. Guess we’d better get moving if we want to find a taxi.”

  He stood and followed her into the bedroom. “We have things to talk about. About last night.”

  She tossed her suitcase on the bed and took clothing out of the chest of drawers and the trunk. Urgency compelled her to move quickly. “What is there to talk about?”

  She glanced over at him. He leaned against the door jam, his arms crossed and expression open. “What I said about James. I was…let’s just take it out in the open, shall we?”

  She continued packing, unwilling to stop. “All right.”

  “Sylvie, there’s only one reason why I reacted the way I did when you decided to take James’ advice over mine. It might be childish, and I didn’t understand right away. But when I was kissing you last night, I finally did.”

  She stopped, her breath stuck in her throat as she turned around. She waited.

  He stood straight, his arms at his side like a soldier. “I was jealous. I was damned jealous, Sylvie. Because I want my opinion to matter more to you than his does.”

  She sat on the bed next to her suitcase as warmth made its way through her. It no longer mattered that the flat had gone so cold, or that she felt as if she hadn’t taken a bath in a dozen years. All that mattered was having Alec say these words to her.

  “It does, Alec. It always has.” He didn’t move closer, but God she wished he would. She wished so many things she couldn’t understand herself and had no words to explain exactly what she felt.

  He smiled. “Good. But you’re still going to the Savoy, and I’m staying here. My friend will brassed off if I don’t get this place fixed.”

  “He can’t blame you that a parachute bomb landed outside.”

  His smile grew wider. “No, he can’t. Listen, Sylvie, I’m going to be very busy over Christmas for certain because they’re letting a few more men off to see their families. The married men in particular. I volunteered to cover more than one man’s shift.”

  “Of course you would.” She shook her head. “Alec Kent, one admirable man.”

  He shrugged. “Not as honorable as some.”

  She made a scoffing noise. “Don’t be modest. It’s all true.”

  From somewhere out of the broken window, she heard the beautiful strains of a Vera Lynn song being choked off and a beautiful melody she recognized as Chopin. Someone had stopped a record and began playing piano.

  “Will you listen to that?” she asked. “It’s beautiful.”

  His face held a peace and serenity she wanted to feel within her heart. As he closed his eyes and listened, she felt as light as air. Last night’s bomb hadn’t happened and neither had their small argument. All of it was brushed away in this sublime, wonderful affirmation of life. She could have flopped right back on the bed and pretended the war had vanished, the flat hadn’t almost been blown up, and that she still had a solid roof over her head. A second later the music turned to a Glenn Miller song.

  She rose to her feet slowly, loath to interrupt the peaceful interlude. “Well, we’d better get moving if we want to find that taxi.”

  After she packed everything she’d brought with her in the suitcase, she followed him out to the curb, where they stood watching the normal world go by. The hustle and bustle of everyday life went on almost as if the mine hadn’t rattled their world last night.

  When they reached the Savoy and he carried her suitcase to the front desk, she offered to let him use her room to wash up.

  “No need. I’ll go right to the Fleet Street Station and take a shower there, then make my way back to the flat. I’ll talk to you soon, Sylvie. I’ll call in a day or so and see how you’ve settled in.”

  And as he turned and walked away, she already missed him.

  * * * *

  Wednesday, December 25

  Alec glanced at the darkening skies as Christmas evening arrived. Blackout had come, so he stood without the benefit of lighting, even from the station behind him. Inside the station he could have enjoyed the holly and mistletoe, punch and cookies. He could enjoy the card games and the camaraderie that signaled the holiday. Instead the day felt bland and uninteresting. It lacked a key element. His family, and if he was truthful with himself, Sylvie.

  He drew in a deep breath and savored the quie
t, the hope that arose inside him. Maybe the Germans would take a holiday view and not bomb tonight. The lull in bombing lately had given everyone, including him, a chance to breathe and pretend.

  The door behind him opened, and Sally stepped through. “Well, there you are. Here we are again.”

  “Yeah.”

  “No tea this time, but still the same brooding.”

  Her voice in the darkness also gave him comfort, the way a mother’s voice would satisfy a child. He really wanted Sylvie’s voice next to him.

  “Alec,” she said, this time sounding concerned.

  “Sorry. I’m thinking.”

  “So I’m interrupting.”

  “No. I was hoping the Germans wouldn’t bomb tonight.”

  “That would be wonderful. I feel it can’t last long, even if they do give us the holidays off. I’m glad I’m not home. My family would be driving me mental.”

  “So would mine.”

  She groaned. “I ate too much of that ham. I’m just surprised we had one.”

  “That’s for certain.”

  “Why aren’t you spending time with Sylvie?”

  He almost echoed the groan she’d made. He hadn’t told anyone his personal business. “She’s at the Savoy, I suppose.”

  “You suppose? Oh my Lord, what did you do now?”

  He glanced her way as she came up to stand right beside him, even though he couldn’t see her features well. Better to just tell her because she’d dig like a terrier until she got the answer.

  “She moved back into the Savoy and is working there.”

  “She got her job back? How wonderful.”

  “It is.”

  “Oh, wait. She’s not living with you in the flat, then?”

  “No.”

  Her sigh came out dramatic. “I see.”

  The dramatic tone in her voice made him smile, even if he didn’t feel happy. “Do you?”

  “Yes, but I won’t say another word on the subject.”

  “Good.”

  “Because it isn’t my concern.”

  “Right.”

  If she’d hoped to coax an admission out of him, it wouldn’t work. Even his parents had tried excavating things out of him today when he’d called them this morning.