Beneath Us the Stars (4 page)

That puzzled Bill. ‘Bluestocking?’

Mary saw her chance to tease. ‘English as she is spoken in the mother country. It now means a bookworm – a swot – but was originally named after eighteenth-century society hostesses who wore blue hosiery and held the most
intellectual
soirées in town.’

He frowned mockingly. ‘Really. But do you know Glenn Miller?’

She did, but enjoying the banter said: ‘Glen who? Is that in Scotland?’

Bill knew he was being strung along, and joined in with relish.

‘Who’s Glenn Miller? My God, woman, where have you been? You must be one hell of a
green
stocking.’

Mary chuckled. ‘
Blue
. It’s blue as you very well know. Of course I’ve heard of him. They’ve broadcast concerts he’s given from Bedford – that’s not far away. He’s stationed there.’

‘Yeah?’ Bill leaned forward. ‘There’s a big poster in the Red Cross Club. He’s playing at the Guildhall here in Cambridge – would you like to go – it’s tomorrow?’

Mary was obviously taken aback. ‘Well, I….’

Bill realized what he had done, and panicked. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to crowd you. I guess I got carried away.’

Quickly she said: ‘Oh, it’s not that. It’s just – well – I don’t know how to dance. I’ve never done it.’

Bill leapt up and held out his hand. ‘Nothing to it. Come
on, I’ll show you.’

Flustered, but unable to refuse his hand, she stood up. She was still protesting as he led her to the floor.

Mary knew that they were about to come physically very close together. Her heart started to thump against her ribcage.

Bill towed her through the side-stepping quarter-turning British and reached the other Americans shuffling on the spot in the middle. It happened in one smooth movement – Bill just turned back on his tracks as she kept on coming, walking right into him. He slipped his arm around her waist and pulled her closer. Instinctively she placed her left hand on his shoulder.

Breathlessly, Mary warned: ‘But I don’t know any steps.’

As they shuffled around she slowly relaxed. Her body had been as stiff as a board but she found herself softening, leaning in against his muscular frame, swaying to the music.

‘There – you got it. Easy, huh?’ Bill encouraged her.

She would never forget
Moonlight Serenade.

The rest of the evening they were hardly off the floor, eventually clinging heavily to each other as they moved to the slow beat of the double-bass. Her eyes were closed when the music came to an end, and the band-leader, in his dinner-jacket and winged collar pulled the mike nearer.

‘That’s it tonight, ladies and gentlemen. We hope you have enjoyed yourselves with us, and don’t forget, we shall be here again Saturday – same time, same place….’

Obviously in a hurry the band struck up
God Save the King
before he’d quite finished. They stood motionless, but
their hands stayed locked tightly together. When it ended there was desultory clapping. They walked back to their table, only relinquishing their grip on each other when the main lights came on.

She looked at her watch. ‘Gosh, is that the time? My landlady will be locking up in half an hour, I’ll have to hurry.’

He was disappointed. ‘Oh, I thought we might have a nightcap – tea or a coffee or whatever.’

Upset, Mary clutched his arm. ‘I’m so sorry. But if I do have to be let in, the dean gets a report.’ She scowled. ‘Only me of course, because I’m a woman at their college. Honestly, with women in munition factories and the like, it’s such a nonsense.’

He frowned. ‘But your college is only just round the corner.’

Vigorously she shook her head.

‘Yes, but I told you before: I live in rooms further out. It will take me all my time in the blackout to get there.’

Anxiously, Bill said: ‘You will let me escort you – won’t you?’

Her heart started to pound again at the thought of what might happen, but she heard herself saying: ‘I was rather hoping you would.’

With their coats on they stepped out through the
darkened
doorway. A stray shaft of light showed the anti-blast paper criss-crossing the windows, before it was quickly smothered.

Mary’s hand found his. ‘Careful. Watch out for
lampposts
. There’s many a black eye caused by walking into
them – or so they say.’

She led the way, crossing the road and then walking down a lane.

‘My place is on the other side of the Cam.’

The dark soaring shapes of the colleges stood out against the starry sky, the Milky Way shining like a bright band of diamonds.

Mary looked up, the faint light catching her upturned face. ‘Isn’t it wonderful? Since the blackout the night sky has been terrific. We haven’t seen the like since the last century – before gas-lamps and electricity in towns.’

Bill looked at her, breathed: ‘Yeah – beautiful.’

It happened easily, naturally. Their faces drew closer. At the last moment her eyes closed and their lips brushed, separated, came back again, and stayed.

When at length they parted she put her head against his chest, face sideways, lost in the shadow. His hand gently stroked her hair.

It was a few seconds before she spoke in a tiny voice.

‘Bill, what’s happening? This time yesterday we didn’t even know each other.’

He kissed her sweet-smelling hair. ‘I know. I can’t believe it myself.’

They stood for what seemed ages until he said: ‘I’ve got six more days, Mary. Can I see you every day? Can I see you tomorrow? The Glenn Miller show is on at the Guildhall. Now you can dance it would be fun.’

His voice was pleading.

Mary was elated, then suddenly despondent.

‘Yes, yes of course. Oh – damn.’

‘What’s wrong?’

‘The day after that is one of my war effort days. In the evening I’ve got to travel to …’ Shocked that she nearly said Bletchley Park she stopped abruptly, then ended lamely: ‘somewhere for a couple of days.’

Bill’s face showed his desperation. ‘Must you go? I’ve only got this week.’

Mary thought furiously. ‘I’ll call in sick – first thing in the morning. They’ll want a note from my doctor, but I’ll sort that out somehow. Anyway, I’ll catch up later. But I have to give a lecture in the morning – and a tutorial in the
afternoon
. I can’t dodge them, but I’ll be free from about four o’clock onwards.

Bill threw his arms around her and gave her a hug,
lifting
her feet off the ground as he described a circle before setting her down. ‘That’s great.’ Laughing and joking they moved on – to be blinded by two flashlights catching them full in the face. A voice commanded:

‘Stay there, please.’

Two figures stepped up close, the lights dropping to take in their bodies before coming to rest on their chests. The light reflected back so that they could make out two
policemen
, a sergeant and a constable, with steel helmets and gas-masks on shoulder-straps. The sergeant spoke again.

‘Out late, aren’t we?’

Bill frowned. ‘Just showing the lady home, officer – is there a problem?’

The constable strolled around behind them, examining them with his torch.

Sergeant said: ‘No – not that I know of.’

His light fell on to Bill’s uniform.

‘Can I see both of your identity cards please?’

Mary fiddled in her handbag, lit up by the returned constable’s light, while Bill unbuttoned his coat and fished inside his tunic for his wallet, then handed over the card.

The sergeant studied it intently. ‘You on leave, sir?’

‘Yep.’

‘Have you got your leave pass with you?’

Bill frowned, and began to undo his coat, revealing more of his jacket as he tried various pockets.

‘I may have left it at the hotel – I’m staying at the Swan – they needed it for registration….’

Mary found her card and held it out. ‘Here we are. I work at the college.’ She indicated the high wall they were
passing
.

The sergeant took it, scanned it, then gave it back. ‘Thank you.’

He turned back to Bill, who was still searching his
pockets
. ‘That’s all right, sir, that won’t be necessary.’

Bill stopped. ‘That’s very kind of you, I appreciate it.’

The sergeant eased his chinstrap. ‘Least I can do, sir. You’re doing your bit, I’m sure.’

Bill shrugged. ‘We’re all doing that, sergeant.’ He began to button his coat up again as the sergeant turned to Mary. He was still a bit suspicious.

‘And what did you say you did at this college, miss?’

Mary raised an eyebrow, clearly irritated yet again at the incredulity of all men.’

‘I didn’t, sergeant. I’m a research fellow, and yes I do know it’s unusual.’

The policeman was surprised, and couldn’t hide it. ‘A lady! I see. Very well then, I’ll wish you both goodnight and good luck.’

They answered in chorus: ‘Goodnight,’ and moved on, her arm in his.

Bill whispered: ‘I don’t think he believed you.’

Mary grunted. ‘From the look on his face I think he thought I ought to be still chained to the kitchen sink.’

When they were out of earshot the constable murmured: ‘She’s a looker. Bloody Yanks get all the best women.’

His sergeant turned on his heel and began pacing towards town again. ‘Did you see his medals?’

The constable snorted. ‘They get them for just being here, don’t they?’

The sergeant shook his head. ‘He’s got a DFC, they don’t give
them
out willy nilly, I can tell you. So he deserves anything he can get in my book.’

After Silver Street bridge, Mary started down the sandy path which in the moonlight looked to him like his own yellow brick road. He put his arm around her shoulder, and Mary responded by holding on to his waist.

They walked in silence until she said; ‘I’m afraid you’ll have to go back the long way round.’

He squeezed her shoulder. ‘I’m not tired.’

‘Neither am I.’ She took a deep breath. ‘I don’t think I’ll sleep a wink – I’ve had such a lovely time.’

Bill kissed the side of her head. ‘Me too.’

Later, as they turned into her road of three-storey terrace houses, an increasing roar began to fill the heavens. He felt her shiver, so he stopped and drew her into him and held
her tightly.

‘It’s the RAF – Round The Clock. Now the Army boys are over there, Fortress Europe is nearly finished.’

Her voice came up from his chest. ‘What will you be doing when your leave is up?’

He was evasive. ‘Oh, back on the job.’

She pulled away and looked up at him. ‘Look, Bill, I’m not daft. Tell me what you do
exactly
– if you can – it matters a lot to me.’

Bill thought for a moment. ‘OK. I’m in a fighter squadron. We escort bombers.’ Her face fell. With a sigh, she said, ‘I had hoped that, perhaps, you weren’t in the fighting; liason or something like that.’

He pulled her close again, cuddled her. ‘It’s not like the bomber boys. Compared to them it’s a piece of cake.’ If she hadn’t felt so miserable, she would have chuckled at his use of RAF slang.

He didn’t say anything about the targets of opportunity.

The word had come down to strafe airfields on the way home – any aircraft destroyed would now be credited as kills. It made sense, but airfields were heavily defended….

They walked in silence until they reached the gate to her digs.

Bill was anxious. The roar in the sky had diminished to a distant hum, but it was still casting a shadow over the end of the evening.

‘You all right? You’ve gone quiet.’

‘Yes.’ She did not intend to tell him that her brother had died in the Battle of Britain. He’d got his wings, and three weeks later his Hurricane had gone down in the Channel
after his first dogfight. She’d sworn then that she would never get friendly with anybody in the services – especially the Air Force.

She reached up and hugged him. ‘Yes – of course.’

It was finding out the precarious reality of their situation that gave her the urge, but she kissed him passionately on the mouth.

She pulled back, said: ‘I’ll see you tomorrow then – say seven o’clock at the hotel?’

He pleaded: ‘No – I’ll pick you up here at, say, six-thirty. We had better get there early, it’s going to be crowded.’

She frowned, was going to say that her landlady, Mrs Chick, wouldn’t approve, and then thought:
damn it,
and said: ‘I look forward to it.’

With that she gave him an affectionate peck on the cheek, turned and ran up the stairs and opened the door. Just as she closed it behind her she waved with her fingers.

Bill caught sight of a curtain twitching. He stood for a moment in the empty dark street, then walked away as another roaring in the sky started to build.

When she reached her room Mary leaned back against the door, tears rolling down her cheeks as the unlit room reverberated to the same angry sky.

Bill couldn’t get to sleep; his mind kept going round and round, full of Mary, of the moment he had first set eyes on her, and every second since then, the way she moved, the way she smiled, her hair, everything.

Somewhere near 2 a.m., just as he lapsed more into unconsciousness than normal sleep, he was suddenly
terrified
, he couldn’t remember her face. The nightmare continued. The more he tried, the more impossible it was. Then, mercifully, oblivion descended.

He came to at eleven o’clock, lying for some time on his side looking at the strange room from that angle, utterly confused. For a while he thought he was back home
somewhere
.

At last he sat up and saw his uniform jacket draped over a chair. It all came back with a rush, including the awful feeling of not being able to remember how Mary looked, and with that came
guilt.
He could see her now as though she had been etched into his brain. How could he have forgotten? He must get a photograph – that torment could not be repeated.

The fact that the mental exhaustion the flight-surgeon had diagnosed was affecting him never dawned on him.

There was no shower, so he tried the tub. The water was cold, but the quick plunge and brisk rub-down left him tingling with life and excitement at the prospect of seeing her again.

He remembered, rashly, that he’d said he would take her to the Glenn Miller show, which was in town that night. Guessing it might be difficult to get into, he resolved to ask around.

Dressed, he came down the stairs to find a lady with a headscarf on using a hand-pushed carpet-cleaner. She looked up and grinned, the cigarette that was stuck to her lower lip wobbling up and down as she said: ‘Oh, hello darling, awake at last.’

Bill apologized. ‘Sorry, I don’t normally do that.’

She stopped what she was doing.

‘I’m afraid breakfast finished long ago, but I can make you a cup of tea and toast. Or, knowing you Yanks like your coffee, you can have that if you prefer.’

Bill suppressed a shudder at the thought.

‘No, thank you. I’ll get myself something at the American Red Cross Club, I’ve got to go there as it is.’

He wandered into Cambridge, standing for a while outside her college, trying to imagine her teaching
somewhere
inside.

At the Red Cross Club he bought a sandwich and coffee, and had a think about that evening. When he’d finished he took his cup and plate back to the counter. The girls in their crisp blouses and neat skirts, with little forage-caps on their
heads, were a breath of home, speaking in American accents, one from the Midwest, the other from the Deep south.

He enquired about the Glenn Miller concert and found it was open to all Allied servicemen. The girl from Tennessee gave him a dazzling smile.

‘Get there early, Lieutenant – it’s the only way – or you can get a ticket, I believe, if you go to the Guildhall
beforehand
.’

‘Gee, thanks for the information.’

It was then that he thought about transportation: it would make it easier to get there early if nothing else. But a car was out of the question – gas was strictly rationed.

But he was a fighter pilot – full of resourcefulness – or supposed to be, wasn’t he? And he loved the thought of doing something for her – something that would impress her.

Bill checked which was the nearest base. When told he implored the Southern belle: ‘I wonder, could I use your phone, or rather, would you mind calling for me? I need to speak to the adjutant, rather urgently.’

She gave him a guarded look. ‘We’re not officially allowed to use the phone for personal calls, Lieutenant.’

Bill frowned. ‘Oh, this is very official. I promise you.’

She made up her mind and lifted the counter hatch. ‘Come on through – the phone is in the office.’

He followed her trim figure into a small, obviously newly partitioned area. She picked up the receiver and ran a hand down a wall chart of bases and other facilities and found the number she wanted.

The finger she used to dial on the rather ancient-looking black phone was well manicured. It finally found the last hole and the disc whirred back.

When she spoke Bill could well imagine her accent was even more noticeable at the other end of the line.

‘Hi there, this is the Red Cross Club in Cambridge. Can I have the adjutant’s office please. Thank you.’

She placed her hand over the speaker. ‘Who shall I say is calling?’

Bill had been thinking furiously, and had come up with the one person that fitted the situation.

‘General Myers.’

She nearly dropped the phone, began hissing ‘I can’t—’

He could hear a voice bark at the other end. Caught out she spluttered:

‘I … have General Myers for you, sir.’

She shot the phone out to him as though it was red-hot.

Bill took it, made his voice more authoritative and deeper.

‘Myers here.’ He knew the general to be on leave in the States. ‘I’m in Cambridge, staying at the…’ He put his hand over the receiver, spoke to her. ‘What’s the best hotel in town?’

Reluctantly she shrugged. ‘The University Arms, I suppose.’ He repeated it into the phone.

‘I need a vehicle for tonight. I’m attending a group conference and my transportation has gone belly-up.’

She listened as he made a few grunting replies, then: ‘I’m much obliged, Major. I’ll see that your helpfulness does not go unnoticed. Eighteen thirty hours. That would be fine.
Thank you.’

Grinning, he lowered the phone.

She had one fine eyebrow raised, arms crossed, fingers tapping her blouse.

‘Lieutenant, I don’t know what you’re up to, but don’t involve me in future –
right
?’

‘Right.’

But there was softness in those Southern eyes.

Satisfied with himself he wandered out into the town and found the Guildhall. To his relief he got three tickets.

Bicycles were everywhere, hundreds of students in short gowns were cycling all over the place, mingling with
working
men in cloth caps carrying haversacks, and women in headscarves, with big wicker baskets hooked to their handlebars over the front wheel. The air was full of the sound of tinkling warning bells, and once he stepped out unthinkingly into the road and was bumped quite badly by a speeding bike, the man shouting something that Bill could only guess was a rebuke as to his not knowing which side of the road civilized people travelled on.

He spent an hour looking into beautiful Victorian
shop-windows
, all polished glass and wooden framed, with white canvas sun-blinds drawn down over the sidewalks. But after nearly five years of war, there was very little on display that could actually be bought.

There were a lot of GIs around, some in clusters, others with girls on their arms. The RAF were present, and some servicemen of other nationalities, all wandering aimlessly.

Eventually he found a path that took him down by the river. He sat on a bench, enjoying the weak sun on his face.

He was thinking about what might happen at the end of his leave, how they would manage, when a young voice said: ‘Got any gum, chum?’

Startled, he turned to find a boy in short grey trousers and long socks, a blazer with a badge on the breast pocket, and wearing a peaked school cap on his head. He had a satchel on his back.

Bill smiled.

‘Shouldn’t you be at school?’

The boy grinned, ‘Got a free period, just on my way home.’

Bill fished in his pocket and pulled out a fresh pack. ‘Here you go, son.’

The boy’s face lit up, exposing teeth full of gaps as he caught the packet.

‘Gee, thanks, that’s great.’

Almost immediately three more boys, all in short trousers, came from nowhere. What was it with the English, putting their kids in short trousers in winter?

He waved them away.

‘Hey, that’s all I’ve got this time.’

It was true, he wasn’t a big gum fancier, but like many, he always slipped a strip into his mouth before flying at
altitude
to combat the dry mouth caused by the oxygen.

He turned back to the boy.

‘You live round here, son?’

‘Yes.’ The boy pointed. ‘Over there.’

‘What’s your daddy do?’

‘He’s in the army.’

Bill pulled his chin in. ‘Hey, that’s impressive. Is he over
in Normandy?’

The boy shook his head. ‘No, he’s a prisoner of war.’

Bill was taken aback, then remembered Dunkirk. ‘Was it when the British had to leave France?’

‘Oh no, he’s in the Fourteenth Army.’

The boy seemed to think that was sufficient explanation in itself, and was momentarily puzzled when Bill prompted: ‘Where are they?’

The boy began to open the gum packet.

‘He was taken prisoner in Burma.’

The awful truth dawned on Bill. The boy’s father was in a Jap POW camp. He’d heard of the way things were in them. Like most Americans, though Nazi Germany was seen as the primary threat to the US and democracy in the West, there was a special hatred of the Nips – ever since Pearl Harbor. Most servicemen assumed that if they survived the European theatre, they would end up being shipped to the East.

‘Gee, I’m sorry about that, son. What’s your name?’

‘Edward Stevenson, sir.’

‘Well Edward, enjoy the gum. Do you get enough to eat?’

‘Oh yes. Mum’s a really good cook and she gets lots of extra things from Uncle Sam.’

‘Uncle Sam?’ But understanding was already beginning to dawn.

‘Yes. Al brings it. He’s one of your lot. You are in the Air Force, aren’t you?’

Bill nodded. ‘That I am. What does this Al do?’

‘He’s the boss of something. It’s very hush-hush, you know.’

I bet it is, thought Bill, and wondered what the
friendship
of Mrs Stevenson and Al was doing for Anglo-American relations in the district. Not a lot probably. On embarkation they’d all been given a booklet on how not to offend the natives, but it stood to reason that in a case where a man was in a POW camp, feelings might be running high at a wife going out with a Yank.

Then he thought of the woman, alone, in her early
vigorous
years with a young son, skimping on food, short of company, short of fun, and worried sick as well.

It was easy to criticize. Men made war, but women suffered.

But then there was Mary. Shouldn’t she be going out with a RAF guy? Maybe – but she
wasn’t
. And it was
different
.

He patted the boy on the shoulder.

‘Well, you best be getting home. You take care of your mother, now, and tell her not to worry, the Japs will soon have had enough.’ He didn’t believe that for one minute.

‘Yes, sir.’ The boy cut an American-style salute as opposed to the British open-palm method, and ran off happily.

Sadly Bill gazed at the sparkling sun-kissed water. There was more misery and suffering to come after this war was over, other than the obvious.

Just then a swan took off from the river, neck straight out, giant wings straining with the effort of getting airborne.

He grunted.

Just like a ‘Fort’ fully bombed-up and taking off for a mission.

Mary looked at the fresh faces around her, three young men who were not much younger than Bill, but there the
similarity
ended. Whereas they were still immature, blank canvases on which life had yet to paint, the mantle of war gave Bill a maturity far beyond his tender years. But it would not be long when, with shortened wartime degrees finished, they would be called up, poor things.

She screwed the top back on to her fountain pen. ‘Well, that’s it for this afternoon.’

They began to fold up their notepads and put them with their text books. Filing out of her study they all said politely: ‘Thank you, Doctor Rice.’

They closed the door behind them, leaving her still sitting in the window seat that she favoured for her
tutorials
– and filled with an infinite sadness.

Where would they be in a year or so? In fact, would they still be alive?

Mary could not suppress a shiver. She knew why she was suddenly anxious. That night she had been thinking about Bill, not getting off to sleep until very late and then seeming to wake every hour or so.

All of a sudden, in the blink of an eye, her whole life had changed.

It defied logic.

And with it had come frightful, bone-deep worry about his safety – she had already lost a brother to the great maw of the war.

So there was an urgency in her blood.

Later, as she prepared yet again to meet him, surveying her half-clothed form in the mirror, her face and neck flushed as vague, half understood ideas began to form, making her even more unsettled.

Downstairs she waited in the hall. Mrs Chick gave her a disparaging look as she came out of the dining-room and went into her own ground-floor room.

After five minutes there was still no sign of him. She looked at herself in the hall mirror. If he failed to turn up after all this preparation she would feel humiliated in front of Mrs Chick and the other girls in the house, not that that would really matter if such a terrible thing happened. But she knew it never would – not Bill.

Ten minutes later she began to wonder if he had come to some sort of harm. It was then that a car pulled up in the road, a door slammed, and footsteps came up the path.

Mary didn’t wait for the door-knocker to be used, she opened the door.

To her relief he stood there, cap off, looking pleased and apologetic all at the same time.

‘Mary, I’m so sorry I’m late – but my car didn’t turn up on time.’

‘Your car?’ She was incredulous. Nobody had cars – not unless they were very, very important, not even Americans.

He grinned, stepped to one side and gave an exaggerated courtly sweep of his hands to show her the staff car and driver, waiting with the rear door open.

‘Your carriage awaits you, madam.’

Mary stepped gingerly out and let him escort her to the grinning driver. She stepped into the leathered interior, noticing that the man gave an appreciative nod to Bill as he said: ‘You were right, sir, she was worth it.’