Isabella’s Airman (5 page)

My heart was in my mouth when I spoke. “What?”

“It’s a lovely spring day. I’m walking in the sunshine with a beautiful girl. I’d say I’m pretty lucky.”

Despite the sunshine, clouds gathered in the distance, and the air felt strange. Heavy. Davy followed my gaze. “Looks like a storm rolling in. They’re common this time of year, but they’re normally over quickly. We’ll be fine, and we’re nearly there now.”

The wide, tree-lined path had given way to a quiet road, and I could see the village up ahead. No more than a pub, a church, and a handful of shops, there were plenty of blue uniforms. It must be popular with the airmen and WAAFs, since it was such a short walk from the base. Davy kept his arm tucked through mine and led me to a double-fronted brick building, the large windows taped in zig-zag patterns.

“This is it. Sid’s Teashop.” He pushed the door open with his free hand, waited for me to walk ahead, and then greeted the plump-faced woman behind the counter. Within moments we were seated at a rickety table for two, so close our knees pressed together.

I tried not to stare openly at the other patrons, but it was hard not to. It was so different to my usual life. A group of elegant WAAFs clustered around one table, talking with animated hand gestures. A couple of tired-looking air force officers smoked at another table and spoke in low, dispirited tones. My attention skipped to the next group, two young mothers chatting over a pot of tea while jiggling their babies on their knees. Over at the back of the room, a young officer in uniform clutched the hands of the young WAAF sitting opposite him.

My mind skipped back to Marc’s letter. I needed to fall back on my training, and remember our protocols. I took a deep breath, and focused on Davy.

“You okay, Isabella?”

No. I’m struggling to cope, and adrift on a sea of unfamiliar emotions
. I fiddled with the cutlery on the table and bought myself a few moments. “I’m not used to this.” I swallowed and tried to cover my mistake. “Being with you,” I whispered.

He rubbed the back of his neck. “I know how to fix that.”

“You do?”

“Cake.” He flicked at the corner of the little typed menu card on our table. “Tea and cake can fix most things.”

The tea arrived in a large porcelain pot, accompanied by delicate flower-patterned cups and saucers. It was refreshingly different from the utilitarian white crockery at the base. Moments later, the waitress deposited a plate containing two slabs of a dark orange-colored cake.

“That’s a relief.” Davy nudged the plate toward me. “The carrot cake is good. Better than the coconut one. I swear they put sawdust in with the coconut.”

I had to smile. He was joking, surely? While I sat, uncertain how to respond, he added milk to both cups and then poured the tea through a metal strainer. It smelled fragrant and appetizing, and I realized I was hungry. Not just for food, but for him. To know more about the charming young man beside me.

“Where do you come from, Davy?” I wrapped my hands around the cup. I knew it was too hot to drink, but it stopped me from fidgeting.

“Wales. But you knew that by my accent, aye?” I shrugged. “I come from Holyhead, off the North Wales coast.”

“Tell me about it?”

“It’s a fishing town on an island just off Wales. In winter it can be gray for days on end, and damned cold when the north wind blows in, but the spring is breathtaking. Daffodils everywhere. This time of year, the hawthorns will be flowering, and the hedgerows will be a riot of blossom.” His eyes softened as he talked, his accent lilting even more. “My dad is the GP in the same practice that his dad held before him. We’ve had doctors in our family for generations.”

The tea had cooled enough to drink and was quite delicious. Davy picked up his own cup and then nodded to me. “So how about you? Where do you come from?”

I took a quick breath before I launched into my much-practiced cover story. “Not much to tell. My father is a lecturer, a historian, and we moved around a lot when I was growing up.”

“And?”

I wanted to share something honest. “My plan is to study history. Like you, I want to do the same as my father.”

“Favorite period?”

Huh? I was supposed to be learning about Davy, not the other way around. “The Dark Ages. After the Ancient Romans left Britain and the Saxons tried to take over. I’m fascinated by the way society reformed itself and became even stronger as a result. It developed into a united nation. Eventually. It just took a few hundred years.”

Davy gazed at me. He looked interested. “You ever been to Scotland?” I shook my head. “You should go, and take a trip to Hadrian’s Wall. It’s almost two thousand years old, and large parts of it are still intact. The Romans knew how to build walls.”

Parts of it existed in my time, but hermetically sealed to preserve it indefinitely. The idea of visiting it now, seeing—and touching—it, was intoxicating. “I’d run my hands over the stone and imagine how it looked the day it was laid there.” I wasn’t sure if I’d spoken aloud, but Davy’s nod confirmed it.

“I did that too. I was ten years old, and my head was filled with Roman soldiers and battles. I pretended I was a time traveler and had gone back in time to watch it being built.” He ducked his head, a hint of color staining his cheeks. “Stupid, huh?”

“It’s not stupid.”

My quiet words hung between us. Inside, I cringed. There was no reason
ever
to tell the natives why we were there, or to hint at future tech. Nothing would corrupt the timelines quicker than a peek at the future, and I felt cold at the secret I almost revealed.

Davy replaced his cup in its saucer, and then reached across the table and touched the back of my hand. My gaze leaped to meet his. “Maybe when I go on leave next time, you might come with me? I could take you to Hadrian’s Wall, and to sample my mum’s baking.”

Shame flooded me at the deception I was creating. I couldn’t look at him. I tucked both hands in my lap and stared down at the table. The tea left a bitter taste in my mouth, or maybe that was guilt? This was so unfair.

I didn’t even realize I was trembling until Davy spoke in a low, pained voice. “I’m sorry, Isabella. I didn’t mean to make you feel uncomfortable.”

Looking up, I saw the hurt in his eyes and the way his jaw tightened. “I’m sorry,” I blurted. “I can’t do that.”

His mouth twisted, but he didn’t look away. “I’ve only known you a couple of days, and I know it’s too soon to be making plans, so don’t say no. Not yet.” He hesitated. I wondered if he could hear how loud my heart was pounding. “Let’s just take it as it comes. One day at a time.” His lips curved in a ghost of a smile. “Can we do that?”

I longed to say yes. This was supposed to be a fact-finding exercise and a step toward an excellent grade for the field trip. Over a pot of tea in a bustling café, it had grown into something I didn’t recognize.

“Isabella?” His voice was soft, coaxing me to speak. I remembered when he said my name that first night. The gentle lilt, the way it rolled off his tongue like an endearment. I swallowed. I was in way over my head already.

Still he watched me. Tension vibrated in the air. I couldn’t say yes, but it would kill me to say no. The paper I’d written was meaningless. Their chances of survival—this man’s chance—was dependent on more than proximity to home. He wanted someone to come back to.

There was a lump in my throat the size of a rock. “One day at a time.”

His smile was real this time. “That’s all right, then.” He slid the plate of forgotten carrot cake toward me. “We start with cake.”

With trembling fingers, I took a slice of cake and lifted it to my lips. At any other time I’d be curious about this new food, eager to try it and to add it to the list of things I’d experienced. Now though, it could have been made of cardboard. My mouth was too dry, my throat too tight. I managed to bite off a small piece and forced it down, feeling as though I’d choke in the process.

Davy’s eyes widened when he saw my struggle to eat. “It’s not that bad, is it?” He broke off a corner, chewed it and swallowed, and then stared at me, concern in his eyes. “Are you okay?”

I gulped down some tea and somehow replaced the cup in its saucer without spilling it on the table. “I’m fine.” I groped for an explanation. “It was just a crumb.”

A rowdy group of airmen claimed the table next to us, chattering about a movie they’d seen, and arguing about the details. I shrank in my seat. I was stupid to think I could cope with this.

Davy glanced at the airmen, looked back at me, and paused, his forehead crinkling in a frown. “It’s too noisy in here. Let’s go.”

I nodded, mute with gratitude. With the remnants of the cake wrapped securely in his snowy white handkerchief, we left the tea shop, and Davy took my arm.

We’d only taken a few steps when I felt the first stinging drops of rain. Clouds covered the sky, ominous and dark. I wore a thin cardigan over my dress and would be soaked in minutes. Davy didn’t hesitate. He grabbed my hand and tugged. “The church. We can shelter in there.”

His hand was warm, his grip strong, and his touch felt strangely right.
Safe
. Together we ran the short distance to the gray stone church, and then burst through the doors. A giddy laugh escaped before I could stop it. I was wet, the hair clinging to my head, and when I shook, droplets of water flew everywhere.

Davy turned to face me and chuckled. “That’s better,” he murmured. Lifting his free hand, he smoothed a few stray hairs from my forehead, his touch as gentle as a butterfly’s wing. Our fingers were still tangled together, and he made no move to separate us. “Yes.” He smiled, pleasure sparking in his eyes. “Much better.”

Drops of rain clung to his eyelashes. We stood so close I could see the individual hairs in his brows. A thin, pale scar interrupted his left eyebrow, and I longed to touch it, to behave with the easy familiarity he did. Davy’s breath hitched, and his fingers tightened around my own. “We can wait here until the rain stops.” His voice was strained. He sounded unsure of himself.

I dragged my gaze away and looked at our surroundings. The church was empty apart from us. Dry, warm, and comfortable, it offered sanctuary from the weather. The noise of the downpour was muffled, and one might not know it was even raining.

A soothing fragrance hung in the air, and I inhaled as I tried to identify it. Candle wax, polish, and incense—the same smells that perfumed the churches in my own time.

Ours were functional inside, with plain walls and windows, not ornate like this one. Rainbows danced on the floor where the light crept through stained-glass windows, and every wall was adorned with carvings and pictures. Even the pews were decorated. I stared at the clusters of leaves and flowers carved into the backs of the wooden seats.

Without thinking, I wandered up the aisle, Davy walking beside me. If the tea shop had been bursting with energy, this place radiated calm, or maybe that was the man at my side. Together we sat in a middle pew, and my gaze slid from window to window. Such beauty, and totally missing in my time. We’d become an enlightened society, taught from early childhood emotions were destructive, but somewhere along the way our lives had become empty. Sterile.

For the first time, I had an inkling why some people ran away and jumped to another period in history. Was it worth becoming a fugitive to live with such color and beauty?

The squeeze on my fingers dragged me back to the present, and I looked at Davy. “Was that you waving us off last night?” he asked.

“Did you see me?”

“Teddy thought it was you with Juliet, but the bugger didn’t tell me until we’d taken off. I’ll look out for you next time. If you wave us off, that is.”

“I will.” My chest warmed at the thought.

“It’s the dance tomorrow night. Are you still coming with me?”

I could no more refuse than I could swim the Atlantic. “I’m still coming.”

“That’s good.” He sat back in the pew and smiled at me. “I told you, I’m lucky,
cariad
.”

I frowned at the unfamiliar word, spoken in his gentle, lilting accent. “Cariad. What does that mean?”

His smile grew. “It means the most beautiful girl in the world.”

Oh
. My cheeks heated. Perhaps sensing my discomfort, he talked a little more about growing up in Wales and how his mother was English. His parents had met in France during the Great War, as he referred to it, when his mother was a nurse and his father a soldier. They’d married in the chapel attached to the hospital after his father had been wounded.

“It’s funny.” Davy played with my fingers as he spoke. “My dad reckons that the minute he put a ring on my mum, he had to get better. She wouldn’t let him give up. Kept telling him that she wanted to see his home town.” I listened, entranced.

If only it was so easy. I’d gladly wear Davy’s ring if it meant he’d survive this war. After all, if there were only four more ops to go, then his tour with Bomber Command would be over in weeks. If he didn’t sign up for a second tour, he might survive after all.

I allowed myself to imagine a future where I went back to Holyhead with Davy. Where I settled down as his wife. Had his children. The images sparkled out of reach, as tantalizing and fleeting as the rainbows spilling across the floor.

“It’s perfect.” Juliet admired the frock she’d chosen for me. “And a thousand times better than what you were planning to wear.”

It
was
perfect. Dark blue, with tiny yellow flowers dotted across it, the dress fell to my knees. The fabric was soft and silky, and I couldn’t resist sliding it through my fingers. And as for the tiny pearl buttons at the top…they gleamed in the evening sunshine from the window.

“You borrowed these?” They looked wildly expensive by today’s standards, and light years from the kind of clothes I normally wore.

She smiled. “The Section Officer upstairs—Mavis—offered them. I couldn’t turn her down.”

Looking at the frock Juliet had borrowed for herself, I could see why. The cut was similar to the blue one. It hugged her curves, and the soft pink made her skin glow. She looked like pictures I’d seen of movie stars.