By the time Abby was packing up a few hours later, she was pleasantly sleepy and sunburned, content in a way she hadn’t been in a long time. They’d made a plan for Simon to come to the farm for lunch the day after next, and she’d give him a tour.
“And meanwhile I’ll try to look up some information about this Matthew Lawson,” he told her. “And Tom Reese, for that matter. See what I can find.”
He didn’t kiss her when they said goodbye, and Abby had to sternly tell herself that she didn’t mind. One kiss did not a relationship make. Even she, in her woeful inexperience, knew that.
Besides, the Holmwoods had come out of their farmhouse to say hello, and it would have been awkward to do anything but wave. It probably would have been awkward anyway. There would be time later, if that was what she actually wanted.
She was still lost in a pleasantly vague daydream about Simon kissing her as she showed him the apple orchard, the bright green leaves hiding them from view like something out of a frothy romance novel, as she pulled up in front of the farmhouse, and then climbed the porch steps to let herself in. The screen door had just closed behind her with a satisfying slap when she heard her father’s voice.
He was standing in the kitchen doorway; after coming in from the bright sunlight, he loomed up like a dark, hulking shadow, and she tensed, because she knew she’d been here before. When he spoke, his voice was both defeated and angry, a sorrowful growl of despair.
“What the hell have you been up to, Abby?”
Chapter Eleven
February 1944
Lily clutched her handbag to her chest as she stood by the front gate and stared up at the unassuming house on Keildon Road, just a short walk away from her own home. It was where Matthew was billeted, and she had decided to stop by after work even though she wasn’t expected. Even though it wasn’t at all like her to do something so unprompted, so forward and bold.
She’d got the address from Sophie, after that taut morning encounter, when her sister had seemed so blithe, her blouse buttoned wrong, her eyes alight.
Richard’s bewilderment and Carol’s pursed-lip silence hadn’t dented Sophie’s optimism at all. She’d seemed incandescent as she hurried upstairs to change into her clothes for work. Lily had followed her, full of trepidation, as well as an undeniably avid curiosity.
“What happened?” she’d asked as Sophie wriggled out of her skirt.
“What do you mean, what happened?”
“Did Lieutenant Reese meet you at the pub?”
“Lieutenant Reese, Lieutenant Reese.” Sophie had laughed, a little wildly. “I think you can call him Tom by now, Lily.” She gave her reflection a quick, smug smile. “Yes, I most certainly think you can call him Tom.”
“Your blouse is buttoned up wrong,” Lily had blurted. If she’d expected her sister to be embarrassed by this fact, she was disappointed. Sophie’s smug smile had just curved wider.
“So it is,” she’d agreed, and started to unbutton it, a challenge glinting in her eyes. She was reveling in whatever had happened last night, Lily realized. Reveling in her freedom and her power, her experience and her allure. She’d practically shone with it; it radiated from her fingertips, and Lily had felt, quite suddenly, a deep, penetrating pang of envy.
“Did you have a nice time?” she’d asked, feeling the question was inadequate, even ridiculous.
Sophie had slipped out of her blouse with a shrug. “We most certainly did.”
Her tone had made Lily want to know every detail, even as she already knew she wouldn’t ask anything more. “I don’t think Mother noticed about your blouse,” she’d said instead.
Sophie had tossed her head as she caught her reflection again, her gaze lingering on her own smile. “So what if she did?”
“Sophie—” Lily had begun, although she wasn’t sure what she could say.
“I told you, Lily, I don’t care.” Sophie had let out another wild laugh, full of joy. “I don’t care,” she’d said again, her tone triumphant. “I really don’t.”
Lily had stared at her uncertainly. “What did you and Lieu—Tom get up to, then?” she’d asked, even though she’d already told herself she didn’t want to know any details.
“We went to the pub, of course.”
“But after… The air raid didn’t start till after midnight, Sophie, and the pub would have closed by ten. What were you doing during all that time?” Although Lily hadn’t been sure she wanted to know.
Sophie had turned back to face her, blouse unbuttoned, hands on her hips. “Do you really want to know?” she’d asked with a catlike smile.
Lily knew then that she really didn’t. “Do you care for him, then?” she’d asked.
Sophie’s smile had dropped as she’d gazed thoughtfully at her sister. “Do you know, Lily,” she’d said slowly, “I actually think I do.”