Joyce was reluctant to leave a place of such beauty and peace, but Harry guided her down a winding staircase and out into thewhispering gallery. Dust motes danced in the silvery light of the cavernous void.
‘I came here on a school trip once,’ she recalled.
‘And did you marvel at the acoustics?’
‘No, I mainly spent the day trying to hide from the school bully Rita, who tormented me by flicking wet balls of paper into my hair,’ she admitted.
She looked down, and quite suddenly her head began to reel, as if the whole dome was spinning out of control. Images of her bombed library, and of Dorotha and Peter, slid by, a kaleidoscope of regret.
‘Vertigo,’ she managed.
‘Sit down,’ Harry soothed, guiding her to a stone ledge that ran around the circumference of the gallery. ‘Lean your head back and close your eyes.’
The effect was soothing and the world slowed once more.
When she opened her eyes, Harry was facing her on the other side of the gallery. His voice gently reverberated in her ear.
‘Sod Rita.’
It was so unexpected that Joyce clapped a hand over her mouth and laughed. ‘Harry!’
‘Sorry,’ he called back. ‘You can take the boy out of Stepney.’
He grinned back at her from across the void, one side of his mouth slightly higher.
‘But just to prove I’m not a heathen...’
He pressed his lips to the curved wall and a whisper flew around the dome.
‘An angel is like you, and you are like an angel.’
She breathed out.It was him.
He gazed back at her as if she’d thrown a bowl of stars into the heavens above, his silver eyes dancing.
Joyce lowered her lashes, overwhelmed and fast falling under the spell of this beautiful man.
She stood up and began walking around the curve of the whispering gallery, one hand tracing the cool stone balcony edge, only to find him walking towards her. They met in the middle.
Maybe it was the senseless loss, or some primal desire to seek comfort in the aftermath of violence, but her mouth sought his. He responded instantly, crushing his lips to hers, and she felt her head swim at the intensity of his kiss. It was all happening fast, but what did any of it matter? It was wartime. Life had to be lived at the double.
Harry tangled his hands through her hair, scattering hairpins, and kissed slowly down her neck to her collarbone, as snow flurries danced outside the grand cathedral. Finally, they both pulled back, breathless. The darkness settled around them like a sigh.
They both spoke at once.
‘You are beautiful—’
‘I don’t usually—’
He grinned.
‘Kiss men you barely know in the whispering gallery?’
She nodded. This war was turning her into someone she barely recognised.
Back outside the cathedral, the snow had stopped falling, but it was still perishingly cold.
‘Quick, jump in,’ Harry grinned, opening the car door. ‘You’ll catch your death.’
