All the while Geoff had been talking, he had been making cracker sandwiches of ham and cheese. Pleased with his creation, he asked, “Now, your turn. What did you do during the war? Did Americans have National Service?”
“No. There was nothing like that in the States, but we all tried to do our bit. I moved to Washington in ’44 and worked for the Treasury Department, and after the war, I got a job with the Army Exchange Service.”
“Boyfriend?”
“In Atlanta, Georgia.”
“Is there a reason for such a long-distance romance?”
“Rob’s currently working for a company headquartered in Atlanta until December 23rd,” I said uncomfortably. “He’s not sure what he wants to do after that, so until that time, I’ve decided to stay here in London.”
Geoff tilted his head and looked at me as if he wasn’t buying it. Rather than answer any more questions, I asked him about his love life. “I understand you might be preengaged.” I was repeating a comment his mother had made. Patricia had been considerably annoyed at her son for his failure to take seriously his relationship with the niece of her closest friend.
“That was a joke, but Mother didn’t stay around long enough to find that out.” After putting his cracker down, he continued. “For some time now, I have been seeing Alberta Eccles. Unlike me, she’s a caring and compassionate person. Her parents are in the midst of a nasty divorce, so Bertie runs from her mother’s house in Bucks to her father’s rooms in London in the fruitless pursuit of trying to salvage her parents’ marriage. It is not salvageable! Her mother ran off with her lover to Brazil. Bad decision all around. The British run away to Argentina not Brazil. Once she got to Rio, Mrs. Eccles realized her mistake and returned to England. Bertie blames her mother’s behavior on the ‘change of life,’ and I’m willing to give her the benefit of the doubt. But she must have known she was stepping over the line when she made her affair so public.
“The irony here is Bertie wants her parents to take her advice and ‘forgive and forget.’ Yet, with everyone in her family telling her the situation is a hopeless mess, she refuses to let it go, because that’s advice she doesn’t want to hear. By the way, nice job of leading the conversation away from your love life. I suspect all is not well with your chap in Atlanta.”
I stood up and excused myself. I was tired from working all day and typing for a few hours each night. But I really wanted to get back to my room and reread a letter I had received from Rob. He was glad to hear I would be living with the Alcotts during the winter months because, “I don’t like to think of you curled up in front of that space heater and wearing mittens to bed. Remember how we used to fight off the cold?” Here was another example of Rob flirting with me, but with nothing to back it up, what was the point? He then wrote at length about his brother’s role as a pilot flying C-54s into Berlin before getting to the real reason for the letter.
Are Beth and Jack getting any news from Michael? I’m curious about his part in this business. I wonder how long it can go on, especially since flying in conditions in northern Europe in winter can be pretty bad. I know something about that. It’s too bad Michael was transferred to Germany. But like he said, he’s out in November, so what’s that, another three or four weeks? I imagine his first stop will be Crofton to see his parents, and his second stop will be Holland Park. You two seemed to have hit it off. Looking forward to your next letter.
Love,
Rob
I was becoming increasingly frustrated with Rob. It seemed as if he wanted to continue our relationship, or why else would he be writing me letters? But with an ocean between us, how was that supposed to happen? He was definitely trying to figure out if there was something going on between Michael and me, but he knew as much as I did. We had had some passionate moments together before he left for Germany, and I really liked him. But since that time, there had been total silence — that is, until today. When I came home from work, on my section of the foyer table, was a letter from Michael.
Dear Maggie,
I’m not sure if you read my letter to Mom and Dad, but I am now flying back and forth between Lubeck and Berlin repairing aircraft left behind because of maintenance problems. The return flights have been very interesting. Because of the fuel shortages, children and the elderly are at risk for hypothermia, so we have been flying old people and mothers with small children to the West. The kids seem to get a kick out of flying, but the adults are terrified. I can’t blame them because we’ve had some rough weather, and you can really get bounced around back there. I do what I can to divert their attention. I speak to them in German, and they either start laughing, or it becomes a game trying to figure out what I’m saying.
I’m really looking forward to getting home, but before I do, I wanted to apologize for my behaviour the week of the ball. I came on to you so strongly you must have thought me a total brute. The only excuse I have is that you were the prettiest girl I had met since leaving Australia, and I overreacted. It won’t happen again. I appreciate the letters. Please write again.
Mike
After finishing the letter, I thought I should mail it to Rob. In that way, he could see for himself that Michael’s second stop after getting home from Germany would not be Holland Park. His interest in me was apparently due to a shortage of goodlooking women at his station in Malta. It had been such a short time ago that I had been complaining that my life had become too complicated because two men were interested in me at the same time. That was no longer the case. Problem solved!
Chapter 36
October 31st was a glum day for me. The British do not celebrate Halloween, reserving their autumn celebration for November 5th, Guy Fawkes Night, a commemoration of the discovery of a plot to blow up the Houses of Parliament. The British make merry by building bonfires, which are fun, but I missed having little kids come to the door for their trick or treat. In Minooka, where everyone knew everyone else, neighbors demanded a “trick” before they put any goody in your bag. My sisters and I would sing a song, and when we were finished, after accounting for my brother’s whereabouts, we held out an old pillowcase and were rewarded with a piece of candy or an apple.
If my mood wasn’t gloomy enough, London was experiencing its first major fog of the season. It wasn’t the city’s famous “pea soup,” but it was thick enough to look like a set for a Jack the Ripper movie.
I was hoping someone would be at the house because, for the past two days, I had been all alone. Even Geoff would do, and as it turned out, he would have to. I went into the morning room and plopped down on the chair opposite to him. He offered to give up his chair, which was closer to the fire, but I didn’t feel like moving. I hadn’t even taken off my coat.
“Have you been in Brussels?” I asked.
“No, worse. I’ve been closeted in a conference room with Dutch, Belgian, French, British, and American representatives, none of whom speak a common language.”
“Americans speak English, Geoff.”
“Debatable.” I let out a loud sigh. It was going to be one of those nights.
“I went down to see Lily, and as it turns out, my mother and father were there. Lily was in false labor, and my mother rang the alarm bell because the baby would be too early. When it comes to Iris or Lily, all that is required is a phone call for my father to rush to their side. There have been royal births with fewer attendants.”