“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.”
“What? Don’t you understand what I’m saying?”
“As long as I can see that look in those beautiful brown eyes, I don’t have to understand what you’re saying.”
She pretended not to understand him. “What look?”
He stopped and pulled her into his arms. Her heart melted when he gave her a long, lingering kiss. There was one thing about the Yanks, she thought happily as they continued on their way. They certainly knew how to make a girl feel good about herself. Even if they didn’t really mean a word of it.
Elizabeth dreamed about Earl that night. It wasn’t a good dream. It was vague and terrifying, filled with crashing planes and huge, leaping flames. She woke from it trembling and found it hard to go asleep after that. Part of her conscience insisted that the dream was her punishment for lusting after a married man. Not that she was really lusting after him, she hastened to correct herself.
She couldn’t help the way she felt about him, but surely, as long as she didn’t do anything about it, and never, ever let him know her feelings, what harm could there be in enjoying his company now and then?
The telephone pealed its shrill summons the next morning while she was enjoying a boiled egg for breakfast with Violet and Martin in the kitchen.
Violet had been telling Martin about the fight at the town hall, and he was suitably horrified, insisting that the master would come down heavily on his head for not protecting the womenfolk from such barbaric behavior.
The fact that had he been at the dance the night before he might possibly have been trampled to death did not occur to him, and far be it for Elizabeth to point that out and diminish his role as protector.
She welcomed the ringing of the telephone as an effective diversion and waited for Violet to answer it. She watched the housekeeper’s face and knew at once something momentous had happened.
Violet’s replies were short and unrevealing, consisting mostly of “yes,” “no,” and “well I never.”
Elizabeth waited impatiently for her to hang up the receiver. When she did, it seemed to take her forever to turn around.
“Well,” she said finally, “you’ll never guess what happened now.”
“I’m sure I won’t,” Elizabeth said impatiently, “so why don’t you just tell me?”
“That was George Dalrymple on the telephone.” Violet’s face took on a look of pure satisfaction. “He thought you’d like to know that the German is hiding in the old windmill out on Robbing Lane. Rita and her mob have the place surrounded. He’s on his way out there now.”
Elizabeth dropped her egg spoon with a clatter. “I must leave right away. It would be just like Rita to take matters into her own hands, and it will take George at least half an hour to get out there on his bicycle.”
“You be careful, Lizzie,” Violet warned. “You know how that Rita’s lot gets when they’re on the warpath. Never know what they’ll be up to, that you don’t. I don’t want you getting hurt if they decide to go after that German.”
“Save your worries for that poor boy.” Elizabeth flung the words over her shoulder as she rushed from the room. Her beige wool coat hung on the hallstand, together with her black beret and scarf. She threw everything on, just as Martin came shuffling out into the hall.
“Madam, you can’t fight the Germans empty-handed,” he said as she headed for the door. “Take the blunderbuss with you. That will scare the pants off them!” He looked shocked. “Begging your pardon, madam. I can’t imagine where I picked up that phrase.”
“You’ve been listening at the keyhole to them Americans again,” Violet said, hurrying down the hallway after him. “That’s where you hear those things. Shame on you, Martin. You know what they say. Eavesdroppers hear no
