Bluebirds (15 page)

‘Speedy, you shouldn't say such things.'

‘'Tis true, 'tis pity; And pity 'tis 'tis true. The Bard again! There's no end to his wisdom. Oh lord, was that your toe again . . .?'

At the end of the evening he insisted on walking back to her quarters with her.

‘No officer should allow a lady to return home unaccompanied. Rule two thousand and fifty-three, King's Regulations.'

‘I'm an officer, too, remember. And quite capable of going home alone.'

‘This evening you're a lady – you danced with me, so you must be – and it's my solemn duty to protect you.'

Walking across the darkened camp from the Officers' Mess, he took her arm.

‘Wouldn't want you to trip over something.'

‘Actually, I can see quite well with my torch, Speedy.'

‘You can't be too careful, though. Supposing you broke an ankle . . . jolly inconvenient.'

Unknown to Felicity, all kinds of thoughts were chasing themselves inside the young pilot's head. She was not to know that he was falling deeply in love with her and that he hardly knew how to cope with the unaccustomed feeling. He was afraid that he stood little chance with her. He knew that he amused her and could make her laugh by playing the fool, but he could never be the sort of bloke she must have been used to meeting at Cambridge. The clever sort of chap who could spout Goethe or recite the Iliad, not just pop off a few silly quotes. And yet, he reasoned hopefully to himself in the dark walking along beside her, some of those types must be bloody boring . . . And what's more they couldn't fly a fighter at three hundred miles an hour, bash all over the bloody skies and then cut the daisies upside down with nothing on the clock but the maker's name. So far the old wings had never failed him. The thing was, though, he'd have to play his cards jolly carefully. One false move and it would all be over before it had even begun.

Outside her quarters he released her arm decorously
and then, in an inspired gesture, found her hand and raised it to his lips.

‘A fair good night, Assistant Section Officer. And pleasing dreams, and slumbers light.'

The gallant and respectful action touched and surprised Felicity. Even more surprising was the fact that he let go of her hand at once and walked away. She called after him.

‘Shakespeare again?'

‘Scott,' came the answer out of the darkness.

She watched the narrow beam of his torch bobbing away.

‘Good night, Speedy.'

She thought she heard him whistling as he went.

‘
THIS WAY, PLEASE,
Miss Stratton.'

Virginia hurried after the WAAF who strode ahead down a long and gloomy corridor. The Air Ministry building was busy with people moving about purposefully and she had to dodge between them to keep her guide in sight. A man carrying a bundle of files under his arm collided with her and one of the files slid to the floor, scattering its contents. He swore under his breath as he crawled about retrieving the papers and Virginia, stammering her apologies, tried to help him. Her guide was fast disappearing down the end of the corridor, marching on briskly without a backward glance, and in panic Virginia thrust a handful of the papers at the man and scurried after her.

She was shown into a big, high-ceilinged room with a desk under the window. A grey-haired RAF officer with a line of ribbons on his chest was seated behind the desk, writing something, and a WAAF officer, also grey-haired, sat a little to one side of him. It was several moments before the RAF officer looked up and spoke.

‘Sit down, please.'

Neither of them smiled at her as she took her place awkwardly on the chair in front of the desk. The man stared at her through horn-rimmed spectacles and his eyes were two cold blue spheres behind the thick glass lenses.

He clasped his hands before him on the desk top, interlacing the fingers. ‘You have asked to be considered for Special Duties, Miss Stratton. Can you tell us why?'

She had no idea what to reply. The whole idea had been suggested to her, not the other way round. In the
silence the two of them watched her and waited without expression. More than ever she regretted the day when she had found the courage to go back to the recruiting department, which had led her to this moment. The WAAF officer there had been enthusiastic. She had asked some strange questions, apparently to some particular purpose, wanting to know whether Virginia was quick to learn things, whether she would stay calm in a crisis, whether she could keep a secret . . . She must have given her the right answers because at the end of the interview the WAAF officer had smiled at her with approval.

‘I'm going to recommend you to train as a Special Duties Clerk. No good asking me what that is – it's too hush-hush. The only thing I
can
tell you is that you'll be doing one of the most vital jobs in the WAAF – if you're accepted. You'll be hearing from us soon about an interview.'

When the letter had arrived she had hidden it away from her mother.
Dear Miss Stratton, You are instructed to report at eleven hundred hours
. . .

‘We're waiting, Miss Stratton.'

The RAF officer was still staring at her. In her nervousness she let her handbag slip off her lap onto the floor. She bent to retrieve it, blushing, and clutched it closely against her body.

‘I was told I might be suitable for the work.'

‘And do
you
consider that you would be suitable, Miss Stratton?'

‘I don't know, sir. I don't know what is required.'

‘Then let me enlighten you. These qualities would be required of you: intelligence, alertness, integrity, the ability to think quickly, devotion to duty and absolute reliability. Do you think you can offer all these?'

‘I think I have some of them, at least . . . I can only say that I would do my best.'

‘Unfortunately your best might not be good enough, Miss Stratton.'

The WAAF officer spoke now in an equally stern voice.
‘There is another quality needed . . . are you capable of keeping secrets?'

She could answer this quite firmly. ‘Yes, I am.'

‘Are you sure? Because if you're the sort of girl who's likely to go round blabbing and gossiping then you'll be no good to us at all.
If
we decide to take you on then you must tell no-one at all about your work or what it involves – and that means
no-one.
Not your parents, or your family, not your boyfriend or any other friends – not even other WAAFs. Nobody at all. Do you understand?'

Virginia nodded. Now the RAF officer spoke again. He was looking at her as though he had no confidence in her at all.

‘Women are prone to gossip, as we all know. Why should you be any different?'

She cast a look of appeal towards the WAAF officer but there was no help there.

‘I don't really know, sir.'

‘You don't seem very sure about anything, do you, Miss Stratton?'

She was silent. Tears were pricking her eyes and she blinked quickly. The officer had unclasped his hands and was looking at the papers in front of him, turning them over.

‘You
are
completely British by birth and parentage?'

She swallowed to steady her voice. ‘Yes, sir.'

‘No foreign grandparents, or great-grandparents. No foreign blood anywhere?'

‘Not as far as I know.'

He grunted. It was the WAAF officer's turn again. She had leaned forward a little in her chair. Her grey hair was tightly permed and her eyes matched the tone of her voice.

‘What would you do if there was a raid on the station?'

Virginia hesitated. It seemed an odd question. Perhaps there was a catch to it.

‘I'd go to the public shelter and wait until the All Clear sounded and then I'd catch the next train.'

To her utter astonishment they both burst out laughing.

‘I meant on an
RAF
station, not a railway station,' the WAAF officer said, smiling. ‘What would you do if you were on duty there and the Germans came over and dropped bombs on it?'

‘I'd carry on with my duties.'

‘Good for you!'

When she got back to the office, Miss Parkes, in whom she had confided, looked up from her desk.

‘How did you get on, my dear?'

‘They accepted me.'

Miss Parkes looked quietly satisfied. ‘I knew they would. I should tell your mother when you next have the opportunity.'

And when I next have the courage, Virginia thought. Some time later it occurred to her that she still had no idea what Special Duties actually were.

The Station Commander's house was set apart from the main buildings and stood in its own garden, surrounded by a high beech hedge. The front door was opened to Felicity by a batman and she was shown into a large drawing-room where a group of people in evening clothes stood round the fireside. Wing Commander Palmer detached himself from the semi-circle.

‘Good evening, Assistant Section Officer.'

‘Good evening, sir.'

She shook hands with him – the first time she had not saluted him. Even off-duty, though, she could not bring herself to drop the ‘sir'.

‘I don't think you've met my wife.'

Mrs Palmer's handshake was limp and cool. She was wearing a long wine-red gown and her blond hair was caught back in a smooth chignon. She looked at Felicity without welcome or interest. More introductions were made: there were two officers new to Colston, with their wives, two couples from London, a Sir Reginald and Lady Howard who lived a few miles away, and a single young
man, also from London, by the name of Charles Savage. Felicity could not imagine why she had been asked to this dinner party which she had not had the slightest wish to attend, but which she had interpreted as a command rather than an invitation. Charles Savage drifted languidly to her side.

‘Did I hear right? You're in the Women's Air Force?'

‘Yes, you did.'

‘You don't look a bit as though you are.'

He was smoking a cigarette through an ivory holder and his hands flapped loosely from his wrists.

‘What should I look like?'

He waved the holder. ‘Not like you, anyway. I pictured something absolutely fearsome . . . cropped hair, hideous, possibly a moustache . . . that sort of thing, you know.'

‘We're quite normal, really.'

‘I'd've said
you
were actually rather special . . .'

To Felicity's relief, Mrs Cutler, another of those from London, moved to join them. She had a cupid's bow mouth painted scarlet.

‘Do tell me what you're talking about, Charles.'

‘I'm talking about the Women's Royal Air Force, Amy, since you ask.'

‘Women's Auxiliary Air Force,' Felicity corrected.

‘Whatever it is. And this is an officer in it.'

Mrs Cutler's eyes widened. ‘Are you really? How extraordinary. Do you have to wear uniform?'

‘Normally, yes.'

‘Poor you! I should simply
hate
that. I think uniform is super on a man, but I don't think women should wear it, do you, Charles?'

‘That all depends, Amy darling.'

The red mouth pouted. ‘Everybody seems to be joining something – except you, Charles. This beastly war's spoiling everything. Do you know, Gerald wants me and the children to go to Canada but I simply refuse to. I'd be bored to death there. All that awful snow and
people wearing tartan hats with ear flaps and cutting down trees . . .'

‘They're not
all
lumberjacks, darling.'

‘Well, anyway, I'm not going. The war will soon be over in any case, won't it?'

‘How should I know? Ask our officer here. Perhaps she knows.'

Mrs Cutler turned round blue eyes towards Felicity. ‘Do you?'

‘I'm afraid not.'

‘Well, nothing much has happened for ages, has it? And I mean who cares about Poland and those other places? I've never met a Pole in my life, have you? I don't see why we have to go on fighting for them . . .'

Later they went into the dining-room and sat at a polished table lit with candles and set with silver and crystal. The dinner was served by white-coated batmen and a waitress in a starched cap and apron. They began with turtle soup and proceeded to sole crêpes, roast pheasant and orange soufflé. Felicity, listening patiently to Charles Savage's long account of a weekend spent hunting in Hampshire, kept reminding herself that there was a war on. The scene at the dinner table gave no clues. Even Wing Commander Palmer, out of uniform, appeared to have undergone some kind of transformation – and for the better. He was actually smiling at something that Lady Howard was saying to him. Not exactly the life and soul of the party that Speedy had talked of, but a definite improvement on the grim and frightening figure she was accustomed to encountering. If he laughs, she thought, I shall know I'm dreaming.

‘Do you hunt?' Charles Savage asked in his loud and irritating drawl.

‘No, I don't.'

‘Pity. I was going to suggest that you came out some time . . .'

She said coldly: ‘There
is
a war on, you know, Mr Savage. We don't have a lot of time for that sort
of thing in the services at the moment. I'm surprised that you do.'

He was unabashed. ‘You're looking frightfully disapproving . . . Actually, I was turned down for military service. Had a mastoid infection as a child and it left me deaf in one ear. I'm happy to say that my good ear is on
your
side and my bad one on Amy's so that I don't have to listen to all her
bêtises
. Between you and me I wish she'd go off to Canada on the next boat and stay there permanently. I can't imagine what Caroline sees in her. They were at school together, or something . . . Of course, the husband is worth a million . . . trade, though. Not really dear Caro's style, even though all her loot came from beer. She has expensive tastes, our hostess. Just as well she doesn't have to make do on a Wing Commander's pay. Odd that she married someone like him, don't you think? Not her type at all, I'd have said.'