The Last Embrace (22 page)

Later, I awakened, feeling the familiar yet strangely intimate warmth against my side. I had not planned to fall asleep. I rolled over, bits of sunlight streaming through the blackout curtains. Warmth enveloped me as I studied him. I had seen Charlie sleep before, napping on the Connallys' couch as the breeze blew the curtains through the open window. Then his face had been peaceful. But now he wrestled in his sleep, fighting an enemy unseen. I reached for his shoulder and he calmed beneath my touch. Perhaps it was a battle I could help him win.

I rummaged in my purse for a scrap of paper and something to write with.
Going to my flat to freshen up. Meet you at the chapel at ten.
I set the note on the nightstand, then took one last look at Charlie, fighting the urge to lie down beside him once more. I had to go now, but in just a few hours we would be married. I blew him a kiss.

In his sleep, he smiled.

I slipped from the soldiers' hotel and started to make my way west toward Hyde Park and my flat, conscious of my evening dress that stood out among the morning commuters. Excitement surged through me, quickening my step. Today was my wedding day. I would take Charlie's last name, really become one of them. I tried it on for size: Adelia Connally. Meet him at the chapel at ten, he had said. Darker thoughts intruded then: I would have to send word to Teddy that I would be late to work again. I would not tell him why, of course, until after. He would be crushed. Would he even go so far as to fire me?

Brushing away my worries, I walked onward. The air was fresh and warmed by the spring sun and a few faint buds had begun to sprout on the bushes that lined the park. I paused at the newsstand at the corner to pick up a copy of the
Times
. Teddy and I wired our stories to be filed in Washington thousands of miles away; we seldom saw the finished product and only then weeks or months later.
AIR RAID WORST SINCE BLITZ
read the headline. It was hard to believe that just hours earlier, we'd been caught in the bombing. The raid, the story said, had been worst south of the river. My breath caught, thinking of the orphanage. How had Leo and the other children at the orphanage fared? I had to know. The clock over the hotel at the corner read 7:10. Still more than two hours to get back to Charlie. Impulsively, I walked to the taxi stand at the corner and gave the address of the orphanage.

The cab wound through the streets of Belgravia, past the still-posh shops and Georgian houses that were well-tended even amidst the wreckage. Sitting alone on the wide taxi seat, I could not help but remember Charlie and the ride we had shared the previous evening. I grew warm, thinking of his hands all the places they should not have been. I had let things go further than they should have—much further. But it would not matter now that we were getting married.

As we neared the river, the memories vanished. The morning sky over South London was dark gray, streaked with pink. A thick cloud of smoke from the previous night's raid seemed to smolder, as if something was still burning. The cab made its way painstakingly across the bridge in thick traffic, then drove east along the river. At the corner a woman sat upon the tall heap of rubble that had once been her house, not seeming to notice the blood that ran down her cheek. Beside her on the ground lay two bodies covered with blankets, one unmistakably small. My throat tightened.

We stopped once more, blocked by a snarl of buses ahead. “I'll get out here,” I said, unable to stand it any longer. I paid the driver and leapt from the cab, running in the direction of the orphanage.

I reached Theed Street and exhaled with relief. Though there was a giant crater in the street and a lorry turned on its side, the house where the children lived stood intact. I paused to catch my breath in front of a bakery that was just opening despite its shattered front window. Then I went inside and used two of my ration cards to buy two loaves still warm from the oven.

Sister Jayne answered when I knocked at the orphanage. “Oh, hello,” she said, looking surprised.

“I hope it's not too early.”

She wiped her hands on her apron, then gave an airy wave. “Nonsense. With this many children, we never close.” But I could see her eyeing my wrinkled evening dress questioningly. “Come in.”

I handed her the bread and followed her inside. The wide house with its high, cracked plaster ceilings was chilly, even in late spring. “Too expensive to heat in winter,” I could hear Aunt Bess say. The boys and girls were seated around two long, worn wooden tables, somberly eating bowls of porridge. Leo was at the far end of one. I raised my hand. He didn't smile, though I thought his eyes showed recognition. The children watched with anticipation as Sister Jayne cut and handed out slices of bread thin enough to go around. She did not keep any for herself. I waved off the piece she offered me, then immediately regretted not taking it to slip to Leo. What these children really needed was not just bread, but a rasher of bacon or bit of sausage to bring some color back to their cheeks and put a bit of meat on their bones.

“We do what we can for food,” Sister Jayne said, sensing my thoughts. “But we don't have an icebox so it needs to be nonperishable, or eaten quickly.”

I followed her to the sink where she resumed rinsing dishes. “I worried about how you'd fared with the bombings last night.”

“We were fine. It's difficult calming so many terrified little ones. But we were spared any real damage.” She gestured for me to follow her away from the children and up the stairs. She opened a door to a room, giving me a tour though I had not asked.

“They sleep here.” There were no beds, just thin straw mattresses on the floor, ten to a room where there should have been four or less, blankets not more than pieces of burlap. “Or in the cellar when there's a raid.”

“That can't be easy. Is it just you?”

“There's another sister who comes down weekends when she's able. We're managing. Keeping them in a routine, that's the most important part.”

But as she closed the door and started back down the stairs, Sister Jayne's face remained creased, without any sign of relief. “I'm afraid there are other problems, though.”

“Oh?”

“We received word yesterday that the government has denied our request for additional visas for the children.”

“That's awful.” My heart sunk as I pictured a girl version of Leo, stranded somewhere dark and ominous. “How can they do such a thing?”

“They don't want more homeless children in London. They say there aren't enough resources to care for the ones we've got without an individual sponsor for each.”

I stopped at the entranceway to the kitchen. “Is there any sort of appeal process?”

“No. The policy isn't likely to change any time soon. And we don't have time. The children that were left behind are in a dreadful spot close to the coast. If they aren't relocated soon, they'll be taken by the Germans, or caught in the fighting.” Her eyes filled with tears. She brushed them back. “We've saved this lot and that's something.”

Not to him, it isn't
, I thought, looking at Leo who finished his bread, unaware. He had lost his whole family, except for the sister that could still be saved.

“I've contacted colleagues of mine in Canada to see if they can take some children,” Sister Jayne said. But even if they could save the others that way, Leo and his sister would be an ocean apart. “I'm sure something will work out,” she added without conviction.

The children were finishing their breakfast now and clearing their dishes. “Well, thank you for showing me around. I must be going,” I said, remembering Charlie.

“Thank you for the bread—and for checking on us.” I started back toward the river, my footsteps heavy. Dark clouds had formed, blanketing the sky that had just been so bright. I'd found the children safe from the bombing, but was more worried than ever about those who had been left behind, especially Leo's sister. There had to be a way to help.

I ducked into the red phone booth at the corner, pulled some coins from my purse and dialed Claire, one of the few people I knew who actually had a phone in her flat. But there was no answer. Perhaps she had found Lord Raddingley at the fete after all. I should have said something about seeing him with another woman. Bile rose in my throat at the thought of the jerk who didn't deserve her.

Pushing it down, I dialed again, this time the news bureau. “Hallo,” Teddy's familiar voice greeted, answering his own line because he was the only one in yet. “White speaking.” He was always in the office at dawn, not needing more than a few hours' sleep.

“Teddy, it's me.”

“Adelia, is everything all right?” His voice was alert, filled with concern. It was not like me to ring.

“I'm fine.” I swallowed. It seemed unfair, asking him for help right as I was about to marry Charlie. But I wasn't asking for me. “But remember the group of orphans I told you about?”

“Of course, that little chap you rescued, Leo.” Teddy had a great head for names.

“Some of them, including Leo's sister, are stuck in northern France, and can't get papers. Their visas have been denied.”

“Dreadful.”

I licked my lips. “Do you think there's anything to be done?”

There was silence on the other end of the line. I held my breath, waiting for him to tell me it was impossible. “I've got an old classmate from Magdalen who heads Immigration.” I exhaled slightly. Teddy knew everyone. “No promises, but I'll try.” It was no small thing I was asking, but he did not want to let me down.

“Thank you.”

There was a moment's silence and I could hear him wondering about the previous evening, where I had gone after leaving the Savoy. “You'll be in?”

I knew I should tell him that I would be late, but I could not bear to tell him why—not until it was done. “Yes. See you soon.” I set down the receiver. Teddy would try, and that was better than nothing.

Rain had begun to fall heavily, a sudden morning shower. I hesitated, looking uncertainly in the direction of the river. I needed to get back home quickly and change, but did not have enough money for another cab. I ran to the corner and ducked into the underground station. I hurried down the escalator onto the platform, which was three deep with passengers, crowded even for the morning commute. There was an impatience in the air that suggested travelers had been waiting for a while.

But after only a minute, a train rumbled into the station and we jostled aboard. I stood, pressed closer than was comfortable between an older suited man and a woman holding a miniature poodle. As the train began to move, Charlie appeared in my mind. Today was my wedding day. Was this really happening? I was suddenly light-headed. A quick trip back to my flat to change, then off to meet him. I mentally inventoried my few dresses, none of which seemed quite right, even for standing up in front of a chaplain. It should have been so much different. Somewhere familiar, the Connallys' shore house perhaps, with both of our families present. But that world no longer existed. I wrapped my arms around myself. At least we were both here and together.

The train slammed suddenly to a halt, wheels grinding with an awful screech. I grabbed the pole to stop myself from falling. Women cried out and the poodle scrambled in its owner's arms, paws scratching me as it tumbled to the ground. The lights in the car went out, pitching us into total darkness. Around me there were groans and whispered swearing, the failings of London transport all too familiar.

Several minutes passed, the smell of perspiration and cheap perfume seeming to intensify by the second. I drummed my fingers against the pole impatiently. I wanted time to wash and dress, to make myself look as pretty as possible for this most special of days. I seldom took the underground and it had not occurred to me that I might get stuck. I exhaled, willed myself to be calm. Surely we would move soon.

But we did not. Though I could not see a clock I could feel the passage of time, twenty minutes, then thirty, like water dropping slowly from a leaky cup. People suggested theories to one another in low voices or into the air in front of them: mechanical trouble, a broken track ahead.

I leaned against the pole. Others, weary of standing, dropped to the floor of the train car. There came a distant rumbling. The poodle whimpered from below. Voices grew louder and more frantic: what was happening? I tensed, fear mingling with my urgency. Daytime air raids were rare, but they had happened. My skin grew moist in the too-warm air. I had left just enough time to get to the orphanage and back to change and meet Charlie. But it had to be at least nine o'clock now.

Finally the lights came back on and the train started moving again. There was a smattering of applause. I relaxed slightly. I could still make it. Then the train stopped once more. Though the lights remained on, we did not move. The minutes ticked on endlessly. A man produced a screwdriver and tried to pry open one of the doors, to no avail. Someone else suggested breaking a window. But even if we could free ourselves from the stuck car, the tunnel around us was dark and close, nowhere near a station. We were trapped.

“A breakdown ahead,” came a whisper, passed down through the car, though whether it was from an authoritative source, I could not tell. The thought, even if true, was of little consolation. I had no idea how long something like this might last. I had to get to Charlie.
Please
, I prayed silently,
not today of all days.
He would be waiting for me at the chapel.

And I was going to miss him.

But still we sat, not moving. I imagined Charlie in his freshly pressed uniform, wearing a curiously twisted expression as he told himself that I would not stand him up a second time. This could not be happening. I willed him to somehow know that I would be coming, and that nothing would keep me from him this time.