The Mersey Daughter (Empire Street #3)(67)

It had been a week now since the night of the fire, and she hadn’t seen or heard from Captain Cavendish in all that time. She didn’t know what to make of it. She couldn’t remember when there had been so long a gap without seeing him, not since she’d first met him when she’d had to take him to a meeting not long after she’d qualified as an official driver. Of course she’d spent most of that time cursing her luck and wishing him elsewhere. Now she had to admit it was strange – it was more than strange. If she was completely honest with herself, she missed him – his constant demands, the way he made her attempt the impossible on a daily basis. Then, of course, there had been those extraordinary moments in the police station when he had gazed into her eyes and touched the tip of her nose. What did he mean by that? Was it just a warning to look smart before leaving the station, or was there something else behind it? For a brief flash she could have sworn there was, but now he must be avoiding her. Was he embarrassed? That seemed unlikely. Did he regret letting his guard down? Had he found a better driver? Her professional pride bristled at that. She was good, she knew it. So what was going on? She was also increasingly annoyed that she was unable to stop going over and over the same thoughts. Really, she told herself, she should snap out of it.

Laura had had plenty of contact with men her own age, as her brother had always brought friends back from school or university, and she’d often gone along with them to whatever entertainments were available back home. Then there had been the frequent visits to London, which had served her well in her quest for fun, now they were stationed within reach of the city centre. She loved dancing and flirting, and considered herself an old hand at both.

Not one of the men she had danced or flirted with had ever got close to her heart, though. They were for amusement, nothing more. She didn’t take them seriously, and she knew full well most of them didn’t take her seriously either. If anyone ever hinted that he was becoming keen, she would drop him like a stone, not wanting anything to get in the way of light-hearted fun. They were boys, that was all. If she wanted serious masculine conversation, there had always been Freddy.

Now she had to face the fact that this was something different. Somehow the captain had got under her skin, riling her most of the time, but making her react in a way she had never done before. She had thought she’d hated him. But when she believed he was going to die in that blazing house, she had desperately wanted him to escape, to be safe, to be alive and with her. He had held her and his touch had been strong and reassuring, even when he’d been hurt. He’d stroked her nose, an astonishingly intimate gesture, totally unexpected, and somehow more special than if he’d tried to kiss her or hold her hand or something more usual. Then, after the powerful experience of getting through that evening of danger, he’d vanished off the scene. She just didn’t know what to think or what to do. Common sense told her to forget the whole thing – and yet she couldn’t.

There was a clattering behind her as someone pushed a chair aside and Marjorie arrived, carrying a tray of Spam fritters and a much smaller portion of potatoes than Laura had been given. ‘Room for two more?’ she smiled. Laura nodded. She didn’t mind Marjorie – at least she wouldn’t ply her with intrusive questions about the fire, or weigh her down with congratulations she didn’t feel she deserved.

‘I swear these helpings are shrinking,’ Marjorie complained, setting down her plate. ‘I know my waistline is, and I didn’t have much of one before. It’s a conspiracy to save material when we have any new uniforms, I tell you.’

‘You may be right,’ Laura said, feeling a little guilty about her own big helping. She hadn’t come close to finishing it, and Marjorie had obviously noticed. ‘Here, you have some of mine,’ Laura added hurriedly.

‘Don’t mind if I do, if you’re sure,’ Marjorie said eagerly, sitting down and adjusting her chair so that she could see the rest of the room. There was Kitty, picking up her own tray and coming across. ‘I almost didn’t notice you here, tucked away. Gosh, you wouldn’t think it was possible to get so hungry just sitting still all day but, I tell you, I could eat a horse.’

‘Sadly there don’t seem to be many of those roaming the streets of north London,’ Laura said, attempting some of her old humour. She heard the words come out flat and heavy, but Marjorie didn’t seem to care. She tucked into the potatoes with gusto and only paused when half of them were gone. Kitty pulled up the other chair and made a face at the size of the portion she’d seen Laura give to Marjorie. Hers was far smaller.

‘Suppose you got these because of the other night,’ Kitty said without rancour. ‘I think you should get more than a few potatoes, though, Laura. They should give you a medal or something.’

‘Don’t be daft,’ Laura said quickly. ‘People do this sort of thing every night of the week. When I think about that poor ARP warden, or the policeman that came to escort us, or the bomb disposal teams … what we did was nothing.’

Marjorie crushed the last of the potatoes into the remains of the thin juice from the fritter. ‘Ah. That’s better. Still, they should reward you for bravery. You aren’t one of the teams meant to deal with these things; you were just passing by and stayed to help. I reckon that counts for something. What does Captain Cavendish say?’

Laura kept her expression calm with some effort. ‘Oh, I’ve no idea. I haven’t seen him since, actually.’