"Honestly? He does. He found it in one of the bins and thought you might like it." She holds out the letter. “For your TikTok channel.”
I don't even bother to hide my groan. How Mistral can bully me into doing something that literally does not require me to move a muscle or say a single word to do, but has to get Bess to deal with difficult customers, I don't know. I'm beginning to suspect it's an 'inability' to deal with difficult customers in order to get good TikTok material for Bess' channel.
"What is it?"
"Open it and see. You should do it on camera, though."
I cross my arms. In any other situation with completely different people it might be interpreted as a gesture of defiance, or disapproval, but I'm not fooling anyone that it isn't anything other than a sign of defeat.
The chocks have been removed and the plane's already speeding towards the end of the runway.
Bess frowns and takes the letter, her eyes yo-yo-ing between the two of us. "This feels like a trick."
"No trick," says Mistral. "You can trust Ed."
"I don't know that I can, actually."
"Okay, then. You can fully trust me. This is definitely one for TikTok."
Hesitantly, Bess gets out her phone and backs up to the nearest table, her eyes still boring holes into the two of us. Then she reaches around to a shelf, pulls out two books and leans her phone against them.
After several seconds of fiddling, she sits back and addresses the camera. "I've just been given what looks like a letter and been told to share it with you all. I don't know what it contains, but here goes."
She opens the piece of paper and silently scans it for a couple of seconds. Placing a hand on her chest, she emits a tiny gasp and looks back at the camera. "It's a wartime love letter." Her voice is quiet, reverent. "It says,My dearest B, I've started numbering my letters to you so you know what order I've written them in should the post get delayed and muddled up again. We know the world really is in chaos if the British postal system is in disarray.
"We're currently posted in –"Bess looks at the camera. "The information's been cut out." She holds the letter up so the hole is clear."– and not seeing much action. I'm with the 'ack ack' truck – two of us ride on the back with a Bren gun mounted in case of attack from the air. So far, we haven't had occasion to fire a shot.
"The other week we were passing through– censored again –and they opened up on us, putting up quite a barrage – ack ack of all sorts, large and small. In the dark, some is pretty to watch, like fireworks, coloured red and green, curving and flaring all over the place.
"I make it sound as if it's a wonder with little to fear, but sometimes you just have to find beauty in the awfullest of things. Especially when you've been here long enough that chaps start shooting at shadows.
"I have to keep this short as dark is closing in. The sand dunes in the distance are hooded with the long shadows of evening. When you put aside the reason for me being here, it really is beautiful. The curved ridges of sand, miles of smooth undulations, look almost sensual. Like the naked body of a sleeping woman. Of you.
"Oh, my darling, how I think back to that last, desperate night we spent together before I was shipped out. It was glorious, and precious, and utterly heartbreaking. But I keep it close to me always.
"And now, although it's not yet half past six, the day is finished and night is taking over.
"I've taken to sleeping under the stars. You'd think the desert is hot, night or day, but believe me, when the sun goes down, how you wish you had a warm body to curl around. I imagine you're with me and my feverish love for you keeps me warm.
"Do me a favour. Every night the stars are out, go and find Betelgeuse, the brightest of Orion's stars, and know that I am looking at it, too. This distant, cosmic wonder will keep us connected. I can't stand to think that by the time you read this letter or the next, and by the time I read yours, days and weeks of our lives will already have passed, but Betelgeuse will anchor our love in time and space. I might be half a world away, but when you see that star twinkle, know that my head and heart are with you.
"My candle is almost at its last flicker. I have to sign off, my darling. In the meantime just this – I love you."
Bess is silent for several seconds. When she finally releases the breath she's been holding, it's sharp and verging on the edge of a sob. "It's so...unbelievably beautiful." Sniffing, she wipes at her eyes. "This –" she holds up the letter and looks at her phone. "– this is what's missing from romance these days. The art of crafting an expression of love." Her voice cracks as she says, "Thisis how it's done."
She reaches forward and ends the recording.
I am mesmerised.
The depth of her response, the size of her feelings about such a seemingly simple romantic gesture as a love letter is not something I could ever have predicted.
There is now no other reality, but Bess feeling extraordinarily strongly about her romantic needs. I need to stop being the voice of criticism and respect that.
And also…
…I want to be able to move Bess like that. How could I not?
Her being moved is just as beautiful as the sentiment in the letter.
