“Wait, where are we going?” I asked.
“For a walk,” he said. “To get some fresh air. And talk.”
I saw Viv with Harry, and she gave me a look that said there would be questions later.
Victoria Park was quiet and chilly, and a few other couples were walking the grounds or sitting on park benches. But we were just two people; we weren’t a couple at all.
We walked side by side. He took his jacket off and put it around my shoulders, his arms lingering around me for a few seconds.
“That night at the Paramount?” he said, his voice quiet. “When you waved at me across the hall? I did see you. You looked so beautiful. Just like tonight, your hair with the flower in it, that dress. I couldn’t take my eyes off you. And when you caught me, I was so embarrassed I pretended not to see you. It was stupid. I’m sorry.”
“Thank you,” I said. He thinks I’m beautiful.
“I did send a note to my friend in the IRC,” he said, pausing before adding, “I haven’t heard anything back yet.”
“Thank you for reaching out,” I said, feeling several kinds of guilty now, so much so that my stomach was churning. He was quiet for a minute as we continued to walk. He went to reach for my hand, but then he hesitated.
“Fiona, why didn’t you tell me that Danny Barker is your fiancé?” I stopped walking and faced him. He leaned into me and looked into my eyes again. “Why?”
I wasn’t sure how he’d found out. It could have been from anyone. The only person I had kept it a secret from was him.
“I’m sorry. I’ve asked myself that same question, because I never lie,” I said. “I think it’s because I just wanted to be Fiona Denning to you. I didn’t want to tell you my sad story because I didn’t want you to look at me with pity. I’m so sorry.”
“Is that the only reason?” he said, grabbing the tips of my fingers.
“Peter,” I said, taking his other hand before I even knew what I was doing. “You have to understand, I had my whole life planned . . . If someone had told me a year ago that tonight I’d be dancing with an army captain at a secret Glenn Miller concert in the middle of England, I would have said they were insane.
“I came here after I found out Danny was missing, because all I knew was that I had to get out of town and do something. People looked at me like my life was over at twenty-five years old. I know my fiancé is either in a POW camp or . . . or dead. I need to try to find out what happened to him, and I will accept and deal with the news when I get it. But no matter what happens, my life isn’t over. And . . . that’s my story of how I ended up here.”
“Okay,” he said. “But you still didn’t answer my question. Did you not tell me Danny Barker was your fiancé because you didn’t want my pity, or because of the way you’re feeling, standing here, holding my hands right now?”
I started to speak, but I couldn’t get the words out. To admit I had feelings for him was to betray Danny, or the idea of Danny at least. I was beginning to have trouble remembering Danny the person.
Peter was watching the emotions cross my face as he put his hand on my cheek. He leaned down like he might kiss me on the lips. And I found myself wanting to kiss him back so much that it hurt. I wanted to surrender to that dizzy, elated first-kiss feeling, the kind that you relive for days after it happens. But instead I pulled away from him and took a small step back.
“I’m a mess,” I said, looking up at him. “I’m so sorry. You’re not wrong. About why I didn’t tell you. But . . .”
“That’s all I need to know. Please don’t apologize,” he said, a small smile on his face now, but there was disappointment in his eyes as he reached out and put his hand on my cheek again. It would have been so easy to just melt into him then. But it didn’t feel right, even if I was only being loyal to a ghost.
“Thank you for asking your friend,” I said. “I feel an obligation to find out what happened. If he’s alive? I need to find him. I owe him that. I hope you understand.”
“I do,” he said. “I would do the same thing.”
“I think you would,” I said.
“And I promise I will send you a letter if I hear anything at all from my friend about what POW camp he’s in, or anything else.”
“Thank you so much,” I said.
“Thank you,” he said, “for saying yes when I asked you to dance. The memory of this night? It’s going to help me get through all the dark nights that are coming.”
He reached out and put his arm around my shoulders, and it made me feel so warm and content I couldn’t even pretend to protest. We walked back to De Montfort Hall like that, and I knew that the memory of this night would stay with me too.
Chapter Sixteen
September 11, 1944
The Monday after the dance found us back at one of our favorite camps, the one we had visited on our very first day. As we served doughnuts and caught up with some of the soldiers we hadn’t seen in a little while, you could feel a change in the atmosphere. Many of the men looked anxious, especially the younger ones, and the laughs didn’t come as easily. There was a frenetic amount of activity as officers and GIs checked maps and equipment and rushed around attending briefings.
“Hey, Fiona, I need to ask you a favor,” Boston Tommy said as I handed him a cup of coffee shortly after we arrived.
“Sure, hon, what can I do for you?” I asked.
He looked at the line of men behind him and said in a soft voice, “It’s kinda personal. Can you take a minute?”
I nodded and told Viv and Dottie and our Victrola helper, Sam Katz, that I’d be right back.
“What is it?” I asked when I stepped outside the Clubmobile and we were out of earshot of his friends.
“This is the address for my mom and dad,” he said, handing me an envelope. He looked so serious, which wasn’t like him.
“Okay, do you need me to mail a letter for you? I’m happy to. Is that all?”
“Fiona, I want you to write my mom a letter if I don’t make it,” he said. “Tell her about our life here for me, because I’m not such a good writer. Her name’s Eileen. She’s a really good cook. And I should have told her that more, you know? I loved her stew and her breads, and I should have told her. I miss her and my pops. God, I miss them so much.”
“Tommy I . . . ,” I began. “You’ve got to think positive; you shouldn’t be thinking like that.”
“No, that’s exactly the way I should be thinking,” he said. “We’re jumping straight into enemy territory, our fourth combat jump. I jumped into Normandy on June 5 and came out of there on a stretcher. I spent two days on one of those Red Cross boats and five in the hospital. It’s a goddamn miracle I made it through.”
He lowered his voice even more. “And this jump? It’s going to be bad, I can tell. You can see it on the officers’ faces. No time to plan. We’re not ready.”
I felt sick to my stomach and prayed he was wrong.
“I will keep the address, but I’m sure I won’t have to send her a letter,” I said, forcing myself to smile. “We’ll see you over there soon.”
“You girls are the best. It’s like having older sisters around,” he said with a smile. His Boston accent coming through strong at the end with “oldah sistahs.”
I tucked the address in my pocket and gave him a tight hug. “I’ve got to help Viv and Dottie before they kill me. I hope I’ll see you again this week before you all go.”
When I got back into the Cheyenne, Sam was gone, but Liz was there with some additional supplies for us. Vera was already curled up, sleeping on the fifty-pound bag of doughnut flour that Liz had brought in.
“It’s happening this weekend. They’re sending thousands of troops into Holland, including the Eighty-Second,” Liz said. “They’re shipping out to the airfields on Friday, and I want the Cheyenne to follow them, go from field to field. I’ll send a supply truck with you. You’ll be sleeping in the Cheyenne, unless any of the RAF bases have beds. It’s going to be a little rough, but if ever they needed some support, it would be now. You up for it?”
“Of course,” I said, feeling sick again at her confirmation. I hoped that I would get to say good-bye to Peter before he left, and then I felt a pang of guilt for hoping.
“I can’t believe they’re all leaving,” Dottie said after Liz left. She was checking her guitar, getting ready to play a few songs before we headed to the next camp. She had become a sensation since the concert. On Sunday, when we had taken a trip into Leicester, soldiers kept stopping her and begging her to sing for them right in the middle of the street.
“I can’t believe that we’re not,” Viv said. “What are we going to do with so many of them gone? Sit around with Mrs. Tibbetts and her petting zoo, twiddling our thumbs?”
“Is Joe shipping out, Dottie?” I asked.