Eve inched close enough to see the group of soldiers, laughing and punching each other as if they were off to a cricket match instead of the living hell of the battlefield. Alfie wasn’t among them. Their laughter brought memories of the happier times she and Alfie had shared these past three years. They’d never attended another posh event at the Savoy, but Eve had fallen deeply in love as Alfie called from time to time and took her out. They’d driven down to the coast to spend the day on his boat. They’d danced until the early hours in London’s glittering nightclubs and at private parties. She’d watched Alfie drink to the point of stupor, then took away his keys and drove both of them home in his car. “You can even drive a car, darling Eve?” he’d asked in drunken wonder. “What an amazing girl you are!” She loved being with him. Alfie knew how to have fun. Eve enjoyed their passionate embraces in his car as much as he did. But last night he had asked for more.
“I’m going away to war, Eve. Anything could happen to me. Can’t you give me one night to remember forever?”
Eve had longed to give in. She couldn’t deny the desire she felt for Alfie or his desire for her. She loved him. And yet . . .
Her mother’s warnings came unbidden, dousing the flames. Eve was still unsure of Alfie’s intentions. He had never said he loved her. Had never talked of marriage. She knew there were other girls in his life. Would spending the night be a way to bind him to her forever or was he just using her? Alfie made it clear he wasn’t ready to settle down to a responsible adult life. He’d told her so, again and again. He’d returned to London for a brief leave before heading to Europe to fight with the British Expeditionary Force and asked Eve for one night of passion to remember. And she refused. Had she lost him forever?
Eve stood on tiptoes in the middle of the swirling mob and surveyed the station again. The children had boarded the waiting train, and it started forward with a hiss of steam. Little ones hung from every open window, bravely waving goodbye. Eve heard a cry of anguish from the crowd of mothers and turned to see them huddled together, consoling each other’s tears. They wouldn’t know where their children were until after they’d arrived in the countryside and mailed the postcard each of them carried. But at least they were out of London. They were safe.
“Eve! Eve, darling!” She turned and there he was, pushing his way toward her, duffel bag slung over his shoulder, his grin lighting the dismal station.
“Alfie!” She reached for him and they held each other tightly before exchanging a kiss more appropriate for a dark corner than a public place. Eve didn’t care. He had forgiven her. And she loved him. “I didn’t think I would ever find you,” she said when they came up for air. “How long until your train leaves?”
He consulted his expensive wristwatch, a graduation present after Oxford. “Only ten minutes. I was a little hungover this morning and overslept. Walk with me to the platform.” Alfie took her hand and cut a smooth path for them—a knife through butter—as people instinctively stepped aside for him in his officer’s uniform. “I’ve been telling the other lads how beautiful you are, and now they can see for themselves.”
She didn’t want her last moments with him to be spent among a crowd of soldiers, but there was no helping it. Eve longed to tell him she loved him and hear him say he loved her, too. She wanted him to promise to come home safely, promise they would always be together, grow old together. Cross my heart. But too soon it was time for Alfie to board.
“Send me your address as soon as you get there, Alfie. I’ll write every day.”
“Righto. And keep your gas mask with you, darling.” He tugged the cord around her neck that held her boxed mask.
“You, too!” She’d seen the wheezing, gasping veterans of the first war, some with missing limbs. Not Alfie. Please, Lord.
He held her tightly one last time. Kissed her one last time. And just like the departing children, he and the other soldiers boarded the train, heading off in a hiss of steam, their lives about to be altered forever by the demands of war.
WELLINGFORD HALL
Audrey stood on a ladder, stretching as high as she could to pin the thick black cloth to the back of the dining room drapes. “Here’s the next piece,” Mrs. Smith said as she bustled into the room. “Oh, do be careful, Miss Audrey. Maybe you should let Robbins do those tall windows.”
Audrey lowered her arms, rotating her aching neck and shoulders. “I sent him into the village to see about borrowing a wagon for the children. Do we have enough cloth to finish before they arrive?”