I listened to the faint music coming from the gramophone inside. It was Billie Holiday’s “God Bless the Child.”
Slowly, I approached the lieutenant. “Will you be crossing the Channel tonight?”
“I can’t really tell you that.”
“No, of course not.” Looking down at the grass, I understood that he would probably be flying into enemy territory, and there was a very real possibility that he might get shot down between now and sunrise. In light of that, refusing his request for a dance didn’t seem like a very patriotic thing to do. There wasn’t much left of the song anyway, only a few more verses, so I stepped forward, tentatively.
His large hand closed around mine while his other hand slid around to the small of my back. It had been ages since I’d slow danced with a man, and I was aware of my breath coming a little faster. Our faces were close. I smelled shaving soap on his skin.
We didn’t talk at first. We just danced. A cool, light breeze whispered through the grass. The American flag billowed and flapped above us.
Then I couldn’t bear the silence for some reason. I drew back slightly. “Can I ask why you wear an RAF uniform if you’re American?”
“Sure,” he replied. “I decided to come over here and enlist back in the summer of 1940, before the US entered the war.”
“Why?”
“Because I didn’t like what I was seeing . . . what Hitler was doing. I couldn’t just sit back and watch. I felt like I needed to do something.”
“Well. We certainly appreciate it. Thank you.”
It seemed like barely ten more seconds passed before the song ended. We stepped apart, and someone whistled from the dance hall. It was the bandleader, poking his head out the back door, signaling to me.
“You have to go now,” Jack said.
“Yes.”
“Thank you for the dance.”
“You’re welcome. Be careful up there.”
“Always.” He watched me turn away and walk across the grass.
When I reached the door, I looked back at him. He was still standing there, his head tipped back as he stared up at the moon.
I said a silent prayer for him. Make it back safely, Jack Cooper. You and every other airman in the sky tonight. But my prayers had never been answered before. I wondered if it made any difference. Nevertheless, what else could I do but keep trying, because I wasn’t the type to give up. And our boys needed all the help they could get.
Later that night, I cycled home in the dark. It wasn’t far, only a mile or so on the main road, but I questioned my safety when I received a few whistles and catcalls from drunken American GIs, speeding past in army Jeeps. I was happy to reach Grantchester Hall and park my bicycle at the door.
As I walked into the grand entrance hall, the sound of my footfalls echoed off the high frescoed ceiling. The door to the library swung open, and Catherine appeared, looking giddy.
“Vivian, you’re back! I’m so glad. There’s wonderful news, and we’re celebrating.” She beckoned to me with her hand, and it was obvious that she’d been dipping into the brandy. “Come, come.”
I followed her into the library, where a fire was burning brightly in the hearth. George was seated on the green sofa, facing two people I did not recognize—a man and a woman.
Catherine practically dragged me across the plush carpet for introductions. “Look who’s here,” she said, excitedly.
I stared at the young couple, realizing that Vivian probably knew them, but I didn’t. Did they know me? But as the man stood up and the fire illuminated his face, I recognized him from many of the framed pictures in the manor house. “Henry?”
“Vivian,” he replied, moving toward me. “How wonderful to see you again.” He reached for my hand and kissed it. “Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes? It’s been too long.”
“Yes, it has,” I replied, with no idea how long it had been since he and Vivian had last seen each other. “Welcome home.”
He turned and gestured toward the woman on the sofa. “Clara, allow me to introduce Theodore’s wife, Vivian. Vivian, say hello to my wife, Lady Stanford.”
“Your wife.” Glancing briefly at Catherine, I said, “I wasn’t aware you’d gotten married, Henry. Congratulations.”
Catherine’s eyebrows lifted. “Isn’t it wonderful? Henry came home to London on leave, and they tied the knot, just like that. Although I do wish we’d been told about it. We could have done something. Been there to witness it, at the very least. Shame on you, Henry,” she added playfully.
“That was the point in keeping it secret,” he said dryly. “I’m only here for a week. We didn’t want any fuss.”
Clara interjected. “Vivian, I saw you sing once. In London. At one of the clubs.”
“It was Café de Paris in Piccadilly,” Henry added.
George cleared his throat uncomfortably because, like Catherine, he never seemed to enjoy being reminded that his daughter-in-law had been a nightclub singer. He preferred to sweep that little bit of scandalous history under the carpet.
“It was just before you became engaged to Theodore,” Clara said with a rather sly expression, sipping her drink and watching me over the rim of her glass. It was almost as if she were waiting for me to make a mistake.
Did they know?
No, it wasn’t possible. No one knew.
Catherine, bless her heart, changed the subject. “How was the dance this evening, Vivian? Did everyone have a good time?”
Grateful to have a reason to turn away from Henry and Clara, I responded cheerfully. “Yes, it was very nice. People from the American Red Cross hung a mirror ball from the ceiling, and a bus arrived from Guildford, full of local girls who seemed to enjoy themselves.”
Henry finished his drink. “You know what they call those buses, don’t you? Passion wagons.” He chuckled.
Clara gave him a contemptuous look.
I swallowed uneasily, and Catherine changed the subject again. “Oh, Henry, I do wish you could stay longer. What time must you leave in the morning?”
They were leaving? I didn’t know them at all, and I had no reason to dislike them, but I wouldn’t be sorry to see them go.
“I’ll catch the 8:03,” he replied. “I need to be back at the ship by two o’clock.”
“And where will she go next?” George asked.
Henry rolled his eyes. “You know I can’t talk about it, Papa, so there’s no point asking.”
“Quite right.” George tapped his knee. “Loose lips sink ships.”
Another awkward silence ensued, so I seized the opportunity to make my escape. “If you don’t mind, it’s been a long day. I’d like to look in on Edward before I retire.” I stood, and the men stood up as well.
“Good night, Vivian,” George and Catherine replied.
“Good night. It was a pleasure meeting you, Clara,” I said, “and I wish you the best of luck, Henry.”
As soon as I walked out of the library, I paused to let the tension slide off me. Then I went upstairs to the nursery to see Edward. He was sleeping soundly, hugging his teddy bear.
“Sleep well, my angel,” I whispered, laying a soft kiss on his sweet cheek before I tiptoed out of the room.
A short while later, a knock sounded at my bedchamber door. Conscious that it was past midnight and I was in my nightgown, I said, “Yes? Who is it?”
“It’s Catherine. Are you still awake?”
I opened the door and found her standing in the corridor, wringing her hands together. “I hope I’m not disturbing you.”
“Not at all. Come in.”
She entered and glanced around uneasily. “I wanted to speak to you about the situation.”
My pulse began to beat a little faster. “Situation?”
“Yes. May I sit down?”
“Of course.” We sat in the chairs by the window.
“Obviously, it was quite a surprise to see Henry this evening, married.” She cleared her throat. “I’m not sure how much Theod
ore shared with you about his brother, but Henry was never an easy child. He and George always got into the most terrible rows. They haven’t spoken in years.”
“He did mention that.” Although it was Vivian who had told me about Henry, not Theodore.
“Well . . .” Catherine turned her face away from me, seeming unable to look me in the eye. “I’m sure you can imagine our shock when he showed up at the door with Clara on his arm. I assure you, we had no idea there was anything going on between them. We were as shocked as you must be now.”
I was at a loss. Then it dawned on me. This family had expected Theodore to marry a young woman from the aristocracy. Had Clara been Theodore’s intended?
I quickly shook my head. “I’m sorry. I’m not quite following. Is Henry’s wife the same Clara that Theodore had been courting?”
“I’m so sorry. I thought you realized that. You didn’t recognize her?”
“No, we were never introduced.” I hoped that was correct.
“I see. Well then.” Catherine sat back. “I must bring you up to speed. Clara is the daughter of the Duke and Duchess of Wentworth, and the duchess and I were very close friends. Sadly, Dorothy passed away not long after you and Theodore were married. Otherwise, I’m sure she would have informed me if Clara and Henry were growing close.” Catherine waved both hands through the air, as if to erase what she’d just said. “That’s not important. The point is, Henry is going off to war again, and Clara will be staying here with us.”
My stomach tightened, and I wasn’t sure what to say.
“I see that you are surprised and a little uncomfortable,” Catherine said, “and I can hardly blame you. I certainly wouldn’t want to share a house with any of my husband’s former love interests, especially one he’d almost married. So, I do apologize for this. It’s rather awkward, isn’t it?”
My insides were coiling up with tension, but I strove to maintain my composure. “I’m sure it will be fine.”
Catherine regarded me with tenderness. “You mustn’t worry, Vivian. Allow me to say that you have become like a true daughter to me, and you know how much I adore little Edward. So, if Clara is ever rude to you—which she may very well be, because I could see that she is still jealous of you—I want you to tell me about it, and I won’t stand for it.” Catherine sat forward and clasped both my hands in hers. “Just between you and me, I always thought she was rather spoiled. I don’t know why I ever supported a match between her and Theodore. It was only because I was such good friends with her mother.” She sat back again. “But that is all water under the bridge. Over the past three years, since you’ve come to live with us, I’ve grown quite attached to you, and I see why Theodore fell in love with you. And I don’t care that you used to sing in nightclubs or that your father was a shopkeeper. I’ve decided that none of that matters to me. This war, and the loss of my son, has taught me a few things about what’s important in life.”
My eyes stung with tears, because I was reminded of the fact that I had been lying to her since the day we met. So often, I was able to forget while simply living there, happily, as Vivian.
“I’m touched,” I said. “As you know, I lost my mother years ago, so it’s nice to be part of a family again.”
In fact, it was more than nice. I had come to care deeply for Catherine and George.
But what about my love for Ludwig? I had to be realistic. It was entirely possible that he could be dead by now. If that turned out to be the case, could I be happy here for the rest of my life, as Vivian, continuing with the charade? Could I live with the guilt of lying to Catherine and George forever?
I wasn’t sure, but I did know one thing: I couldn’t fathom ever telling them the truth. The mere thought of it made me feel ill.
I woke to a driving rain that battered the window glass. Soon, I heard the thump of Edward’s little feet coming in from the nursery, and I rang for breakfast so that we could enjoy it together.
Afterward, we spent the morning playing with puzzles and wooden blocks. By noon, the rain had stopped, and the sun came out.
I knew that Henry had left on an early train, but Clara was still in the house and would remain with us for the indefinite future, so I decided to go forth and see if we could be friends.
Leaving Edward with Nanny to eat lunch in the nursery, I ventured down the grand staircase and across the marble entrance hall. The table in the dining room was set for lunch, but no one was about, so I made my way to the drawing room, where I found Catherine, George, and Clara gathered together.
“Vivian!” Catherine said. “Come and join us. How is Edward this morning?”
“He’s his usual rambunctious self,” I replied. “We built a tower of blocks, then he took great pleasure in kicking it down.”
“Theodore used to do the same thing,” Catherine said conspiratorially. “His nanny was always scolding him, but she was a bit of a hard-liner, wasn’t she, George?”
He lowered his newspaper. “What’s that, dear?”
“I said that Theodore’s nanny was very strict. She had no sense of fun.”
“I can’t remember,” he replied, flipping the newspaper in front of his face again.
We chatted about Henry’s departure, and all the while, Clara was cool toward me. Davies, the butler, announced that luncheon was served, so we made our way to the dining room.
After a light meal, I announced that I wished to take Edward to the pond to see the ducks after the rain. As we dispersed, I was aware of Clara following me up the stairs.
“Vivian.”
I stopped and turned on the landing.
She took her time reaching me. “Do you have any family left in London?”
“No. I lost my father and sister in the Blitz. My mother’s family is in France.”
“But your mother is dead, isn’t she?”
Her clipped words hit me like a punch in the stomach. “Yes. She died in a car accident years ago.”
“Indeed. There was a scandal about that, wasn’t there? Anyway, my condolences,” Clara replied without warmth.
We stood on the landing, merely staring at each other.
“Is there a reason you want to know about my family?” I asked.
“No,” she said lightly. “I only wished to inquire if you have anywhere else to go when the war is over.”
“Why should I need somewhere else to go?”
“In case you ever felt that you didn’t fit in here any longer. Now that Henry and I are married.”
I inclined my head. “What difference should that make?”
“Oh, I don’t know. Maybe when Henry and I start a family, and your boy is no longer king of the castle, you might feel slightly less . . . welcome.”
I watched her for a moment and evaluated the condescending, self-satisfied look in her eyes. Then I turned and continued up the stairs. “I’m disappointed, Clara. I thought we might be friends.”
“Did you indeed?”
With that, I had my answer. We would not be friends after all.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
The man who came to Grantchester Hall first thing on Monday morning had a quiet, intimidating air about him. Tall, slender, and dressed in a British officer’s uniform, he asked to speak with me privately.
I had been upstairs playing with Edward when Davies came to fetch me, and I panicked a little, because I had been living with the constant fear that the truth about my identity would eventually be discovered, and I would be carted off to prison and would never see Edward again.
Entering the library where the man was waiting, I strove to sound cheerful. “Good morning. I’m Vivian Gibbons. You wished to speak with me?”
“Yes, thank you for seeing me. I’m Major Robert Odell.” We shook hands. “May we sit down and have a word?”
“Of course.”
I gestured for him to take a seat on the sofa. I chose the chair opposite, crossing my legs at the ankles and clasping my hands together on my lap while he removed a file fro
m his attaché case.
“I understand, Mrs. Gibbons, that you are fluent in French and that you were once employed with the Ministry of Supply before you married your late husband, Theodore Gibbons.”
My belly performed a few somersaults. “That’s correct.”
“It says here that you had security clearance at the ministry. Is that also correct?”
I nervously cleared my throat. “Am I being questioned? Did I do something wrong?”
His eyes lifted, and his expression warmed. “Oh no, not at all, madam. I’m here because I have a proposition for you.” He looked down at the file again and flipped a page. “Is it correct that you had a sister who was under investigation because she came from Berlin, where she had become romantically involved with a German officer in the Wehrmacht?”
My palms grew clammy, but I fought to keep a cool head and frowned slightly. “May I ask why this is important?”
He sat back and removed his spectacles. “Of course. I made some phone calls, Mrs. Gibbons. I know that both your sister and your husband died in the Blitz and that you’ve been living here with Lord and Lady Grantchester ever since that time. You were brought to my attention after you sang at the base on Saturday evening.”
“By whom?” I wondered if it was the American pilot.
“It doesn’t matter who,” the major replied. “What matters is that you speak perfect French, and we are in rather urgent need of a translator at the Inter-Services Research Bureau. It’s not far from here.”
My head drew back with surprise. “You’re offering me a job?”
“Yes. If you would be willing to come and assist us for a short time.”
“How short of a time?”
“It’s difficult to say,” he replied. “Three weeks for certain. After that, we would see.”
Everyone in Britain was waiting for the Allied invasion of Europe to begin, so I suspected that I was needed to help in some way with those preparations.
“How many hours a day?” I asked. “I have a son, you see.”
“I understand, and I’ll be honest, Mrs. Gibbons. We could use you every day, all day, seven days a week, until the task is done, if you were willing to give us that much.”
A Fire Sparkling Page 23
