“I’m sorry. What can I do?”
“You don’t need to do anything. Just being here, being my friend is enough. I’ve given Bill so many ideas of what to work on—we have half-finished projects that he could delve into.” I rubbed my fingers against my thumb. “Right now I don’t even have the money to buy a ticket home.”
Her eyes glazed with tears—for me! The empathy felt as comforting as the blazing fire at the far end of the bar.
“I sound like I’m complaining,” I said. “I know that. But I’m going to write like crazy. I’m going to finish this project and then I’ll make everything right at home.”
“Where are you with your Ten Commandments?”
“I’m almost done—only five more articles to go, and I have them outlined. And I’ve found a title for the book: Smoke on the Mountain.”
“So your work is chugging along, but you don’t seem yourself, Joy,” Michal said, catching me staring off to the front door.
“I believe I might be a bit homesick,” I said. “I don’t much want to talk about it. What else has gone on in London while I’ve languished?”
“You’ve heard about Charlie Chaplin, right? He sailed here for his Limelight premiere and he’s decided to stay.”
I laughed and felt warm enough to shed my coat, setting it across the back of my chair. “Good for him. If all Americans came here, I believe they’d stay. And I don’t think you want that.”
Michal waved her hand. “Well. Do you know what beats all? The tea rationing ended yesterday.”
“It ended? Well, thanks be to God.” I pretended to cross myself, and she clasped her own hands in false prayer.
“Oh, the sacrilege,” she said. “We might be struck any moment.”
Our conversation flowed easily. We caught up on what we’d been reading, and she told me that her son Michael had found a job. I told her that I’d been working on O.H.E.L.—and Jack had sent me edited pages of the Ten Commandments manuscript.
“Well, you and I will have some grand times with the days you have left, Joy. You must come over for dinner, and we’ll go to a vaudeville show, and of course we’ll enjoy our White Horse boys.”
I took her hand and held it in mine. “I’m thrilled you’ve come into my life,” I said just as Jack and Warnie entered the lounge. Jack saw us waving at him, and together they joined us, shedding their coats and hats.
With greetings all around, Jack turned to me first. “How pleased I am to see you. We must hear everything about your travels. We have missed you.”
“Yes, we have.” Warnie beamed at us all, tipping his hat.
Jack sat next to me, and I caught the warm aroma of him—tobacco, wet flannel, and rain.
“I’ve written about everything to you,” I said. “And poor Michal here has had to listen to me for an hour now.”
Jack slapped his hand lightly on the table. “Then I shall start with this—I want to proclaim here in front of our dearest friends that you have written a divine sestina.”
“I’m glad you think so.” My smile broke through the words. He loved my sestina. And if he didn’t love it, he certainly liked it.
“What have you ladies been talking about and drinking?” Jack pointed to our half-empty glasses.
“You know how it is with Joy,” Michal said. “We’ve been talking about everything.”
Life flowed back into me. I smiled at Michal in true gratitude. “It is Michal who brings the interest. She’s like water in the desert.”
We were interrupted as the server, a young girl in an apron and a long braid down her back, brought two beers for the brothers. They took their long sips; Jack patted his coat pocket for his pipe, a habit now familiar.
“We miss your husband,” he said to Michal. “You know it was at the Mitre in Oxford where we celebrated after his first lecture there.”
“Ah yes.” Michal nodded. “And wasn’t that the same place you met T. S. Eliot? The good ole days.”
“Yes, indeed. When Eliot told me I looked older than my pictures.”
I blurted out, “What? You do no such thing. He was trying to get under your skin, because in real life you are younger, more vibrant than any photograph.” The blush began below my collarbone, and the heat of it rushed to my face. Why didn’t I think before I spoke?
Jack smiled, his eyes wrinkling. “Well thank you, Joy. I dismissed his insult, and together we worked on a revision of the Book of Common Prayer.” Then his attention turned to Michal. “Charles’s absence in my life and among the Inklings is profound. We miss him every day.”