“Now you’re becoming a shameless flatterer,” she said with a teasing smile.
“Is it not possible to charm you at all?”
Stop it, Theodore . . . stop it right now.
“I didn’t say it wasn’t possible,” she replied, hesitantly. “I’m just not charmed by charm alone. It’s something altogether different that appeals to me.”
“What is that?” He was dying to know.
She ran her hand along his shoulder and up the side of his neck. “I can’t help but admire a man who is decent and kind.”
His eyes locked with hers, and before he realized what he was doing, he lowered his mouth to hers.
The kiss was intoxicating, and he cupped her face in his hands to drink in the taste of her, which he’d been dreaming about since the first night he had heard her sing.
“It’s strange,” she whispered, tilting her head back, “how I feel different when I’m dressed like this. I can invite you up to my flat and ask you to dance, but Monday morning when I see you at the ministry, this will feel like a dream. Like it never happened. It makes me sad.”
“Why should you be sad?”
“Because I can’t ever be with you.”
“Why not?” he asked.
“Because you’re engaged to someone else.”
Surprised, he drew back. “No, Vivian, I’m not.”
“But you will be. You know you will. And I can’t be your last fling. I couldn’t take it lightly.”
“I don’t want you to be a fling. I couldn’t take it lightly either.”
Slowly, she pulled away, slipping from his arms, leaving him feeling bereft as she moved to turn off the music.
She spoke with her back to him. “I probably shouldn’t have invited you up here. I don’t know what I was thinking.”
He was paralyzed with disappointment. He didn’t want to hurt her, but he didn’t want to lose her either. She was right. He was still on the brink of becoming engaged to Clara. It felt inevitable, like something he couldn’t escape. Henry’s words weren’t far from his mind. Can you imagine what Father would do if you brought home a woman like Vivian Hughes?
“I don’t see this ending well for me,” she added. “I’m afraid you’re going to break my heart.”
“I won’t. I promise.”
“Yes, you will. You won’t mean to—and you’ll hate it when you do—but that’s how it will end. You should go now, Theodore. Please.”
Reluctantly, he turned away and picked up his hat. “I’m sorry,” he said.
But what was he sorry for, exactly? Kissing her? Leaving her now? Or was he sorry for what he could never give her?
“Don’t apologize,” she said. “I’m the one who invited you up, and I’m the one who’s asking you to leave. I’m sorry too.”
He nodded and moved to the door. “Thank you for the coffee.”
She offered no reply, and there was tension in her brow as she watched him walk out.
He felt a great deal of tension himself, because he knew that tomorrow, he must pay a visit to Wentworth House and speak to Clara directly. He couldn’t allow things to continue like this. It was time for him to be truthful with her and insist that she stop waiting for him. If she was looking for a husband, she must set her sights elsewhere, because a proposal from him would not be forthcoming.
Two days later, Theodore woke to an insistent knocking at his door at Grantchester House. He sat up in bed, still groggy with sleep. “Come in!” he shouted.
It was one of the footmen. His cheeks were flushed. “Mr. Gibbons, there is a call for you. A Mr. Jones. He says it’s urgent.”
Theodore tossed the covers aside and reached for his robe.
Less than a minute later, he was picking up the receiver in his study. “Jones. What is it?”
“My God, Theodore. You’ve got to get to the office. The cabinet is meeting this morning to discuss what to do.”
“What to do about what?” Theodore asked, although somehow, he already knew.
“Germany just invaded Poland,” Jones replied. “God help us all. We’re in for it now.”
“I’ll be right there.” Theodore hung up the phone and hurried to get dressed.
CHAPTER EIGHT
In response to Hitler’s invasion of Poland, Prime Minister Chamberlain issued a warning to Germany, demanding that it immediately withdraw its troops or Britain would be forced to honor its pledge to defend Polish independence.
The following morning, Germany continued its campaign.
The British Cabinet met again late Saturday evening and resolved that a firm ultimatum would be delivered to Berlin the following morning at nine a.m. If no response was received within two hours, war would be declared.
Hitler did not respond.
At 11:15 a.m. on September 3, 1939, the prime minister addressed the nation.
Vivian sat down on the sofa with her two flatmates, Joanne and Alice, to listen to the Sunday morning broadcast. Alice, the youngest at twenty-one, was convinced that Chamberlain had negotiated for peace. She kept saying over and over, “It’s going to be fine. I know it is.”
But Vivian, as always, was pragmatic and realistic. Yesterday, she had been out cycling and saw men digging trenches in Hyde Park, and then she came home to find a leaflet shoved under her door: “What to Do in an Air Raid.” She had no doubt that the young men of this country would soon be marching off to war, and nothing was going to be fine.
At last, the prime minister spoke, and Vivian felt an intense wave of relief at the sound of his voice—if only to terminate the suspense.
“This morning,” Chamberlain said, “the British ambassador in Berlin handed the German government a final note stating that, unless we heard from them by eleven o’clock that they were prepared at once to withdraw their troops from Poland, a state of war would exist between us. I have to tell you now that no such undertaking has been received, and that consequently this country is at war with Germany.”
Joanne wept inconsolably and rested her head on Vivian’s shoulder, while Alice squeezed Vivian’s hand until it hurt.
A series of announcements followed. A blackout was to begin that very evening, from dusk until dawn. Blowing of whistles and blaring of horns was strictly forbidden, in case the noise might be mistaken for an air raid siren. London tubes would be needed for transport and would not be available as bomb shelters. And the public was advised to always carry their gas masks everywhere.
Almost immediately, an air raid siren began to wail outside the window, and the sound of it sent a rush of hot terror straight into Vivian’s belly. Alice and Joanne froze in silence, staring at Vivian, as if she had answers.
“What’s happening?” Alice asked. “It can’t be real. Maybe it’s just part of the announcement, so that we know we are at war.”
Vivian rose from the sofa, moved to the window, and opened it. Outside, the noise of the siren grew in intensity, and she saw large silver barrage balloons, like giant inflatable torpedoes, rising into the sky all over the city. Down on the street below, people were frantically running in all directions. An air raid precautions warden in a steel helmet came around the corner, waving his arms. “Take cover!”
“My God, it’s real,” Vivian said, closing the window. “Bombers must be coming. The pamphlet said we should have about fifteen minutes to get to a shelter.”
Panic fired her blood, but she willed herself to keep a cool head because both her flatmates were sobbing.
She clapped her hands three times to get their attention. “Come on now! On your feet. Go get your gas masks and a jacket. It’s bound to be chilly in the cellar. I’ll take care of turning off the gas and filling the tub with water.”
It’s what the leaflet had instructed them to do.
“Hurry up now. Go!”
The two girls wiped their tears and got on with it. As Vivian hastened to prepare, she thought of her sister and wondered what was happening in Bordeaux. Would France declare war also? She must
write to her sister and urge her to come home as soon as possible, but would letters even get through, now that they were at war? Vivian had no idea what to expect.
A few minutes later, she was hurrying with her flatmates down four flights of stairs to the cellar, where dozens of people had already gathered—all tenants of the building. The ceiling was low, and it was damp and crowded, but Vivian was grateful to be among her neighbors, feeling far safer underground than on the top floor of the building.
It was mostly silent, and those who spoke to each other did so in a whisper, because they were listening intently for the sound of airplanes and bombs. Even Alice and Joanne had stopped crying. They were stoic and brave.
In those quiet, tense moments, Vivian found herself nursing more than a few regrets. At the top of her mind was Theodore, because what if this building exploded today? Oh, why did she ask him to leave the other night? If the world was coming to an end, shouldn’t she be making the most of every minute? Isn’t that what they’d talked about? Shouldn’t she know what it felt like to be loved by a man like him?
After about fifteen minutes, the All Clear signal sounded, and she said a silent prayer of thanks that she would live to see another day. There was a collective outpouring of relief.
“It was probably just a drill,” someone said as they rose from their chairs.
“At least we know what to do now.”
They all filed up the narrow steps in an orderly fashion. Vivian, Alice, and Joanne went outside to look around, squinting into the incredible luminosity of the September sunshine. An exquisite perfume of sweet-smelling roses filled the air, and there was no traffic, no horns honking. People on the street moved about cautiously and spoke in hushed tones as they looked for signs of war or damage from bombs, but there was none of that, at least not in this part of the city. How peaceful it all seemed.
On the sidewalk, Vivian met their ARP warden, who offered a scant bit of information. “They’re saying it was a false alarm. Someone spotted a plane, but it was probably one of ours. Can’t say I’m surprised. Everyone’s a bit panicked today. But better safe than sorry.”
“Yes, indeed.” Vivian turned and followed Alice and Joanne back into the building.
They climbed the stairs and returned to the flat, where they sat around for a few minutes until Joanne and Alice decided to go home to their families for Sunday roast and come back in the morning. It was enough to make Vivian realize how very alone she was in the world without her sister to share her fears with, or even her father. She missed her mother terribly in that moment and would have given anything to have a family again—to enjoy Sunday roast with people who cared about her.
Her flatmates hurried off to catch the next train to Hitchin while Vivian went to drain the water out of the tub. While she sat on the edge of it, watching the shrinking level of the water, listening to it gurgle down the drainpipe, she heard the sound of children laughing and playing outside on the street. A pigeon perched on the window ledge and cooed softly. The world seemed almost normal again, but she knew it wasn’t. The war was only just beginning, and nothing would ever be the same again. There was an emptiness in her heart, the likes of which she’d never known before.
Startled by an insistent knocking at the door, she rose to answer it and nearly lost her breath when her eyes fell upon Theodore, who was standing in the corridor with his hat in his hands. There was something almost wild in his eyes. His chest rose and fell quickly, because he’d just climbed four flights of stairs. Or maybe it was something more than that.
“Theodore.” She immediately invited him in.
He entered, shut the door behind him, and said, “I had to see you. I couldn’t wait. As soon as the All Clear sounded . . .”
It was obvious he’d been thinking of her during the crisis today, just as ardently as she’d been thinking of him, and she felt an intense rush of happiness. Before she had a chance to say a word, he stepped forward and gathered her into his arms. “I love you, Vivian. And I need to know that you’re safe.”
His words trembled through her body in the most wonderful way. “What?”
“I want to marry you.” He closed his eyes and let out a groan. “Oh God, I’m doing this all wrong. Please forgive me.”
He dropped to his knees and kissed both her hands. “Vivian, I’m in love with you. I fell in love with you the first moment I heard you sing, and I want to spend the rest of my life with you. I don’t care what anyone thinks or says about it. I want you as my wife, if you’ll have me. If you love me.”
The air sailed out of her lungs. “Of course I love you, Theodore. Yes, I’ll marry you!”
Was this real? The whole world had gone mad with declarations of war and air raid sirens, yet she’d never felt happier.
Theodore rose to his feet and kissed her passionately on the mouth.
“What do we do now?” she asked.
“First, I need to give you a ring. I’m sorry I didn’t have one in my pocket, but as soon as the All Clear sounded, I came straight over.”
She laughed joyfully. “You’re forgiven.”
“Do you want a long engagement? A big wedding? If that’s what you want, we’ll do it. I must inform my family, of course. I’m not sure how they’ll feel about it, but they must know by now that I’ve told Clara not to expect a proposal from me. I made that clear to her this week.”
“You did? My goodness.”
He pulled Vivian into his arms again, and her body melted when he kissed her. “I don’t want a big wedding,” she said. “I’d prefer something small, because I’m not from your world, and I’m sure there will be people who won’t be happy about this. Your family for one. Are you sure, Theodore? I’m just a typist.”
“I’ve never been more sure of anything.”
She smiled. “Neither have I. All I want is to be your wife.”
He kissed her hands. “I feel like we should celebrate and make plans, but the cabinet is meeting now, at the Commons, and I have it on good authority that France will be joining us in a declaration of war against Germany in a matter of hours.”
“That’s promising. At least we’re not completely on our own.”
“Will you have dinner with me this evening?”
“Of course. But what about the blackout? The announcement said that theaters and cinemas would be closed. Perhaps you should come here. I could cook us a proper Sunday roast.”
“That sounds wonderful.”
He kissed her again and left. As soon as she closed the door behind him, she burst into instant tears of joy. Then she sat down at the kitchen table to write a letter to her sister in Bordeaux and tell her everything about Theodore—how they met and how much she loved him—and to beg her to come home to England. Not just because of the war, but because she wanted her sister at her side when she spoke her wedding vows.
When she finished the letter, Vivian set down her pen and realized with a sigh that she had never felt happier. How very odd, on a day that war had been declared.
CHAPTER NINE
Theodore’s father, George Gibbons, the seventh Earl of Grantchester, preferred country life in the summer and autumn months, so it came as a surprise to Theodore when he walked into the London mansion and found his father in the study, seated at the desk with a decanter of Scotch in front of him. It was not yet five o’clock, so Theodore could only assume that his father had come to London because of the prime minister’s speech on the wireless that morning.
“It’s bloody well time,” the earl said. “I’ve been waiting here all afternoon. Where were you?”
Theodore entered the study and wondered how much whiskey his father had consumed, because the level of the liquor in the decanter was conspicuously low. In addition, the earl’s nose and cheeks were flushed, and he swayed slightly when he rose from his chair. He glared at Theodore with eyes inflamed with rage, which was not an unfamiliar sight to behold, except that Theodore had never been on the receiving end of it. That position had alw
ays been reserved for Henry.
“I was in meetings all day,” Theodore replied. “I presume you are aware that we are at war with Germany.”
“Of course I am aware,” the earl replied, pounding his fist on the edge of the desk and causing the framed pictures and fountain pens to bounce. “That is not why I am here. In fact, I resent you for being the cause of my journey today, when this is the last place I want to be—with air raid sirens going off and balloons rising into the air. It’s madness. But here I am, sent by your mother to talk sense into you.”
Ah. Theodore understood it now. Lady Clara must have cried on her mother’s shoulder after their conversation the other day, and the duchess had communicated this to Theodore’s mother. He shouldn’t be surprised. The women had been friends for years.
Theodore strode to the window to look out at the garden square. A young couple was throwing a ball for their dog, and he galloped exuberantly to fetch it. The setting sun beamed hazy light through the leaves on the oaks and poplars, creating dappled shadows on the grass. It hardly seemed possible that a state of war had been declared on the wireless that very morning, and that—for the first time in his life—Theodore was about to disappoint his father. The world had indeed turned completely upside down.
“You must go to Wentworth House at once,” the earl said, “and apologize to Lady Clara. Tell her that you made a mistake and you take it all back. I explained that it was all this talk of war that made you behave irrationally, and you didn’t mean any of it. Tell her that you regret it, and I’m sure she’ll forgive you. Then get down on your bloody knees and put this thing on her finger.”
He shoved a small blue velvet box across the desktop.
Theodore stiffened. “What is that?”
“It was your grandmother’s engagement ring, given to her by my father. God rest his soul.”
Theodore moved to the desk and picked up the box. As soon as he opened it and beheld the familiar emerald-and-diamond ring, he felt a wave of love wash over him, for it reminded him of happier times—sitting on his grandmother’s lap as a small boy, playing cards with her as a young man. She was the person he always went to for advice when the world seemed a cruel and unfair place. She always steered him straight and taught him to trust his own judgment. How he wished she were here now.
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