The Chilbury Ladies' Choir(74)

I flinched at the “and so forth,” wondering if for some mad reason he knew about the pregnancy. No, of course he doesn’t. Not even Alastair knows about the pregnancy. I saw him register my movement and hastily pulled myself together.

“A lot of fuss, that’s all.” I smiled, trying to find another topic of conversation. “And you, too. Mrs. B. tells us you’re to get a medal.”

“Well, Mama has a lot of notions, and I’m not sure if I’ll get a medal, but I have been shooting a lot of the enemy down, which is the main thing.”

“We owe so much to you pilots, fighting back against the Nazis. They would have invaded by now if you hadn’t frightened them off.” I was trying to sound bold and strong, but the words came tumbling out all smattered with potholes.

I could see him taking in my attempts to be normal, as if I were less beautiful, more unkempt. As if he were thinking about how much I’d changed. And I have changed. But somehow I didn’t want him to think that. I wanted him to think I was exactly the same.

“I’m looking a bit of a mess, I’m afraid,” I said, tossing my hair back as I would usually, putting more of a swing into my voice. “I haven’t been so well since the air raid.”

“Yes, I heard,” he said warmly. “I hope I’m not putting you out, getting you up like this?”

“No, it’s nice to see you. In any case, you’ll be gone in a few days, and I wouldn’t want to miss you.”

“It’s funny being back, after all that’s happened. The air raid, Prim and Hattie, the disappearance of that fellow, what was his name again?” He stood up and went to the mantelpiece, interested in the craftsmanship as he ran his fingers over the elaborate white edging.

“Slater,” I said quickly, trying not to put any inflection on the name. “Mr. Slater. No one knows what’s happened to him.”

“I heard that you were going to his house the night of the raid.” He didn’t turn around, just continued studying the mantelpiece. “I wondered if you were having a liaison of sorts.”

“Well, I was, as a matter of fact,” I said boldly. I could hardly lie when it was now common knowledge, but I confess I really didn’t care to discuss this with Henry. I didn’t want him to know. It wasn’t his business, and I somehow didn’t think it would be useful. “But it wasn’t a big thing. Just a spot of fun.”

“Oh, I see.” He turned and looked at me, straight in the eyes. “I wondered, that’s all.” He walked toward me and sat down beside me on the sofa. A worried look had come over his face. “Are you all right, Venetia? I mean, are you really all right? Deep down inside?”

I nearly burst out crying.

Of course I’m not all right. The man I love has gone, and I have his child growing inside me. I’m scared to death I’ll lose the baby, and I try to stay in bed all day. I’m petrified of what’s going to happen.

“I’m fine,” I said quietly, rearranging my skirt on my lap. “Really, I’m fine.”

“You just look so different, not the same Venetia as you were. You seem, well”—he paused in thought—“lost.”

I had to get up. Being so close and him being so terrifically frank with me was all too much. It would be too easy for me to cry my eyes out on his shoulder. We’ve known each other since we were children. He is one of my best friends, but I know that revealing everything would do me no favors. I walked over to the piano and began straightening out the music, which was all higgledy-piggledy on top.

“I lost a lot of blood, that’s all. It’s been rather exhausting, frankly.”

“Yes,” he said, but he seemed to be dwelling on something quite different. “What can one do?” Our eyes met, and I know he was trying to read me, trying to get inside. He must have seen me let my guard down, as he got up swiftly and took a step toward me.

“Venetia.”

I don’t know if he was coming to take me in his arms or kiss me or just to be close, but I stepped back, keeping him away.

“How awful of me not to offer you tea.” I darted for the door. As I left, I registered his disappointment—or was it annoyance—at my escape, and remembered uneasily that I had been encouraging him the few times we’d last met. An awful vision of David’s leaving party scorched through my head. Why had I played those ridiculous games with him?

When I returned some minutes later, he was standing by the patio door looking down over the yellowing lawn, the unpruned roses, the fountain turned off to save water. He had changed his tone completely, becoming charming and impersonal, an RAF pilot on a jaunt, keeping his buddies up to date with amusing stories. He’s so terribly witty these days, getting me laughing about some prank his friend got up to asking too many girls out at the same time. I know the pilots are incredibly popular with the girls, and I imagine he has more than his fair share with his amiable bonhomie, but I somehow missed that tense moment from before, and tried in vain to recapture it, but he resolutely kept up his light and impersonal banter.

That is, until he left. I had walked him to the front door, and we stood together on the brink, the sky fading to a darker shade of its former brilliance, the sound of a barn owl piercing through the still air from the wood. He turned to me, his eyes boring into me again, his hand reaching out for mine.