‘That’s no place for him. He should be out there with the others lookin’ for her.’
Sophie sits back in her chair. She hadn’t wanted to say anything, but she couldn’t hold it any longer. The thought had been niggling at her all evening.
‘Florie, Emmett’s … okay, isn’t he?’
Florie jerks her head up. ‘What do you means by that?’
Sophie shifts in the chair. ‘I … I’m sorry, Florie. I just … He’d never do anything, would he?’
‘Are you saying he did something to Becca?’
‘No. Of course not. I just …’ Sophie presses her fingers against her temples. Bloody hell. Bloody hell. ‘I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said anything. I was out of line. It’s just that—’
Florie pushes her chair away from the table with a loud scrape. She picks up four empty mugs and takes them over to the sink. ‘Those kinds of things might happen in the cities, but not out in these parts. Becca’s just wandered off, mark my words.’
Sophie nods. ‘Right. No doubt you’re absolutely right.’ Please God. Let her be right.
Chapter 26
Norwich, England – 14 March 1942
‘I hardly recognised you, maid. I was startin’ to think you slept in your uniform.’
Flashing Thomas a winning smile, Ellie brushes her hands against the full skirt of her jade-green tea dress. ‘I wasn’t working today, so I had a chance to wear something pretty for a change. Do you like it?’ She glances over at George, who is leaning against the bandstand beside her, rubbing his glasses with a handkerchief. ‘George hasn’t said a word.’
‘Well, then, George is blind as a bat.’ He holds out a hand. ‘You can’t pass up the chance of dance for St Patrick’s Day.’
‘I’m going to have a dance with Thomas, George.’
Thomas extends his hand. ‘Good to see you, b’y. Better put those glasses on before someone steals Ellie away while you’re not lookin’.’
George smiles lamely and shakes Thomas’s hand. ‘Hello, Tom. Ellie can dance with anyone she likes.’ He pats her clumsily on her shoulder. ‘She’s my girl.’
Charlie Murphy breaks through the crowd, ale sloshing over the tops of the two pint glasses he’s carrying. ‘Here you goes, b’y,’ he says as he thrusts a glass at Thomas.
‘Give it to George, b’y. I’m busy.’ He leads Ellie into the heaving sea of party-goers swinging to the band’s rendition of the latest Glenn Miller hit, ‘A String of Pearls’.
Charlie hands George the ale. ‘Down the hatch, b’y. Your shout next.’
George readjusts his glasses. ‘Thanks, Charlie.’ Taking a swig of the ale, he considers Ellie and Thomas swinging along to the bouncy tune. ‘Tom’s a good dancer.’
Charlie focuses on the laughing couple. ‘They gets on, those two.’ He gulps down half his beer and wipes his mouth with the back of his uniform sleeve. ‘You don’t suppose anythin’s goin’ on with them, does you?’
George’s head snaps around. ‘Why should I think that?’
Charlie pats the padded shoulder of George’s brown tweed jacket. ‘Calm down, b’y. You gots a face on you like a hen’s arse in the northwest winds. All’s I’m sayin’ is I’d keeps my eye on them, if I was in your shoes. I told you before that Tom’s a charmer.’ He leans closer to George. ‘He’s been comin’ up to Norwich every chance he gets. He’s got himself on the supply run with the QM every Thursday.’ Charlie takes another swig of beer. ‘He’s a sly one, is our Tommy. Gets him outta a day of trainin’ or diggin’ fortifications up on the coast. Since we got changed to the 166th Newfoundland Field Regiment in November, they’ve kept us as busy as a bayman with two chainsaws.’
George eyes Charlie’s flushed face. Come to think of it, Ellie had been a bit off this past month, he thinks. Even the chocolates he’d brought her for Valentine’s hadn’t done much to thaw out her mood. He’d put it down to her extra workload at the fire station. She was there all hours now, though he couldn’t for the life of him figure out what kept her so busy. There hadn’t been an air raid for months. They hadn’t been to their Friday night film in weeks except for once, and even then she’d wanted to get home early instead of stopping at the Coach and Horses for a glass.
Charlie downs the last of this beer. ‘G’wan, b’y. I’ll be three down before you finishes yours.’
George eyes Thomas and Ellie, bouncing amongst the GIs and local girls to ‘Chattanooga Choo Choo’. He gulps the beer and hands the empty glass to Charlie. Fishing a handful of coins out of his pocket, he drops them into Charlie’s hand. ‘My shout.’
Charlie tips a salute and ducks into the crowd. George sweeps his eyes around the bobbing heads of the dancers, but Ellie’s shining blonde head and the tall Newfoundlander are nowhere to be seen.
***
George shoves his empty beer glass at Charlie.
‘Hold on, b’y,’ Charlie says. ‘Where you off to?’
‘I’m going to find Ellie.’
‘She’s probably just gone to the Ladies’.’
George squints at Charlie through his glasses. ‘With Tom?’
Charlie chuckles over the top of his beer glass. ‘I expect we would’a heard screams in that case.’
‘Where do you think he is, then?’ George’s tongue is thick in his mouth, and the words come out fat and slurred. ‘They’ve been gone for the past half hour.’ George taps on his watch. ‘Since ten twenty-three. I’ve been keeping an eye out, like you said.’
Charlie pats George on his shoulder. ‘Me and my big mouth. C’mon, b’y, They probably just went to get some air. It’s hotter’n the insides of a bibby in here. I’m used to choppin’ ice off the privy round St Paddy’s Day back home.’
George thrusts away Charlie’s hand. ‘I’m going to go and find them.’
Charlie watches George barrel through the jitterbugging dancers. ‘Jaysus, Mary and Joseph.’ Gulping down his beer, he sets the glass down on the bandstand and heads after him.
***
‘I’ve missed you, Ellie Mae.’ Thomas wraps his arms around Ellie
