Kate Kingsbury - Death Is in the Air

“Look at this. Have you ever seen such a beautiful sight in all your life?” Marlene’s voice was hushed in awe as she gazed around the crowded ballroom.

Polly followed her gaze. “Are you talking about the decorations or the men?”

Marlene grinned. “Both. Just look at those Yanks dance! Our boys can’t dance like that.”

“They’re not even trying.” Polly nodded at the walls lined with British soldiers, most of them with scowls on their faces. “They don’t look very happy, do they?”

“I can see why. What with all the girls out there on the floor with the Yanks. Look, there’s Lilly Crumm. Trust her to grab a Yank.”

“I’m surprised her ma isn’t out there with one, too.” Polly gasped as she watched a tall, skinny American airman swing Lilly through his legs, then up over his back where she was suspended upside down for a heart-pounding second or two before being bounced back on her feet.

“No wonder they call it swing,” Polly murmured. “Them Yanks are swinging the girls all over the place.”

“So where is your Sam, then?” Marlene sent a searching glance around the room. “Can’t see him anywhere.”

Polly’s stomach turned over. “He’s not here yet. Must have been kept late at the base.” She pretended not to notice Marlene’s quick look of concern.

“He’ll probably be here any minute.”

“Yeah, I hope so.” He had to be there. It wouldn’t be the same without him. She’d got all dressed up for him and had put on the nylons he’d got her from the base. She just loved those nylons. She wouldn’t have believed how silky and sheer stockings could be until she’d pulled on one of those filmy, almost transparent scraps of fabric over her legs. Just wearing them made her feel sort of slinky and ritzy.

She’d hitched up the skirt of her pink seersucker frock once she’d left the house and escaped from Ma’s sharp eyes. She didn’t really like the dress. It was too babyish. She’d wanted the black one hanging in Finnegan’s big window, but Ma had put her foot down. Said it was too old for her.

At first she’d sworn never to wear the soppy pink thing. Then Marlene had shown her how to hitch up the skirt and pull the sweetheart neckline down lower, and it hadn’t looked half bad after that. Though she still wished she could have had the black frock.

Idly she watched a good-looking Yank stroll over in her direction. Normally she’d have been all in a tizzy to see a man like that heading toward her. Funny how nobody seemed worth bothering about now that she had Sam. She sent another worried glance at the door. Where the bloody hell was he?

The dark-haired, dark-eyed Yank paused in front of her. She was all set to send him on his way with a polite refusal when he stepped past her and offered his hand to Marlene. “Wanna boogie?”

Marlene’s face turned bright red. “I don’t know if I can do it,” she said nervously.

Polly gave her a mighty shove with her shoulder. “’Course you can do it, silly. Just let him throw you about, that’s all. He has to do all the work.”

The American shot her a grin. “Thanks, babe.” He grabbed Marlene’s hand. “Come on, sugar, I’ll show you how it’s done.” He charged onto the floor, dragging a protesting Marlene behind him.

Polly watched them for a while, forgetting her worries about Sam in the sheer enjoyment of watching her big sister make a proper fool of herself out there.

Marlene looked stiff and awkward as she tried her best to keep up with the Yank, who seemed to be made of rubber the way he was twisting and twirling all around the floor. He spun her around a few times, until she looked really giddy, then grabbed her hands and swung her between his feet.

Polly caught her breath when Marlene, instead of hanging on to her partner’s hands, let go instead. She skidded across the floor on her bottom and crashed into another couple. The girl was in midair at the time. Her partner caught her awkwardly, breaking her fall before they both landed in a heap on top of Marlene. Polly thought she was going to die from laughing.

Marlene’s face was the color of a beetroot when she scrambled to her feet, tugging her skirt back down over her knees. She started to walk away from the Yank, but he pulled her back into his arms and started jitterbugging again all around the floor, with Marlene hanging on like grim death. Polly had to go and sit down before she wet her drawers laughing at her.

Half an hour later she wasn’t laughing at all. By then Marlene had got the hang of the dancing and seemed to be having a really good time with her Yank, who hadn’t left her side for a moment.

Polly sat staring at the door, fear looming like a cold dark cloud inside her. Sam still hadn’t come. Although she’d fought hard against the thought, the unthinkable now seemed frighteningly possible. Maybe this time Sam wasn’t coming back at all.

“These Cornish pasties are marvelous!” Elizabeth exclaimed after she’d bitten into the savory pastry. “What a treat.”

Standing behind the refreshment table, Violet’s face looked sour. “I could bake stuff like this if I didn’t have to worry about rationing and that’s all I had to do all day.”

“I’m sure you could, Violet,” Elizabeth hastened to reassure her. “Your trifle is beyond compare.”

Violet’s scowl vanished. “Well, thank you, Liz-” She caught herself just in time and, after giving the woman next to her a swift glance, added lamely, “Your ladyship.”

Nellie Smith seemed oblivious to anything except the line of American airmen clamoring to buy the sandwiches and pastries piled up in front of her. Behind her, one of Bessie’s assistants stood frying fat, juicy sausages over a camp stove, while a pan of fried onions sizzled next to them. Elizabeth moved away from the enticing aroma before she was tempted to sample the fat-laden food.

The noise in the main hall was deafening. Captain Carbunkle had turned up the volume to an ear-splitting roar, and everyone on the dance floor yelled to be heard above the blaring of trumpets and the pounding of drums. Heads bobbed up and down, feet swung in the air, hands were flung in every direction, and the vibration of stomping feet shook the floorboards.

Elizabeth, overwhelmed by all the raucous activity, decided to get a breath of fresh air. On her way out she scanned the floor, searching for a familiar square-cut face with sun-bleached brown hair. Determined not to give in to the fear that hovered inside her, she strode to the main doors and pulled them open.

Cigarette smoke escaped above her head in a billowing cloud. She took in several deep breaths of the cool, fresh night air then closed the doors behind her, shutting out the noise. With the ensuing silence came the terror she’d tried so hard to ignore.

Something had happened to him. She was sure of that now. It shouldn’t hurt so much, but it did. She had no right to feel this way about another woman’s husband, but sometimes a heart wouldn’t listen to reason, and hers seemed set on turning a deaf ear to common sense and decency.

If she wasn’t so miserable, she could laugh at herself for being such a fool. After the fiasco of her marriage to Harry, the very last thing she’d ever imagined doing was falling for another man. That would have been crazy enough. She hadn’t been content with that. Oh, no, not Lady Elizabeth Hartleigh Compton. She’d had to break all the rules. She’d made the fatal mistake of falling for a man who was so far out of reach he might just as well be on the moon.

For a moment or two she allowed herself to wallow in self-pity. Then she pulled herself together. She was a Hartleigh, after all. Stiff upper lip and all that. Her attraction to Major Earl Monroe had been nothing more than an immature fascination for the unconventional, the inevitable lure of a uniform, and the appeal of a foreign lifestyle so different from her own. What woman hadn’t been led astray by such enticements at some time or other in her life?