Death Is in the Air (15 page)

Polly watched them for a while, forgetting her worries about Sam in the sheer enjoyment of watching her big sister make a proper fool of herself out there.

Marlene looked stiff and awkward as she tried her best
to keep up with the Yank, who seemed to be made of rubber the way he was twisting and twirling all around the floor. He spun her around a few times, until she looked really giddy, then grabbed her hands and swung her between his feet.

Polly caught her breath when Marlene, instead of hanging on to her partner’s hands, let go instead. She skidded across the floor on her bottom and crashed into another couple. The girl was in midair at the time. Her partner caught her awkwardly, breaking her fall before they both landed in a heap on top of Marlene. Polly thought she was going to die from laughing.

Marlene’s face was the color of a beetroot when she scrambled to her feet, tugging her skirt back down over her knees. She started to walk away from the Yank, but he pulled her back into his arms and started jitterbugging again all around the floor, with Marlene hanging on like grim death. Polly had to go and sit down before she wet her drawers laughing at her.

Half an hour later she wasn’t laughing at all. By then Marlene had got the hang of the dancing and seemed to be having a really good time with her Yank, who hadn’t left her side for a moment.

Polly sat staring at the door, fear looming like a cold dark cloud inside her.
Sam still hadn’t come.
Although she’d fought hard against the thought, the unthinkable now seemed frighteningly possible.
Maybe this time Sam wasn’t coming back at all.

“These Cornish pasties are marvelous!” Elizabeth exclaimed after she’d bitten into the savory pastry. “What a treat.”

Standing behind the refreshment table, Violet’s face looked sour. “I could bake stuff like this if I didn’t have to worry about rationing and that’s all I had to do all day.”

“I’m sure you could, Violet,” Elizabeth hastened to reassure her. “Your trifle is beyond compare.”

Violet’s scowl vanished. “Well, thank you, Liz—” She caught herself just in time and, after giving the woman next to her a swift glance, added lamely, “Your ladyship.”

Nellie Smith seemed oblivious to anything except the line of American airmen clamoring to buy the sandwiches and pastries piled up in front of her. Behind her, one of Bessie’s assistants stood frying fat, juicy sausages over a camp stove, while a pan of fried onions sizzled next to them. Elizabeth moved away from the enticing aroma before she was tempted to sample the fat-laden food.

The noise in the main hall was deafening. Captain Carbunkle had turned up the volume to an ear-splitting roar, and everyone on the dance floor yelled to be heard above the blaring of trumpets and the pounding of drums. Heads bobbed up and down, feet swung in the air, hands were flung in every direction, and the vibration of stomping feet shook the floorboards.

Elizabeth, overwhelmed by all the raucous activity, decided to get a breath of fresh air. On her way out she scanned the floor, searching for a familiar square-cut face with sun-bleached brown hair. Determined not to give in to the fear that hovered inside her, she strode to the main doors and pulled them open.

Cigarette smoke escaped above her head in a billowing cloud. She took in several deep breaths of the cool, fresh night air then closed the doors behind her, shutting out the noise. With the ensuing silence came the terror she’d tried so hard to ignore.

Something had happened to him.
She was sure of that now. It shouldn’t hurt so much, but it did. She had no right to feel this way about another woman’s husband, but sometimes a heart wouldn’t listen to reason, and hers seemed set on turning a deaf ear to common sense and decency.

If she wasn’t so miserable, she could laugh at herself for being such a fool. After the fiasco of her marriage
to Harry, the very last thing she’d ever imagined doing was falling for another man. That would have been crazy enough. She hadn’t been content with that. Oh, no, not Lady Elizabeth Hartleigh Compton. She’d had to break all the rules. She’d made the fatal mistake of falling for a man who was so far out of reach he might just as well be on the moon.

For a moment or two she allowed herself to wallow in self-pity. Then she pulled herself together. She was a Hartleigh, after all. Stiff upper lip and all that. Her attraction to Major Earl Monroe had been nothing more than an immature fascination for the unconventional, the inevitable lure of a uniform, and the appeal of a foreign lifestyle so different from her own. What woman hadn’t been led astray by such enticements at some time or other in her life?

After all, what had she really lost? One couldn’t lose that which one never had, and there were many thousands of women who had lost so much more. She had absolutely no right to go moping about feeling sorry for herself. Violet would be furious with her if she had any idea of her ridiculous and childish behavior.

Thus fortified, albeit with a heavy heart, Elizabeth squared her shoulders, shoved open the doors, and marched back into the thundering fray.

She noticed this time that the room had become sharply divided. On the one side, the Americans sat at the tables, either in groups or alone with a girl, while the rest of them jiggled around on the dance floor.

On the opposite side of the room, the British soldiers leaned against the wall, watching the dancing with bored expressions, or stood in groups muttering amongst each other.

It was those groups that worried Elizabeth the most. Even from that distance she could tell that the soldiers were not at all happy. A couple of them were making angry gestures and shaking their heads, while others scowled at the dancers on the floor.

It wasn’t hard to understand why they were upset. With the exception of two or three women, all of whom looked old enough to be mothers of the uniformed men, the rest of the female assembly were either clinging to the arms of the Americans or flying over their backs.

It was time, Elizabeth decided, to get the two sides together before they were at each other’s throats.

She headed for the stage, where Wally Carbunkle was busily sorting out records. “I think it’s time for a break,” she told him as she clambered up beside him. “See if you can find Priscilla. Tell her I need her to play the piano for a short while. I think I saw her over by the bar.”

“I’ll get her, your ladyship.” Wally, looking very spiffy in a white shirt and red waistcoat, trotted off to find Priscilla.

Elizabeth stepped up to the microphone and looked down at the upturned faces of the dancers, most of whom looked disgruntled at being interrupted in their war dances. Undaunted, Elizabeth cleared her throat. “I think it’s time we got everyone on the floor for a round of country dancing,” she announced into the round, black mouth of the microphone.

Her words were met with a chorus of groans from the women, while the Americans looked at each other in confusion. A babble of voices arose from the floor while the women explained the art of English country dancing.

Sensing the lack of enthusiasm, Elizabeth tried again. “How about a Lambeth Walk?”

More mutters of explanation. The Americans merely looked horrified.

“Hands, Knees and Bumps a Daisy?”

This time the explanations were accompanied by half-hearted demonstrations from the abashed-looking women. Howls of laughter erupted from the men on the floor.

Elizabeth had to admit they did look rather ridiculous, slapping hands and bumping behinds. She made one last
appeal. “All right, we’ll play a slow song and make it a lady’s invitation dance. Marlene Barnett, you start off by picking your partner, then when the music ceases, you each find another partner, and so on until everyone is dancing.”

This announcement was met with a rumbling of grudging approval. Smelling victory, Elizabeth urgently beckoned to Wally Carbunkle, who was still hunting for Priscilla. He came back at a bumbling run and, panting for breath, climbed onto the stage.

“Don’t you worry, Lady Elizabeth, I’ll take care of it,” he assured her.

She waited until the first strains of Frank Sinatra’s clear, mellow voice filled the hall then thankfully left the stage. She’d done her best to integrate the crowd. Now she could only hope for the best.

Watching the dancers from the edge of the floor, she couldn’t stop the ache growing in her heart. Couples danced cheek to cheek, shuffling around no more than an inch at a time.
Amazing,
she thought. She’d been fascinated by the way the Americans danced much livelier and faster than their British counterparts, and now they were dancing closer and much more slowly than she was used to seeing.

In fact, in view of the fact they were so closely entwined with their partners, the Americans’ idea of a slow dance was quite sensual.
How marvelous it would have been to have danced with Earl Monroe that way.

Even as she struggled to repress the thought, her attention was caught by a small disruption by the main doors. A group of American officers had entered, and Elizabeth was intrigued to see Polly Barnett rush up to one of them and throw her arms around his neck.

Then her heart seemed to stop when another of the officers broke away from the group and began walking unsteadily toward her. He was limping, she noticed, and he wore a piece of sticking plaster on his forehead. He
looked incredibly weary . . . and unbelievably handsome.

He paused in front of her and held out his hand. “Sorry I’m late. I believe this is our dance.”

Speechless and embarrassingly close to tears, Elizabeth smiled up into the tired face of Major Earl Monroe.

CHAPTER
15

Suddenly the chattering and laughter in the ballroom seemed to ebb away as Elizabeth took Earl’s hand, leaving only the soothing voice of Frank Sinatra to entice her onto the dance floor.

“You’re limping,” she said as he led her into the midst of the smooching couples.

“We had a little problem on the way back this morning.”

“Won’t it hurt you to dance?”

“I’ll manage. Just don’t ask me to jitterbug.”

“Don’t worry. I have no intention of breaking my neck for anyone.” She glanced over to the group at the door. All of them appeared to have bandages of some kind, and one of them leaned on a cane. “What happened?”

“We caught some flak. Crippled the plane, but we
made it back close enough to land in a field. Took us a while to hitch a ride back to base.”

Filled with concern, she looked up at him. His mouth was smiling, but the bleakness in his eyes frightened her. “That’s a little problem?”

“We made it down in one piece. Better than ditching in the ocean.”

“You shouldn’t have bothered coming down here tonight. You must feel awful.”

“I wouldn’t have missed it for the world.”

Her heart seemed to turn over. “I’m so glad you made it back.” Such simple words that couldn’t convey the gratitude she felt that he had been spared. This time.

“So am I.” His gaze flicked over her. “Nice dress.”

“Thank you.” She had been right. Dancing this close with Earl Monroe was an interesting—no, captivating—experience. She felt quite light-headed.

She saw the other couples nuzzling each other and wanted so much to touch his cheek with hers. She had to remind herself sternly that he belonged to another woman. In an effort to reinforce that, she said deliberately, “Your wife will be very relieved to know you are safe.”

His face was expressionless when he answered her. “Yeah, I guess so.”

“Do you have children?”

“Two. Boy and a girl.”

“They must all miss you very much. It’s hard for children to be without their father.”

“Yeah, well, they’re almost grown up now. Brad’s sixteen, and Marcia’s a year older.”

She looked at him in surprise. “You must have been very young when you had them.”

“Right out of high school.” He inclined his head in the direction of the stage. “Good music. Sinatra’s a favorite of mine.”

“Mine, too.” Aware that he’d deliberately changed the
subject, she told him about the rest of Bessie’s collection of records. Obviously it was painful for him to talk about his family.
He must miss them very much
, she thought, and chided herself for the deep pang of envy she felt.

The song ended much too soon, and she walked with him off the floor, wishing it could have gone on forever.

He said something to her, but the band music drowned out his words. She was about to ask him to repeat them when the sound of a disturbance over at the bar caught her attention.

A British soldier appeared to be arguing with an American, while a young woman attempted to get between them. Elizabeth recognized Lilly Crumm just as the soldier swung a punch at the other man’s face. The American immediately retaliated and knocked the soldier to the ground.

It seemed to Elizabeth as if everyone in the room had been waiting for that moment. The tension had been building all night, and now all hell broke loose. Rita Crumm appeared from nowhere and dragged her daughter out of the way as British soldiers, American airmen, and too many women surged onto the floor. Fists began to fly, voices cursed, yelled, and screamed, while somewhere in the background someone was blowing on a whistle, barely heard above the racket.

Elizabeth signaled to Wally to turn off the music, since no one was listening to it anyway. Earl seemed to have disappeared, and she went up on her toes to scan the room for a sight of him. As she did so, a glass tankard sailed past her head, narrowly missing her. Someone bumped into her back, sending her forward into the flailing arms and kicking feet.

A painful blow on the shin made her cry out, and she twisted out of the way as a couple of men locked in mortal combat lurched past her. A pair of strong arms locked around her from behind, and terrified now, she struggled to release herself.

“Come on,” Earl’s voice said in her ear. “Let’s get out of here.”

Weak with relief, she let him guide her through the struggling bodies until they were at the edge of the crowd.

He put his mouth close to her ear again and asked, “Is there another way out of here?”

She pointed to a door tucked away in the corner behind the stage. Immediately he grabbed her hand and stumbled unevenly toward the door, dragging her behind him. They reached it safely, just as the shrill sound of whistles echoed throughout the ballroom.

“M.P.’s,” Earl said, and pushed her through the door into the dark passageway beyond. “That will be trouble for the guys.”

She didn’t answer him until they were through the narrow passageway and out into the main foyer. Then she said with a sigh, “Well, that was a disaster.”

He looked sympathetic. “I hate to say I told you so. . .”

“I know. Obviously this integration thing is going to take a lot more work. I’ll simply have to come up with something else.”

Inexplicably he gave a shout of laughter. “Lady Elizabeth,” he said, still chuckling, “you are priceless! I like your spirit. Reminds me of the pioneers.”

She would never know what prompted her to utter her next words. Maybe it was the approval in his eyes. Or the relief of seeing him back safe and sound from a near disaster. It could well have been all the excitement of being in the middle of a brawl. Or perhaps the two glasses of sherry she’d consumed while worrying about him. Whatever the cause, the words popped out of her mouth before she could stop them. “Please, Earl, do call me Lizzie.”

Polly had been in the middle of the dance floor when the fight erupted. Sam had been wonderful, shielding her
with his body as he swept her away from the brawling servicemen. She’d looked for Marlene but couldn’t find her in all the confusion. Now she stood shivering outside the town hall, watching people stream down the steps.

“I hope she’s all right,” she told Sam. “Ma will never forgive me if something happens to her. We’re supposed to watch out for each other.”

Sam tightened his arm around her. “You can’t be responsible for what she does. She’s a big girl.”

Polly looked at him in surprise. “Not that big. She’s not as skinny as me but—” She broke off when Sam laughed.

“Not big in that way, though I guess she is built real nice, now that I think about it.”

“Here, watch it!” Polly punched him in the arm. “Don’t you go looking at my sister like that.”

Sam dropped a kiss on her nose. “No need to worry, honey. I only have eyes for you.” He started to sing softly, chasing away her doubts.

She couldn’t stop worrying about Marlene, though, and kept her gaze fixed anxiously on the doors.

“She’ll be okay,” Sam said after a while. “She’s almost your age. Not like she’s a young kid or anything.”

Polly felt a pang of guilt. What would he say if he knew she wasn’t sixteen yet? She had to tell him some time. But not yet. Not until she knew for sure that he was well and truly hooked.

“I’m hungry,” she said to take his mind off the subject of age. “Wish I’d had a couple of those bangers when I had the chance.”

Sam stared at her. “Bangers?”

She grinned. “Bangers and fried onions. You know, sausages.”

“Oh, you mean the hot dogs. They were swell!”

“Hot dogs? Is that what you call them?”

“Sure. Wiener in a bun. Everyone eats them at ball games. No fried onions—just relish and mustard.”

She burst out laughing. “Don’t say that around here,”
she said when she could breathe again. “People will think you’re talking about something else.”

“Say what?”

“Wiener.”Again she exploded into laughter. “I can’t tell you what it means. Just don’t say it.”

“Oh, I get it. Like when you say keep your pecker up.”

She stopped laughing. “So what’s wrong with that? It just means keep smiling, that’s all.”

Sam grinned. “Not where I come from.”

“Really?” Polly frowned. “Looks like we talk a different language after all.”

“You’d better believe it.” Sam squeezed her shoulders. “Isn’t that your sister coming down the steps now?”

“Yes, it is,” Polly said in relief, then she gasped.

Marlene’s normally immaculate hair was in a tangle all over her head, and one sleeve of her dress was torn. As she got closer, Polly could see an angry-looking scratch down one side of her face.

“What on earth happened to you?” she cried out as her sister reached her side.

The Yank with her, the one who’d been dancing with her all night, spoke first. “Eh, she’s okay. Some prick took a swing at me, Marlene here jumped in, and his girlfriend tried to scratch her eyes out. Took two of us to pry ’em apart.”

“I got the better of her,” Marlene declared, though she looked ready to cry.

“We’d better get home,” Polly said nervously. “Ma’s going to be really upset when she sees that scratch on your face.”

“It’s too early to go home yet.” Marlene’s friend looked at his watch. “The night is still young. Let’s go find a club where we can get a drink.”

Polly laughed. “There aren’t no clubs around here. Only the pub, and that shut at eleven.”

“Eleven?” The Yank’s black eyebrows rose in his
forehead. “What kind of time is that to close down? Don’t they know there’s a bunch of guys here looking for a drink?”

“I reckon you’ve all had enough to drink, Tony,” Sam said, slapping the other man on the shoulder. “Why don’t you take your girl home and call it a night?”

“Yeah, Tony,” Marlene said, touching the ugly scratch with her fingers. “I want to go home now.”

“Okay, sweetheart, anything you say.” Tony winked at Polly. “See you later, babe.” He slung an arm around Marlene’s shoulders. “Where do we get a cab?”

Sam sighed. “This isn’t New York, Tony. No cabs. You’ll either have to take one of the Jeeps or hoof it.”

Tony looked put out. “Okay, sugar, let’s see if we can grab a Jeep before the rest of those bozos get out here.” He looked at Sam. “You wanna come along with us?”

“Nope. Reckon we’ll just mosey on along behind you.”

“Okay. I’ll wait after I drop Marlene off at the house and give you a ride back to base.”

Sam grinned. “Take your time, buddy.”

Tony’s smile was wicked. “I plan to. See ya!”

Polly watched them leave, still feeling worried about Marlene. She seemed too quiet. Not at all like herself. “Do you know him?” she asked Sam as they started walking down the High Street.

“Who, Tony? Yeah, I guess I do. He’s okay. Gets a little wild now and again, but he’s a good guy. Your sis’ll be okay with him.”

“I hope so.” She thought about it for a moment then said, “He’s got a funny accent.”

“He’s a New Yorker.”

“He talks too fast, and it’s hard to understand what he’s saying.”

Sam laughed. “Most of the guys say the same about you gals.”