A Song At Twilight (10 page)

The doorbell jangled and May went to answer it, still blushing. There was an immediate outburst of laughter and chatter as the first of the pilots came in, stamping their feet on the mat, and then Robin Fairbanks and Brian Summers shouldered their way into the room. To Alison’s relief, they were as breezy as ever; it had obviously been tacitly agreed that there would be no shadows cast over the evening.

‘Alison, you look more beautiful each time I see you,’ Robin declared as more young men crowded through the door. ‘Andrew’s told us your good news. I must say, if you’ve got to marry someone like him, you may as well make the most of it and bring in reinforcements.’

‘So long as the sprog doesn’t actually
look
like him,’ Brian Summers stipulated. ‘It’s got to have some sort of chance in life.’

‘Alison’s looks and my brains, that’s what we’ve agreed,’ Andrew said, handing round glasses of beer, but the others shook their heads.

‘Alison’s looks
and
Alison’s brains, that’s what it’ll need.’ Brian lifted his glass. ‘Anyway, whichever it turns out to be, here’s to the new little Knight. What’s the proper name for the son of a knight – a viscount, or something?’

‘Don’t be more of an idiot than you can help.’ Andrew glanced over to where Ben and Tony were hovering uncertainly in the doorway. ‘Come on in, you two, you make the place look untidy. Who’s that lurking behind you?’

‘It’s Stefan.’ Ben hauled the Polish airman in, and Andrew pushed his way through the throng and gripped them both by the arms.

‘Come and meet Alison. You too, Tony.’ He carved his way back and stood them in the nearest approximation he could manage to a row. ‘Look at these three erks, darling, and hope never to see them again! Ben Hazelwood, Tony Sinclair and Stefan Dabrowski. We’ve borrowed him from the Polish squadron. He’s a nice bloke, you’ll like him. Got better manners than our mob.’

Alison held out her hand and the three young men shook it in turn, Stefan giving a little bow as he did so. She smiled at them.

‘Has Andrew given you a drink yet? There’s some food, too – help yourselves whenever you want to. Is this your first posting?’

Ben shook his head. ‘We’ve been flying a couple of years now. Been on quite a few courses lately. Can’t wait to have a crack at the Hun. Stefan here’s an ace, got a couple of dozen kills to his name.’

‘I trained before the war began, with the Polish Air Force,’ Stefan told her seriously. ‘It’s good to be here, and it’s very kind of you to invite me to your party. Thank you.’

‘Oh, that’s quite all right,’ Alison said, a little flustered by his gravity. He seemed older than most of the pilots – probably about the same age as Andrew, she thought. She wondered if his family were still in Poland, but decided it was better not to ask, at least until she knew him better. ‘You will have a drink, won’t you? And something to eat.’

‘Of course he’ll have a drink,’ one of the other pilots butted in, handing him a glass. ‘The difficulty will be getting him to stop. These Poles train fish to drink, you know. And he can eat too, though you might not believe it to look at him. We stood him behind a lamppost the other day and he completely disappeared!’ He lifted his own glass to her. ‘Your very good health, Alison, and thanks for organising this. I’m afraid we’re a rowdy mob to have in your house. Not sure my wife would do the same.’

‘I didn’t know you were married, Ozzie,’ Alison said in surprise, and the pilot laughed.

‘I’m not! Nor likely to be, unless I catch some poor lass looking the wrong way. But if I
were
married, I’m not sure my wife would agree to have a crowd like this invade her domain. Well, did I hear you mention food? I’d better nab some before these greedy gannets eat the lot.’ He disappeared into the crowd, leaving Alison and Stefan looking at each other. Ben and Tony had vanished too, and there seemed to be a tiny oasis of quiet amongst the babble.

‘How long have you been in England?’ she asked.

‘Since soon after the war began. It was necessary to be in a place where we could fight.’ He looked down at her. Their glances locked and she caught her breath at a sudden, disturbing glimpse of passion simmering somewhere beneath the ice of his light blue eyes. With difficulty, she looked away and then found herself drawn back again.

‘If you ever want a quiet place to be,’ she said, ‘you’re always welcome here.’

Their eyes met again and he nodded with the stiff little bow with which he had first greeted her. ‘Thank you. That’s kind. It’s often noisy in the mess. I have my own room, of course, but even so …’ He hesitated. ‘As long as your husband wouldn’t mind.’

‘Andrew won’t mind,’ she said. ‘He wants all the pilots to be able to come here and feel at home.’ She smiled. ‘Of course, you might find it just as noisy as the mess at times!’

‘Even with all of the others here now,’ he said, ‘it seems peaceful. I think you are that kind of person, the kind who brings peace with her wherever she goes. My mother is—’ he stopped, then went on again ‘—my mother is that kind of person too.’ There was just the faintest discernible emphasis on the word
is
.

There was a brief silence and then he glanced around the room and said, ‘You have a piano.’

‘Well, it’s not really ours. It’s part of the furnishings. But it’s nice to have it there – I play it sometimes in the afternoons.’

‘You’re a pianist?’ he asked, his eyes sharpening.

Alison laughed. ‘I wouldn’t go so far as to say that! But we all had to learn at my school, and there’s one at home too, of course. Do you play, Mr—’

‘Stefan,’ he said. ‘You English can never pronounce our names. Yes, I play. We’re a musical family.’ He lifted one hand and flexed the fingers, and she noticed how long and slender they were. ‘We have a piano of sorts in the mess. I play that sometimes, but the others – they all want something not so serious. I play jazz for them.’

‘You could come and play ours if you like,’ she offered, and his eyes lit up.

‘You’d let me do that? I must warn you, I play serious music as well as jazz – Bach and Beethoven, Chopin too, of course. You may not wish to hear it so much.’

‘It would be lovely,’ she said, meaning it, and touched his arm. Before either could speak again they were interrupted by Andrew. ‘Some of the WAAFs are here. We’re going to put some records on and have a dance. That’s all right, darling, isn’t it?’

‘Of course.’ She gave Stefan another quick smile and then moved away to greet the latest batch of newcomers. They were all young girls, not much more than twenty, she guessed, and were grouped shyly together in one corner. She started to talk to them, asking their names and where they were from, and before long they were chatting like old friends.

Stefan was still watching her and Andrew followed his glance.

‘Alison’s a marvel at putting people at their ease. Just the right person for dispensing a bit of tea and sympathy – you can talk to her about anything.’

‘I know,’ the Pole said slowly. ‘I can see it in her eyes and in her smile. You’re a lucky man, Andrew.’ He moved away, towards the table where the sandwiches and sausage rolls were fast diminishing. ‘A very lucky man.’

A lucky man
. Andrew watched him move away, the words still sounding in his ears. I know I am, he thought. I know it’s true. Yet, just at this moment, he could not quite believe it. It was as if the Andrew Knight that Stefan had been talking to were someone else – someone quite different.

He drained his glass and went to refill it.

‘There’s not really much room for dancing, is there?’ Ben said, holding May a little tentatively. He was very much aware of her warm body and soft curves close to him. He glanced at Tony and wished he could be as suave and self-assured. Tony was always going to dances and seemed to acquire a new girlfriend every time.

‘Not really,’ May agreed. ‘Still, it’s nice of Mr Knight – I mean Squadron Leader …’ she recalled her instructions and amended her words again, ‘
Andrew
and Alison to ask us all here. Specially me.’

‘Why especially you?’ he asked. ‘You’re Alison’s friend, aren’t you?’

‘Yes, but I’ve only met her these past few weeks, and I’ve come to help tonight. I’m not really a guest. I don’t know that I ought to be dancing at all.’

‘Oh, I’m sure they want you to enjoy yourself. You’ve done all that food, and I know you were washing up just now – you deserve a bit of time off.’ He held her a little closer and, since she didn’t seem to object, closer still. She really did feel very pleasant, nestled comfortably against him. ‘Do you live quite close, then?’

‘Just down the road.’ She told him about her family and the cottage they shared. ‘Prettyjohns have always lived there. Father worked on the home farm at the Barton till he had his accident, but Squire never turned us out, he said us could stay in the cottage as long as we liked. Grandpa still helps out with the stock and does a bit of milking now and then, and Mother works up at the house a couple of mornings a week.’

Ben nodded. His own home was in a small village and he understood about farms and tied cottages. Generally, in such circumstances, a farmer would allow a family to remain in their home, but if he needed it for another worker he could give them notice. A family like the Prettyjohns could be in real difficulties if that happened.

The music stopped and they waited for Andrew to change the record. He had been playing some of Victor Sylvester’s records but now he put on one of Ambrose’s, with Vera Lynn singing about bluebirds over the white cliffs of Dover. People began to join in with the words as they danced, and Ben heard May’s soft voice in his ear.

‘You’ve got a lovely voice,’ he said when the record stopped. ‘Did you know that song’s about us – the Air Force? We’re the bluebirds, in our aeroplanes.’

‘I didn’t know that!’ she said in surprise. ‘I thought it meant real bluebirds.’

‘No, it’s us. That’s what I’ve been told, anyway.’

They stood together in the middle of the room. The sky was dark now and Andrew had put up the blackout curtains and lit a few lamps which cast a soft, mellow light. There were small groups of people wedged into every space and several sitting on the stairs. May glanced through to the table and disengaged herself from Ben’s arms.

‘Don’t go,’ he said, trying to draw her back. ‘Andrew’s putting on another record.’

‘I ought to see to the food.’

‘There’s none left. We’ve eaten it all. Come on, let’s have another dance.’

‘Yes, but the table needs clearing and there’ll be more washing-up to do. That’s why I’m here.’

‘We’ll do it together, then.’ Still keeping hold of her hand, he followed her to the kitchen and closed the door behind them.

Andrew, setting the needle on a Glenn Miller record, watched them go. He’d seen the young pilot dancing with Alison’s friend and knew the look on the young man’s face. He wasn’t flirtatious like Tubby or knowing like Tony Sinclair; he was more serious, the sort of youngster who would fall in love properly, as Andrew had with Alison. And that was the most dangerous kind of all.

Restlessly, Andrew went to fill his glass again. He had lost count of how many beers he’d had – in fact, he’d never counted at all. It didn’t seem to matter. They weren’t having any more effect than water – he wished they would. It might help him to forget.

He slipped into the passageway and out of the door. The garden was cool and quiet, the darkness lying like a blanket over the fields. He stood for a moment breathing in the chilly night air and thinking about Tubby.

I knew he was frightened, he thought. I knew and did nothing about it. And yet, what could I have done? He wouldn’t have thanked me for it. He wouldn’t have wanted to be grounded. He’d have hated me for doing that to him. Hated me.

And he would still have been alive.

Andrew took in a deep breath. He tilted back his head and stared up at the sky, searching for a star, some kind of light, as if searching for a signal. For a moment, he laughed bitterly at his fancy – did he think that Tubby was sending him a sign? Yet he still went on searching.

There was nothing.

He let his head drop forward again and raised his glass to his lips. It was almost empty. The beer had disappeared as if he’d tipped it on to the ground.

Andrew swore, silently and at length, using every word that he had ever known. Then he went back into the cottage to fill the glass again.

In the little kitchen, May started to run the tap while Ben picked up a tray and went back to the dining room. Most of the plates had been emptied now, and he piled them on the tray, added a few glasses and carried them all back. They washed up together, the kitchen feeling cosy and companionable.

‘You don’t have to do that,’ May said after a moment or two. ‘You’re supposed to be enjoying the party.’

‘I’m enjoying being here. It feels like being at home.’

She laughed at him. ‘Go on! I bet you don’t ever wash up at home. You’ll have a maid or something.’

‘Not really. Well, I suppose we do, in a way.’ He told her about Jeanie. ‘She helps around the house in return for her board and keep, and Mum pays her as well, so I suppose she is a maid. But she seems more like one of the family. I’m the baby’s godfather,’ he added proudly.

‘Well, that’s lovely. I bet you’ll make a smashing godfather.’

‘I ought to,’ he said. ‘My father’s a vicar.’

They finished the washing-up. The music was softer now and it sounded as though almost everyone had gone. The door opened and Alison came in with another tray of glasses.

‘Goodness me! I didn’t realise you were here. May, you’ve done enough – you’ve been slaving away all evening. You’d better go home now or your mother will think we’ve kidnapped you.’

‘I haven’t been working all the time,’ May said. ‘I was dancing with Ben some of it.’

‘And very nice it was, too,’ he said, folding his tea-towel and draping it over the wooden rack. ‘I’ll see you home.’

‘Oh, there’s no need! I don’t mind walking along the lane in the dark – I’m used to it. It’s only about ten minutes’ walk.’

‘I’ll see you home, all the same,’ he said firmly, and waited while she fetched her coat. He and Alison looked at each other for a moment and he said, ‘It’s all right. I’ll look after her.’