A Christmas Gift. Ruby Jackson

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      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 – today.’ He stood up abruptly and his movement was so unexpected that Sally almost fell back against the cushions. ‘You take my room. There is a guest room but when it was last aired, I haven’t the foggiest.’ He was leading her to the door. ‘See, the door on the right is the bathroom and the bedroom leads off it. Everything you might need is there, except a nightgown …’ He stood looking at her for a moment. ‘Tell you what, while you’re washing I’ll nip into the bedroom and find you a clean pyjama top.’ He was moving restlessly from one foot to the other as if he were about to start running. ‘Good night, Sally.’ And then he kissed her. At least, his lips brushed against her face.

      Sally stood for a moment, almost dazed and then a tidal wave of embarrassment washed her through the open door of the bathroom. She closed the door and allowed it to hold her upright until the nausea churning in her stomach had calmed down. She moved to the mirror and examined her face. Tears began to stream down her cheeks and she turned on a tap to hide the noise of her sobs. What had gone wrong? What had she done, or was there something she had not done? She had been so sure. From everything she had read or heard, she had been positive that he wanted, that they wanted …

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