LITMIR.BIZ

       Chapter 11

      Chatter and chinking teacups echoed around the pleasant room. It was large with tables dressed with delicate white cloths, but panic set in when the waitress looked her way and Elenor turned, pulled the door open to leave and walked straight into the body of another trying to enter.

      ‘Oooph’

      ‘My apologies. I am so sorry.’

      Her rushed words were muffled into the chest of a male. She could smell tobacco and the soap George Sherbourne used. She pulled back in horror. Her efforts of shaking him off had failed.

      ‘Miss Cardew?’

      A male voice with a distinct accent spoke but it was not the person she’d winded in the doorway. Composing herself, Elenor tried to muster up a smidgen of dignity and spent a moment readjusting her hat. It was Samuel Fleming, the Canadian whose foot she’d stepped on. Dismay hit her. Although he wasn’t the victim of her unintended assault, he’d witnessed another of her clumsy acts.

      ‘Mr Fleming. How pleasant to see you again. Allow me to introdu …’

      The man she thought was George Sherbourne was most definitely not. The only thing he had in common with George was the tobacco aroma. Dark hair, neatly clipped, trimmed a handsome face, dark eyes melted into hers. She admired his tanned skin and wide shoulders, the complete opposite to George. She prayed her mouth had not really drooped open with pleasant surprise.

      ‘Ma’am, it’s a pleasure.’

      His voice! Smooth, heart-melting and deep, and with the same soft twang as his companion.

      ‘Allow me to introduce my grandson, Jackson St John. He’s here to train pilots. Miss Cardew is the young lady I mentioned when we sought out your mother’s gift earlier in the day.’

      ‘My pleasure, Miss Cardew.’

      Jackson St John held out his hand and, with no hesitation, Elenor clutched hold.

      ‘I am pleased to meet you and I do apologise for my clumsiness. My friend was not inside, and I rushed out without looking.’

      She hoped her face didn’t give away her small white lie.

      ‘We are about to enjoy a cup of English tea. Would you care to join us, Miss Cardew? Or would you prefer to wait for your friend?’

      Elenor looked around. She saw no sign of George and the draw of sitting down for afternoon tea on her birthday still held. She made a mental note of the ten pennies sitting in her new bag and again begged the question, would she have enough money? It dawned on her she didn’t know the price of sitting at a pretty table, or what the rules were of sitting with strange men. Although, to be fair, Samuel Fleming was someone she had met before, and he was a respectable uniformed man.

      ‘As much as I would love to join you both, I’m afraid I feel I should wait. Thank you again and do enjoy your tea.’

      Disappointed, she took a slow walk a few steps away from the café, and it pleased her to see a flicker of disappointment cross Jackson St John’s face. Whilst in the process of telling herself off for being silly and imagining things, she heard the irritating voice of George Sherbourne slice through the air as if a smarting frost.

      ‘Elenor!’

      ‘George. Good afternoon.’

      ‘Many happy returns.’

      Elenor made no effort to shake his hand using the pretence her hands were full with her shopping.

      ‘Miss Cardew. It is your birthday? Well, we really must treat you and your friend now he has arrived,’ said Samuel Fleming, before Elenor could mention George was not the friend she had been waiting for.

      ‘Happy Birthday, Miss Cardew,’ said Jackson St. John.

      George stood with a grin she wanted to slap away from his face and introduced himself. He then followed through with a blatant lie.

      ‘Miss Cardew won’t mind, she was to have only me as company.’

      Before Elenor could object, Jackson St John pulled open the door of the café.

      ‘Maybe you can point out a traditional English cake, we want to make the most of my grandfather’s last day,’ he said.

      George jumped in with a reply before Elenor had the chance to open her mouth.

      ‘You must try a Kunzle cake. Shall we?’

      All three stood to one side as Elenor stepped inside. She sensed George breathing behind her, his raspy breath expelling onion vapours. He was too close. Her skin tingled with displeasure, unlike when Jackson looked into her eye – then the tingling was due to nothing but pleasure. A new sensation.

      Once seated at the table they placed their order and George set about holding a conversation which failed to include Elenor.

      ‘I notice you are both members of the Canadian Air Force, how fascinating.’

      Elenor turned to Jackson.

      ‘Can I ask, does it take long to become a pilot?’

      George cut in before the conversation developed.

      ‘Flying a plane must be exciting. Where are you based?’

      For fifteen minutes George controlled the conversation, never allowing Elenor a moment to speak. Each time one of the other men answered a question, he fired them one more. Boredom set in and she allowed her mind to absorb the qualities of the younger Canadian. She heard them mention horse riding and imagined him sitting straight-backed on the farm horse her family had once owned. They’d have made a handsome pair. Her mind then wandered into the harvest fields. Glorious sunshine, bales of hay and Jackson, with rolled up sleeves pitching and exposing his muscles. She’d only ever once admired a male doing much the same – it was last year when a traveller had

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