Before the Dawn Page 3

  Jessica and Alyssa went to parties, to restaurants, and to tea at the Ritz. They bought tickets to the Palladium and to London’s most successful revue, New Faces, where they listened to the latest hit song, “A Nightingale Sang in Berkeley Square” and laughed at jokes about the inactivity of British soldiers on duty in France. In the packed nightclubs, restaurants, and theaters, it was difficult to remember that the country was officially at war with Germany and had been since September of the year before.

  Even though Alyssa knew there had been no real military activity since the declaration of war, she had expected to find a country somberly facing battle. She was amazed to find instead an air of frenetic gaiety, with everyone chasing madly, almost desperately, after pleasure in every form. She heard that the prostitutes along Piccadilly were doing thriving business even in the darkness of the blackout.

  They only real reminder of the war was the blackout, and this was regarded as much as a nuisance as anything else. Almost the only deaths caused by the war had been pedestrians hit by vehicles at night, for the headlights of cars at night were covered over and only narrow slits or sidelights were permitted to shine, making it almost impossible for the driver to see—or for anyone to see the driver coming. When Jessica and Alyssa strolled home at night from dancing or the theater, looking for a taxi, they wore luminous armbands, called glowworms, or white umbrella covers, to catch what little light there was.

  To Alyssa, who had spent most of her life in large cities, it was amazing how thoroughly dark the night was. The bright neon lights of Piccadilly Circus were turned off; no streetlamps glowed; no crack of light escaped around the edges of the heavy blackout curtains. Only the occasional dim glow of a car passing by lit the streets at all. It was eerie and dangerous. More than once Alyssa found herself stepping in a puddle or stumbling over a curb. Yet the inconveniences did little to keep the people from their frantic search for nightly fun.

  It saddened Alyssa to find Londoners so unconcerned about the Nazis and with no eagerness to fight Hitler. She herself had been horrified by the news photos of the German Army and Air Force assaulting the country of Poland. And that had been only the latest, most bloody instance of Hitler’s gobbling up every defenseless country around him. Earlier the world had watched Germany consume Czechoslovakia and Austria. Alyssa had been raised by a father with high ideals of fairness and justice, and such beliefs were ingrained in her. It revolted her to see the huge monsters of fascism plunder at will.

  Her natural repugnance was strengthened by Hemingway’s reports from the Spanish Civil War and those of another American foreign correspondent, S. E. Marek. His articles told of the economic, then personal sanctions against the Jews of Germany. He had written a particularly vivid and horrifying account of the “Night of the Broken Glass,” in which the shops and homes of the Jewish section of Berlin had been looted and plundered and thousands of Jews hurt, even killed, in the process.

  Marek had been quietly and firmly told to leave the country and had since been reporting from Paris. From there he had written of the French people’s careless, unconcerned approach to the war. Alyssa hadn’t been surprised. She had spent some time in France when she was at Madame Brisbois’s, and though she liked the French people and their style and zest, she knew that they looked at life in an easygoing way. With their immense army and the enormous strength of the Maginot Line of defense fortifications, they considered an attack upon France something that wasn’t worth worrying about.

  Alyssa had assumed that the attitude in England would be different. She had lived in England for a while as a girl when her father worked at the embassy there. Later she visited Jessica frequently, often going home with her for holidays during school. Jessica’s warm family gave her more of a home life that her own career-oriented father and troubled mother, and she came to regard England as her second home. She liked the English people, finding them fair-minded and incredibly tough beneath their cool, polite, rather effete veneer. When Germany invaded Poland last fall and England subsequently declared war, moving at last to stop Hitler’s voracious appetite, Alyssa had been pleased. Now, at last, she thought, Hitler had bitten off more than he could chew. He’d find England tough to digest.

  Yet here were the English still scrambling to find a way to make peace and engaged more in partying than in preparing for war. It left Alyssa feeling deflated, and she was glad now that she was to stay in London only another week before meeting her father in Paris.

  Chapter 2

  Jessica took a final glance around the long ballroom. The decorations were in place, the servants and caterers ready, the small orchestra setting up at one end of the room, and her grandmother was seated regally in a comfortable chair at the opposite end. Her grandmother gave her a low, stately nod, signifying her approval of the arrangements, and Jessica smiled. Grandmother’s approval was not easily obtained.

  Jessica went next to the large kitchen. Had she not held many parties in her life, she would have been frightened by the chaos she saw there. People rushed about madly, carrying bottles and food, setting up trays, bring boxes up from the pantry, preparing food. The caterer and his head assistant rapped out orders. The butler was sulking. The cook was shouting at one of the maids, who was crying. A footman was arguing heatedly with one of the caterer’s employees. But Jessica had witnessed similar scenes often enough before to realize that this was a controlled chaos and that there wasn’t a serious problem brewing.

  She left the kitchen and circled around to the entryway, her high-heeled slippers tapping sharply against the black-and-white Carrara marble floor. She was feeling quite pleased with the evening. Everything seemed in order. She had on a Madeleine Vionnet evening gown which she had been saving for a suitable occasion, a soft off-white silk chiffon confection with a straight-cut sequined jacket of navy blue and off-white stripes. She knew she looked smashing in it; Alan had told her so. Alyssa was in London. Claire was deeply in love and getting married. And Alan was home, off duty for a week. It was going to be a perfect night.

  Just as she stepped into the entry, she heard the clack of Alan’s shoes coming down the stairs, and she looked up, smiling.

  Alan smiled back at her. “Hullo, love. All set?”

  “Yes, I think so.” Since the party was at her grandmother’s house and she had had a multitude of last-minute items to check, she and Alan had brought their evening clothes with them to dress here. Alan had just finished getting ready; his cheek was smooth from shaving, and he smelled deliciously of masculine soap and cologne. Jessica stepped up the bottom two steps to meet him, reaching up to plant a kiss on his cheek. “It’s so nice to have you home.”

  Alan kissed Jessica affectionately on the forehead, careful not to disturb her makeup or her carefully coiffed hair. “It’s nice to be home. Rochford Field leaves a great deal to be desired in terms of creature comforts.”

  “Is that what you miss?” Jessica asked in mock indignation, tilting her head back to frown up at him.

  He chuckled. “My bunkmate isn’t nearly as pleasant either.”

  Alan Townsend was a tall man, not quite handsome, but nice looking in a cool way. He had a long, thin face with a sharp nose and high cheekbones, a legacy from his aristocratic Norman ancestors. His eyes were gray, his hair dark blond and baby-fine, already beginning to thin a little on top. He managed to smoke a pipe without affectation; he was kind, if rather unemotional; and he fit easily into the mold of English gentleman. That, after all, was what he had been reared to be. He had been taught to live well but without ostentation, to be courteous to women and considerate of those who had been so unfortunate as not to be born a baron’s son and reared in the Kentish countryside. Alan was not overly brainy nor did he perceive any need to be; he left those things to his two older brothers, who pursued affairs of state and the family business interests. But he had a healthy sense of humor and a surprising streak of daring. Easygoing and pleasant, he had only two passions in life: one was flying ai
rplanes, and the other was his wife, Jessica.

  His family’s country estate bordered the lands of Jessica’s father, Horton Bainbridge, and Alan and Jessica had played together as children. Alan had enjoyed Jessica’s hero worship of him. She had followed wherever he led with unquestioning obedience. Her family was warmhearted, humorous, and full of life, quite different from his own rather cool and distant parents. His brothers had left home for school when he was only five, and his parents spent much of the year in London, leaving him alone at Avedon Hall with his nanny and the servants. He grew up lonely, and it was a joy for him to be at Jessica’s house with her family. It was an even greater joy to bask in Jessica’s admiration and love.

  Their friendship had continued through the years, surviving separation when each was sent off to boarding school and even a period when Alan displayed a boyish disdain for girls. Alan found he could confide all sorts of things to Jessica that he wouldn’t think of telling his parents or friends, and she was always fun to be with. But even as they matured, it never entered his head that she might be someone in whom he would have a romantic interest. Then Jessica had gone to school in Switzerland, and he hadn’t seen her for almost two years, for he had chosen to spend his school holidays in the more exciting London. When Jessica graduated, she moved to London to live with her grandmother during the period of her “coming out.” Alan met her at a party and almost didn’t recognize her. And he fell hopelessly in love with her.

  But Alan was not one to display his emotions easily; and after their long years of friendship, he was afraid that Jessica regarded him only as a brother. So he didn’t rush into courtship or woo her with passionate declarations of love. Rather, he managed always to be around wherever she was, dancing with her at parties, inviting her to join him and his friends on outings. Because they were so often together, they came to be regarded as a couple, yet almost six months passed before he kissed her. That happened only because one day as they were strolling through her grandmother’s garden alone, Jessica came to a sudden halt and inquired in an exasperated voice, “Alan, do you ever plan to kiss me?”

  “What?” Alan stopped and turned back to look at her, his jaw dropping slightly. He could think of nothing to say.

  “Bunny Fairley tells me she’s certain you’re mad about me, but I can’t tell.” Jessica’s frustration had mounted over the months. She had loved Alan ever since she could remember. At first she had thought of him as the brother she had always wanted; but when she was about fifteen, she realized that she was in love with him as a woman loved a man, and the she wanted nothing more in the world than to marry him. She had been working on it ever since, flirting, dancing, even kissing other men as practice for the day when she would use these skills on Alan. She thought she had caught his interest at her coming-out party; certainly he was always around. Yet he still seemed to be only a friend, never saying a romantic word or trying to kiss her.

  “Well?” she continued impatiently when he said nothing. “Is Bunny right?”

  “Yes,” he responded gravely. “I am quite mad about you.”

  Jessica made an inelegant noise and glared at him, her hands clenched on her hips. “Then why don’t you do anything about it?”

  Suddenly he smiled. “I suppose I shall.” He took a step forward and leaned down to kiss her.

  A year and a half later, they were married.

  In the seven years of their marriage, Alan never once regretted it. They rarely quarreled and were still the best of friends. Alan never considered being unfaithful nor, indeed, had the slightest interest in any other woman. Though he was not the type to wear his heart on his sleeve, Jessica didn’t doubted that he loved her. Nor had she ever doubted that she loved him. The most distressing part of the “phony war” this past half year had been that it separated them so much of the time.

  Alan joined the RAF as soon as England declared war on Germany. He had an uncle who had flown for England in the Great War over twenty years before, and Alan grew up loving airplanes. His uncle taught him to fly when he was only fifteen years old, and he had never lost his love for soaring through the air. It had been only natural for him to join the Royal Air Force when he left school and was casting about for something to do. Military service, after all, was an acceptable occupation for a younger son in the Townsend line.

  He had found he didn’t much care for the military life, especially after he and Jessica were married, and he left the RAG several years earlier. But when war was declared, he re-signed immediately. Jessica hadn’t expected him to do anything else. One had a duty to one’s country, after all. Moreover, Jessica was convinced that Hitler must be stopped, even at the price of war. Still, it was hard to have Alan away from home most of the time, coming back only on weekend passes.

  Now the two of them walked down the last two steps hand in hand, and took up their posts to greet their guests. Claire and Ky, the couple to be honored, came to the door. Guests began to trickle in and soon became a steady stream.

  Alyssa arrived as the rush was beginning to slow down, and Jessica greeted her delightedly, then passed her along to Claire, who introduced her fiancé. “Alyssa, I want you to meet Casimir Dubrowski. Ky, this is Alyssa Lambert.”

  “Ah, yes, Claire has talked of you often.” He took Alyssa’s hand and bent over it in the Continental way while Alyssa took stock of him. He was very handsome; there was no denying that. Blond, blue-eyed, tall, with a tiny scar near his left eye that gave him a certain rakish dash, he spoke English well, with a soft accent. He was a bit stern, perhaps, but probably that suited Claire quite well. It was obvious that he had eyes only for her.

  Alyssa smiled. She approved. “It’s very nice to meet you.” They chatted for a moment, and Alyssa moved into the ballroom to allow those arriving behind her to talk to the guests of honor. She paused for a moment on the threshold of the large room. She knew that there were those, like Claire, who dreaded entering a room full of people, particularly if she knew few of them, but to Alyssa such a situation presented a challenge. And she loved nothing more than a challenge.

  Almost immediately a young man was by her side, asking her to dance. He was impossibly young, of course, but he looked like fun, and Alyssa agreed. After that, she didn’t have a chance to sit down or even catch her breath until finally, after one dance, a middle-aged man approached her, smiling.

  “Yes?”

  “Allow me to introduce myself. Rolly Burchard, at your service.”

  “How do you do, Mr. Burchard.”

  “I won’t be impertinent enough to ask you to dance; I never was much of a dancer, even in my younger days. But I’ve been sent as an emissary.”

  “Oh?”

  “Yes.” The older man nodded his head toward the far end of the room, where Jessica’s grandmother sat. “By Lady Julia Stafford.”

  Alyssa smiled. She liked Jessica’s grandmother. “Ah, I see. Then I can understand why you didn’t refuse the duty.”

  He made an expression of horror, which Alyssa suspected was only half mocking. “My word, no. She’s my aunt, you know.”

  He extended his arm, and Alyssa allowed him to escort her down the long, gleaming wood floor to the chair where Lady Stafford held court. The older woman held out a hand adorned with multiple rings. “Hullo, child. How enchanting you look. Here. Sit down next to me and tell me all about yourself.”

  “How are you? I’m so happy to see you.”

  “Humph! Then why haven’t you come over to see me earlier? No, no need to answer that. I’ve been watching you bewitch every man in the place.”

  Alyssa chuckled. “Now, Lady Stafford…”

  Julia held up a hand. “No. Don’t try to squirm out of it. Or to apologize. Heavens, that’s what a pretty young girl should be doing, not talking to some old dowager like me. It’s precisely what I would have been doing at your age.”

  Alyssa could well believe that the old woman had bewitched men when she was young. Even now she was
lovely, her snow-white hair twisted up into a tight coronet of braids, her blue eyes bright with interest, and her remarkably slim figure encased in a rich purple satin dress. It wasn’t difficult to imagine her as a young woman, her thick brown hair in a flattering pompadour style and her body corseted into a perfect hourglass figure. Jessica said the family gossip was that her grandmother had had two lovers over the years, and Alyssa didn’t doubt it. Lady Stafford had lived in a more permissive time than the present, during the reign of Edward VII. It wasn’t at all unusual in those days for a couple to make an advantageous marriage, then go their separate ways, taking lovers for whom they felt real love and passion. More common for a man, of course, but not so unlikely for a wife either.

  Julia studied Alyssa’s dress. “Hmmm, that’s a change, isn’t it? A wide skirt, I mean, after all these years of clinging gowns. Who’s the designer?”

  “Molyneaux.”

  “Really? Interesting. I rather like it. About time to try something new, I should think. Now, tell me, have you met any fascinating men recently?”

  “You mean since I’ve been in London?”

  “London, New York. It doesn’t matter. I just want to hear about your love life, it keeps an old woman from getting bored. All my granddaughters are deadly dull. Look at Jessica: in love with the same boy since she was a child. Never even looked at another man. What a waste.”

  “Don’t you like Alan?” Alyssa asked, surprised.

  “Oh, he’s a good sort. Not one to set a girl’s heart beating faster, though. No doubt he’s a marvelous husband, but, personally, I find a grand passion much more intriguing.”

  “I’m afraid I don’t have anything intriguing to report, either. No grand passions. The most interesting thing that’s happened to me lately is that I flew over on an airplane.”