13
The battered saloon with the multi-coloured bonnet squealed to a halt outside the inn, its radiator-cap giving out a hapless wisp of steam. Gillibrand turned and thrust his wristlet watch under Maisie’s nose.
“There y’ are, honey. Twenty minutes early. What did I tell ya?”
Maisie shifted gingerly on the broken springs of her seat. “I thought we were cornin’ back by car, not flyin’! Don’t you ever drive like that again when I’m with you, d’you hear? I ain’t been so scared in years.”
Gillibrand slapped her shoulder. “Aw, you enjoyed it. I saw your eyes flashin’ as we came round them comers. You were lovin’ it, kid.”
Maisie eased herself off the seat. “And I’m not going out with you again until you do something to this thing I’m sitting on. It ain’t fit for a decent girl— the way it nips and pinches.”
Gillibrand grinned. “I’ll fix it. You won’t know it when I get back from leave.”
Maisie took offence at once. “Oh, sure. Now you’re going off to see your girl-friend, you’ll get it fixed. But it’s been good enough for me all these weeks, hasn’t it?”
“Now don’t get all jealous, kid. You knew I was goin’ down to see her on my leave. I ain’t been holding out on you.”
Maisie sniffed, but inwardly had to admit the truth of what he said. She fell moodily silent. Gillibrand pushed a cigarette into her hand. “Have a fag before you go, kid. An’ cheer up. It’ll soon pass—seven days ain’t no time at all. Then we can start where we left off, huh?”
Maisie’s eyes flashed. “You’ve got a nerve. I’m supposed to sit around here for a week twiddlin’ my fingers while you’re necking a girl down in London. What do you think I am, a mug?”
Gillibrand pulled her towards him, nuzzling his nose against her cheek. “You’re a swell kid, that’s what you are. Aw, hell; a guy can like two women, can’t he? Some of those Eastern guys like hundreds. Give me a kiss, honey. That’s better...
She returned his kiss fiercely. There was bitterness in her hot, dark eyes as she drew back and stared at him,
“I’m a fool,” she said thickly.
“Aw; stop talkin’ like that.” He tried to pull her towards him again but this time she resisted.
“That’s enough,” she muttered. “Leave me alone now.” She motioned towards the airfield. “How is it you’re able to get leave? I thought you were pretty busy right now.”
Gillibrand grinned. “So we are. But I’m takin’ my kite in and out of cracks in the ground better than anyone else around here. That’s the only reason they’re givin’ me leave. But seven days—hell, I’m due for a month!”
“What’s Jimmie going to do while you’re away?”
The grin left his face. He turned to her, frowning slightly. “Matter of fact, that’s one of the things I wanted to talk to you about. He might be a bit lonely at nights—he’s too shy to make friends. How ’bout you looking after him—mothering him a bit, huh?”
She gave a harsh laugh. “Me? A fine mother I’d make.”
“I dunno. I reckon you’d make a good ’un, kid. How ’bout trying it on Jimmie, anyway?”
Her cheeks reddened at his words. She took her resentment out on the boy. “You talk as if he were a baby. What’s the matter with him? He’s only a couple of years younger than we are.”
Gillibrand shook his head. “I ain’t good at words, so it ain’t easy to say. But that boy hasn’t grown up somehow.”
“He’s shy—I know that.”
“He’s more than that, honey. He ain’t faced life the way we have. He’s kinda afraid of it. That’s the way I see it, anyway.”
Maisie was staring at him. “Go on,” she said.
He rubbed his big c6in with his hand, then shrugged. “That’s all, I guess. There ain’t any more.”
“You’re lying,” she said. “His nerve’s gone, hasn’t it?”
His face turned grim. “I wouldn’t let anyone else say that, kid.”
“í know you wouldn’t. But that doesn’t alter things. He’s cracking up, and you know it.”
He scowled out through the windscreen into the dusk for a long moment, then nodded abruptly. “Yeah; it’s true. I’ve been tryin’ to kid myself, but it ain’t any use. He cracked up on our last op.”
“What happened?”
“Aw, we were sent out on a low-level prang over Holland. At that height you gotta watch the coast defences. If you don’t pick your way through gaps in ’em carefully, they get you as sure as hell. We got in all right, but over Eindhoven there was a lot of flak and the kid folded up. He couldn’t plot a course back, couldn’t do nothin’ at all.... So I had to bring the kite back on my own. I hadn’t a hope of finding a gap, and we nearly got the hammer breakin’ out. It was a close thing.”
Maisie’s eyes were big, frightened. “But didn’t they ground him after that?” '
Gillibrand’s bushy eyebrows drew together. “You don’t think I reported him, d’ya? What d’ you think I am, kid? A heel?”
“But what if he cracks again? You can’t risk your life like that....”
For a moment Gillibrand’s grin returned. “Now don’t get scared, honey. I ain’t going to get killed.” His expression changed, showing wonder. “Gee; what that kid went through that night! I ain’t seen anythin’ like it before. He cried—honest he did! He sobbed for his ma! The poor little bastard!”
Maisie’s eyelashes were wet. “But you can’t keep him flying if he feels like that. It isn’t fair to either of you. You’re both going to get killed.”
Gillibrand frowned. “You don’t understand. He don’t want to go L.M.F. Nobody wants that. He’s more scared of that than anything.”
“But what are you going to do, then?”
He stared gloomily out into the early spring dusk. “I don’t know, honey. I’ve given it plenty of thought but ain’t got nowhere. I can see why he’s like this, but that ain’t much help.”
“What do you mean?”
“Aw, it seems his mother died when he was a kid and he was put to live with an old aunt. She was the type with tight corsets—you know, wouldn’t let him go to the movies, wouldn’t let him play with the kids next door, kept him away from girls. . . . The poor little bastard had never been further than the front room until this war came along. And then he ends up with people like me. It ain’t fair!”
“Is that why you’ve kept pushing him around, encouraging him to drink and that sort of thing?”
Gillibrand nodded. “Yeah; I see it this way—it’s a tough war and you gotta be tough to last the pace. L~ thought that if I could pack enough confidence into the kid, he might be able to see it through. That’s why I said he should get himself a girl, give her a kiss or two, make himself feel a man... . Aw, maybe I was wrong —I must have been wrong because he’s cracked up anyway. But that was the general idea.”
Her eyes wandered over his craggy face. “You’re pretty fond of him, aren’t you?”
He made a clumsy gesture with one huge hand. “You know how it is.. . . You always get kinda attached to someone you bunk and fly with. Makes you feel responsible for ’em, somehow.”
It was growing dark inside the car now and her face was almost hidden in the shadows. “You say you’d like me to look after him while you’re on leave. What do you want me to do?”
He turned eagerly towards her. “I don’t like to think of the kid frettín’ in his bunk in the evenings. If he came over here maybe you could talk to him and kid him up a bit—you know—make him feel somebody. And you must know a few girls round these parts. Couldn’t you date him up with one? See what you can do, kid.”
“All right,” she said slowly, “I’ll see what I can do.”
He reached out, pulling her towards him. “Gee, kid, you’re really something. If it was anyone else but Joyce I’d take my leave here with you, I mean it, kid. You’re a real honey.”
She returned his kisses with a fervour that startled him. Then, as suddenl
y, she pulled away and jumped from the car. Her voice sounded hoarse, indistinct.
“I’m late. I’ll see you when you come back.”
Gillibrand leaned across the seat and waved to her. “O.K., kid. Take care of yourself. Be seein’ you, honey.”
She did not wait for the car to turn but ran quickly down the gravel drive to the inn. She was crying.
* * *
The first of the Anson’s engines fired, scattering a flock of sparrows that had landed alongside its starboard wing-tip. Bergman, wearing a flying-suit, helmet, and parachute harness, turned to Grenville and held out his hand.
“Well, this is it, I suppose. Up to Scotland, wait for a good weather report, then off we go.” His accent sounded more pronounced than usual. “Good-bye, Roy, and the best of luck.”
As always when under the stress of emotion, Grenville’s tone was brusque. “You need the luck, not us. Hang on to it and don’t take any chances.”
Bergman smiled. “I don’t intend to get caught if I can help it.”
“Mind you don’t,” Grenville said curtly.
The mechanics were having trouble with the port engine of the Anson. Twice it fired and then cut out. Both of the waiting men turned towards it. The moment was a painful one and they were glad of the diversion.
The engine fired again and this time its steady roar merged into that of its companion. Bergman turned his blue eyes back to Grenville.
“You won’t forget about Hilde? You’ll explain why I did not go over?”
Grenville nodded. “I’ll tell her. And don’t worry about her. She’ll be all right.”
Bergman smiled. Tm not worrying, Roy—not this time.” He gripped Grenville’s hand again. “Good-bye, Roy.”
“Cheerio,” Grenville said.
Their eyes held a moment, then Bergman turned for the plane. Grenville watched him enter it and did not move until the Anson had taken off and was climbing steadily over the distant trees. He returned to his office, sat in thought for a few minutes, then went to see Barrett.
“Will you want me this afternoon?” he asked.
“No, Roy, I don’t think so. Take a couple of hours off if you like.”
“May I borrow your car?”
Although it was the first time Grenville had made the request for himself, he had no doubt of the answer. Barrett’s generosity with his car was proverbial.
“You know where it is, Roy. Help yourself.”
Grenville returned to his office and ’phoned Hilde. “Would you care to come out with me for a drive? I’ve got a couple of hours, and it’s a fine day.”
Her low voice expressed her pleasure. “I would like that very much, Roy. What time will you be coming over... ?”
Grenville picked her up at the inn fifteen minutes later. He felt a disturbing sensation of gladness as she approached the car. She was bare-headed and wearing a dove-grey coat thrown loosely round her shoulders. Her face was flushed with pleasure as she slid into the seat alongside him.
“This is a nice surprise, Roy.”
“I felt like getting away for a few hours,” he told her as he drove away. “Is there anywhere particular you’d like to go?”
“No. Please go wherever you wish. I shall be quite happy.”
Grenville was aware of an odd lightness of heart. It was irrational because Bergman had gone and he thought a good deal of the Norwegian. Yet the feeling persisted, growing even stronger as the airfield fell back out of sight.
It was the day, he told himself. The May blossom was already out and lay sprinkled among the green hedgerows like powdered snow. The clouds had lost their winter gauntness, and the sun was shining with a richer gold. Spring was everywhere, in the white daisies, the nesting birds, in the wind stinging his cheeks. . . . But he could not deny that the catalyst that made him respond to its magic was by his side. She could have been the very repository of spring, with her peach-smooth cheeks, lustrous hair, and clear, shining eyes.
They chatted lightly for a while, then fell into a long companionable silence in which words seemed unnecessary. They were driving over the moors with the sea a blue haze in the distance when she spoke to him again.
“You are looking happier today than I have seen you look for a long time, Roy. What has happened?”
Grenville’s sense of guilt returned, particularly when he had realized he had not given her the news. He kept his eyes on the twisting road ahead. “Nothing,” he said. “It must be the day—it’s good to see the last of winter.”
She laughed. “I thought you must have been given some nice dangerous raid to look forward to.”
The lightness of his mood, already threatened by the stinging memory of Bergman’s departure, suddenly vanished. On an impulse he pulled up the car and turned towards her.
“Why do you say that?”
The happiness on her face faded at his expression. “I’m sorry. Have I said something wrong?”
“You think I like war, don’t you?”
He had already learned that she always spoke the truth, whatever the situation. She did now.
“Yes. I have thought so.”
“Why?”
His tone puzzled her, making her low voice uncertain. “I’m not quite sure. Perhaps it is because you seem to spend so much time at the squadron, or perhaps it is because of what the others say.”
“What do they say?”
“That you are always thinking of war and working out new tactics....”
“That’s my job,” he said curtly.
Hilde hesitated again. “Yes, I know. But none of the others work as hard as you. . . .” She put a hand on his arm. “Please forget what I said. You were looking so happy a moment ago. Please smile again—it makes you look so young.”
His eyes pulled away from her, following the cloud shadows that were scurrying over the undulating moors. He was resentful that she had the power to make him deny what he preferred others to believe, and his voice held that resentment.
“How can you think I enjoy this job—taking kids out to their deaths and then writing about it to their mothers afterwards?” He stared at her bitterly. “What do you think I am?”
In spite of his words her eyes were shining. “Please go on,’? she breathed. He saw her expression and his tone changed abruptly.
“What does it matter? If you want to believe it, don’t let me stop you.”
“You know I don’t want to believe it,” she whispered. “Please go on. There is so much about you I don’t know. Tell me what you feel. . . . Tell me everything.”
His eyes were brooding on the distant sea. “I hate war. But I also hate bullies—I always have. It’s the one hate I’ve never been ashamed of. And just before the war I had a holiday over in Germany and saw what the Nazis were doing. When I got back I joined the Volunteer Reserve. A few months later the war broke out and that gave the Nazis a few more million people to beat up with their rubber truncheons. Somehow after that, everything else in life—marriage, a career—everything became unimportant until they were beaten and the whole filthy business was over.” His voice turned bitter again. “I like to think there is a subtle difference between that and liking war.”
“Don’t be angry with me,” she said quietly. “I had 116 no way of knowing this.' You make everyone believe the reverse. Why do you do that, Roy?”
He could not have answered her if he had tried. Instead he told her about Bergman. As he had expected, she took the news without flinching, although the loss showed deep in her eyes. She gave a slight, protesting shake of her head.
“I know he went this way thinking it would be easier for me, but I would have preferred him to say goodbye. I have a strange feeling about him; I have had it some time now. I feel he is going into great danger.” “He’ll be back in a few weeks,” Grenville told her. She looked away, her eyes following the dipping flight of a sparrow. “Well, he has gone, so there is nothing we can do,” she said quietly after a pause. “I suppose it had to come, sooner or lat
er.”
Courage was a quality Grenville could appreciate. He watched her in silence. She turned back to him abruptly, making herself smile again. “We were talking about you, Roy. You said that to do your best in the war it is necessary to deny yourself everything else. Is that true? Would not some things make it a little easier to bear—perhaps even help you a little?”
“What things? A girl, a wife?” As soon as the words left his mouth Grenville realized how they had betrayed him.
Sadness tinged her faint smile. “Perhaps even they might be of some help.”
He shook his head abruptly. “No! I don’t want any woman biting her nails over me every time I go out on a raid. I’ve enough to worry about as it is. A man’s a fool to get mixed up with sentiment in war-time.”
“Can you prevent people being sentimental and biting their nails?” she asked softly.
Fear of his own emotions made Grenville unnecessarily harsh. “You can if you prevent them getting any damn fool ideas. I’ve seen too many sobbing girlfriends and bereaved wives to want to give the world any more.”
She turned quickly away again, hiding her face. His next words, following the others like an echo, startled him. “After the war it may be different, but no one can look that far ahead.”
She turned back to him immediately. Her voice had a soft, singing note. “Some people can,” she said. “Some people can wait a long time.”
Once again Grenville had the odd sensation he was sinking into the blue-grey depths of her eyes. It was very hushed in the car, with the sunlit moors the only witness to a promise she had dared make no clearer. It was, Grenville suddenly realized, a moment he would never forget.
14
The hut was unbearably quiet. The naked electric bulb above, swinging on its flex in the draughts, shone down on Gillibrand’s empty bed, with his pile of folded blankets. Jimmie’s eyes moved to the wall above it where the Canadian displayed his pin-ups. In his imagination they were staring back at him in contempt, they knew him: they were only displaying their charms to taunt him and bring him to ridicule....
He turned away from their mocking gaze. The harsh light shone on his thin face. His skm was a muddy, unhealthy colour and his brown eyes were constantly moving, shifting at the slightest sound. There was something in his expression of a lost child who had strayed from his parents and suddenly found himself in an incomprehensibly vast and perilous world: Once his lower lip began quivering and he dug his teeth punishingly into it. When he released it again there were two white dents that slowly turned an angry red.
633 Squadron Page 12
