‘Dance, madam?’ someone asked.
Elsie shook her head, annoyed that the memory had been curtailed. She turned to the man standing beside her. ‘No, I…’ her words faltered, crashing backwards and colliding with her memories. It couldn’t be. The coincidence was impossible. ‘Woody?’
Woody grinned. ‘That’s me. Dance?’
‘Yes.’
Chapter Twenty-Six
23rd January 1942, Valletta, Malta
‘How…?’ Elsie stammered, almost collapsing into his arms on the dance floor.
Woody smiled and she could see mirrored in his grey eyes the deep intensity that she herself felt inside. ‘How what?’ he teased, wrapping his arms around her.
‘How…everything,’ Elsie murmured. ‘How are you here? How are we dancing to this song in a smoky bar on an island in the middle of nowhere?’
Woody laughed. ‘Pure coincidence,’ he said, before adding. ‘I really missed you, Elsie.’
‘I missed you, too,’ she confirmed. She held his gaze, wondering if he could feel the thud-thudding race of her heart. She wanted him to answer the questions that she had just asked. She wanted him to answer the raft of other questions that were bouncing around, unspoken inside her head. But the words were shrivelled by the depth of the moment.
She leant in and kissed him. She wanted more but felt his body tighten against her. ‘What’s the matter?’ she whispered.
‘We need to talk. I’ve got some things I need to get off my chest.’
The ending of the song coupled with his words and broke the spell. She had things she desperately needed to say to him. She glanced around the room and spotted an empty table. Threading her fingers through his, she led him over to it. She sat beside him and stared at his handsome face, still unable to believe quite that he was here.
‘Okay, so to answer your questions,’ Woody began. ‘It’s not quite a coincidence. I’ve been looking for you. You didn’t write to me as you promised and I was worried. I managed to track you down to West Kingsdown and I went to your old billet and one of your friends there told me that your husband was still alive and that you were back together.’ He lifted her hand and observed her ring finger. ‘I needed to know for myself, so I got an immediate transfer to 69 Squadron who are based here—they’re crying out for reconnaissance pilots. I arrived on the island two days ago. I must say, after what your friend told me, I’m surprised by your welcome.’ He smiled coyly. ‘She was very persuasive that you were back together and said you definitely wouldn’t want to see me.’
Bloody Rosemary. It had to be her, sticking her haughty oar in where it wasn’t wanted.
But, actually, Rosemary had done her a favour. The cloud of complex emotions, regret and fantasies that Woody’s arrival had just stirred up inside her instantly dispersed, leaving just one lucid line of thinking.
She nodded solemnly. ‘Yes, Laurie is alive,’ Elsie confirmed. ‘But I don’t love him,’ she admitted quietly. ‘I never have…but it’s more complicated than that...’ Her words drifted and her gaze fell. ‘I’ve done something...’ She shook her head, as the strength of her emotion rose to her face, flushing her cheeks and moistening her eyes.
‘It’s okay,’ he whispered, ‘I’ve made mistakes, too…If you don’t love him, then—’
‘—No,’ she said with a firm shake of her head. She stood from the table. ‘You shouldn’t have come here, Woody.’
‘Elsie, wait!’ Woody begged.
She heard his pleas but stumbled hastily through the bar and out into the cold night air and began to run back towards the War Rooms. She flinched when he called out her name, but she kept on running. She kept going until her lungs were exhausted. Once in the openness of Opera Square, she stopped and hunched over, resting her hands on her thighs, struggling for air. Her eyes scanned the black streets for movement, but there was none; he hadn’t followed her.
Eventually, her heartbeat returned to near-normal and she hastened to the War Rooms, descending the dimly-lit staircase at a pace. She moved quickly through the labyrinth of murky tunnels, passing by her sleeping quarters and heading on to the Filter Section Room. At this hour, it would be empty, but still she tapped lightly on the door and waited for a response. Nothing. She pushed the handle and the door swung open. Switching on the pathetically soft yellow light, Elsie sat down at the typewriter and loaded in a sheet of paper.
She woke with a start, pain searing into her neck. Slowly and agonisingly, she hoisted her upper body from the desk. Several seconds of blissful ignorance passed, as she gaped around the Filter Section Room, before the events of the previous night and her reason for being here caught up with her. She stretched her arms and tried to roll her neck but the pain was too intense. What she needed now, more than anything, was a long bath. She couldn’t remember the last time she had had a full, hot bath. It must have been more than two years—surely that counted as some kind of a war crime.
She allowed her mind to fully reawaken before she contemplated moving. Outside the room, she could hear the usual sounds of the underground warren coming to life, ready for another day’s activity: the metallic crunch of doors opening and closing; muffled orders being barked; the sharp clipping of RAF-issue shoes on the stone floor. What time was it? She turned to see the large clock on the wall. It was just approaching
