A Christmas Gift. Ruby Jackson

and firemen were still much in evidence. Sally’s breath caught in her throat.

      ‘Have they worked all day too, Sebastian?’

      ‘Probably. But they may have a rota system – two-hour breaks or whatever. They’re not automatons.’

      Sally desperately wanted Sebastian to accompany her all the way to her boarding house but his sensitive remarks about the long hours worked by the rescue services reminded her that he too had been awake through the fraught hours of the air raid. She straightened up. ‘I’ll be fine from here; it’s not too far. You should get home before there’s another air raid.’

      He pretended to be hurt. ‘How can you not allow me to play knight in shining armour? Grandmamma will be delighted to hear that her strenuous efforts paid off. I’ll deliver you to your door in one perfect piece. Then I’ll trot off home feeling rather pleased with myself.’

      What could she say?

      ‘Then let’s hurry; you must be home before sunset.’

      He took her hand and together they walked as quickly as they could, avoiding rubble wherever possible. What a prolonged battering the city had suffered!

      A heavy layer of smoke and dust hung over the approach to Sally’s street. Foreboding filled her as she turned onto Little Church Lane. The bus stop was still there outside the garden gate. The pole leaned precariously, almost pointing to the rubble-filled crater into which the boarders’ house and the garden, which only yesterday had boasted the last of a fine show of Michaelmas daisies, had fallen. Sally turned as if expecting to find the house on the other side of the street. Houses did stand there, some windowless, two without front doors, most without chimneypots. These looked as if some giant hand had swept them off the roofs, tossing them down to smash to smithereens on the road.

      ‘Sal …’ Sebastian tried gently.

      ‘Know the people in the ’ouse, miss? Them as lived there, I mean? Mrs Shuttlecock ’ad lodgers and none of ’em survived – far as we can see. Rotten luck.’ A police constable, his kind but tired eyes looking out of a prematurely aged face, had appeared from one of the surviving gardens.

      ‘Watch ’er,’ he croaked, hours of smoke and dust having filled his throat, but Sebastian had already caught Sally before she fell.

      ‘Miss Brewer was a resident of number eleven,’ he said. ‘Last night she was caught in the raid on St Paul’s and sheltered in the underground.’

      ‘Everyone?’ asked a tremulous voice.

      ‘All as was in the ’ouse, miss. I’m so sorry, but it’s lovely for me to cross one off my list.’ He licked the point of his pencil and crossed out ‘MISS SALLY BREWER’. ‘Any family, miss? They know you’re safe, do they? And the ’ousing officer’ll find you a place for the night, washing things an’ that.’

      ‘Miss Brewer will stay with me, Officer, and will be able to contact her parents from there. It’s all right, Sally, I have a ridiculously large flat.’

      Sally scarcely heard him. She was numb, felt nothing. She could smell death and destruction, though, and so when Sebastian put his arm around her and turned her back towards the centre of London, she stumbled along beside him. He was talking, but she seemed to have no understanding of his words.

      After a while they stopped. ‘I’m sure your parents wouldn’t be too thrilled with this hotel, Sally, but you need a brandy.’

      Sally’s mind was still full of the noise of destruction and her nose with the smell of cordite. She walked with him to the bar, oblivious of the looks of disdain on the faces of some customers.

      ‘Brandy, two,’ Sebastian ordered tersely.

      ‘Looks like she’s already had enough,’ said the barman. ‘You’ll want a room?’

      ‘Don’t be offensive, and bring the brandy in clean glasses.’

      ‘Yes, yer lordship, at once yer lordship,’ answered the barman sarcastically, but Sebastian did not react and simply watched him wash two glasses and half-fill them with brandy.

      Sally coughed as the unfamiliar liquid ran down her throat.

      ‘Drink it, sweetheart. We still have quite a walk unless we can find a taxi.’

      Sally straightened her spine and sipped again. Sebastian saw the colour slowly return to her face.

      ‘Sally, there must have been a tremendous loss of life in London last night and I don’t know, but it is just possible that, by this time, your parents have been told to expect the worst. Do you have a number for them? We’ll try to find a call box; I have some coppers in my pocket.’

      Sally was shaking her head but whether in denial of the situation or acknowledgement that her parents had no telephone, he had no idea. He squeezed her hand and walked on, hoping against hope that a taxi would magically materialise but there was only emergency traffic.

      ‘Some of the underground trains might be running, Sally. Shall we—’ he began but she pulled herself out of his arms.

      ‘No, no, I couldn’t. Never again, never.’

      ‘I live in Mayfair, Sally,’ he said, but as she said nothing and merely stumbled on he decided that either she scarcely cared how far she had to walk or had no idea where Mayfair was.

      ‘Let me at least hold you up,’ he said, slipping his arm around her waist and, in absolute silence they continued their trek. She had wanted to see some of the sights of London and that night she passed several of them, completely oblivious of their beauty or fame.

      At last they arrived at Hays Mews and the inaptly named Mansion where his flat was situated.

      ‘Rather a lot of stairs, I’m afraid.’

      Still she made no sound and wearily they climbed three flights of stairs and Sally almost fell in head-first as he opened the door.

      ‘I think you should sleep for a bit, Sally. I’ll put a match to the fire, make some cocoa, but if you can tell me the name of anyone you know in Dartford who has a telephone – the police would do – we’ll ring them and they’ll pop over and tell your parents that you’re safe.’

      Sally was not so fraught that she did not know that a visit from a uniformed policeman would shock her parents and she cudgelled her brain. ‘The vicar, Mr Tiverton,’ she said at last. ‘We’re not the most regular attenders but he does know us. I hate to ask but they’ll know about the bombing now, won’t they?’

      ‘The world’ll know, darling,’ he said, and then turned his attention to his telephone.

      It took only a few minutes for him to be connected to Mr Tiverton, who was relieved to know Sally was safe and, when Sebastian handed the phone to her, assured her that he would visit her parents with the good news immediately.

      ‘Tell them I’m staying tonight with a friend from ENSA, Mr Tiverton, and I’ll be down to see them as soon as I can. The show must go on,’ she said, heard him say, ‘God bless you, my dear,’ replaced the receiver and burst into tears.

      Immediately Sebastian sat down beside her, enfolded her in his arms and rocked her back and forth until at last she recovered.

      ‘Oh, dear Sebastian, what would I have done without you?’ she said looking up at him, smiling, her eyes sparkling with tears. He looked down and, as he had dreamed so often, lost himself in those shimmering pools. He held her closer. She relaxed against him and he stroked her back, as if she were a baby.

      ‘Oh Sally, Sally …’ his voice was a moan.

      She raised her head, aware that every nerve end in her body was tingling with both fear and excitement. He would kiss her now, she knew it, just as Rhett Butler had kissed Scarlett O’Hara, and …

      ‘Good Lord, Sally, look at the time. What am I thinking of? Sleep, you need sleep. Max will kill me if you’re too tired tomorrow