In Perfect Time (19 page)

“Vive
la
France!”
Mellie Blake crossed the sod runway, arms outstretched as if to hug the country.

Louise Cox giggled and nudged Mellie. “You’re just happy because Tom’s here.”

“Right here at Sisteron. Rudy’s here too.” Mellie’s tone took on a teasing lilt for Louise’s sake, then she turned to Georgie. “And I do believe a dark-haired pharmacist is in the area.”

“He is.” Georgie sighed. “France is already living up to its romantic reputation.”

Too much romance for Kay, especially since Roger remained in Italy. And especially since Roger had no romantic interest in her. She fell back to walk with Vera, Alice, Lieutenant Lambert, and Capt. Frank Maxwell.

“Isn’t the light exquisite?” Alice shielded her eyes and gazed around. “The Impressionists said Provence has the best light in the world, and I have to agree. I can’t wait to get out my paints.”

Kay didn’t know anything about light or paint, but the scenery was gorgeous—the rolling Durance Valley, the mix
of golden grasses and deep green trees, and the sudden white of limestone cliffs, one topped by an ancient citadel.

Vera shook back her shiny sable hair. “I’m looking forward to Paris. The way we’re charging up the Rhȏne Valley, we might beat the Normandy forces there.”

“They have too much of a head start on us.” Captain Maxwell chuckled. “But never fear. You’ll be shopping on the Champs-Élysées before long.”

Kay rolled her eyes. The flight surgeon thought women only cared about shopping.

Lieutenant Lambert wore a satisfied smile. “That’s why I chose these two flights for this assignment. The twelve of you ladies have been overseas the longest, and you deserve to be the first to fly from France.”

“Thank you, Lieutenant. We appreciate it.” Kay’s smile felt as fake as her words. France didn’t feel like a reward when Roger was in Italy, and when Lieutenant Lambert would return to 802nd headquarters in Lido once she got the French detachment settled in. How could Kay convince Lambert she was chief nurse material if Lambert never saw her?

Kay fanned the open neckline of her blouse for relief from the heat. Since April, her spiritual tumult had thrown her off her goal and driven a wedge among the nurses. But soon the war would end and she’d lose her opportunity. Somehow she had to bring the group together. Unity would be more important with the women isolated, away from the other two flights in the squadron.

Unity. That was the key. Kay hefted her barracks bag higher on her shoulder and smiled at her friends. “We’ll have to work together like never before, like sisters. And here we are at Sisteron.”

She almost gagged on the corn in her mouth. Corn? She’d never been corny in her life. Where on earth had that come from?

Alice glanced to the side as if embarrassed for Kay, and Vera’s upper lip twitched, a look Kay had only seen directed at Mellie and Georgie before. And Lieutenant Lambert gave her a quizzical look.

Kay laughed it off. “On the other hand, maybe not. I don’t even like my sisters.”

Vera’s lip stopped its twitch, and Lambert raised a slight smile.

“Where are we staying?” Changing the subject seemed wise. Kay waved her hand around at the scenery. “Where’s our grand château?”

“I’m afraid it’ll be the Château de Canvas de l’Armée.” Lambert’s brown eyes crinkled.

“Tents.” Alice scrunched up her nose.

“Not just any tent,” Kay said. “A tent in Provence with Impressionistic light filtering in.”

“Romantic.” Sarcasm colored Vera’s voice, but she smiled. “So many happy memories under canvas.”

“Many more to come.” Captain Maxwell gave her a warm smile.

Kay fought a frown. For a married man, he was far too familiar with the nurses.

Then there was Roger, who acted more like a married man than Maxwell did. And people said women were hard to figure out.

Istres/Le Tubé Airfield, France
September 8, 1944

Two asphalt runways and one earthen runway. Nice. No wonder the Luftwaffe had liked the airfield. But now the Americans ran Istres/Le Tubé.

Roger carried his bag across the runway with the Indian
dhol
drum strapped across his chest. He hadn’t received a replacement drum from Chicago. The music store apologized—shortages of metal, you know, but if they received anything in stock, they’d send it. He was getting good on the
dhol
though. If only that impressed the big band leaders.

Major Veerman beckoned Roger and Elroy to the Army truck that would take them to officers’ quarters.

Warm sea air filled Roger’s lungs. The airfield lay close to the Mediterranean, not far west of Marseille. To the surprise of the Allied commanders, the French had taken both Marseille and Toulon before the end of August, and the US Seventh Army had already linked up with the Normandy forces over a hundred miles to the north. The Allies held a line from the English Channel to Switzerland and down to the Franco-Italian border. Maybe this war would be over by Christmas.

Roger would do his best to speed the process. In France he’d fly new routes and face new dangers and challenges. For the first time in his life, he felt prepared.

“Hey, Coop. Elroy.” Bill Shelby waved and approached with his copilot, Irvin Bernstein. “Can’t believe we’re stationed in France.”

“Swell, isn’t it?” Roger tossed his bag into the back of the truck and climbed in.

“Do you know . . . has anyone heard if the gals are here?” Mike Elroy hoisted himself up over the tailgate, but his voice sounded stiff.

Roger plunked down onto the bench seat, and a brotherly urge rose in his chest. The poor man needed help talking to women and asking them out. However, Roger’s bad experience would only lead to bad advice.

“Sure thing.” Bernstein shoved his barracks bag under his seat. “Heard some of the gals of the 807th are up at Le Luc, and the gals of the 802nd arrived here at Istres a few days ago. Good news for you, Playboy Elroy.”

Mike’s cheeks flamed. “I’ve never . . . no one’s ever . . .”

When the men broke down in good-natured laughter, Mike laughed too and exchanged shoulder slugs with Bernie.

Roger patted out a quiet rhythm on both drumheads of the
dhol
. The gals of the 802nd were here at Istres. He was afraid of that. No matter where in France Kay was stationed, he’d fly with her. But to be quartered at the same base, sharing a mess, church services, all that?

“Oh boy,” he muttered and shifted his tempo.

The truck rumbled across the field and down a road running east. The wind cooled Roger’s face, ruffled his hair, and mellowed his beat. Kay or no Kay, this was a first-rate location. The airfield lay on a large coastal plain. Far inland, limestone ridges jutted up.

They turned into town. The streets were lined with two-storied homes, plastered in shades of tan or yellow, with colorful shutters and red tile roofs.

The truck eased onto a side street and filled it from curb to curb. A staircase ran up the exterior of one of the houses, and four ladies sat on the stairs, top to bottom.

Roger’s heart lurched in his chest, throwing off his rhythm.

Kay Jobson sat on the bottom step, hair glowing in the sunshine. She raised one hand to shield her eyes, then grinned and waved.

His heartbeat gave a whole new meaning to syncopation.

He returned the smile and the wave. At least the rest of the boys were whooping and waving, so he didn’t stand out.

The truck stopped. Veerman pointed to the house across the road. “That’s your home, gentlemen.”

Right across the road from Kay.

Not good.

He grabbed his barracks bag and hopped out of the truck.

Now Kay stood at the cyclone fence at the curb, not even
four feet away, leaning her elbows on a cement post. “Hi, Roger. Boy, it’s good to see you fellows.”

“Good to see you too.” Her eyes sparkled, her mouth . . . oh, her mouth.

He yanked his gaze back to her eyes.

Thank goodness she was studying his drum and missed that slip. “Is this the drum the little boy gave you in India?”

“Yeah. It’s called a
dhol
.”

“I’d love to hear you play it. Now we’re stationed at the same base. Maybe someday . . .” She tucked her lower lip between her teeth, and her eyebrows clumped together.

He had to reassure her. “Yeah. Maybe someday. Maybe even now.” He slapped out a lively beat.

His reward was the prettiest smile he’d ever seen. “That’s swell.”

So was she. Roger backed up and motioned over his shoulder with his thumb. “Better get settled in. See you around.”

“See you.” As she walked away, the motion of her hips inspired an even livelier beat.

With a huff of breath, Roger spun away and headed to his new home. The Bible promised the Lord would never tempt a man, so what was going on here?

Major Veerman opened the blue door of the house. “Kitchen and living room downstairs. The French couple who own this place will reside down here. Three rooms upstairs, four of you to a room. You numbskulls know the drill. No late hours, give them their privacy, ask for nothing, accept anything offered with grace. Be kind, respectful, and quiet.” He glanced at Roger’s drum.

“Only for outside use, sir. Far from the house.” He gave his CO his most serious look and sharpest salute.

Veerman headed up a steep, narrow staircase. “Never had a complaint yet.”

“Except from Klein,” Shell murmured.

Thank goodness Grant Klein came to Istres earlier today. He’d be quartered in another house.

Roger tried not to bump against the wall along the staircase. Uneven steps, chipped tiles, and no banister. He wouldn’t want to navigate the stairwell until he was fully awake each morning.

At the top of the stairs, Roger followed Elroy, Bernie, and Shelby into one of the rooms. He shoved open blue shutters, and sunshine and a breeze filled the room. The men’s four cots didn’t leave much standing room, but they didn’t need much anyway. Sure beat a tent with a mud floor.

But why did they pick the room that faced the road? That faced Kay’s house? That looked down on the gorgeous nurse lounging on the steps, long legs stretched in front of her, laughing at something Mellie said?

Roger marched across the room and tossed his bag onto the cot farthest from the window.

Elroy set down his bag too and backed out of the room. “Say, fellows, I think I’ll check out the neighborhood.”

“Me too.” Bernie slugged Elroy in the shoulder again. “Let’s see if the French mademoiselles are everything they’re cracked up to be.”

The two men thumped down the stairs.

Roger chuckled and set down the
dhol
. “Elroy’s going to end up with a girlfriend whether he wants one or not.”

“What about you?” Shell laid his bedroll on the cot. “Changed your mind?”

The contents of Roger’s barracks bag became fascinating. “Changed my mind?”

“About dating? Women? Kay Jobson?”

He grimaced at his shaving kit and set it next to his cot. “Nah. You know where I stand.”

“Sure. Only two reasons to date—for fun or for marriage, and you’re not looking for either.”

“No change there.” Fun led to steamy temptation. And marriage? Well, no woman should have to put up with a husband who lived on the road.

“Then what’s going on with Kay?”

“Nothing. Just friends.”

“You know my opinion. If you want to avoid romance, avoid friendship.”

“No choice this time. Kind of fell into the friendship.” More like God shoved him. “But I won’t fall into temptation.”

“Why not? You find her unattractive?”

Unattractive? Lt. Kay Jobson was about the best package of womanhood ever—mind, soul, body, and spirit. Roger kicked his barracks bag under his bed. He’d set out his stuff later.

“Yeah. I thought so.” The cot squeaked under Shell’s slight weight.

“I’ll be fine.”

“Sure. But what about her?”

“Her?”

Against his summer sunburn, Shell’s eyes seemed lighter, more probing. “So you have masterful control of your emotions. Great. But what about her?”

Kay’s laughter floated up through the open window, tingling in his ears.

Roger swallowed hard. “She’s changed. She’s not the same woman. She won’t throw herself at me.”

“Of course not. Who would?”

“See? What’d I tell you? Nothing to worry about.”

“That wasn’t what I meant. I meant, what about her heart?”

“Her heart?”

“Yeah. She has one, you oaf.” Shell lay back on the cot, hands laced behind his head.

“I know that.” Roger poked his barracks bag with his toe, poked harder.

“What if she falls for you? Does she know you’ve chosen the life of a monk?”

“Sure. Sure, she knows. I told her.” His stomach folded in on itself.

Once. He’d told her once. At the Orange Club a good six months earlier, he’d told her he didn’t date and his reasons why.

Everything had changed since then. Kay had changed. Even Roger had changed. But his reasons not to fall in love, not to let a woman fall in love with him—those hadn’t changed and never would.

His pulse thumped out the truth. It might be too late.