He gave her a look of awe, and then smiled and shook his head. “‘It was the lark,’” he said regretfully. “Or worse, the chimes at midnight,” and let go of her hands.
“Oh, my, Sir Godfrey, you were so affecting,” Miss Laburnum said, crowding up to him with Miss Hibbard and Mrs. Wyvern.
“We are but poor players,” he said, gesturing to include Polly, but they ignored her.
“You were really good, Sir Godfrey,” Lila said.
“Even better than Leslie Howard,” Viv put in.
“Simply mesmerizing,” Mrs. Wyvern said.
Mesmerizing is right, Polly thought, putting on her coat and gathering up her bag and the newspaper-covered hymnal. He made me forget all about practicing my wrapping. She glanced at her watch, hoping the all clear had gone early, but it was half past six. It is the lark, she thought, feeling like Cinderella, and I’ve got to go home and wash out my blouse.
“I do hope you’ll grace us with another performance tomorrow night, Sir Godfrey,” Miss Laburnum was saying.
“Miss Sebastian!” Sir Godfrey extricated himself from his admiring crowd and hurried over to her. “I wished to thank you for knowing your lines-something my leading ladies scarcely ever do. Tell me, have you ever considered a career in the theater?”
“Oh, no, sir. I’m only a shopgirl.”
“Hardly,” he said. “‘Thou art the goddess on whom these airs attend, a paragon, a wonder.’”
“‘No wonder, sir, but certainly a maid,’” she quoted, and he shook his head ruefully.
“A maid, indeed, and were I forty years younger, I would be your leading man,” he said, leaning toward her, “and you would not be safe.”
I don’t doubt that for a moment, she thought. He must have been truly dangerous when he was thirty, and thought suddenly of Colin, saying, “I can shoot for any age you like. I mean, not seventy, but I’m willing to do thirty.”
“Oh, Sir Godfrey,” Miss Laburnum said, coming up. “Next time could you do something from one of Sir James Barrie’s plays?”
“Barrie?” he said in a tone of loathing. “Peter Pan?”
Polly suppressed a smile. She opened the door and started up the steps.
“Viola, wait!” Sir Godfrey called. He caught up to her halfway up the steps. She thought he was going to take her hands again, but he didn’t. He simply looked at her for a long, breath-catching moment.
Thirty, nothing, she thought. He’s dangerous now.
“Sir Godfrey!” Miss Laburnum called from inside the door.
He glanced behind him, and then back at Polly. “‘We are too late met,’” he said. “‘The time is out of joint,’” and went back down the stairs.
Real planes, real bombs. This is no fucking drill.
Dunkirk-29 May 1940
MIKE STARED DAZEDLY AT THE SCENE BEFORE HIM. THE town of Dunkirk lay burning no more than a mile to the east of them, orange-red flames and clouds of acrid black smoke from the oil tanks billowing out over the docks. There were fires on the docks and on the beaches, and in the water. A cruiser lay off to the right, its stern angled out of the water. A tugboat stood alongside, taking soldiers off. South of it stood a destroyer and beyond it a Channel packet. It was on fire, too.
Flashes of light-from artillery guns?-played along the horizon, and the destroyers’ guns answered with a deafening roar. There was an explosion on shore, and a billowing puff of flame-a gas tank exploding-and the far-off rattle of machine-gun fire. “I can’t believe it!” Jonathan shouted over the din, his voice bubbling over with excitement. “We’re actually here!”
Mike stared at the fire-lit harbor paralyzed, afraid to let go of the railing, afraid to even move. Anything he did-or said-could have a catastrophic effect on events. “This is great!” Jonathan said. “Do you think we’ll get to see any Germans?”
“I hope not,” Mike said, glancing up at the sky and then at the horizon, peering through the drifting smoke, trying to see if dawn was approaching. The harbor at Dunkirk had been an obstacle course of half-submerged wrecks, and they didn’t have a hope of getting through it if they couldn’t see. But they were more likely to be attacked by Stukas in daylight. And, oh, Christ, on the twenty-ninth the weather had cleared, and an offshore breeze had blown the smoke inland, away from the harbor, leaving the boats trying to load the soldiers sitting ducks. There was no breeze yet. But for how long?
“Kansas, don’t just stand there!” the Commander shouted. “You’re supposed to be keeping the Lady Jane from ramming into something!”
Am I? Mike thought. Or are you supposed to hit a trawler or a fishing smack and go down with all hands? It was impossible to know what to do, or what not to do-like walking through a minefield blindfolded, knowing that every step could make the whole thing blow up in your face. Only this was worse, because so could standing still. Was shouting a warning what would alter the course of history, or keeping silent?
“Ship to starboard!” Jonathan shouted from the other side of the bow and the Commander turned the wheel, and they chugged past an oncoming minesweeper and into the harbor.
Mike saw he needn’t have worried about their being able to see. The flames from the burning town lit the entire harbor. It was nearly as bright as day. Which was a good thing, because as they got closer in, there were more and more obstacles. A wooden crate floated by and, beyond it, straight ahead, lay a submerged sailboat, its mast sticking up out of the water.
“Go left!” Mike shouted, waving his arm wildly to the left.
“Left?” the Commander bellowed. “You’re on board ship, Kansas. It’s port!”
“All right! Port! Now!”
The Commander turned the wheel just in time, missing the mast by inches, and Mike saw that by doing so, he’d set the Lady Jane on a collision course with a half-submerged ferry. “Right!” Mike shouted. “I mean, starboard. Starboard!”
They didn’t even have inches this time. They slid by with micrometers to spare. And were they supposed to have done that, or to have scraped a hole in the side? There was no possible way to tell, and no time to think about it. Ahead, under the water, was a huge paddle wheel, and past it, on the left, a partly sunk rowboat, its prow pointed at the Lady Jane like a battering ram. “Hard to starboard!” Jonathan shouted before Mike could, and they slid past.
There were more and more things in the scummy water: oars, oil drums, petrol cans. An Army jacket floated past and a piece of charred planking and a life jacket. “Are there any life jackets-life belts-on board?” he called to the Commander.
“Life belts? I thought you said you could swim, Kansas.”
“I can,” he said angrily, “but Jonathan can’t, and if the Lady Jane hits something-”
“That’s why I’ve got you navigating,” the Commander said. “Now get to it. That’s an order.”
Mike ignored him. He grabbed the boat hook to snag the life jacket with and darted back to the railing, but they were already past it. He leaned over the side, hoping it wasn’t the only one, but he couldn’t see another. He saw a pair of trousers, its legs knotted to form a makeshift life-jacket, and a sock and a tangle of rope. And a body, its arms out at full-length like a crucifix. “Look there!” Jonathan shouted from the other side of the bow. “Is that a body?”
Mike was about to say “yes” when he saw that what he’d thought was a corpse was only a military overcoat,
