Thomas sits up, pointing to Ellie’s sketchbook. ‘Let’s have a look, then, maid.’
She sits up and hands him the sketchbook, watching him as he runs his fingers along the lines of the portrait. She’s managed to capture something of him, she thinks. The lines are right. The nose fine and long. The cheekbones sharp over his strong jaw. But, the eyes. Something isn’t quite right. The eyes have eluded her.
‘Best kind, Ellie Mae. You’re a talent.’ He rips out the page.
‘What are you doing?’
‘I’m keepin’ this,’ he says as he folds the drawing into a square. ‘It’ll remind me of you.’
‘Be careful. The charcoal will smudge.’
‘I don’t care.’
When he kisses her she doesn’t know whether he’s heard her wish through the thundering waves and the buzz of the crickets. All she knows is that he is here and she is here, alone in the shadow of a sand dune on a summer day that’s been offered to them like a gift. She reaches her arms around his neck. She’ll take the gift. Come what may.
Chapter 19
Tippy’s Tickle – 13 September 2001
Ellie throws the covers aside and slips out of the four-poster bed, leaving Florie snoring gently under the thick duvet. She slides her feet into her slippers and pads across the braided rag rug to the turreted bay window. A thin crescent moon hovers in the sky, casting a faint silver light into the room. Picking up the drawing from a small wooden table nestled in the curve of the turret, she lifts it up to catch the light.
So, this is Sophie. Her sister’s daughter. And George’s daughter, too, of course. She’d often wondered about her; even more since Winny’s death. What she looked like. What she liked to do. What she’d done with her life. Dottie had never written, but there’d been a scribbled note on the odd Christmas card from George over the years. And, in 1968, one small photo tucked inside the card.
Fingering the gold locket around her neck, she opens it and looks down at the two tiny photos. Winny’s sunny face under a halo of blonde hair on one side; Sophie on her fifth birthday, her fine brown hair cut into a blunt bob on the other. And now here she was. Just like she’d dropped out of the sky.
Oh, Dottie. Whatever happened to us? I know you felt I treated George badly. Maybe I did. Maybe I wasn’t as honest with him as I should have been. But Thomas … how can I make you understand that Thomas and I were … fated? I know you don’t believe in fate – you were always a better Catholic than me – but it’s true. We tried to keep away from each other, but it was impossible. I had to leave. Don’t you understand that? I loved Thomas. He was my husband. But leaving you and Poppy was so hard. You must know that. But I had to follow my life, and my life was with Thomas. Why did you cut me off? We could have worked things out. I know I upset you, but you upset me too, with some of the things you did. Awful things. But I forgave you. What did I do that was so unforgiveable? Why did you hate me so much?
There’s another thing, Dottie. Why did you ever marry George? Was it to get back at me? You ruined him, you know. He was a good man and he deserved a wife who loved him. Why did you make George so miserable? It was there in his letters, the ones after Thomas’s death. It was there if you knew how to read between the lines. Then the letters dried up. You did that, too. George told me. That time he came here. You made him stop. He’d been my friend, Dottie, long before we were engaged. Did you make him stop writing to punish me?
Ellie closes the locket. Well, Sophie, it’s just you and me and Emmy and Becca now. It’s time for the wounds to heal. Thomas, George, Dottie and my poor Winny are all dead, and I’m not young. Seventy-nine in three days. I know what harm secrets and misunderstandings can do to people, Sophie. That’s why I’ll never tell you mine.
Chapter 20
Norwich, England – 20 September 1941
‘I wasn’t sure you’d come.’
Ellie steps through the Gothic archway and into the shadowed interior of the medieval tower. ‘George stopped by for tea on his way to the guns.’
Thomas reaches through the shadows and pulls Ellie to him. Pressing into him, she reaches her arms around his neck as he bends his head to her mouth. She closes her eyes and abandons herself to his kisses, meeting them with her own, their bodies embraced by the curved brick wall of the tower. His hand searches for the buttons of her uniform and slides beneath the thin wool, resting on the soft cotton blouse covering her left breast. Sucking in the air between his teeth, he pushes away from her abruptly.
‘I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that.’
Ellie presses her lips together and readjusts her jacket. ‘No, Thomas. I wanted you to. I wanted you to so much.’ She looks up at the open sky above them, willing her heart to stop its wild beating. The first stars push through the orange-streaked greyness of the approaching night.
‘You’ve got to do somethin’ about George, Ellie Mae.’
‘Yes. I know.’
‘Why haven’t you told him about us?’
Ellie takes a deep breath and lets it blow through her lips like the cigarette puffs she’s seen in the movies. ‘I don’t want to hurt him. He’s a good man.’
‘He’s a good man and I’m
