The Light Over London(65)

Louise tried to let the implications roll off her shoulders, knowing she was being horribly provincial about it all. Plenty of couples in the service married quickly, happy to grab whatever time they could while they were in the same place.

“All right,” she said, pulling her shoulders back. “Wednesday it is.”

Paul kissed her on the temple. “A wedding and then the wedding breakfast at the Dorchester, I think.”

Charlie cackled at the mention of the posh hotel, and all of the other girls looked downcast, no doubt regretting that they had plans to see worrying family members that they couldn’t break.

“Will your parents be there?” Louise asked, realizing with a pang that her own wouldn’t be able to make the trip from Cornwall in time.

“They’re off in the countryside, remember? Evacuated London as soon as it started raining bombs,” he said. “Now, what do you think about changing into a proper skirt again and letting me show you the real London?”

“Yes, of course. I’d love to see where you grew up,” she said.

“I’ll meet you down here in twenty minutes. We’ll get some breakfast into you and then set off.”

The girls crowded forward, each offering some way for her to change her appearance or brighten up the uniform she would have to wear for her wedding. When she turned back, Paul was accepting congratulations from Hatfield and taking a cigarette. She caught Cartruse’s eye. He nodded once before stuffing his hands in his pockets and continuing down the road back to his barracks.



“But this isn’t where you live?” Louise asked. It was more than twelve hours since Paul had appeared on the steps of her billet. Her flipped schedule of night shifts meant that her head felt as though it was full of cotton wool because she hadn’t slept since midmorning the day before.

“No,” said Paul, turning the large brass key in the lock of a terrace house in Kensington where he’d told her his friend kept a flat on the ground floor.

“What happened to your bedsit?” she asked, remembering so clearly the way he’d described the little flat to her.

“My landlady wrote to tell me the building across the street was hit by a bomb. It broke all the windows in my flat, and she hasn’t been able to find a glazer to fix them. The demand’s too high with all of the bomb sites across the city.” He pushed open the door and flicked on the hall light. “Just through here.”

Louise pulled at the hem of her uniform’s tunic and looked around. It was a nice enough hallway with carved crown molding and a neat set of stairs up to the flat above, but it wasn’t Paul’s place, and that was disappointing.

She’d been hesitant at dinner about coming back with him. He’d told her she looked as though she was falling asleep in her soup, and suggested they turn in for the night.

She could’ve insisted that he take her back to her billet, and he would’ve, but instead she’d let him walk her to the Piccadilly line and board the train that took them to Earl’s Court. They were going to be married in two days. Maintaining any modesty now seemed ridiculous. She’d decided, as their feet scraped against the pavement out of the station, that she was going to absolve herself of any guilt she might feel about exploring an intimacy with this man before they were married.

He unlocked a door with a brass “1” nailed to it and stepped back to let her inside. It was chillier in the sitting room than outside, if that was even possible, and Louise wrapped her arms around herself as she looked about. Despite the cold, it was a comfortable room with a pair of green tufted sofas facing one another in front of an elaborate iron fireplace and a few paintings covering the walls. She’d just moved toward one of a seaside that reminded her of home, when Paul’s hand fell on her waist.

“Where are you going?” He drew his hand up her back, his fingers dancing over her uniform as though it were of the silkiest satin. “I’ve been waiting all day for us to be alone.”

She turned to him, her hands resting softly on his chest. The scent of him, spiced bay rum, wrapped around her as she breathed in deep. But even as she lifted her chin, something held her back.

“Are you nervous?” he asked, resting his forehead against hers.

She toyed with one of the brass buttons on his uniform. “No. Yes. I don’t know.”

“You can trust me, darling.”

Her eyes must have betrayed her, because when their gazes met, he cradled her to him.

“I’ve done this all wrong, haven’t I? You want a big wedding in your parish church with all of your nearest and dearest.”

She knew he didn’t mean it, but when he teased like this, she couldn’t help but feel entirely provincial.

“No, it’s not that,” she said quickly. “We just haven’t known each other for very long.”

He tucked a knuckle under her chin and gently raised it. “I knew the moment I met you, Louise, that you would be mine.”

“I did too,” she said automatically.

“Then you know that this is right.”

“I . . .”

“You’re not sure,” he said, sadness breaking his voice.

Guilt churned in her stomach as he made as though to walk away. She caught his hand as he’d done to her, and he stilled.

“I’m sorry, Paul. It’s just that it’s been difficult without you and now it’s confusing with you standing right here where I can actually touch you. It almost seems unreal.”