Didn’t Mavis at the airport say Sam had spent time in Boston? That’s why he sounded so different from the others, though she’d noticed the Newfoundland lilt slip in when he spoke to Wince at the garage. Such an irritating man. Calling her Princess Grace. What did he mean by that? Winny must’ve had the patience of a saint.
Why on earth had she thought seeking Ellie out was a good idea? Was it because, after years of devoting herself to her work at the expense of relationships, she was feeling … lonely? Sophie grunts. That’s ridiculous. She’s surrounded by people; her colleagues at the London practice, clients, builders, engineers, quantity surveyors, suppliers. There are a lot of people around her life, just no one in it.
She’d been curious to meet Ellie, that’s all. What’s wrong with that? Her parents were dead, and, as far as she’d been aware when she stepped off the plane, Ellie had been her only living relative. Now there were three: Ellie, Emmett and Becca.
Fate had conspired to put her down in Newfoundland. The least she could do was follow the thread, and find the answer to the question she’d wondered about all her life. What had happened between her mother and her aunt all those years ago, before Ellie left for Newfoundland? What did Ellie do to make Dottie hate her so much?
Chapter 14
Norwich, England – 21 December 1940
Ellie jumps off the bus in front of the portico of the Samson and Hercules dance hall, where two chunky white-painted statues of the mythical figures hold up the porch roof. George waves at her from the top step, and she runs up to meet him and gives him a quick kiss on his cheek.
‘You look like a soldier in that outfit, Ellie.’
Ellie glances down at her navy uniform. ‘I’m sorry, George. It was busy over at the station. Fire over in Pegg’s Opening. It doesn’t take much for those old cottages to go up. It was just a cigarette this time that did it. I hope you don’t mind dancing with a girl in uniform.’
‘No, it’s nice. I just wish I’d known. I would have put on mine. It would have evened the balance.’
‘Don’t be silly, George. You look just fine.’ She smooths the white handkerchief that he’s tucked into the breast pocket of his brown wool suit jacket. ‘I can’t believe you managed to get us tickets. Everyone in town wanted to come to see The Squadronaires.’
‘Just lucky, Ellie. My boss was sent some tickets and his wife didn’t want to come.’
They push through the doors and through the crowd into the ballroom, the party dresses and suits of the recent past outnumbered by the khaki, Air Force blue and navy of uniforms. Paper-loop streamers hang from the ceiling and the Air Force dance band, The Squadronaires, handsome in their Air Force uniforms, are in full swing on the stage.
George squints at the room through his glasses. ‘Looks like all the tables are taken. We should’ve arrived before the interval.’
‘Oh, George, no one gets here before the interval,’ Ellie says as she bounces to the music. ‘Girls need time to get ready. Anyway, I’ve been at my desk all day. I want to dance, not sit.’
‘Fine, but I need a beer first. I’ll meet up with you over there by the stage. What would you like?’
‘Beer, please. Just a half.’ Ellie makes her way around the perimeter of the dancers until her way is blocked by the backs of a group of tall Newfoundlanders. ‘Excuse me.’ She clears her throat and shouts. ‘Excuse me!’ She pokes a broad shoulder.
The man turns around. ‘Well, there she is, after all this time.’ The smile lighting up his grey eyes. The long, handsome face. The name slips out of Ellie’s mouth before she has a chance to think. ‘Thomas Parsons.’
The smile turns into a grin. ‘You and my mam. The only two people who calls me Thomas.’ He hands his beer to one of his friends. ‘C’mon, maid. Let’s have a dance.’
***
George sweeps his gaze around the crowded dance floor and spies Ellie’s blonde head, topped by the neat navy AFS cap, bouncing to the rhythm of the swing band with a tall Newfoundlander. The soldier looks vaguely familiar, and George rakes through his brain to remember where he’s seen him before.
‘Well, what do you figure?’ A hand pats George’s shoulder. A soldier’s moon-shaped face, with a dusting of freckles across his nose, grins at him. ‘Charlie Murphy from the 57th Newfoundlanders over in Filby. You remember? I met you here with my friend Tom back in the summer. He spilt Coke all over your girlfriend’s dress. Oh, she was some vexed, wasn’t she? Could have frozen the North Atlantic with that face. I’ve been lookin’ out for you lot. Where’ve you been?’ He scans the crowd past George’s shoulder. ‘Is Ruthie with you? I’d be up for a dance or twenty with her.’
George looks at the boyish face and shakes his head. ‘Ruthie … Ruthie’s not here.’
Charlie’s face falls. ‘Don’t tell me another fella’s cut in?’
‘No. I’m terribly sorry, Charlie. There was a bomb. Her whole family … they were sleeping. They didn’t make it, I’m afraid.’
‘Oh, Jaysus.’ Charlie rubs his fingers over his eyes. ‘You knows, b’y, when you joins up you knows there’s a chance … there’s a chance you
