When we arrived at the village hall, the patch of ground beside it was rammed with vehicles—mostly US Army jeeps and motorbikes. But a space had been reserved for the Alvis. Two soldiers were standing guard so that no one else could take it. Their uniforms were very different from those of the British troops I’d seen in Falmouth. A pale olive color, with a symbol like a wave in blue and gray stitched onto the shoulder. A black necktie was tucked between the middle buttons of the shirt. The cap—shaped like an upturned boat—was worn so far over the side of the head that it looked as if it might blow off in the slightest breeze. They opened our doors for us and stood at attention as we climbed out.
Stepping over the threshold of the village hall was a surreal experience. We walked out of the golden light of a summer evening into a cavernous room whose windows had been covered over with blackout boards. Towering spotlights had been erected in the corners of the room. They changed color every few seconds, casting rainbow beams onto a mirrored ball suspended from the ceiling, which dappled the faces of the people sitting at the tables and lit up the strings of red, white, and blue bunting that festooned the walls. On a dais at the far end an orchestra was playing—all men in uniform—and behind them hung the Stars and Stripes and the Union Jack.
We were greeted by a man who introduced himself as Major General Leonard Gerow. He was a great bear of a man, quite terrifying until he smiled. He seated us on either side of him at the top table.
There were no other women sitting with us. I glanced around the room, spotting Edith, Rita, and Marjorie at the other end. They were in a huddle, their heads almost touching. Whether they’d expected Jack to be there, I didn’t know. They looked as if they were weighing up the talent. There were dozens of other women doing the same, but the men outnumbered them. There would be no shortage of partners to choose from.
“Would you care to dance, ma’am?”
The invitation took me by surprise. It came from the general himself.
“Oh . . . I . . .” I glanced at Jack, who smiled at my reticence.
“Go on, Alice,” he said. “Enjoy yourself!”
There were a few other couples taking to the floor. General Gerow took my arm, guiding me to the center of the room. I tried not to flinch as he slid one hand around my back. I wondered if he could tell how nervous I was. The thought of getting the steps wrong—of treading on his foot or bumping against him—made my mouth go dry.
Luckily the dance turned out to be a waltz, something I’d learned as a girl. As we glided past the tables, he asked me where I came from, and told me his ancestors on his mother’s side had come from County Mayo.
“I love your accent,” he said. “I hope to visit Ireland one day, when all this is over.”
He was very polite—and his hands never moved an inch in the wrong direction, the way I remembered boys in Dublin doing. When the waltz ended, he took me back to our table. I caught one or two of the American soldiers glancing at me, possibly contemplating asking me to dance. I guessed that on the arm of their commanding officer, I was out-of-bounds.
There were two new people at our table when we took our seats. General Gerow introduced them as the bishop of Truro and his niece, Clarissa. When the bishop greeted me, I went hot with embarrassment. I could only imagine what he would say if he knew he was shaking hands with an ex-nun who had flouted church rules and was now masquerading as a relative of Viscount Trewella. To my shame, he beamed at me and said what a pleasure it was to have a cousin of Jack’s visiting the county.
His niece looked a few years younger than me and was very beautiful. She had long chestnut hair, which she wore loose, with two jeweled pins holding it back just above her temples. She’d been seated next to Jack, and as soon as the introductions were over, they were chatting away to each other. It looked like an intense conversation. Her eyes glittered as the light from the mirror ball caught them. And then she said something that made him laugh. Sitting between the general and the bishop, I couldn’t hear what it was that he found so amusing. I was trying to carry on a conversation with the men on either side of me while straining to eavesdrop. And all the while I was aware of a dull ache below my ribs, which turned into a stab of jealousy when Jack and Clarissa got up and left the table together.
The tempo of the music had changed to a much livelier rhythm. People were pairing off, almost tripping over the chairs in their hurry to get onto the dance floor. I lost sight of Jack. When he reemerged, I saw that he was holding Clarissa so close that their heads were almost touching. Her dress had a low, scooped back. His hand was touching bare flesh. Her hips swayed from side to side as they moved in time to the beat of the music.