“It looks like it,” she replied. We watched as he leaned in and whispered something in her ear, and they both laughed. She took his arm, leading him back to the door. Whoever would have thought such a pretty girl would want to be with such an ugly thug.
People came forward to congratulate us, everyone saying how marvelous it had been, and how grateful they were. One woman told me about her ruined house. She and four children have been squashed into a neighbor’s house ever since. Quite a few people are still living in various halls, sleeping on floors. Blankets have become scarcer than pork chops. They’re becoming tradable commodities, like shillings or silver. I’ve decided to make a collection around Chilbury, and Mrs. Quail said she’d help.
Tom was there, his hair combed for once, and looking rather handsome. “You were incredible, Kitty. For organizing everything, and for singing so beautifully.”
“Do you really think so?”
“All the people here think so,” he said, and everyone around us began cheering. It was a little embarrassing.
“I was right, wasn’t I?” Tom went on.
“What about?” I asked, wondering what was coming.
“You have become the big hero after all!”
I leaned forward and gave him a peck on the cheek.
Then Daddy appeared out of nowhere. “What’s all this about?” he grumped. “Kitty, it’s time to leave. Come on. We haven’t got all day. What happened to Venetia and that blasted chap? I’ll have a few words with both of them when I find them. Should have shot him while I had the chance.”
“I didn’t know you’d come to hear us sing,” I said, wishing he hadn’t.
“I had to come to see how much of a mess you’d make of it,” he bellowed, then gave a snort of a laugh. “But you weren’t actually that bad.” He glanced around, eyeing the surroundings, possibly for Mama or Mrs. Tilling. “Although I do hope that your ambitions stop at local charity shows, young lady. It really wouldn’t do to have a Winthrop on the stage, you know.”
I smiled at him like the Cheshire Cat. “Don’t worry, Daddy. I’m still your little poppet,” I said, and skipped off into the crowd.
It seems Venetia has taught me a thing or two after all.
CHILBURY MANOR,
CHILBURY,
KENT.
Wednesday, 28th August, 1940
Dear Angela,
I simply can’t believe it! Alastair came back, he is alive! I am beside myself with incredulity, and keep having to shake myself to make sure it’s not a dream.
It all happened the evening of our concert. Can you believe, I was standing alone in the center of the stage singing “Blue Moon”? And everyone was enjoying it! The crowd was swaying along to the music, smiling, and I was beginning to get used to being up there, singing louder, when my eyes flickered over to a man standing at the back. At first I thought I’d dreamed it, and then I thought it must be someone who looked like him, but the more my eyes darted to his, the more I knew for sure.
It was Alastair.
He was watching evenly, a vague smile on his lips, like he always had, and I felt something inside me buckle up and snap. I stopped singing, stopped breathing, as if I’d seen a mirage. Mercifully, Kitty came up beside me and took over the singing, and I found myself walking across the stage, down the steps, and through the throng, as if the rest of the people in the room had vanished. It was just him and me, walking toward each other, our eyes connecting, and then him taking me in his very real arms.
We missed the rest of the show, as we disappeared outside to take a walk together. The evening was warm and balmy, the smell of burned-out buildings still settling in the air, an almost-full moon hanging mindfully in the purple hue above the horizon.
“Good choice of song,” Alastair said, taking my hand. I felt that extraordinary sensation of happiness flooding through me. I know I should have been cautious, but I simply couldn’t help myself. I had been deprived of something so crucial to life, and someone had just given it to me, reminding me of how it is to be happy.
“?‘Blue Moon,’?” I said, looking at the moon, a small smile escaping. “And now you’re here. Finding me alone. On a stage, of all places.”
“You were terrific,” he said, steering me into a small park, a pond with some benches, swans in pairs, curving their necks into their plumage ready for sleep. We sat down, holding hands, like an old couple on holiday.
“Alastair,” I said quietly, looking at his hand holding mine in my lap. “Where have you been?”
“I had a job to do, unfortunately,” he whispered, as he turned his head to nuzzle into my hair. “I didn’t want to go, nor did I realize that I was going to have to leave so quickly.”
“It was to do with the Nazi in the wood, wasn’t it?” I asked. “Were you worried you’d be caught?”
“No, Venetia.” He smiled and kissed my hand. Then he told me all about it, but swore me to secrecy, so I really mustn’t tell you, my dear! Suffice it to say, he is not the villain I thought him. Rather he is one of the good guys.