Breathless (6 page)

The very last thing Charlotte wanted to do was dance with Jack, who was obviously less than thrilled by his mother's suggestion. He rolled his eyes and put out his cigarette in the ashtray on the table, but took Charlotte's hand and followed his parents to the dance floor. Charlotte was surprised by how easily he moved, his hand around her waist and the other holding her own.

"Why do you act like that to them?" Charlotte asked curiously, as Jack scanned the room with his busy blue eyes. "All Helen has tried to do all night was include you."

"Oh really? That's what you think? Because I personally think it was the least of her worries," Jack said plainly, looking down at Charlotte with serene eyes. What continually surprised Charlotte about Jack was that he never seemed angered or upset by anything. On the contrary, he always seemed indifferent about everything. "Helen was worried about ruining her own image. What would it look like to have her only child sitting alone at the dinner table smoking his life away while everyone else at the gala danced?"

"You wouldn't have been alone. You would have been with me," Charlotte said through clenched teeth.

"I would not have been. Charlotte, just think for a moment. You're French. And you're famous. There is no way you would have been left without a dance partner."

"I'm not famous. My mother was."

"Exactly," Jack said, raising an eyebrow at her. "Do you know how many young, incorrigible actors there are in this room who would love to go act in the French theatre?"

Charlotte's temper flared. She couldn't believe this boy was insinuating that she would have been used for her family's fame.

"Do you
try
to make me feel terrible every time you speak to me?" Charlotte asked Jack with a glare. "Or does it just come naturally to you?"

Jack didn't reply but just turned his head once again to continue looking out over the crowds.

"If everyone could please take your seats," announced the bandmaster from the front of the hall. "We will start our award presentation promptly."

Charlotte gratefully made her way back to the table, sitting directly next to Helen and ignoring Jack completely as he sat to her other side. "Where's Lewis?" she asked Helen, who was sipping from a delicate wine goblet.

"I imagine he'd be backstage, going over his notes. I've never known my husband to be ill-prepared with when giving acceptance speeches." Helen smiled at Charlotte.

Charlotte's eyes widened. "This banquet is for Lewis?" she exclaimed.

Helen nodded proudly, her blue eyes bright. "Yes, of course! His latest play has accumulated great acclaim. He deserves it. He works so hard."

"I had no idea!" Charlotte grinned as Lewis was announced. He walked onstage with a confidence she had never seen him omit before, but at the same time assumed his quiet modesty as he smiled gratefully and accepted the trophy handed to him. He pulled a sheet of paper from his pocket and began to speak.

"Thank you all for spending your evenings with me as I graciously accept this award. This means so much to me."

Charlotte noticed Jack shift in his chair as he pulled another cigarette from his pocket and light it while Lewis spoke.

"I'd firstly like to thank my beautiful wife Helen, without whom none of this would have been possible." Helen beamed at her husband's words. "She was the inspiration for my first great work. It wouldn't have been anything of great significance without her love, support, and talent. Thank you, dear."

The hall began to applaud Helen, who turned a deep pink as Lewis smiled at her from the podium. When the applause began to subside, he resumed speaking about his play. Jack, with a sudden huff, stood abruptly from his chair and stalked out of the hall. Helen leaned close to Charlotte and murmured, "Charlotte, would you be a dear and follow Jack? I would see what's wrong, but I can't leave while Lewis is speaking..."

"Of course," Charlotte said, a little disappointedly. She wished to hear Lewis speak. She had never read one of his plays and was rather curious to find out what all the fuss was about. But she must do what she was told, or else her relationship with Helen could end up to be just as strained as the one with her own mother. Charlotte stood quietly and flitted from the hall, careful not to create another disturbance like Jack just had.

Charlotte followed the direction where Jack had gone, out to the back of the hall. She found him standing on the large balcony outside, leaning against the banister and looking down at the streets, while smoking his cigarette. Charlotte rolled her eyes. Was there anything this boy stood for? Suddenly feeling quite angry at him, she briskly walked over to Jack and snatched the cigarette out of his mouth, putting it out on the stone banister. All she wanted to do was rile him up.

But it didn't work, as she should have known it wouldn't. He annoyingly raised an eyebrow at Charlotte. "Why are you out here? Shouldn't you be listening to Lewis' lovely speech?"

"Shouldn't you?" Charlotte retorted. "You're his son."

Jack scoffed and shook his head, leaning back over the banister. "Did Helen ask you to come after me?" he asked suddenly. Charlotte didn't reply. She didn't know what to say. Jack laughed harshly. "Of course," he muttered.

"Why are you like this?" Charlotte asked indignantly. "Why are you sullen all of the time?" She knew she had been a terror sometimes back home to her own mother, but she would never have acted in public like Jack was acting. It was so disrespectful.

"You wouldn't understand," Jack said in his usual dull voice, shaking his head.

"Oh really, what wouldn't I understand?" Charlotte exclaimed, anger bubbling up inside of her. She pulled Jack to face her. "You do realize I'm from France? Much more terrible things are happening there than you could even imagine here in England.

"
Exactly
," Jack replied. This time he had an edge to his voice and his eyes looked sharp. "That is
exactly
why you wouldn't understand. Because even though terrible things are happening back in France where your family is, you'll forget all of that for a fancy new dress and pair of gloves."

Charlotte glared at him. He had no idea what he was talking about. How did he think he knew her after barely a day and a total of three conversations? Who did he think he was? But then she noticed that Jack was glaring right back at her, as if he disliked her just as much as she disliked him. And then his eyes grew wide.

She heard it, too. Sirens, louder than imaginable and screeching terribly.

"What is that?" Charlotte cried, throwing her hands over her ears.

"Air sirens!" Jack yelled back. He looked panicked, which scared Charlotte even more. "We have to get below,
now
." He grabbed Charlotte's hand and pulled her with him, running to the side of the balcony to the escape ladder. He climbed onto it first. "You need to come
now,
Charlotte!" Jack yelled over the screams of the sirens. He looked up at her with desperate eyes. "I promise, I won't let you fall! I'll be right below you!"

Charlotte nodded and forced herself onto the ladder, climbing down as quickly as she could with Jack right below her. "Keep coming!" she heard him yell. "Just a bit further!" She continued her descent until she finally felt Jack's hands at her waist as he pulled her down from the last rungs onto the cobblestoned pavement. But he yanked her hand again. "Come on!"

Jack ran to the side of the theatre and crouched down to the ground, kicking in a low window and breaking it. He slid through the small window smoothly, as if he had done it dozens of times. "Charlotte, you need to come in! Now!" he yelled. Charlotte could suddenly hear the roar of planes above her. She dropped to her knees and crawled backwards into the basement of the theatre. Jack pulled her in and the pair fell gasping to the floor just as the streets began to quake.

"Are those
bombs
?" Charlotte cried, peering out into the night.

Jack nodded breathlessly. "Yeah."

Charlotte's mouth opened in shock. "Why did they send me to England if it isn't any more safe than France is?" she cried.

"Because there aren't any Germans in England!" Jack replied. "And they won't be able to get into England!"

"No, they're just bombing it to pieces," Charlotte remarked, hugging herself and shutting her eyes tightly as she heard an explosion nearby. "How did you know to come down here?"

"I grew up here," Jack said with a shrug. He stood from the floor, his nice suit now dusty and torn and his hair a mess. "When I was kid, my mum used to take me with her to rehearsals all the time. It was like my playground. Everyone loved me."

"What happened?" Charlotte asked quietly.

"I guess...I just didn't grow up to be someone they could still love," Jack said thoughtfully. He shrugged again and took off his suit coat, rolling up his sleeves, one of which was stained with blood.

"Oh!" Charlotte cried, reaching out for it. "What happened?"

"I think I was cut by the window's glass when I helped you down," Jack said dismissively, briefly glancing at the gash on his forearm. He held his other hand against it to stop the bleeding. "It'll be fine."

Charlotte bit her lip and nodded. She sat down on a dusty old chair, not worrying about her new dress anymore. "Are the people in the theatre going to be all right?" she asked Jack worriedly.

"I don't know," he replied. "If they headed down to the lower levels when they heard the sirens, then they should be. Every Brit knows what to do when they hear those sirens." He glanced up at the window, shards of glass surrounding it. "That was the all-clear. We should be safe to go back up now."

Jack carefully pulled himself back up through the window and helped Charlotte up. When they were both on the pavement once again, Charlotte caught the smell of smoke and gunpowder in the air. The stench sickened her and her stomach turned with worry as Jack led her back to the entrance of the theatre, where crowds of people stood calling for one another. It was chaos. Charlotte was terrified they would never find Lewis and Helen. But then...

"Jack! Jack! Charlotte!"

Lewis' voice rang out in the crowd. Jack whipped around, searching for his father's voice.

Lewis, seemingly out of nowhere, emerged from the crowd with Helen right behind him, looking mussed but relieved. "Oh, thank God!" he cried, pulling Jack to him.

It was possibly one of the most lovely things Charlotte had ever seen. Her mother and father had never displayed obvious affection toward their children, but here Lewis was, embracing his grown son in front of everyone, tears of relief in his eyes. And most surprisingly, Jack was hugging him back, more tightly than Charlotte would have imagined.

"I'm fine, Dad," Jack insisted. "Really. Not a scratch. Well," he said, rubbing his arm. "Hardly a scratch."

"Charlotte are you alright?" Helen cried, inspecting her. "Oh, we were so worried!"

"I'm fine," Charlotte told her. "Jack brought me down to the basement. I won't ever know what would have happened to me had he not been there." She looked over to her rescuer, a boy she had almost hated less than a half-hour ago. But could she possibly hate a person who had maybe saved her life. Charlotte gave Jack a look of thanks. He nodded back.

As Lewis embraced her, Charlotte's eyes wandered up to the smoky skies of London, this beautiful city she had already come to love. It was only now dawning on her that troubles were everywhere. But her troubles had only begun.

Hot steam filled the washroom, wafting through the air as Charlotte laid back in the tub, closing her eyes. It felt so nice to relax with the morning sunlight streaming through the windows, especially after the chaos at the theatre the previous night. Charlotte had been so thankful for Mrs. Gates who had brought her tea and warm rolls with jam that morning and then had proceeded to run her a warm bath. Charlotte smiled, thinking of how much Luc would have enjoyed this treatment.

Luc. He and the rest of her family had been on Charlotte's mind all night. She had barely been able to sleep, imagining terrible bombs going off outside her window or the ground shaking with explosions. She wondered if her family would know how to be safe if such terrible bombing was happening in France. Would her mother even go into the cellar? Or would she dismiss the idea because she would get too messy?

There was a knock from the bedroom and Charlotte heard a familiar voice call, "Charlotte?"

"I'm in the bathroom!" she called to Jack, leaning back inside the tub, the water falling over her shoulders. It strangely reminded her of Luc, who would always barge into the bathroom to ask her questions while she was in the middle of things. But she had never minded. When they were little, Nanny used to bathe the pair of them together in order to save time. There was nothing to be embarrassed over.

But apparently Jack didn't feel the same way. As he opened the door to the bathroom and caught a glance of Charlotte laying in the tub, he immediately turned a deep red and spun away. "Oh, I'm sorry! I didn't know you were in there!" he insisted, his eyes expertly trained on the opposite wall.

"It's fine," Charlotte replied calmly, with a bit of amusement. It was the first time she had seen Jack embarrassed, and it was rather humorous. "Was there something you needed?"