VII. Miles
She is sitting quietly at one of the picnic tables of the canteen, reading over her letter to Private Mulloy's mother. Matron has seen fit to keep her on after that episode, thank God. No more quiet returns to a quiet existence in London. Learning how to work, perhaps, taking in washing. No-one in her old society would want to see her back.
"How's the first day been, volunteer?" A man's voice breaks her train of thought and she starts, glancing up over the letter.
He's a young man, a captain by the cuffs on his uniform, bright-eyed and smiling. "My esteemed colleague said that none of you could be considered beautiful – he was lying and blind, evidently."
Kitty heaves an internal sigh. One of the ones who likes the sound of his own voice – oh, she knows far too many of those from her season in London and from the endless balls and parties she had attended as a society wife.
She glances up to where the 'colleague' leans against one of the poles supporting the canopy, his hat held against his chest. Bored-looking, tall, with…with…blue grey eyes the colour of the waves of the sea…it's him. The man from this morning, whose hand she refused as she stepped down from the truck. Her heart begins to beat a pattern against the constraints of her ribcage and corset and she quickly looks back down at her letter, reading it through again and feigning indifference. Perhaps the talkative one will leave her alone.
He turns to the 'colleague' and whispers, "Shy. How sweet."
She bristles at the comment, but refuses to let anything show. She will not rise to the bait, she will not say something she's sure to regret later.
Then the 'colleague' speaks up, a soft Scottish brogue that's unlike the hard, polite English accents she's so used to. "I apologise for my friend. He seems to think he's dashing. Leave her alone, Miles."
So unused to anyone taking her side, Kitty blinks a second, trying to keep her gaze fixed on the ink marching across her paper like a column of black ants.
The talkative one, Miles, leans across the table very seriously and Kitty finally decides to grace him with an unamused stare. "You know what they call the VADs," he asks. She raises one eyebrow.
"The Very Adorable Darlings. I think it suits you perfectly."
Patronising git. The Scottish 'colleague' snorts, whether at what Miles has said or at her expression, she's not sure.
"You know, my father gave me a piece of advice about women, shall I tell you what it is? He said never marry a woman who holds your look for too long, it means trouble."
She can't resist a sarcastic comment for this. He's ridiculous and not in the way that makes one laugh. "And you always take your father's advice, do you?"
"Most of the time – except in matters of the heart."
"And I suppose you are the type to do what everyone tells you?" She's had enough of idiotic men who think they can win a woman over with soft, sweet words and a dazzling smile. She stands, gathering her letter and pen, picking up the lamp and leaves, her blue skirts swishing behind her.
Somewhere in the background of the noise, she can hear his Scottish friend laughing.
"Stop laughing," Miles stands up, making a faux-threatening gesture towards him.
"You had it coming – even I could tell she wasn't interested," Thomas says as he composes himself, placing his hat back on his head and straightening up.
"You didn't help."
"And was I supposed to? I thought you were dashing enough to manage the ladies on your own?"
Her eyes are as dark as he remembered, like black thunderclouds, and the way she has so easily put down Miles is astonishing. No other woman has ever proved impervious to Miles' charms – not even Matron, out of whom Miles seems to be one of the only ones able to coax a smile.
This earns Thomas a slap on the shoulder as Miles falls into step beside him. "I'm perfectly dashing, thank you, Captain Gillan."
"We'll see about that."
"I'll wager you that I'll get a smile in under a week."
"I don't think you will, and you know I don't gamble."
"Come on, Tom. I can get a smile out of you. And out of Matron. And even out of Sister Quayle. I promise you, within the week she'll be smiling."
Thomas raised an eyebrow as the two ducked into their tent. "Don't come crying to me when she doesn't."
"Oh, I won't," says Miles, sitting down on his bed. "I promise you that."
Thomas writes for a while on his typewriter, preparing the article for the Royal Society of Surgeons, but sooner than later that haughty face creeps into the back corners of his mind, the elegant features and her eyes bore holes into his thoughts.
Cursing silently under his breath, he puts the cover back over the typewriter and gets ready for bed.
A/N I had so much fun writing this chapter, I mean, who doesn't love Miles? Thank you to Guest for reviewing, it was lovely to hear from you, and now, any missing scenes requests from between episodes 2 and 3 or any from episode 3 onwards would be greatly appreciated. N xx.