Total pages in book: 152
Estimated words: 145574 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 728(@200wpm)___ 582(@250wpm)___ 485(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 145574 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 728(@200wpm)___ 582(@250wpm)___ 485(@300wpm)
“He’ll be fine.” Constance gave her a squeeze, and they walked toward the briefing room.
Scarlett nodded, but her stomach hollowed out. She plotted aircraft every day that had lost their radar and ended up crashing simply because they couldn’t see how close they were to safety. She plotted the raids, the losses, and changed the numbers, all the while knowing that it would soon be Jameson back in combat.
“And don’t worry about this one,” Eloise said, nudging Constance. “She’s head over heels for that little army captain of hers. She spends most nights penning letter after letter.”
Pink rose in Constance’s cheeks.
“When exactly does Edward get leave again?” Scarlett grinned. Nothing would be better than seeing Constance as settled and happy as she was.
“In a few weeks,” Constance answered wistfully, sighing at the threshold of the briefing room, which was already half full.
Scarlett’s eyes flared with surprise as she spotted one of the occupants. “Mary?”
Mary’s head whipped her way. “Scarlett? Constance?”
Both Scarlett and Constance scurried around the long table to embrace their friend. It had been four months since they’d seen each other at Middle Wallop, and yet it seemed like an entire lifetime had passed.
“You both look wonderful!” Mary exclaimed, her eyes sweeping over her friends.
“Thank you,” Scarlett responded. “You do as well.” It wasn’t a lie, but there was something…off about Mary. The spark in her eyes had dimmed, and she could do with a few nights’ rest. A weight settled in her chest. Whatever had sent their friend here wasn’t good.
“She should practically be glowing, since she’s married now.” Constance nudged her sister. “Show her!”
“Oh, all right.” Scarlett rolled her eyes but held out her left hand with as little fuss as possible, keeping her focus on Mary.
“My God.” Mary’s gaze flickered from the ring to Scarlett’s eyes. “Married? To whom?” She’d barely asked the question before her eyes widened. “Stanton? Eagle Squadron is still here, right?”
“Yes and yes,” Scarlett answered, unable to keep her lips from twitching upward.
Mary softened. “I’m happy for you. You two really are perfect for each other.”
“Thank you,” she replied gently, still sensing there was a reason for Mary’s appearance. “Now what on earth are you doing here?”
Mary’s face fell. “Oh. Michael…he was a pilot I’d been seeing since you were reposted…” She blinked rapidly and tilted her chin up. “He went down during a raid last week.” Her mouth trembled.
“Oh no, Mary, I’m so sorry.” Constance lifted her hand to Mary’s shoulder.
Scarlett swallowed painfully past the lump in her throat. That made three lovers Mary had lost in the last— She stiffened. “They didn’t…” She shook her head. Surely they wouldn’t be so cruel.
“Label me a jinx and repost me?” Mary flashed a brittle smile, then cleared her throat. “What else were they going to do?”
“Anything but that,” Constance snapped, shaking her head. “It’s not your fault.”
“Of course it isn’t,” Scarlett added, guiding her to an empty chair at the table. “They’re too bloody superstitious. I’m so sorry you lost him.”
“Risks we take falling in love with them, right?” Mary folded her hands in her lap and stared straight ahead as Scarlett took the seat next to her, Constance on her left.
“Right,” Scarlett muttered.
“Good morning, ladies. Let’s get started,” Section Officer Cartwright announced as she swept into the room with her immaculately pressed uniform. “Take your seats.”
Chairs squeaked across the floor as the women gathered around the conference table. At Middle Wallop, Scarlett would have known most, if not all, of them. But living with Jameson meant she had met only a few of the ladies here at Kirton. There was no more hut gossip, no more flurries of excitement before a dance, no more late-night chats.
She was still part of them, yet oddly separate. She wouldn’t give up Jameson—not for the world—but there was part of her that sorely missed the company of other women.
“Mail,” Cartwright ordered, and a young clerk stood at the head of the conference table, calling names and sliding envelopes down the long, polished expanse.
“Wright.”
Both Constance’s and Scarlett’s attention whipped toward the clerk as a letter came spinning their way.
Stanton, not Wright. Scarlett reminded herself when she saw the letter was addressed to Constance. Not that anyone would be sending her mail, anyway. Her parents still hadn’t deigned to respond when she wrote to them after her marriage, though Constance still received regular missives from their mother.
They never asked after Scarlett.
Constance’s shoulders fell a fraction of an inch as she opened the envelope as quietly as possible. “It’s from Mother.”
Scarlett offered her hand a brief squeeze. “Perhaps there will be one tomorrow.” She knew all too well how it felt to wait for a letter from the man you loved.
Constance nodded, then lowered the envelope beneath the table.
Scarlett adjusted her seat slightly, blocking Constance from Cartwright’s hawklike gaze so she wouldn’t be caught reading during the briefing.