Then an American voice shouted from the other end of the room: “The power’s gone down!”
The announcement was greeted with wild cheers from the crowd around us.
“Hold on to me.” Jack pulled me closer. “Let’s try to get outside.”
We fought our way through the press of bodies. I could hear fragments of whispered conversations, men telling women things they wouldn’t have had the nerve to say under normal circumstances. And, judging by the moans and giggles, some of the women were doing things they couldn’t possibly have gotten away with under the spotlights.
I had no idea which way we’d been heading when the power failed. But Jack seemed to know where he was going. By the time we got near the door, someone had opened it, creating a small patch of dark gray in the blackness. We stumbled outside. The air was fragrant with the scent of newly mowed grass. Others came spilling out after us. It was impossible to make out faces, but I thought I heard Edith’s voice close by. When I glanced in the direction it had come from, I saw a procession of couples, arm in arm, heading away from the hall, toward the fields.
“What’s the problem?” Jack was talking to someone whose silhouette showed a military cap.
“Looks like the lights have blown an electrical circuit, sir.” The accent was a deep, slow drawl.
“Any chance of fixing it?”
“I doubt it—not before daylight, anyways.”
“In that case, could you pass on a message to General Gerow? I’d like to thank him in person, but I wouldn’t want to bother him with all this going on. Please let him know that Lord Trewella and his cousin had a marvelous time.”
“Sure, I will, sir. Lord . . .” The man faltered.
“Just say Lord Jack. He’ll understand.”
Jack took my arm, steering me past the looming shapes of US Army jeeps. Even in the dark the elegant lines of the Alvis made it easy to spot.
“I can wait here if you like,” I said, as he held the door open for me. “If you want to say good night to . . . anyone.”
I couldn’t see his face, but I heard what sounded like a grunt mixed with a chuckle. “You mean Clarissa? I had a lucky escape, I think, with the lights going out. She’s a lovely girl—but a bit overpowering.”
I was glad that it was too dark for him to see my expression. He waited for me to climb in, then pushed the door shut. I breathed in the warm smell of leather, watching his dark shape as he moved across the front of the car to the driver’s side. Luckily, he’d reversed into the parking space. Trying to back out with so many people around would have been next to impossible. The headlights were narrow slits—all that was permitted in the blackout. They cast bright arrows on the legs of the men and women still stumbling out of the village hall.
“I’m sorry it ended like that,” he said, as the car glided down the narrow lane beyond the village. “It had only just got going. Not much of an evening out for you.”
“I don’t mind—really I don’t. When you haven’t been used to that kind of thing, it can be a bit overwhelming.”
“Oh dear, was my quickstep a bit too quick?”
“No—I . . . it wasn’t you. There were just so many people. I’m not used to it.” I wanted to tell him how wonderful it had felt, sashaying across the dance floor, feeling the warmth of his hand through the thin cotton of my dress. But to voice that feeling would take me over the invisible line that lay between us. I was afraid of trespassing into unknown territory, afraid of embarrassing him and ruining everything.
“I suppose it must be very strange,” he said. “It’s hard for anyone outside that world of yours to grasp what it would be like to be deprived of the things most people take for granted.”
That world of yours. It sounded as if he still saw me as a nun, however much I’d tried to shake off that persona. Perhaps it was because I was only days away from going ashore in disguise on our mission to France. The thought of it made my stomach churn.
“You’ll slip into it again quite easily, I imagine,” he went on. “It’s all arranged, by the way: the nuns in Lannion have everything ready.” He glanced at me fleetingly before turning back to the road ahead. “All the same, it’s not too late to change your mind.”
Once again, he’d tuned into exactly what I was thinking. I wondered if he was telepathic, whether he could read everyone he met as if their inner lives were tattooed on their faces. Or was it just me? Was it all those years of struggling to make my inner thoughts match my outward behavior that had made me so transparent?