Page 70 of Never Tear Us Apart

Chapter Sixty-Eight

‘Well, now, aren’t I the lucky chap, getting to walk in with the two most beautiful women in Malta?

’ Adrian Warburton, tall, fair and handsome, offers Christina and me an arm each.

The rooms at the ERA club are already packed, and the Royal Engineers band is in full swing.

The room smells of smoke and perfume, undercut with sweat and something else, perhaps the desire to throw caution to the winds and forget everything.

A cheer goes up at the sight of Christina, who is immediately co-opted by Alex and taken somewhere he refers to as ‘backstage’.

‘May I get you a glass of something?’ Warby offers. ‘Not a huge selection, but we do have some rather nice wine and quite a lot of terrible whisky that will put hairs on your chest.’

‘I’ll take the wine, please,’ I say, and he leaves me standing by a pillar as he heads to the bar. Judging by the amount of times he is stopped, clapped on the back and congratulated for his latest act of daring on the way, I am not expecting refreshment any time soon.

Even in Stella’s gorgeous gown, I instinctively feel like a wallflower – hardly surprising when I come from a place where couples dance near each other rather than together, and instead of swirling in elegant unison around the dance floor, we mostly just jig about.

Leaning against the pillar, rather hoping that I am more or less invisible, I am content to take in the crowded room.

Everyone here has put on a show, as Christina would say.

The women have dusted off long-packed-away gowns, painted stocking seams on their legs and found something to rouge their cheeks with.

As for the men – oh, the men. Freshly shaved, uniforms pressed, they all look a million dollars.

Yes, if you look very closely, you can see the shadows under their eyes, the hollows in their cheeks, the strain on their faces – on everyone’s faces.

Yet, for a few hours at least, maybe even a whole night, they have put away their cares and worries to dance.

As for myself, I have a secret rendezvous to wait for.

I have no idea who will be approaching me, only that when they do, they will whisper one particular phrase, then we are to find a quiet place to talk.

That could happen at any moment. I’m not sure what I’m more nervous about – my meeting with a spy or seeing Danny again.

Except that there’s no sign of him. No matter how much I look, while trying my hardest not to look, Danny is nowhere to be seen, and all kinds of terrifying thoughts cross my mind.

I am about to go and look for him when the Whizz Bangs appear on the makeshift stage and the crowd applauds wildly.

Shrill whistles and shouts of delight almost raise the rafters.

‘Back to thrill you for one night only,’ Christina purrs into the microphone. ‘The famous Whizz Bangs are here to whizz your bang and bang your whizz. Take it away, girls!’

Warby arrives at my shoulder and hands me a glass of warm wine.

Christina, Alex and the rest of the concert party kick off their set with a spirited rendition of ‘Don’t Sit Under the Apple Tree’.

The partygoers whoop with every twirl and high kick, catcall and howl with laughter at Alex’s saucepan-lid bra.

‘Lights up a room, doesn’t she?’ Warby says fondly as he watches Christina ham it up, a lopsided grin on his face.

‘Never met a woman like her, never will again. Rather afraid she’s got me for good, you know.

Hope she won’t mind. Mind you, I’ll have to track the wife down and divorce her, last I heard she ran off with a Yank. ’

‘Just don’t break Christina’s heart,’ I tell him. ‘She deserves to be happy, and I get the distinct impression she’d be delighted never to see the back of you.’

‘Not easy when your heart’s set on a pilot,’ Warby tells me, with a kind of paternal concern. ‘Christina finds it rather trying sometimes.’

‘Is that when you are off on secret missions to buy wine?’ I smile.

‘Ah, yes, well.’ He smiles sheepishly. ‘How is it that everyone knows about that particular covert operation?’ He spots something out of the corner of his eye and digs me in the ribs with his elbow.

‘Ouch,’ I protest.

‘Attention!’ Warby tells me, as if he’s issuing a command. ‘Target acquired at nine o’clock.’

‘I beg your pardon?’ I ask him, bemused.

‘Action approaching at speed.’ He nods at the door, where Danny Beauchamp has just arrived, a different cap under his arm and turned out as sharp as a new pin.

I knew I was attracted to scruffy, unshaven, unkempt him, but now the sight of him makes me go a little bit weak at the knees.

‘Will you take evasive action or attack?’ says Warby.

My first instinct is to wave frantically at Danny, which I then decide is far too presumptuous and uncool, at exactly the moment he spots me in the crowd with my hand at half-mast.

His eyes widen a little, and he smiles, waving at me as if we’re kids in a playground.

‘He’s coming over,’ Warby observes. ‘Christina has told me to make myself scarce and to give you this.’ He presses a key into my hand

‘What’s it for?’ I ask.

‘Key to her place. She and I are lodging elsewhere tonight. Just in case you need a bit of privacy, you know.’

‘Oh.’ I look down at the key in my palm, my cheeks blazing scarlet, just as Danny reaches my side.

‘Maia Borg, as I live and breathe,’ he says. ‘Damn, but you look beautiful.’

‘You don’t look so bad yourself,’ I say, tucking the key inside my bag, not quite able to meet his gaze.

‘I missed you,’ Danny tells me.

I smile. ‘I saw you not long ago.’

‘Yes, and I’ve missed you since.’ He lowers his mouth to my ear.

‘I’m here,’ I say finally, summoning the courage to look at him. ‘This is where I am now.’ We hold each other’s gaze for a moment, and a smile plays on his lips.

‘Will you dance with me?’ he asks, offering me his hand.

‘I really can’t dance,’ I tell him. ‘No one ever taught me how.’

Christina steps into the spotlight and begins to sing solo, something called ‘When the Lights Go On Again’, full of sentiment and longing.

Couples pair off, embracing as they walk onto the floor and dance close together.

Heads rest on shoulders; eyes close; fingers link as the whole room seems to move in unison.

‘All you have to do is let me hold you in my arms,’ Danny says. ‘I’ll do the rest, I promise.’

‘Well, on your toes be it,’ I say.

Taking his hand, I let him lead me to the dance floor.

I don’t think I’m imagining the murmur that runs through the crowd as people spot us hand in hand – or the succession of heads that turn to follow our progress.

Whispers are exchanged, alongside a few notes and coins.

None of that matters the moment I am in Danny’s embrace.

His hand rests on the small of my back; I feel the heat of him radiate through the thin satin. With a small, knotted smile, he takes one of my hands and places it on his shoulder; the other he holds in his, gently bringing my body flush against his. His eyes find mine.

‘Trust me,’ he murmurs. ‘My ma made me take dance lessons after school for a full year.’

We begin to dance, if you can call it that.

I guess this is a waltz or something, but whatever it is, it doesn’t seem to matter, because it’s as if Danny has magically transmitted the steps I need to take directly to my feet.

Somehow, everything falls into place as he twirls me around the dance floor, and I wonder if there is another me in another universe lending me her dancing prowess for a minute or two.

Christina’s voice soars and dips, each word laden with longing.

The band swings the tune with a perfect sense of aching melancholy, and the more I dance, the more my body melds into Danny’s.

I luxuriate in discovering the lines of his torso and hips, the curve of his thighs, the landscape of his jaw-line.

I feel him take in a deep breath and release a long sigh of longing.

His lips graze the top of my head, and I allow my cheek to rest on his shoulder, where I can feel the rapid beat of his heart transmitted along his collarbone.

He smells of soap and engine oil. His skin is warm and dry.

There’s a hollow just beneath his ear that I long to kiss.

When the song ends, it is all too soon, especially as the band transitions into something much more upbeat as the Whizz Bangs take their bows. The other dancers erupt into a frenetic whirling, twirling dance all around us.

Danny and I just stand there, perfectly still, not ready for the moment to be over, reluctant to let each other go. Eventually, we pull apart and make our way through the joyful dancers that fill the floor.

‘Want some air?’ Danny asks me, suddenly very serious and solemn.

‘I do,’ I say. ‘But I can’t yet . . .’

‘Why?’ he asks, puzzled.

‘Danny, I need to tell—’

‘Champ, old feller.’ A pilot claps Danny on the back. ‘How’s your evening going?’

As Danny turns to him with a mixture of good humour and genuine annoyance, I feel a soft hand on my arm.

Looking up, I see a young woman in a pretty gown, her soft blonde hair styled like a movie star.

There’s something familiar about her, and then I realise where I have seen her before: in the typing pool at HQ.

‘Where there is life, there is hope, is there not, Miss Borg?’ she asks me pertly with a lift of her chin.

My God, but she is young, her tightly laced nerves evident under her film-star make-up.

Do I really want to deliver this child to the military police?

The answer is that I don’t, but it’s too late now.

The wheels have been set in motion. This afternoon, I went to see Mabel Strickland with everything I learnt about the count.