The sky above her was an untidy patchwork of black and grey, its seams spilling a deluge of water on the stricken island. She felt great sympathy for the poor islanders whose only respite from heavy bombing occurred in inclement weather.
She arrived at the Westminster Hotel soaked through to the skin. She placed her hand on the handle and pushed it open.
‘Elsie,’ a voice called from down the street. She turned to see Woody jogging towards her. ‘Can we talk, please?’
Her mind was calm, clear and set on returning to England; she didn’t want to talk, no. Why did the past persist on holding her captive so? She looked up at him as he drew up in front of her. A lock of his hair had loosened itself and had fallen in front of his pitiful eyes; inside her, the rush of a warm feeling that she had experienced last night made a creeping return. ‘Okay. We can talk over breakfast.’
Woody’s eyes lit up as he pulled open the door, ushering her inside.
‘You’re saturated,’ he commented, placing his hand in the small of her back, as they took the short flight of steps up to the restaurant.
Elsie simultaneously flinched and welcomed his gentle touch, as he guided her into the crowded restaurant. She looked down at the droplets of water falling from various points of her sodden skirt hem. ‘It’ll dry.’
A waitress approached them. ‘Hello, would you like a table?’
‘Yes please,’ Elsie replied, quickly scanning the flashes of all the assembled dignitaries. ‘That one over there, please.’ She pointed to an empty table sandwiched between various high-ranking officials from the three military strands, drinking coffee, smoking pipes and mulling over some aspect or other of the war.
Woody reached for her arm. ‘What about that one by the window,’ he whispered. ‘It’s a little more private.’
The waitress faltered, her eyes jumping between them for a decision.
‘That table, please,’ Elsie insisted.
The waitress waited for them to be seated. ‘No menus, I’m afraid,’ she said, her face scrunching apologetically. ‘We’ve got sargu marinat—local marinated fish, stuffat tal-fenek—local rabbit or pastizzi.’
‘Just a pastizzi and sweet tea, please,’ Elsie ordered.
‘Same for me,’ Woody added, waiting until the waitress was out of sight before leaning across the table and whispered, ‘Don’t you trust me or something?’
‘Of course I trust you,’ Elsie answered.
‘Why are we practically sitting with the old gold braids, then?’
Elsie turned her head surreptitiously and took in the table beside them. Quickly scanning their flashes, she spotted the man that she had hoped to see. Air Vice-Marshall Lloyd—the air commander of the entire island. She held him in her peripheral vision. Now what? Was she just going to interrupt his conversation? Tell him all the things that he was doing wrong?
She turned back to face Woody and realised that he had asked her a question. ‘There’s something I need to do later. Someone I need to talk to.’
Woody eyed her curiously, but said nothing. He was still leaning over to her and now he reached and took her left hand. ‘Listen, Elsie, there’s something that I need to tell you. Something I need to say if we’re—’
‘—Don’t say it,’ Elsie said. ‘We’ve both done things—let’s just not bring them out into the open. What’s the point? Nothing can happen right now. There’s a war on. I’m married.’
He squeezed her hand. ‘Why don’t you divorce him, Elsie? You said you didn’t love him, so why stay with him?’
The question knocked her thoughts off-balance, even though it was one that she had been considering since the day that she had signed the marriage register. Why hadn’t she divorced him? More and more people were doing it. The couple running the pub in Nutley had done it; the gossip, scandal and side-taking had rippled through the entire village for months on end, but now it was all but forgotten. She caught herself wondering what her family would think, but then the blunt truth hit her: she had no family. Her train of thinking stabilised once more. ‘Once this is all over,’ she said, ‘I’ll sort it out. Get out of the marriage.’
Woody smiled, took her hand and gently kissed her fingers. ‘If I wasn’t doing one of the most dangerous jobs in the world in one of the most dangerous places in the world, I would have asked you to marry me.’
Those same heart-stopping feelings that she had felt for him last night pulsated around her body, rising through her and flushing her cheeks. She smiled coyly but said nothing, allowing herself to become lost in him once more.
‘Here you are,’ the waitress said, placing down the food and drink before moving to the next table.
‘Well, if you won’t marry me—’ Woody began.
‘—I didn’t say I wouldn’t marry you—I just can’t.’
‘Well, if you can’t marry me, then at least let’s spend some time together on the island.’
Elsie sipped her drink. ‘I’m leaving today.’
She received his look of horror and acute disappointment like a lance to her heart. Maybe she had been too hasty in her request to leave…No, she quickly reasoned. She had to go.
‘Why today?’ he begged.
‘I’ve done what I came here to do,’ she said simply, glancing to one side and seeing that Air Vice-Marshall Lloyd was still in the depths of conversation. She had almost done what she had come here to do.
‘Where will you go from here?’
Elsie shrugged. ‘Wherever the Air Ministry decides to send me.’
‘So this is it?’ Woody asked. ‘We just leave it to the God of war to decide our fate?’
Elsie laughed. ‘Something like that, yes.’
The sounds that came from the adjacent table suggested that the RAF bigwigs were preparing to leave. Now was her chance. Her one opportunity. She released her hand
