The Light Over London(21)

It had been the perfect afternoon until they’d lost track of time, none of them being old enough to wear a watch. Dea had been the one to shout that the water was rising. The froth of the churning sea that had seemed magical only a couple of hours before suddenly felt sinister, advancing on them more rapidly with every passing moment.

She understood now that they’d never been in any real danger. The adults knew that if children seen playing on the beach hadn’t returned home by the time the tides rose, they were likely in the Smugglers’ Cave, but it had been terrifying as a child. She would never forget the relief of seeing her father, solid and steady, jumping off the rowboat’s bow and wading in to scoop her up.

“I promise to keep a close eye on the time. I’d never live it down at the base if we had to be rescued,” Paul said. “Why is it called the Smugglers’ Cave? I always thought most of their hiding places were in the cliffs to the south, facing France.”

She shrugged. “That’s always been its name.”

“Well,” he said, stopping at the bend around the rocks lining the bottom of the cliff, “are you ready?”

She nodded. She thought he might give her his arm again, but instead he picked up her hand, twining it in his.

He tugged her into a run across the damp, hard-packed sand and shouted, “Come on then!”

She let out a surprised laugh, the tails of her coat flapping behind her as they sped along. She could feel the combs sliding from her hair, but rather than try to shove them back into place, she ripped them out, stuffing them into her pocket as Paul slowed to a stop before the slash in the rock that was the opening to the cave.

“Just like Mickey said it would be,” he muttered before turning to her. “Would you like to do the honors?”

She nodded, eyeing the gap in the rock. It had seemed so large when she was a child, but now she could see that it was little more than eighteen inches wide, although it was more than tall enough for Paul to enter without having to stoop. Turning sideways, she breathed in and shuffled into the cave.

“I can hardly see,” she said, any light from the entrance blocked as he shimmied through the gap behind her.

“Close your eyes.”

She did, listening to the scrape of his boots against the sand.

“Now open them,” he said, his voice coming from close to her right shoulder.

Her eyes flicked open, and she gasped. Now that Paul was by her side, the entire cave shimmered with the light streaming through the entrance. The walls glinted as she slowly swung around in a circle, as though she were standing inside a jewel.

“I can’t believe I don’t remember this,” she said.

“Mickey says it only happens during the winter months at certain times of day. The sun has to be low enough that it comes in through the entrance and hits the crystals in the walls at the right angle.”

“It’s beautiful,” she whispered, her eyes still fixed on the shimmering walls.

“Then it’s a surprise?”

She offered him a smile. “It is.”

He took a step forward. “Then would you allow me . . . ?”

She nodded and turned her cheek to him to permit him the kiss she hadn’t wanted anyone to see in the lane. His lips brushed skin, warm and soft. But he didn’t stop with a kiss on her cheek. He brought his lips to her cheekbones and then just to the side of her ear. Under her jaw and to the side of her mouth.

She shivered, her hands flexing by her sides, hardly knowing what to do for the wanting of him. But when he pulled back an inch and breathed, “Louise,” instinct took over. Her fingers wrapped themselves in the crisp lapels of his uniform, and she turned her mouth, bringing her lips to his.

He kissed her, long and sweet, with just a touch of pressure. His hands spread wide on her back, holding her to him and arching her body so it matched with his. Her lips opened, and she lost herself in the depths of an unhurried kiss for the first time in her life.

With a sigh of contentment, his hands stroked up her back, and he carefully, slowly pulled away. She felt almost drunk, unable to blink away the haze of pleasure that had settled over her in this extraordinary cave with this extraordinary man.

“Is there another man?” he asked quietly.

She shook her head.

He breathed out a sigh of relief. “Good. In the lane—”

“My mother hopes I’ll marry the village solicitor’s son, Gary, when the war is over.”

“That sounds very grand,” he said.

“It’s not. I promise.”

“And what would Gary think of you kissing me?” he asked.

Drawing her shoulders back, she looked at him square in the eye. “It doesn’t matter what he thinks.”

“Good. I shouldn’t like to steal a soldier’s girl.”

“I’m no one’s girl.”

He picked up her hand, toying with her fingers and turning them over as though memorizing every line of her knuckles. “Perhaps then, Louise, you might consider being mine.”



Louise floated home. Her shoes would need a good brushing to rid them of the damp sand, and she’d done her best to wrestle her hair into order on the beach, using Paul’s comb to scrape her set into place, but she had no doubt she looked something of a mess—a blissful mess.

The afternoon had been wonderful. They’d explored the cave as far as they’d dared, using a torch Paul had liberated from his base, and then settled down on a low, flat rock to split a Crunchie bar he’d bought in the NAAFI shop. True to his word, he’d kept an eye on his watch, and they’d made it out of the cave while the water was still low.