The Light Over London(40)

She read the paragraph again, her heart catching in her throat to see the words “holds his heart” in his bold handwriting. It had been so long since they’d met—nearly six months!—and all she had were passionate letters with no true declarations. He still hadn’t said he loved her, although sometimes he came close.

She knew she couldn’t place the blame entirely at his feet. She’d been holding back too. Paul was life lived at double pace, from meeting him at the dance to the day at the beach. He’d asked her to be his in a matter of hours and then, just a few weeks later, he’d been in her mother’s sitting room asking her to remember him because the next day he would be gone. They’d hardly known each other a month, yet the force of her own emotions frightened her.

At the barracks in Leicester, too many girls had had stories of soldiers, sailors, and airmen who’d broken their hearts. Love came fast during these times, the danger of war thrusting couples into each other’s arms with the irresistible pull of two magnets. Yet Paul was different from those men. It was in the worry of his words.

I almost wish that you’d been shipped off to some foreign pocket of the war where you would always be on base and the most I would have to worry about is the baking sun burning you crisp. It would be easier knowing that my Louise was safe. Still, I suppose I must reconcile myself to it.

The one comfort is that it won’t be long until I see you again. I think I’ve finally secured leave. It took every bit of persuading my commanding officer, but I was able to wrangle a week away. A week! Think of all we’ll be able to do in that time if you too can secure leave. Dancing in London, dinners in restaurants with white tablecloths, introducing you to my parents. They’ll adore you almost as much as I do.

I miss you, darling. I can’t wait until we see each other again.

Yours,

Paul

Louise sank back into her chair, unable to help her grin. She’d be seeing Paul again soon. He hadn’t mentioned the exact dates—she knew he wouldn’t do that until he’d secured his transportation passes—but he was coming back to England. She’d have to figure out how to convince Bombardier Barker to sign off on her leave, but she was determined. It had been too long since she’d seen him.

“Good news from your pilot?” Vera asked as Louise folded up the letter and stuffed it in its envelope.

“Don’t move,” Charlie ordered. “You’ll ruin my angle for the sketch.”

Vera scowled. “I’m not moving. And anyway, Louise has had a letter from Paul.”

“He’s managed to get leave,” Louise said, glossing over the fact that the letter had come some days ago.

“That’s wonderful news,” said Vera.

“But he’s still worried about me being on Ack-Ack,” Louise added.

“If he wasn’t, I’d be worried about him,” said Charlie.

“He wants me to transfer,” said Louise. “But of course I’d never do that.”

“Hmmm . . .” Vera’s lips thinned. Vera, unlike Paul, actually had the familial clout to put in a word and make such a transfer happen. Except she hadn’t offered one to Louise. They were a unit, and it hadn’t taken much for them to realize that they were better together. If one of them was falling down in her duties, the rest read up with her, reviewing the materials or procedures until they joked they could recite schematics for their respective instruments by heart. None of them had forgotten what Corporal Clovis had told them.

The RA doesn’t just need your service. It needs your intelligence . . . You’re smarter than most of the men you’ll meet in life, and I suspect you’re tougher too.

“What I wouldn’t give for a bath hot enough to boil myself in and a glass of sherry,” said Mary, stretching in her seat.

“I still say we should take our next make-and-mend and find the nearest village pub,” said Charlie. It was a favorite pastime of their unit, making plans for what they would do with their weekly afternoon off, only to fail to use that time for anything but sleep.

“What about the rules?” Nigella asked, her eyes wide.

The day they’d arrived on base, they’d been told to kiss alcohol and cigarettes goodbye. Shaky hands were a sure way to make errors on the precise instruments controlling the guns. Despite never having been a smoker herself, Louise thought it was unjust that Cartruse, Williams, and Hatfield were allowed to smoke and certainly drank when they were off duty.

“Rules be damned,” said Charlie.

“A half-pint or two isn’t going to send any of us down the garden path,” agreed Vera. “I’d be willing to wager we could get to and from the Pig’s Ear in an afternoon, no problem. It would be even faster if we could find some bicycles to borrow.”

“I’ve never ridden a bicycle,” said Mary.

“What?” Charlie dropped her pencil in horror. “How can you call yourself an Englishwoman?”

“Girls!” Lizzie called from across the mostly empty canteen. Behind her, she dragged Hatfield, who was blushing hard, by the arm. Cartruse and Williams followed close behind, laughing all the way. “Girls!”

“Why does Hatfield look like he wants the earth to swallow him up? Has Barker finally shouted so loud her passion killers split and he was there to see it?” Charlie muttered.