She pelted him with the heel of her hand, very much as though they were still eight years old.
‘Why are you smiling?’ she demanded.
‘Because I finally know what happened,’ he said, his exhausted eyes alight with amusement at her regression back into childhood. ‘It can’t torture me any more. I’m free of it. And you’re here.’
‘I am,’ she agreed.
‘With me.’
‘Yes,’ she said, agreeing with that, too.
‘So, I don’t care about the Somers,’ he said. ‘I don’t care about my father.’ His gaze, tinted amber by the reflection of the fire once again became serious. ‘I care about you.’
I care about you.
She felt the wonder of those words, all through her.
She didn’t reply.
Not straight away.
The leaves hissed in the grate, the sticks smoked, and time once again stretched.
Then, ‘I care about you, too,’ she said. ‘There’s no one I care more about.’
And it was his turn to be silent.
He leant forward, towards her.
She didn’t move.
She thought he might be going to kiss her.
But he didn’t kiss her.
Not yet.
He asked her a favour.
‘Let’s not look back,’ he said. ‘I don’t want us to waste time on things that can’t be changed.’ His shining eyes entreated her. ‘I don’t want us to waste any time at all.’
‘No,’ she said, no longer smiling, but remembering what a precious commodity time had become. She’d forgotten there. Briefly. ‘I don’t want to waste it either.’
They wasted none that afternoon.
They made the most of every speeding second, talking, constantly, as the day’s meagre light outside faded, pulling them inevitably towards the looming night.
He was going to Italy, he said; he shouldn’t have been told that until his pre-operation briefing later, but all the pilots in 96 had clubbed together to bribe the station’s confidential clerk into keeping them informed on their upcoming movements.
‘And where were you last night?’ Iris asked.
‘Cologne.’ He stood, shrugging off his great coat. ‘I knew you were on your way before I went up. Fred, our group captain, told me after briefing that we were getting new radio operators.’ He grinned. ‘Never have I been more determined to come back.’ He crouched, making his coat into a cushion, and she shifted on to it, leaving room for him beside her. ‘I headed straight to the house after interrogation this morning,’ he went on, sitting back down. His arm brushed against hers, and he didn’t move it away. ‘But you were locked in with Ambrose … ’
‘Ambrose?’ said Iris.Thatwas what the adjutant was called? He’d only told her and Clare his surname, which was Brown.Flight Lieutenant Brown.He was a rank down from Robbie, which was actually quite gratifying. Almost as much so as his incongruous first name. ‘I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone less ambrosial.’
‘I gather from Beth Twinton that Ambrose thinks much the same of you and your friend.’
‘Clare. You’ll like her.’
