Bluebirds (54 page)

She groped for him and hugged him tightly.

‘Take care of yourself, Kit. Please don't go on blaming yourself. Promise you'll try to forget all about it.'

‘I can't promise that.'

‘Then promise you'll write, at least, and let me know how you are?'

‘I swear. Whenever I can. You too. Happy landings, twin. It'll all come all right in the end.'

She fumbled her way in and gave the address to the driver. Kit closed the door after her and as the taxi carried her away, she twisted round to try and see him through the tiny back window, but it was much too dark.

‘
Johnnie Somerville
! You lucky thing! He's super!'

‘Don't you start, Lucy. He's nothing of the kind. He's actually a conceited bastard.'

‘Oh, I've always
drooled
over him, but he's never looked my way.'

‘I'm only going out with him to get a decent dinner.'

‘Well, you'll certainly have that. He must know all the best restaurants. Ah me! Pots of money, a flat in Belgravia, that divine car, and those dreamy looks! The father's a baronet, you know, so he'll be Sir John one of these fine days. Quite a catch.'

‘Well, you can stop sighing like that, Lucy. I'm not going fishing. I'm eating.'

He arrived to collect her in the green Lagonda and wearing mufti. He was one of the few men, she thought grudgingly, who looked equally good out of uniform; the suit had probably cost a small fortune, not to mention the shirt, tie and shoes. They certainly hadn't come from anywhere near The Fifty Shilling Tailors. It was rather sickening to watch Lucy and her mother fawning over him.

‘Are all women like that with you?' she asked as they drove off.

‘Most of them. Except you, of course.'

‘My God . . .'

He took her to a small French restaurant hidden away down in a Mayfair basement and, as he had promised, there was thick, juicy steak – the best she had ever tasted.

‘I like the dress,' he said. ‘Blue always suits you.'

‘I got it in Harrods this morning. I spent far too much on it and it'll have to last me the rest of the war, I should think. Specially now they're rationing clothes.'

‘You look lovely in it. It was worth every penny.'

‘Don't go on about it . . . How much longer do you think the war's going to drag on for, anyway?'

He shrugged. ‘Who knows? Years, probably. If the Americans come in, then it'll be much shorter. We're going to have a hell of a job finishing it on our own.'

‘Do you think they will?'

‘Only if they have a good enough reason. Otherwise, why should they want to get involved?'

‘I think they jolly well ought to help us. Don't they
want
Hitler beaten?'

‘Europe's a long way away to most of them, you know. And at least they're lending us arms now.'

‘Pity the Germans don't drop a few bombs on
them
to wake them up a bit more. It's funny how the Jerries have left us alone lately. Lucy's father thinks it's the calm before the storm and that they're planning to try a massive invasion again soon.'

‘I don't believe they'll ever manage to invade England. Not now. It's too late. And it's too difficult, thanks to the Channel. By the way, where are you being posted?'

‘East Thorpe in Norfolk. It's a bomber station. They're putting me in Ops Intelligence. I haven't the least idea yet what exactly I'm supposed to be doing there. Typical RAF.'

‘You'll find the bomber chaps a bit different from us.'

‘In what way?'

‘Saner. Quieter. More sober.'

‘Not so show-off and swanking around, you mean. Perhaps they'll even be able to stand upright on their own two feet, without having to lean against their 'plane, or something.'

He smiled. ‘You can't lean against a bomber so easily. I wouldn't change places with them for anything. Trundling along at a snail's pace for hours on end . . . an absolute sitting duck for the Huns.'

‘There's a whole crew of them together,' she pointed
out. ‘It must make it less frightening than being all on your own.'

Johnnie shook his head. ‘I don't agree. I'd far sooner have some control over my own destiny.'

How did Michal feel? I can't remember him ever talking about that. Was there any time for fear when he was plummeting down alone in the Hurricane towards the sea? Was he trapped in the cockpit, or too badly wounded to get out? Was he conscious, or mercifully unconscious like I've always prayed hard he was whenever I think about it and picture it happening in my mind. Like now.

She put down her knife and fork, her appetite gone. ‘Aren't you ever frightened, then?'

‘Only if I let myself think about what might happen – and mostly there isn't time, except on the ground. We've converted to Spitfires now and they're pretty nimble which gives one a fair bit of confidence. I suppose the thing one is most afraid of is being badly burned or disabled. I'd far sooner be dead if that happens.'

‘Don't say that,' she said bitterly. ‘Anything's better than someone being dead.'

‘I'm sorry, Anne. That was extremely crass of me.'

She fiddled with her knife. ‘Anyway,
you
seem to live a charmed life, so I wouldn't worry.'

‘I'm not counting on it, I assure you. If I end up in some grim hospital ward, will you promise to come and visit me and cheer me up?'

‘That will be Isobel's job.'

‘I have a strange feeling that she might not be very good at it. Promise you will?'

‘If I can. But it won't happen. I told you, you're much too lucky.'

‘Spoiled rotten, I believe you once said, if I remember rightly. Now, which of these delectable desserts are you going to choose?'

‘None of them, thanks. I couldn't manage it.'

‘You disappoint me, Anne. I thought better of you and your stomach.'

He drove her back to Chester Square and saw her to the Strickland's front door, finding the right house number in the darkness with his torch.

‘I hope I see you again, Anne. Somewhere. Some day. Somehow.'

She was feeling for the doorbell. ‘I doubt if our paths will cross. Not very likely. Oh, I nearly forgot . . . here's your handkerchief back. I had it washed. Thanks for the loan.'

Their hands touched briefly as he took it from her. Although he was standing very close, it was so black that she could scarcely see him at all.

‘It won't be the end of everything, Anne. You'll find that out eventually. It will get better, as time goes by.'

The sympathy in his voice made her feel like crying again. If he said another word, she'd start. To her relief she heard the front door opening and the Strickland's elderly manservant quavering a greeting.

‘Well . . . thanks for the dinner, anyway. Good night.'

She went inside quickly and the door closed behind her.

‘But, soft! What light through yonder window breaks? Itis the east and Juliet is the sun!'

Felicity, standing near her office window, turned round in amazement.

‘
Speedy!
How on earth did you get here?'

He flourished a hand. ‘With love's light wings did I o'er perch these walls. Actually, I cadged a lift in a Lizzie that just happened to be coming this way.'

‘I thought you were still miles away, up north.'

‘So I was 'til recently. We've been playing nanny to the navy for months. Very cold and very boring. Now we're down south again, lending a hand on the land in
the Garden of England, so to speak. Making little jaunts across the moat to see what we can do to annoy the Jerries in France.'

It was a year since she had last seen him but he hardly seemed to have changed at all. The only difference was that he looked less tired, she thought, and that his cap was even more battered than usual. Fit for the dustbin. The red, white and blue check scarf was still in place, and he was wearing a heavy sheepskin flying jacket. He rubbed his hands together, beaming at her with all his heart-lifting sunniness.

‘Well, is Juliet going to invite Romeo to the Mess for a warming tot or two? To celebrate our reunion.'

She held out the file of papers that she had been busy looking at. ‘I'm supposed to be dealing with all these . . .'

He came forward, took the file from her and tossed it onto her desk. ‘No time for all that bumph now. I've only got a couple of hours here. Gather ye rosebuds while ye may. Make use of time, let no advantage slip . . . and all the rest of it.'

He held her arm and steered her firmly out of the office.

The late November day was grey and cold and the strong winds had blown most of the dead leaves from the trees round the station. A young WAAF hurried past them, saluting with her head bent. Speedy smiled at her, and she looked back over her shoulder.

As it was close to lunchtime the Officers' Mess ante-room was crowded. People came up to Speedy and slapped him on the back. As they sat down he looked round happily.

‘Rather like coming home. Always was my favourite station . . . always will be. Even the Old Man had a kind word for me when I passed him in the corridor at HQ. He seems to have sprouted a few more grey hairs since I last saw him.'

‘He has a hard job.'

Speedy cocked his head at her. ‘Do I detect a slight change of heart in that direction? A thawing of the ice between you?'

‘Well, he's not quite as bad as I first thought.'

‘Matter of fact, he's a damned sight better than most. You should have seen the one we had last up north. Frightful stickler. Strutted round like a turkey cock. We had a name for him, but I couldn't repeat it in your company. He had this stupid idea that station security was slack, so he got two chaps to dress up as German airmen – full Luftwaffe rig: caps, boots, iron crosses, the whole shooting match – and told them to walk about the camp and see what happened. Well, of course, nobody took a blind bit of notice of them. There they were, goose-stepping all over the place and everyone politely saluting them!'

Felicity choked on her drink. ‘I don't believe it!'

‘Absolute gospel, Titania. Turned out everybody had thought they were dressed up for a play. Anyway, the Station Master, whose other name I won't mention, was hopping mad and there was the most almighty dust-up. Didn't see the funny side at all. Everybody confined to camp for a week. Bread and water. Rack and thumbscrews. Then a couple of weeks later we had these two Turkish air force blokes arrive. Odd sort of uniform they wear – long coats, funny hats, boots, that sort of thing . . . So, of course, every few minutes they're getting arrested and flung into the guardhouse. They got quite browned off with it.'

She laughed helplessly. ‘Oh, Speedy, you're such a tonic!'

He grinned at her. ‘Good story, isn't it? I swear it's true. Next time it'll probably be a couple of Ruskies wearing fur hats . . . I'll be sorry to miss that.' He drank some beer and shook his head. ‘Can't get used to the Russians being on our side now. Bit like having a grizzly bear for company.'

‘The poor Russians . . . They've suffered terribly. And the Germans are so near Moscow.'

‘Not much we can do about it. Just have to hope they
can hang on somehow until the weather gets really bad. Remember what happened to Napoleon? Jolly nippy, those Russian winters. Even worse than Scotland. I'm surprised Adolf didn't look that up in his history book. I say, who's that corker of a WAAF who's just come in?'

Felicity turned her head. ‘A new Code and Cypher officer.'

‘Good lord! Brains
and
beauty! Just like you, Titania. How ever many more of you are there?'

‘Nearly five hundred of us. On this station.'

He smiled at her. ‘I'll never forget the day you first arrived. Just the two of you. Beauty and the Beast.'

‘Nor shall I,' she said with feeling.

Just what exactly are you women supposed to be doing here, Company Assistant Newman? Perhaps you can explain that to me.

Speedy raised his beer mug. ‘Here's to woman! Would that we could fall into her arms without falling into her hands.'

‘Who said that one?' she asked, smiling too.

‘No idea. Snodgrass used to mutter it sometimes. Mark you, he was a confirmed bachelor. Unlike me.'

He had to go soon after, back with the Lysander that had brought him. And when he had gone the station seemed to her a greyer and duller place.

At the beginning of December Ken had a very bad asthma attack and went into hospital. His health had deteriorated steadily over the past weeks and Winnie had noticed a change for the worse every time she saw him. She hitched a lift to the hospital in Ipswich. Ken was in a bed at the far end of a ward full of old men and she was shocked by his appearance. At first she scarcely recognized him. He seemed to have shrunk; to look like somebody else. His features had altered into another form, like a stranger's, and only his eyes remained the same. They lit up at the sight of her.

‘Winnie . . . oh, Winnie.'

He grasped her hand tightly in his as she sat down beside his bed. He was breathing harshly and painfully and his skin had a funny blue-ish tinge. When he tried to sit up she pushed him back gently.

‘Don't, Ken. You'll be more comfortable against the pillows.'

‘I can't see you properly.'

‘I'll move closer, so's you can.'

She pulled the chair nearer and sat holding his hand in hers. It felt cold though his forehead was beaded with sweat. It was a Sunday evening and there were other visitors in the ward. An old woman in a headscarf sat silently beside the next door bed. Its occupant lay quite still, eyes closed, mouth wide open, breathing with a horrible whistling sound.

‘She comes every day,' Ken said in a whisper. ‘But he never says anything. I don't think he even knows she's there.'