Bill rolled over groggily and clutched at his blanket. Molly stood over him in navy blue slacks and a high-necked, long- sleeved white blouse. He smiled through the lingering drowsiness and said, "Hi, beautiful."
She blushed and smiled. "Come on. Today is Sunday. We need to make our departure before the parishioners arrive."
"Okay. Go away so I can get decent, huh?"
She laughed and swept around the corner. He stood, wrapped his robe around himself, took some clothes from his suitcase and padded to the bathroom upstairs. At the sink he stopped and smiled. Molly forgot her curling iron; she even left it on.
He climbed into his clothes, shaved, washed, then studied the instrument. He flipped his longish hair, grinned at himself in the mirror and said, "Why not?"
"Well, how do I look?"
Molly turned and caught her breath. Bill wore a dark gray suit with a pastel shirt and a dark tie. His black oxfords reflected the image of the kitchen cabinets. She nearly dropped the pan of scrambled eggs she had lifted from the stove.
The most striking thing, though, was his hair. He had swept his forelock up onto the top of his head so the front bulged out, and the shaggy back and sides were turned under just a bit.
"What do you think?"
"I think I'm in love!"
He laughed. "Now we look like a pair of sophisticated international travelers, huh?"
She still gaped (almost drooled, it seemed to Bill, or was it just his imagination working overtime?) and said at last, "What did you do to your hair?"
He sat and she dumped the mess in the pan onto their plates. "You left your curling iron on upstairs. Just for fun, I decided to experiment with it." He spread his hands out on either side of his face in imitation of a sunflower, tilted his head, fluttered his eyelids and said, "You like?"
"Definitely. Left it on, you say?"
Through a mouthful of egg Bill said, "Uh-huh."
"Oh, dear." She paused to smack down some egg. "I'm afraid I'm not used to having one. I've never owned one before." She sipped some coffee and took another bite. "Was it terribly extravagant of me to buy it?"
Bill gulped a mouthful of coffee and said, "Knock it off. I thought we covered that last night. Besides, look at the results on both of us. Now if I went out and bought one too, that would be extravagant."
She lowered her eyes. "I'm sorry. It's just. . . old habits die hard, you know?"
He patted her hand. "I know. You don't know how embarrassed I was about using a 'lady thing' like that."
She raised her coffee cup. "Well, here's to the death of old habits and the birth of new and better ones."
After breakfast they finished packing Bill's suitcases and overnight case and dragged it all to the double door. Bill slapped the panic bar, but the door didn't open. "What the--" He pushed more firmly this time. It stood fast. He braced himself and kicked it. "I've never seen a door get that stuck before."
"Well, I suppose we'll have to use the upstairs door, eh?" Molly picked up a suitcase and the overnight case and started across the room.
Out of sheer defiance, Bill kicked the door one more time. The bar broke and clanged to the floor. He hoisted the two remaining suitcases and followed Molly.
They found the same problem with the tall, carved-wood doors at the front, and with the outside door of the Vicar's office. Bill scratched his head. "What's going on here?"
"I don't know."
"Well, I guess there's only one thing to do. I hate to, but there's something weird going on around here and I think we'd better get out any way we can." He took off his coat and wrapped it around his right hand while he stepped to the little window of the Vicar's room. He looked both ways out the glass as far as he could see to be sure no one was nearby, turned to Molly and said, "Stand back."
He cocked his arm and she grabbed it. "Wait, Bill."
He whirled, a mixture of anger and confusion on his face. "What did you do that for?"
She reached to the window and flipped a little latch at its lower right corner. A push sent it swinging silently outward.
Bill reddened. "Well, what can I say?"
Molly winked at him. "How about, 'Let's go'?"
They crept around to the back steps and paused to look down at the metal door. It had a new hasp and padlock on it. They shrugged at each other and moved on. As Bill rounded the corner of the building he pushed Molly back and flattened himself against the wall. Molly quizzed him with her eyes.
He pointed toward the front. "Bobbies."
Surprise rippled over her face. "But why?"
"My guess is, Parliament voted overnight. Come on. This way." He led her toward the alley that ran behind the warehouses flanking the church. They turned right down the alley, then right again two buildings down. As they reached the street Molly said, "You wait here. I'll go get the car."
"Okay, but be careful." As she crossed the street he asked himself, "Careful of what? What are we afraid of? We haven't done anything." The thoughts didn't bring any comfort.
Molly sauntered down the sidewalk, humming to herself. Her car lay just across the street from the church. Out of the corner of her eye she ascertained the situation. Two policemen flanked the building at each front corner. The doors had a new padlock like the one on the basement door. There was a sign on the door, but she couldn't make it out.
She reached her car and was about to get her key and unlock the door when a voice called to her. "I say there. Miss? You. Just a moment, if you please."
Molly froze. She inwardly prayed for protection, though from what she couldn't say. She forced her face into a smile and turned from the car. The policeman who trotted across the street toward her looked to be about 35, a little overweight and possibly balding, though it was hard to tell with his hat.
"Why, a police officer. What may I do for you, sir?"
He pointed. "Is this your car, Madam?"
Molly blushed. "It's 'Miss.' And yes, this is my car." She thought she saw his face brighten a little at the "Miss."
"I see. And, ahem, might I inquire as to why it's been sitting here all night?"
She giggled. "You might, indeed. I'm afraid I had a few too many last night, and when I had driven for an hour and still wasn't home I concluded I was lost. Can you imagine that?" She smiled coyly at him and hoped she looked as good as Bill said she did.
He laughed, and she thought he might have tossed her a quick wink. So far, so good. She continued, "Well, I pulled over right where I happened to be and stopped. I hailed a passing motorist who was kind enough to tell me where I was and drive me up the street to a place where I could catch a cab. This morning, a bottle of aspirin and several cups of coffee later, here I am." She giggled again. "I feel so silly."
The officer shifted nervously. "Very well. I see." He chuckled. "Got to watch those things, eh? I should think a lovely lady such as yourself would know better than to drink and drive. You know what could happen doing something like that. Moreover, someone as attractive as yourself could get hurt at night in a neighborhood such as this one."
She let her eyes fall a bit, trying to look shy. "You're right, of course. About the driving. But hurt? Certainly not with a strong, authoritative--may I say handsome?--figure such as yourself nearby." She looked up and flashed him her best smile.
He twitched here and there, scuffed his feet and giggled a little himself. Molly poured it on. "But here now. What's a fine specimen like you doing out here in the middle of wherever we are on a bright--I say, what day is it?"
"Sunday."
"On a bright Sunday morning? I should think Scotland Yard would have need of your services apprehending international criminals or something."
The policeman expanded his chest to its full size and coughed it back down. Molly fought to keep a straight face. "Well, Miss--I'm sorry. I didn't get your name."
"Sanders. Molly Sanders."
"Well, Miss Molly Sanders--lovely name, fits you well, eh? My partner and I are guarding this church. Similar guards have been posted at every church in the city."
"Guarding a church? Whatever for?"
He scratched his forehead. "That sign on the door can probably explain it better than I can."
Molly squinted. "I'm afraid I can't see it. Would you mind?"
She held out her arm. He took it eagerly and escorted her across the street and up the steps. The sign shouted:
Molly turned to her escort. "Are you telling me that some little old lady with gray hair and an Easter bonnet could go to jail for attending church?" She laughed.
He laughed with her. "I honestly don't know. The captain told me to stand guard and arrest anyone who tries to enter."
"How many have you arrested so far?"
He acted embarrassed. "None, actually. Paul--that's my partner, over there--and I are trying just to run them off. So far it's working."
She cast him a sly look out of the corner of her eye. "Being arrested by the likes of you might not be an altogether unpleasant experience." She gave him a very exaggerated wink.
He nearly fell off the steps. "Eh, well, Molly--ah, Miss Sanders, I'm afraid I don't have any grounds to arrest you, but, ah, I could collect you around eight o'clock if you'd care to try to get lost together, eh?"
She leaned close to his face. "I'd be delighted." She lifted herself onto her toes and whispered her old address into his ear. He silently vowed never to wash that ear again, especially if it had lipstick on it. Molly whispered, "See you then." She turned and swished down the steps, across the street and into the car.
The little Toyota whizzed to life and she drove to where Bill waited. He pointed toward the alley. She nodded and drove to the next street. When she reached the alley, Bill and the suitcases were already there. Bill tossed the bags into the back seat and forced himself into the car. "Let's go."
Molly reached the other end of the alley and turned right so the policemen wouldn't see her car again. She heaved a sigh. "I thought I'd never get away from that leering pig."
Bill laughed. "You looked like you enjoyed it. For a minute I thought you were going to run off with him."
Molly tried to glare at him. "Nothing so serious. But I do have a date with him tonight."
Bill coughed. "You're kidding."
"Not at all. He's picking me up at my apartment at eight. We're going out and getting drunk, after which he'll no doubt take advantage of me."
Bill thought his face would crack. "Your apartment?"
"Yes. You know the one. You've lived in it long enough."
Bill shook his head. "I wonder what he'll find when he gets there?"
"He may not get there at all. He was so overwhelmed by my fabulous beauty and dazzling charm that he may not even remember the address." She laughed at herself.
Bill smiled at her. "I don't blame him. You're really something else."
She blushed. "Yes, but everybody's still trying to discover what."
He took her hand. "A very special, very charming, very lovely lady."
She trembled and took her hand away under the pretext of shifting gears. "Now don't go sounding like a romance novel. After all, I'm old enough--"
"To be my mother." Bill mimicked her voice. "Don't worry, Auntie dear. Or granny, if you prefer. I'm not getting ideas. I'm just trying to help your progress in appreciating yourself."
She grinned. "I think it's working. I thoroughly enjoyed my little charade back there. Of course, that Bobby was a blithering bubblehead."
Bill fell into uncontrollable laughter. "You sure poured it on thick with him, didn't you? I couldn't hear what you guys were saying, but I saw all those little moves you put on him and could hear him panting."
She turned redder. "I must admit it made me feel good. Almost. . . "
"Sexy?"
She looked away and nodded. Bill said, "It's not a dirty word, Molly. And you were right. You are sexy. You should have seen that guy tripping over his tongue as you walked away!"
She cast him an odd look and drove the rest of the way to Dover in silence.
Bill had seen footage of the hovercraft before, but it didn't begin to do justice to the reality. He hadn't dreamed they could drive Molly's car right onto it.
Beneath his feet he felt the massive engines that would form the cushion of air between the craft and the water. "This is-- spectacular!"
"Yes, it is," Molly answered. "Frank--my ex-husband--used to ride these frequently. Early on in our marriage he often took me along. But each time I board, the fascination is just as new as it was the first time." She looked out over the English Channel. "I wonder if Frank still crosses as often as he used to?"
"Who cares?"
"Beg pardon?"
Bill looked down. "Sorry. That was out of line."
She patted his arm. "It's all right. I understand. And you're right, of course. After six years I should stop dredging up the past. Look! We're getting under way."
They jumped back from the spray that flew up and lost their balance as the deck rose under them. Once stabilized, they took a tour of the boat. As the craft skipped over the waves like a giant water bug, the fugitives returned to the railing and absently scanned the horizon for their destination. The trip would take about an hour.
Bill fidgeted. Hands in pockets, hands on the rail, hands in coat pockets, fingering the inside of his collar--he secretly wished he smoked. He scarcely recognized Molly's presence until he heard her exclaim under her breath, "Oh, bother."
"What is it?"
She pointed with her eyes, then turned her back to the spot she had indicated. Bill saw a man, about three inches shorter than himself, around 45, in a pinstriped suit. The man was escorting a circus clown. As they strolled nearer, he was that the clown was actually a girl.
The girl looked about Bill's age. Her lacquered blonde hair was piled on top of her head toward the back so it leaned out like an overhanging cliff. She wore enough brightly-colored cosmetic to last six ordinary women six months, he judged. She was dressed in a white jumpsuit with vertical red stripes that ran its full length. It was unzipped to her waist so that it barely concealed her pendulous upper-body features. Bill wondered how often she fell out of it.
"Is that who I think it is?"
"Frank, my once-and-former husband."
"And the--for lack of a better word--girl?"
"Don't know. Never seen that one before."
Frank and his clown strolled over near them. Molly kept her back to them and hoped they would pass by. To her dismay, they pulled up and turned to the railing, right next to her. The two made small talk for a bit, but then Frank's face brightened with recognition.
"Molly?"
She tried to ignore him. Bill examined the distance.
Frank reached across his escort and tapped Molly on the shoulder. "Molly? Is that you?"
There was no avoiding it now. She turned slowly to her left and gave him a bored look. "Hello, Frank."
"By heaven, it is you!"
"What would you know about heaven, Frank?"
Frank ignored the comment. "I hardly recognized you. You look positively gaudy!"
Molly glanced at the girl. "I gather that's a compliment, since gaudy seems to be your preference."
Frank laughed. "Come, come, my dear. Let's not snipe at one another, especially in front of witnesses. Speaking of whom, who's the boy?"
Bill held himself in. Molly took a step back. "Frank, this is my--friend, Bill Hall." She had started to say "nephew."
Before Bill could speak Frank said, "Friend, you say? Why, Molly! I never thought you were the type to consort with younger men, what with you being so religious and all."
Bill took a step forward. "I think you'd better take that back, Frankie. I'm just what she said: a friend."
Frank frowned. "Oh, dear. Chasing with a Yank? I always suspected you weren't as pure as you let on, Molly."
Bill took another step forward. "Watch your mouth, Frankie."
"My name is Franklin Chambers Sanders, you whelp. I don't appreciate a child calling me 'Frankie.'"
"I don't appreciate jerks insulting my friends. Molly's my friend and you're a jerk, Frankie. Now, get out of here. I don't want to be seen talking to a guy with three last names."
Molly hid her smile behind a well-placed hand. Frank smacked his girl on the behind and said, "Get out of here, Bubbles. Someone's liable to get hurt." The girl pranced away.
Molly dropped the hand and cackled. "Bubbles?"
Frank tried to conceal embarrassment. "Her stage name. She's an exotic dancer."
Molly laughed harder. "All body and no brain, eh? Just your speed, Frankie."
Frank snarled, "Why, you dirty little--" He took two steps toward her. A hand like a pile-driver hit his chest and stopped him cold.
Bill stepped in front of him at his full height, chest and shoulders expanded. "Behave yourself, Frankie. Don't make me mad."
Franks' eyes flitted up, down, left, right, evaluating Bill's frame. Fear melted his features. He stepped back out of Bill's reach and shook his finger. "I'll see you again, Yank. Bank on that."
Bill took a step toward him and Frank ran like a jackrabbit. Molly laughed both at his cowardice and his remarkable speed, but she quickly turned serious.
Bill said, "Hey, you know that stuff he said isn't true. He's just trying to feed his own puny ego."
"I know. That's not what concerns me."
"What does?"
"He said he'd see you again. When he says that, he usually means it. And it's not a pleasant meeting."
Bill snorted. "I'd love for him to give me a good excuse. He had no right to talk to you that way."
Molly laughed. "What are you, my knight in shining armor?"
He laughed with her. "No, I'm your knight in gray polyester." He bowed and assumed his accent. "And I shall defend your honor with my very life, m'lady."
He raised back up and saw that her eyes were moist. "Thank you, my dear, dear friend Bill. Thank you so much!"
"Hey, forget it. We're a team."
She smiled through the tears and squeezed his hand. "I'd better go freshen up. We'll be docking soon."
Bill stared after her for along time. Once again he felt those more-than-friend feelings rise. He didn't want to feel them, but she was such a fine woman. . .
He turned back to the railing and looked ahead. The droning of the craft's drive system lulled him into a semi-stupor. A rustle behind him pulled him out of it.
He turned, expecting to see Molly. Frank charged at him with a knife in his hand. Bill tried to sidestep and the blade bit into his right forearm. Almost automatically, Bill's left fist smashed into Frank's face while his right knee came up and pounded into Franks' chest. Frank snapped back and crumpled to the deck. The knife dropped beside him.
Bill's coat sleeve was already saturated with blood. A crowd gathered and everyone shouted at once. Bill shouted over the din, "Is there a crewman nearby?" He realized he was using his fake accent.
A man in uniform pushed his way to into the circle around the two men. He looked at Frank's unconscious form and picked up the knife. "What happened here?"
Bill tried to sound shaken. "I don't know, exactly. Apparently this man tried to rob me at knife-point. I'm afraid I may have broken him in my haste to prevent it."
The crewman smiled and held out the knife. "Is this the weapon he injured you with?"
"Yes. Frightfully sharp, I daresay. Ruined a perfectly good suit." He held up his arm and nodded at the knife. "Stiletto, isn't it?"
The crewman studied it. "I believe so. Spring action, razor sharp. It's lucky you weren't hurt more seriously."
"The hurt in my arm is quite sufficient, thank you," Bill laughed. "Stiletto, you say? Isn't that what those crazy Yanks used to use to kill each other?"
"Why, yes, I believe it is. Is this man a Yank, do you suppose?"
Bill knew he had to be careful. "I've no idea. Never saw the bloke before. But if he carries one of those. . ." He let the crowd form its own conclusions.
"A Yank?"
"Yes. And he attacked a fine British citizen."
"We know what to do with thieving Yanks, don't we?"
The rumble of the crowd rose like an approaching thunderstorm. The crewman turned to the people and shouted, "See here! You people disperse at once! If you do not, I shall have to--" As they moved en masse toward the still-unconscious Frank, the crewman's voice dropped to a groan. "I shall have to get myself out of here, and quickly." He pushed Bill along the railing, around the mob, and led him to the bridge.
The crewman was fairly skilled at first aid. He stopped the bleeding and bandaged Bill's arm. Molly ran up to Bill just as he returned to the deck.
"Are you all right? I was so concerned. By the time I got through that press you were gone--oh, you're hurt!"
Bill suddenly felt very tired and a little nauseated. "I'm okay, but my suit will never be the same." He pointed to the torn-off sleeve and tried to laugh. "Can we find a place to sit down?"
She led him to the car and crawled behind the wheel. Bill sat in a rumpled heap and closed his eyes. "What happened to Frank?"
"The last I saw, that mob was about to tear him to pieces. Odd thing: they think he's a Yank."
"I wonder where they got a crazy idea like that?"
She looked sideways at him. "Yes, I wonder."
When the hovercraft buzzed up to the dock at Calais, Molly turned to show it to Bill. He was asleep.