Beneath Us the Stars (5 page)

When Bill settled into the seat beside her and the door was closed, but before the driver got into his seat she
whispered
:

‘What’s he talking about – she’s worth it?’

Bill murmured: ‘Tell you later. I’ve got tickets by the way, but we need to get there as soon as possible.’ He found her hand, squeezed it and lowered his voice. ‘You look
stunning
.’

Mary pulled a face.

‘I didn’t know what to put on.’

His gaze dropped to her knees, exposed as the flared pleated skirt rode up on the shiny seat. He was also aware of the fragrance of the woman next to him. She was so desirable it was painful to be sitting there.

The driver’s eyes met his in the rear view mirror. There could be no mistake that he thought so too. When he’d got to the University Arms hotel he’d found a humble Lieutenant with a ticket for the Glenn Miller concert for him – as long as he played along. He’d expected a gruff old general and a long wait at some boring conference. The deal was struck.

They swept into the square. It was jammed with men in uniform and girls, with what seemed scores of
white-helmeted
American military police and British Redcaps, together with groups of special constables in dark-blue uniforms.

It took ages for the driver to park, there were so many trucks and military buses in town. He got her out of the car, wolf whistles coming from all sides of the road. Bill scowled, but felt immensely proud. Alarmed, Mary clung to him for protection. As they got to the entrance the milling throng was such that he had to put an arm around her shoulders, then around her waist to stop them being separated. Mary was oblivious to the pushing and shoving, the only thing that mattered to her was the feeling of his large hand just above her hip, pinning her to him.

Secure.

Belonging.

His.

She was disappointed when he took it away to show his tickets. Inside, the place was heaving, and when they pushed through some double doors it was to be met by a vast army of men in uniform of all types, and girls in
varying
dresses, standing before the stage listening, swaying and tapping to the music. On stage was the Glenn Miller orchestra, lines of saxophones and trombones catching the overhead light as the musicians stood up and sat down as they played
Little Brown Jug
.

Behind them were two huge flags, one the Stars and Stripes, the other the Union Flag hanging straight down from the roof. They edged further in, the back of the hall was full of dancers, jitterbugging frantically, some of the girls being thrown into the air over the shoulders or through the legs of their partners. Around the edge closest to them couples shuffled on the spot, while above it all, the glass ball hanging from the ceiling sent shafts of reflected
light down on to the mass of humanity below that was, for the moment, oblivious to the outside world and its pain and suffering.

‘Do you wish to listen, or shall we dance?’ he asked. She giggled and pointed. ‘I certainly can’t do that.’

A girl, spinning like a top to the left, was then snapped by her partner’s hand to the right, her skirt flying up to give a flashing glimpse of stocking-tops and underwear, the man’s legs kicking one way then another, in time to the beat.

Embarrassed, Bill shook his head.

‘No – me neither.’

The band came to the end of
Brown
Jug
to roars and
clapping
, and swung almost immediately into
Tuxedo Junction.

They began shuffling on the spot, until they were violently jolted, sending her hard into him. He wrapped his arms protectively around her. Mary snuggled into his chest, Bill’s face in her hair. They hung on to each other, content at last after a night and a day of frustrated longing. They did not join in shouting ‘Pennsylvania Six-Five Thousand,’ but were lost in their own little world, even when the music came to an end. When there was a great roar and clapping they reluctantly parted, but still held hands as a man in uniform, wearing rimless glasses and carrying a conductor’s baton started to speak into a large flat microphone.

Excited, Bill jerked his head in the man’s direction.

‘Say that’s Glenn Miller.’

She chuckled. ‘I thought it might be – it’s his band, after all.’

Wincing, he detected the gentle mocking humour in her eyes, and loved it.

‘I asked for that.’ He pulled her to him with mock
roughness
. ‘We can’t all be as bright as some.’

Strangely, after years of being considered self-willed, Mary enjoyed being taken to task.

Glenn Miller said his bit, and to great roars of approval, turned back to the band which broke into
String of Pearls.

Somehow he didn’t have to ask her, Mary just seemed to be in his arms again. It was too noisy to talk, they just danced until they couldn’t dance any more, then he led her into the bar to cool down.

‘What would you like to drink?’

She waved her hand. ‘Anything long and cool. An orange-squash will do.’

He struggled into the mob, pushing his way to the bar. When he returned she’d been asked twice to dance.

They took their drinks to a shelf and leant against the wall. She fished in her bag and came out with a small packet of five cigarettes.

He accepted one, seeing to hers first with his gun-metal lighter. ‘Are you enjoying yourself?’

The end of the cigarette burned brightly as she inhaled, then, blowing out the smoke she said:

‘Very much so. Thank you for asking me. And the car – what a lovely surprise.’

There was a twinkle in his eye.

‘Couldn’t have you walking in your finery.’

Mary frowned. ‘Hardly finery.’ She indicated the skirt. ‘Had this for years.’

From the main hall came a fanfare of trumpets and the orchestra started up again. There was a general rush in that direction.

The bar was left half-empty.

‘Maybe we ought to sit this one out?’ he suggested.

She nodded. ‘If you don’t want me to collapse with exhaustion I think it would be a good idea.’

Mary didn’t like to admit that her shoes were killing her.

He jerked his head in the direction of a couple of empty chairs.

‘Over there.’

They moved to a table and settled down, spending the next ten minutes talking about the sights and sounds all around them.

‘Do you like any other types of music?’ she asked.

He scratched his cheek.

‘I’m keen on jazz.’

‘What about classical?’

Bill chuckled. ‘Well, I play a mean piano. You should hear my
Für Elise
– from as far away as possible.’

‘Truly?’

He held a hand to his chest.

‘Cross my heart and hope to die. My mother made me do all my grades.’

Mary sat back, shaking her head in mock disbelief.

‘I’m not sure you’re telling me the truth.’

Bill threw his arms wide. ‘Would I lie?’

Mischievously she passed the tip of her tongue over her upper lip.

‘Maybe – how would I know?’

‘I’ll prove it. Where’s a piano?’

Mary looked anxiously around.

‘Oh no, not now, I believe you – truly.’

He enjoyed her obvious English embarrassment at the thought of a public fuss.

‘Well, when?’

Mary smiled, put her head to one side, arched an eyebrow quizzically and said ‘Next time?’

He felt a rush of excitement.

But his euphoria was short lived. Somehow they got on to flying, and she became withdrawn, quiet.

Mary had been forced to remember the reality of their position. Sometime next week he would be over Nazi Germany in the thick of it again, and she, of all people, knew the terrible price to be paid. It frightened and
horrified
her. She just shouldn’t be there, with him, getting to know him – getting closer.

Abruptly she stood up.

‘Let’s go back in.’

He followed, not taking his eyes off her shining hair as it swished around her firmly held shoulders, aware that something was wrong, and only guessing that it was to do with flying.

But when she turned, putting up her arms for him to take hold of her, the warmth was back in her eyes. Relieved, he took hold of her, drew her into him with a firmness that came from a growing assurance.

Her body crushed against his as her breath came out in a little rush.

But she hung on, didn’t complain as they jostled and
moved to the rhythm of all the great hits he knew so well from the radio.

Later the mood changed, to slow smoochy numbers. She slid her hands up his chest over his shoulders and around his neck, touching his hair. His hands met in the small of her back, holding her outstretched body against his.

The tenor’s soft voice breathed out the words above the muted saxes: ‘
At last, my love has come along, my lonely days are over
….’

She lifted her head and looked expectantly at him.

They were still kissing when the song ended, oblivious to all around them.

The band finished the evening with a specially scored rendition of the Army Airforce Battle Hymn. A thousand voices sang, clapped and whistled
‘Off we go into the wild blue yonder, climbing high into the sky
….’

Bill guided her to the door. They ran down the steps into a square that was, if anything, even more crowded than before. Military and civil police had doubled as the pubs were coming out at the same time. There was the sound of smashing glass as a fight started up a side street.

Bill was more assertive as he hurried her to the car. ‘Let’s get the hell out of here.’

More wolf whistles followed their progress. At the car the driver was already there, together with a very large military policeman. He saluted Bill, but couldn’t take his eyes off Mary, holding the door for her as she got in,
forgetting
to check how come Bill had the use of a staff car.

The driver started the engine and waited as the MP held up a bus and then waved them away.

She giggled as he saluted again.

‘Bill, will you get into trouble for this?’

The driver answered. ‘No miss, they’ll never know. And thank you for the ticket sir – the boys won’t believe me.’

Bill grinned, putting his arm around her shoulders as she snuggled up to him to keep warm.

‘Think nothing of it.’

As they drove slowly out of the town centre through the blacked-out streets, the headlights reduced by masking tape to narrow slits, she leant her head on his shoulder. They didn’t speak, content to be just close.

But when at last they turned into her road she suddenly sat up. ‘Driver, would you stop here.’

As the car drew to a halt a worried Bill said: ‘You OK?’

She nodded. ‘The old witch will be waiting up, listening. This way I can get in and up the stairs before she knows it.’

The driver started to get out to open her door, then found Bill’s eyes in the rear-view mirror which had lit up. There was no doubting the message. He coughed. ‘Do you mind if I step out for a cigarette, sir?’

Bill nodded his thanks. ‘Carry on – five minutes.’

When he’d gone Bill gently placed the palm of his hand on the side of her face and turned her head to him, finding her lips with his own. The kiss was long, the most
passionate
they had ever shared.

Eventually his hand dropped to the outside of her thigh, under her coat which had fallen open. Mary stiffened, felt as if hot blood had surged into her belly. His hand moved higher, pulled tighter so that her hips turned. Her bottom almost left the seat as she was pressed harder against him.
Through the thin material of her dress Mary realized that he was reacting to the feel of her, and she knew that
something
inside her had been set in motion, something which she had never experienced before, something exquisitely unstoppable, unless….

Fear of the unknown made her pull herself free. ‘Sorry, I’ve got to go.’

She started to open the door. Flustered, he jumped out and ran around to her. ‘Mary, I’m sorry. Have I upset you?’

She smiled and placed a hand on his arm. ‘No, there’s nothing to worry about – I promise. It’s been a wonderful evening.’

‘You’ll see me tomorrow?’ he pleaded.

‘Of course, it’s what I want. I’ll come to you.’

‘What time?’

She thought for a second.

‘How about first thing?’

His face broke into a beam.

‘Come early – early as you can.’

She chuckled. ‘I’ll be at your hotel around nine – all right?’

Bill’s smile grew even wider.

‘Great. I’ll be waiting.’

They looked searchingly at each other, their faces caught in the pale light of a half-moon.

In the seconds that elapsed, more was said then than with a thousand words of love. She suddenly went up on her toes, gave him a peck on the cheek, and walked quickly away.

Bill stood looking after her until she was lost in the
shadows
.

In bed, when she’d stopped shivering and warmed up, Mary thought again of the overwhelming, frightening urge she had had in the car – like being on the edge of a precipice.

She shivered again, but this time not with the cold. It took only a second or two for her to realize what she had to do – what she
wanted
to do, but the rest of the night was spent in a restless half-awake, half-asleep torment at the magnitude of what she was thinking; of jumping over the edge into the abyss.

In the morning, when she was dressing, Mary looked down at her body.

Taking a deep breath she realized she was saying farewell to innocence.

Bill was waiting for her on tenter-hooks. Every time the phone rang at reception he tensed up. By 9.30 he was pacing up and down and continually going to the door. Eventually, to his immense relief, he saw her coming up the steps, looking fresh and wholesome and wonderful.

He rushed out to meet her. ‘Hi.’

She paused, smiled up at him. ‘Good morning. Did you sleep all right?’

‘No – you?’

‘No.’

They grinned ruefully at each other, then she became serious.

‘Bill, can we have a coffee? I need to say something – while I’m clear-headed and resolute.’

Anxiety descended on him like a ton weight. ‘What’s the matter?’

Mary suddenly realized from his face that he was suspecting all sorts of things.

‘Oh no – I just need to – well, talk.’

He took a deep breath. ‘Right. Shall we have it here?’

‘No, there’s a place round the corner I use.’

They walked together, not touching, through a street of people in drab, shabby clothing, past a torn poster
exhorting
the populace to ‘Dig for Victory’.

The place she led the way into was a narrow ‘hole in the wall’ with a serving counter, a couple of tables in the back, and a row of stools facing a shelf.

The man operating the big tea-urn gave her a friendly greeting. ‘Morning, miss. The usual?’

She waved her hand in Bill’s direction. ‘Two coffees please, Mr Archer, I’ve got company today.’

As she led the way to one of the wooden tables Bill got the distinct impression that Mr Archer was surprised by his presence – to say the least.

They sat down, said nothing as they waited while the proprietor prepared the coffees. He turned and held them out. Bill started to get up but Mary put her hand on his shoulder as she beat him to it.

‘Let me.’

Bill subsided back into the chair, feeling increasingly uneasy.

With the cups set down on the table he waited.

She took a sip, seemed to be steeling herself.

He could bear it no longer. ‘Well?’

Mary glanced up at him, then away again. She’d been agonizing all night, and had come to a decision.

‘Are we – is this – well for me it seems very special, but for all I know this is just what people experience all the time….’

Bill felt tremendous elation.

It just came out.

‘Mary, I love you.’

She searched his face. Slowly it dawned on her that what he had said was sincere – was really
meant
.

She took a deep breath, let out the air slowly. ‘That’s good. Because I love you so much – and it’s happened so suddenly – so fiercely. I just had to know … had to hear you say it. I was frightened that it was me – I’m not very experienced in these things – well, actually, I’ve had
no
experience at all.’ She hung her head down in
embarrassment
.

Bill leaned forward, kissed her gently on the forehead. ‘I’m glad you did. I’ve been so worried that I was going to make a fool of myself, that you would think I was just another Yank on the make.’

Mary smiled weakly, her hand finding his. ‘I’d
never
think that.’

They drank in silence for nearly a minute, conscious of a turning point, of a new closeness.

He was just about to ask her what she would like to do when Mary swallowed hard and said: ‘Bill?’

‘Yes.’ He wondered what was coming next.

She’d gone red, found it hard to look at him directly. ‘Only if you agree of course, but I’ve a friend …’ She paused, took a deep breath, then finished with a rush … ‘who has a little cottage in the country, miles from anywhere. She’s not using it so I wondered if you’d … if you’d…?’

She couldn’t get it out. Her face seemed to be on fire.

Bill suddenly understood. He set his cup down, found
both her hands and made her turn towards him. To be absolutely sure, concerned that he’d got it wrong, he gently asked: ‘Mary, is that to stay – tonight?’

Silently she nodded. There was no mistaking her intent. He leant forward, kissed her gently on her forehead.

‘I love you.’

She looked down into her lap.

‘I know.’

Relieved but still shaking she brightened up. ‘To get there we bike – that’s if you can ride one?’

He pulled his chin into his chest in a manner, she
realized
, reminiscent of Cary Grant.

‘I practically grew up with a bike between my legs. Lead me to it.’

Mary came right back to her normal efficient self.

‘Good. But first I’ve got some shopping to do. I’ve got my ration book with me.’

Bill was careful. ‘Can I help there?’

Sheepishly, Mary put a hand on his arm. ‘I was being silly last night. Of course you can – but we’d better get started, there will be queues at the butcher’s by now.’

‘Queues – what are they?’

Not sure whether she was having her leg pulled she prompted: ‘Outside shops and cinemas. You must have seen them?’

Enlightenment dawned. ‘Ah, standing in line, taking your turn. Right.’ He frowned. ‘How say we go to my sources first – see what they can do?’ He tempted her with: ‘Might save time?’

She relented, grinned. ‘All right.’

They finished their coffee and stood up.

He waited as she pulled her coat back on, helping her find her sleeve. She found his attention very nice, very comforting.

She turned and said: ‘Thank you.’

When she’d picked up her bag he said: ‘Mary.’

She paused, looked up at him questioningly. ‘Yes?’

He took her face in his hands and very very gently kissed her on the lips.

‘Lest there be any doubt.’

A couple of hours later they were clear of Cambridge, cycling along a lane, sometimes holding hands, wobbling along, once nearly going into each other as two Mosquitoes passed hedge-high, the sudden deafening roar of their engines gone as quickly as it had come.

They arrived at a crossroads and dismounted.

‘Which way?’ he asked as Mary looked uncertainly in all directions. Half-turning the front wheel to the right she said: ‘I think we go – this way.’

‘You don’t sound too sure. Don’t they signpost anything around here?’

She spun her pedal around backwards until it was in the right position to push off. ‘They were all taken down during the invasion scare.’

Suddenly she nodded to a track that ran off the lane into a wood. She seemed to make up her mind.

‘Come on, that’s it.’

As she sped off he followed, wobbling with the weight of his pannier bags.

‘Hey, hang on, wait for me.’

Giggling she raced ahead and turned down the track. Almost immediately her front wheel caught in a rut. She screamed as she went over the handlebars and into a hedge. Bill caught up, laying his bike on the ground and rushing over to her all in one non-stop motion.

Concerned, he knelt beside her. ‘Are you hurt?’

Mary rolled on to her back, got her breath back and looked up at him. ‘No – just my pride.’

He grinned his relief, and tweaked her nose. ‘Serves you right, leaving me behind.’

He stood up, held out his hands. ‘Come on, I’m dying to see this cottage.’

He put a foot either side of her and hauled her to her feet, then helped her brush off twigs and mud. Mary smacked his hand away as he paid too much attention to her bottom. ‘That’s enough, thank
you.’

Grinning, he retrieved her bicycle, checked it out,
standing
with both legs either side of the front wheel as he straightened the handlebars.

Mary picked up the spilled contents of her wicker basket.

They resumed their journey but not quite so fast. Another quarter of a mile along the track widened, the wood ended, and there was a thatched cottage with a pond and ducks. From a gate a gravelled path led to the oak front door.

Mary looked at the sign, half buried in the hedgerow and read it aloud: ‘Keeper’s Cottage – that’s it.’

He looked around and whistled. ‘Hey, this is great.’

Mary nodded. ‘It’s very picturesque, I must say.’

They leant their bikes against the fence and opened the gate. It gave a creak.

Under the porch Mary lifted a flower-pot and produced an old iron key. The lock turned easily but she could not budge the door. Bill leant over her and pushed with the flat of his hand. It flew open.

They stepped into a low-beamed room with, on the far side, french windows, beyond which they could see a small paved terrace with a white iron table and two chairs.

There was a brick fireplace, and opposite it a glass
twenties
-style cocktail cabinet tucked in under a dog-leg staircase. A sofa and two chairs were grouped around the hearth, and a floor-standing wireless and gramophone was under the little lattice window beside them.

A steady clunk-clunk came from a grandfather clock.

Enchanted, Bill took a step forward.

‘Say, this is swell –
ouch
!’

His head connected with a heavy oak beam.

Mary winced and went to him. ‘You all right? You Americans are so tall.’

‘It hurts.’ He rubbed the spot.

Mary lifted her hands to his head. ‘Let me see.’

She gave it a rub and a peck.

‘You’ll live.’

He brought in the string shopping-bags of food and cartons of cans to Mary, who had opened the french doors to air the room, and was now in the very basic kitchen, looking into the scullery beyond with its boiler and mangle. She shut the door firmly on them. ‘Well, I’m
not
going to use that room this visit.’

When he returned with her weekend case and his bag, and set them down at the foot of the stairs, she was on her knees at the grate, filling it with tightly rolled nuggets of twisted newspaper, topped with some kindling.

He strode to her, seized her around the waist and lifted her away. In a mock Red Indian voice he said: ‘Making fire –
man’s
work.’

Mary gave him a box of Swan Vestas along with a pained look. ‘Right Big Chief – carry on. I’ll get the kitchen straightened out.’

Bill lit a match – set it to the paper. It took very slowly then seemed to go out. He tried somewhere else, the paper charring but never bursting into flame. He was still
concentrating
on it when the heat from the burnt out match reached his skin.

‘Ouch.’ He shook his hand vigorously to fan it cool.

Mary, in the kitchen giggled at the yell and took a peek.

He lit another one, tried somewhere else, with only marginally better results. It slowly smoked. He called out: ‘This is never going to work. There’s no draught.’

Mary made a face, closed a cupboard and returned to the sitting-room.

She shook her head pityingly. ‘Don’t you have open fires in America, Sitting Bull? Here – give me one of those.’

He passed her a newspaper. Mary opened it out. ‘Move aside.’

Bill got out of the way as she spread it over the mouth of the fireplace, pinning it at the top corners and holding it in the middle of the bottom edge with her foot.

She spoke over her shoulder. ‘This is what you do.’

Immediately a draught started up the chimney, sucking the paper inwards so that she had to hold it tightly.

Bill saw the roaring glow that shone through the paper.

‘Hey, that’s brilliant.’

She jerked her head in his direction.

‘Come and take over.’

He crouched over her, taking the corners first, then getting his foot next to hers to replace it as she ducked away.

Mary made for the stairs, picked up her weekend case and climbed the twisting steps. It was dark at the top. She opened a wooden door with its latch, to be confronted by a small bathroom. The iron bath on claws and balls was water-stained, the taps corroded. She tried one. It wouldn’t turn. The other did, but nothing came out of it. She frowned, turned her attention to the wash bowl. Ice-cold water roared from one tap and trickled out of the other.

There was only one other door on the tiny landing. She opened it. Apart from a very small oak wardrobe and a kidney-shaped dressing-table, a large double bed filled most of the room. It was covered in a padded eiderdown, and had a dark, brooding headboard of carved mahogany.

Mary stared at it, feeling suddenly weak at the knees. This was where….

It
would happen.

She put her case down, and tentatively sat on the edge of the bed. The springs gave such a groan that her nerves overcame her and she fled.

As she came hurriedly down the stairs he turned in consternation to look at her. She paused, hand to her throat.

But before he could say anything, she suddenly started to laugh.

Bill frowned. ‘Hey! What’s so funny?’

She pointed at him, but he had already started to feel the heat. He spun around and yelled as his hands were caught in the fireball that had been the paper. Bill jumped around, stamping at the fiery remnants.

Mary suppressed her chuckles and nodded at the roaring fire in the grate. ‘Well, you certainly got that going.’

Later, in the kitchen, after a cup of tea, they prepared the vegetables for the evening meal. When everything was done Mary wiped down the table.

‘Right, that’s finished. What do you want to do now?’

Bill put an arm each side of her, and gripped the table, trapping her against it.

‘How about this?’

He found her lips with his own. Mary responded, her hands sliding up his back.

After a while she broke off, and gently pushed him away. ‘Bill, let’s go for a walk before it gets dark.’

He smiled.

‘Sure. It’s beautiful around here.’

She wrapped a thick country coat around her, which she had found on a hook on the back door and they set off, feet crunching on the gravel until they reached the track. She led the way, nimbly climbing a stile.

Tentatively he broke the quiet that had descended on them. ‘It’s a lovely evening.’

She slipped her arm through his and squeezed, which
made him feel better.

‘Yes.’

He grinned down at her. ‘Feels good – like we’re an old married couple.’