Becca claps her hands. ‘Oh good! I know how. I can make chocolate chip cookies too. Mama taught me.’
Sophie extends her hand to Winny. ‘You must be Winny. Ellie’s told me all about you. It’s nice to meet another cousin. I’ve got you and Emmett now, and Becca. Only a few days ago I thought I didn’t have any!’
Waving aside Sophie’s hand, Winny gives her a hug. ‘I was hoping to meet you, Sophie. It’s why I came.’ She smiles at Sam. ‘I have to go, now, darling.’
‘Where are you going?’
‘For a walk.’
‘A walk? Wait and I’ll come with you.’
‘No, not right now, darling.’ Kissing Becca on the top of her head, she heads to the door, pausing with her hand on the doorknob. ‘Why don’t you have one of those scones with Sophie? They smell delicious. Ellie makes the best on the island. Have them with some of Florie’s blueberry jam. That was my favourite.’
Sam opens his eyes. The room is heavy with the black night. He turns to look at the empty pillow on his right. Four years next May. An age and a moment.
Chapter 30
Norwich, England – 11 September 1942
Rampant Horse Street is a shadow of the bustling shopping street that had been part of the beating heart of Norwich just a few months ago, before the Baedeker air raids of the spring and summer. The elegant frontages of Bonds department store on the south side of the street and Curls on the north have been reduced to mounds of rubble and mangled iron, though Mr Bond has entrepreneurially set up shop in three damaged buses in the parking lot.
Ellie picks her way over the bomb-pitted roads and up Timberhill. She hesitates in front of the nondescript red-brick façade of The Gardeners Arms – known locally as The Murderers owing to the unfortunate death of a previous resident. Surely no one will know her in there. It was far enough away from the fire station and Mcklintock’s, in a part of town that she’d usually only hurry through to get to the bus station. The Murderers was known as a drinkers’ pub, and the newly arrived American soldiers and airmen had adopted it as their own. It wasn’t the kind of place she’d ever been, nor had ever been curious to enter. It wasn’t the kind of place she’d bump into George. Which made it perfect.
She pushes the door open and finds herself amongst a mass of broad, khaki-uniformed shoulders. She presses past the soldiers, who answer her apologies with offers of a drink, a dance, and less salubrious suggestions. She spies Thomas at a table hidden in a niche under a medieval brick arch. He waves at her and she pushes through the last phalanx of soldiers.
Thomas gives her a quick kiss on the cheek. ‘Good thing you made it when you did, m’love. I’ve had to buy six Yanks a round to keep them from chucking me off the table.’
Ellie lifts the strap of her satchel over her head and sits on the bench beside Thomas. ‘I’m sorry, darling. It’s been a madhouse at the fire station. They’ve been over at Magdalen Street knocking down the walls of the shops that were bombed last week. I’ve been back and forth all day with tea and sandwiches.’
Thomas pushes a glass across the table. ‘I gots you a gin and tonic. No ice though. The bartender looked at me like I’d asked for milk and cookies when I asked for ice.’
Ellie reaches for the glass and takes a sip. The tonic bubbles rasp down her throat. ‘Thank you, Thomas.’ Setting down the warm glass, she gazes into his grey eyes as he smiles.
‘How is it you get more lovely every time I sees you, Ellie Mae?’
‘Is everyone in Newfoundland as full of baloney as you are?’
Thomas chuckles. ‘Newfoundlanders are made of baloney. That doesn’t mean that what I says isn’t true.’ He leans in and kisses her on the lips. A catcall from the bar. Ellie sits back against the brick wall, heat flashing into her cheeks.
‘We probably shouldn’t do that here.’
‘You’d be a test for the Angel Gabriel himself.’ Thomas reaches for his pint glass and takes a long draught of the dark ale. Setting down the glass, he looks at her, his eyes clouding. ‘There’s some news.’
‘News? What kind of news?’
Sitting back, Thomas examines Ellie’s face. ‘They’re movin’ us out.’
Ellie intakes a sharp breath. ‘They’re moving you out? Where?’
‘Don’t know. They won’t say.’
‘But, when? Not before Christmas, surely?’
Thomas reaches over and cups his hand over Ellie’s. ‘They’re sendin’ us down to London next week and shippin’ us to the show sometime in October, far as I knows.’
‘You’re leaving next week?’
‘Next Thursday. Ellie, m’love. It’s a war and I’m a soldier. It’s what I signed up to do.’
She pulls her hand away and folds her arms against her body. ‘Yes, of course.’ What had she thought? That nothing would change? That Thomas would be here, safely and happily in reach until this horrible war was over?
‘Ellie, marry me. Come down to London and marry me before I go. I loves you, maid. You know I loves you.’
Ellie stares at Thomas’s long, handsome face, at his grey eyes stormy with emotion. ‘Oh, Thomas. How can we? We haven’t time. We have to post the banns a month in advance.’
‘We don’t need to marry in a church.’
‘But I’m Catholic, Thomas.’
‘We can marry in a registry office and have a church weddin’ later. Here, or in Newfoundland. Wherever you like.’
‘Are you suggesting we … elope?’
‘Why not? We could go now. Tonight.’
Ellie shakes her head. ‘You have to apply for a wedding licence a month in advance, too. I … I’ve looked it up.’
‘You’ve looked it up?’ Thomas frowns. ‘For me or for George?’
‘For you. Of course, for you.’
Thomas looks at Ellie as he drains the last of his ale. He sets down the glass. ‘Why haven’t you told your family about us? I’m tired of sneakin’
