The men drank their coffees and then stood to say their goodbyes.
“We’re on leave next weekend,” Tom said as he fixed his cap on his head, his words clearly directed at Sophie. They were in the front hall, with Richard’s hand on the front door. “Perhaps you young ladies would care to show us some of London’s sights? I’ve heard about the dancing at The Berkeley Hotel, and wanted to give it a whirl.”
Carol opened her mouth and then shut it. Richard took his hand off the door, looking surprised, and Matthew spoke not at all.
“Oh, we’d love to,” Sophie practically purred. “Wouldn’t we, Lily?”
Lily, who had said less even than Matthew all afternoon, merely nodded. She didn’t know how she felt about going dancing with the two servicemen, but she also knew their mother would not allow Sophie to go on her own, never mind that she was twenty-three years old. As far as Carol was concerned, her two daughters were still girls who needed protecting, and perhaps restraining.
“That’s settled, then. Shall we pick you up at seven?” Tom glanced at Richard, for form’s sake, who nodded rather stiffly. Moments later, they were gone.
That evening, after supper, while Richard and Carol listened to the wireless in the front room, Lily perched on the edge of her bed, while Sophie groaned at the lack of dancing frocks in the little wardrobe they shared.
“I’ve got nothing, Lily, nothing. Damn this war and the ridiculous clothing rations. As if I want to wear some horrid utility dress to go dancing with a GI.”
“Everyone’s in the same boat,” Lily pointed out. No one had had new dresses in years, save for the far too sensible utility clothing they had to make do with, or else mend something old. She pulled her cardigan tighter around her; the room was freezing and she’d rather be downstairs with her parents, sitting in front of the fire and listening to George Formby, but as usual Sophie had compelled her to stay.
“Weren’t they divine?” Sophie said as she closed the door of the wardrobe, dresses—or lack thereof—forgotten for a moment.
“Don’t you mean he?” Lily returned a bit tartly. “I don’t think you looked at Sergeant Lawson once.”
“Oh, but you did. I saw you sneaking glances, you sly thing! Don’t pretend you don’t fancy him, because I know you do.”
“I don’t know him,” Lily answered, but she could feel herself blush and chose to say nothing more.
“He is a quiet one,” Sophie agreed. She ran her fingers through her hair to fluff it as she studied her reflection in the small, speckled mirror over the chest of drawers. “Do you think Tom fancies me?”
Tom, it was, now? “Of course he does.” Sophie wasn’t film-star beautiful, but she was striking, with her large eyes and lips, her strong jaw and her ash-blond hair. She wore her confidence like beauty, which seemed even better. Next to her, Lily had always felt like a pale shadow—mousy hair, brown eyes to Sophie’s hazel, slimmer in the hip and bust, and a full three inches shorter. Quieter too, and certainly shyer, although Sophie had always said she had a nice smile. When Lily practiced in the mirror, she wasn’t sure it was anything special.
“Yes, I rather think he does.” Sophie’s gaze rested on her reflection as her lips curved in a knowing, catlike smile. “Did you smell him, Lily? Didn’t he smell heavenly?”
Lily let out an incredulous laugh. “No, of course I didn’t smell him.”
“He wears aftershave. Why won’t British men wear it? And the faintest hint of cigarette smoke… mmm.” Sophie licked her lips and Lily smiled and shook her head. She suspected Sophie was all talk—or at least mostly. When had her sister had opportunity to get up to much?
Besides, there was something innocent, even naïve, about her jokes, her good humor, her determination to shock and to titillate. Something inexperienced and a little clumsy, despite her desire to seem the opposite, and even in her own inexperience, Lily thought she could recognize that.
“You know what they say, don’t you?” Sophie said, her eyes dancing as she continued to regard herself in the mirror, seeming to like what she saw.
“What do they say?” Lily asked, her eyebrows raised, ready for her sister to try to shock.
“It’s about the new utility underwear.” Sophie turned to face her sister, her hands on her hips, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “One Yank and it’s off!”
“Oh, Sophie.” Lily gave a muffled laugh, before she shook her head and rose from the bed, determined now to join her parents in the sitting room.
The sound of Sophie’s delighted laughter followed her all the way downstairs, until it was drowned out by the wireless.
Chapter Four
ABBY
“It’s you again!”
Abby looked up from the gas tank of her pickup truck that she was filling to see Simon Elliot smiling at her with an expression of such cheerful good humor that she had to smile back.
“Oh… hello,” she said. She’d been thinking about Simon since he’d left Willow Tree three days ago, and feeling a little guilty for how poorly he’d been treated. To come all the way from England and be given nothing more than ten minutes of their time and a glass of lemonade. Abby had cringed in embarrassment at the thought.
Why hadn’t she asked more questions? Why hadn’t she seemed more interested? Because she was interested; it was far more interesting, not to mention easier, to think about her grandfather’s past than her own. Her father, however, clearly felt differently, and had seemed to consider the whole matter closed as soon as Simon had left, with Abby reluctant to bring it all up again.