by Emma Fraser
‘I’ve found him!’ he said, taking off his goggles. ‘Your brother. Flight Officer Kraszewski is with the famous squadron 303. They’re based at RAF Northolt. At least they were until a few days ago.’
‘Isn’t it marvellous?’ said the girl who was with him. ‘You must have been so worried.’
‘This is Susan,’ Richard said. ‘Or Captain Mortram, should I say.’
Irena was too stunned to do anything except shake the hand Susan was holding out to her.
‘Aleksy is all right?’ Irena hardly dared believe it.
‘He was yesterday.’
Happiness soared through her with such ferocity, she was almost dizzy. ‘I need to see him. Can you take me to him?’
‘Thing is, 303 squadron has been sent to Dumfries in Scotland for a few weeks’ respite. They took a bit of a beating over the last couple of weeks. They’ll be back, but no one knows when.’
‘Then I’ll go there.’
‘I thought you might say that. I’ve wangled us a couple of tickets on the sleeper to Edinburgh for Friday,’ Richard said. ‘You can get to Dumfries from there easily enough.’
‘But I’d like to go now,’ Irena protested.
‘Sorry, old thing. Train tickets are like gold dust – at least for civilians. I was lucky to get the ones I did. You’ll have to wait. I’ve let Mother know to expect us.’
A warm glow spread through Irena. Her prayers had been answered. Aleksy was still alive. She’d be resuming her medical training shortly. It was a beautiful summer’s day. If only Tata and Piotr were here, her happiness would be complete. And Magdalena, of course. Just as suddenly as it had arrived, the joy went out of her day. Aleksy had to be told that his beloved fiancée was dead.
‘In the meantime,’ Richard continued, ‘I have his address for you. I am sure that you will wish to write to him. To let him know that you are here and being looked after.’
She wouldn’t write to Aleksy. She’d be seeing him soon and what she had to say to him had to be said in person.
Richard revved the motorcycle. ‘Now, I’m afraid you’ll have to excuse us. I managed to escape for an hour so I could give you the good news. We’re on alert back at the base, so I need to get back and I have to drop Susan here off on the way.’
He seemed very cheerful at the thought of going into battle. But that was men for you. They seemed to think that their very existence depended on proving their courage. But if it meant that he would be shooting down German planes, who was she to disapprove?
The next evening, her night off, she was on her way to the library to return a book when she met Richard at the foot of the stairs.
‘I have come to take you to a club,’ he said.
‘To be honest, I’m happier staying in and reading.’
‘Rubbish. You can’t spend every evening inside on your own when you’re not working.’
‘I enjoy my own company.’ It wasn’t altogether true. Since she’d left Poland the nightmares had become more frequent. They were vividly real and almost always of sightless babies, their arms reaching out for her. At other times she’d be running but going nowhere. She would wake covered in perspiration, her heart hammering against her ribs. Even worse, she’d been getting flashbacks during the day. Reading kept the memories at bay for a little while, as did work, but now, with less to do, her heart would often start racing for no apparent reason and then at other times she’d feel a terrible, all-consuming lethargy creep over her.
‘Too much time on your own isn’t good for anyone.’ A shadow flitted across his face. ‘Trust me, I know.’ Almost immediately the smile was back in place. ‘I need an evening out and I’d like you to join me. I won’t take no for an answer. Go on, put your glad rags on.’
Irena hesitated. Why not? He was right. It would be a distraction and she had yet to celebrate finding Aleksy. Then she remembered: apart from the few clothes she’d brought with her, all she had were the dresses of Lady Glendale’s Mrs Smith had given her, which were now well worn and hardly suitable for a club.
‘I don’t have anything to wear.’
Richard looked her up and down. ‘You look pretty good to me, but if you’re worried, why don’t you raid Mother’s cupboard for a cocktail frock? She has more than enough. Not sure about the shoes, though. I think your feet might be a little bigger than hers.’
Irena was amused. It seemed improbable that this man could know anything about women’s clothes, although she’d already formed the impression that Richard knew a lot more about women than most men. He reminded her of Polish officers with their easy charm and expectation, too often confirmed, that girls would fall at their feet.
‘I’ll be twenty minutes.’
He grinned. ‘In my experience when a woman says twenty minutes she means at least twice that.’ He picked up a newspaper from the stand in the hall. ‘Take your time – things don’t start happening at the club until later anyway.’ He looked over her shoulder. ‘Would you mind bringing a whisky to the library, Smith. In fact, bring me the bottle.’
Irena started. She hadn’t noticed Smith standing in the shadows, waiting to attend to his employer’s son. ‘Very good, My Lord. And for the miss?’
She smiled. ‘Miss will have some champagne.’
By the time Irena came back down, Richard appeared to have had more than a glass or two of the whisky. However, his eyes were focused and alert.
Looking up from his paper, he whistled. ‘That dress suits you.’
She’d selected a dress in pale shimmery green that she knew set off her eyes and went well with her mother’s necklace, and she’d taken time with her hair, fashioning it into a style she’d admired on the young female Londoners. Pleased that for the first time she looked like the Irena Kraszewska before the war, she’d applied some deep red lipstick she found on Lady Glendale’s dressing table. As a final act of vanity, she’d squeezed her feet into some heels belonging to her absent hostess that, as Richard had guessed, were really a size too small.
‘Are you certain Lady Glendale won’t mind me helping myself to her wardrobe?’ she asked.
‘My mother has more clothes than she knows what to do with. She’d be delighted to know someone was making use of her dresses.’
To Irena’s surprise, it appeared Richard intended they use his motorcycle to get to the club. ‘Isn’t petrol rationed?’ she asked.
Richard grinned. ‘It is for some. And you can’t walk very far in those heels.’
Irena pressed her lips together. It seemed the aristocracy were having a different war to everyone else.
The club was filled with cigarette smoke, and the sound of laughter and raised voices almost drowned out the five-piece band. Most of the men were in uniform, the women wearing either evening dresses or smart frocks. The band was playing ‘Only Forever’ by Bing Crosby, one of Irena’s favourites.
Richard spotted some friends, and he led Irena across the room by the elbow.
Like Richard, the men were RAF, and like him, wore red socks, their dress jackets lined in silk in the same colour. The women with them were exquisitely dressed and heavily made up but one in particular stood out from everyone else in the room. She was tall and slim and had black wavy hair that contrasted with her alabaster skin.
‘Irena, may I introduce Lady Eleanor Fellows and Lucy Marksman? Ladies, this is Irena Kraszewska. She arrived from Poland a few days ago.’
The beauty, Lady Fellows, raised her face to receive Richard’s kiss. ‘How do you do, Miss Kraszewska?’ She held out a slim hand. ‘How very clever of you to have escaped.’
‘And these reprobates are Julian, Bill and Scotty.’
The RAF officers raised their beer glasses in Irena’s direction.
‘How do you do?’ Bill said. ‘I’m Flight Officer William Pickard.’
Richard laughed. ‘Close your mouth, Bill, there’s a good chap. You’re positively drooling over our guest.’ Irena felt her cheeks redden. The sandy-haired officer hadn’t taken his
eyes off her. ‘Besides,’ Richard continued, his eyes lingering on Irena, ‘she’s already taken.’ The way he looked at her made her uncomfortable.
They squeezed into the booth and ordered drinks – Gin Fizzes for the women, beers with whisky chasers for the men.
The music throbbed through Irena and she found herself tapping her foot to its beat.
‘Have you known Richard long?’ she asked Eleanor as the number drew to a close.
‘A few years.’
The band had struck up a tune, the words of which oddly sounded like ‘let’s hang up our washing on the Siegfried Line’. Almost everyone except Eleanor, Richard and Irena lined up and formed a circle, their hands on the waist of the person in front of them.
‘What do the words mean?’ Irena asked.
Eleanor laughed. ‘The Siegfried Line is the Germans’ line defending their borders. It means that we don’t believe that they’ll be able to prevent us from invading them.’
The room was hot and Richard’s companions had unbuttoned their jackets. As they danced the red lining of their jackets flashed.
‘Why do they wear red? I can’t help but notice they wear red socks too.’
Eleanor smiled at Richard. ‘Shall I tell her, darling?’
Richard downed the last of his pint. ‘Be my guest. More drinks, everyone?’
When Irena and Eleanor shook their heads, Richard headed through the throng towards the bar.
‘The red is a sort of a tradition for the boys of the Millionaires’ Club.’
‘Millionaires’ Club?’
‘It’s how people refer to the squadron. All the members are disgustingly well-to-do. It was formed in nineteen twenty-four or ’twenty-five, no one is quite sure which. Gossip has it that the son of the Duke of Westminster had the idea at a dinner at White’s – that’s a men’s club in St James’s. He wanted the officers to be men who could hold their drink and who were of the same sort as him and therefore wouldn’t be overawed by him. He also wanted them to have sufficient funds to be able to enjoy the good things in life.’ She smiled softly. ‘They make it their mission to do exactly that – while they can. To them red is a symbol of defiance as well as cocking a snook at the RAF. Richard and my husband,’ she paused and swirled the drink in her glass, looking unbearably sad, ‘joined while they were at Cambridge. One of them is the son of Lord Beaverbrook, who owns many of the newspapers in London. The others are all of that ilk. When petrol was rationed, Julian simply went out and bought a filling station.’ She took a sip of her drink and when she raised her eyes again they glistened with unshed tears. ‘It’s not all fun and games. They’re brave men. The best. Nine of them died during the Battle of Britain, my husband included.’
‘I am so sorry,’ Irena said. Her heart went out to her. Everyone had lost someone.
‘We hadn’t been married long.’ Lady Fellows smiled wanly. ‘But heigh-ho, chin up and all that.’
The dance had come to end and Richard returned, accompanied by a woman in WAAF uniform with dyed blond hair and slightly glazed eyes.
‘This is Martha,’ Richard introduced her. ‘One of the WAAFs from the base. She’s a plotter.’
‘That means she works in the ops room at the airbase,’ Eleanor said, seeing Irena’s bewilderment. ‘They use markers on these enormous maps to show the controllers where the enemy planes are as well as to keep track of our boys.’
‘The name is Marion actually, not Martha.’ The woman clinging to Richard’s arm pouted. ‘Do keep up, darling.’
Richard looked at her and laughed. She tried to pull him away but Richard ignored her. They shuffled up as the rest of Richard’s friends joined them at the table, Richard squeezing in beside Irena, the others on the other side of Eleanor. Irena could feel his thigh pressing against hers and smell the faint citrus scent of his cologne.
‘I’m going to freshen up,’ Marion said to Richard, with a glare at Irena that couldn’t have said more clearly ‘Hands off’ had she worn a sign around her neck.
‘What do you do?’ Bill asked Irena.
‘I was training to be a doctor when war broke out.’
Bill grinned. ‘You could be my doctor any time, miss.’
‘Please, call me Irena.’
‘Down boy,’ Richard said from her other side. Although the words were said lightly, his eyes flashed. ‘Irena is a guest of my father’s.’
‘Knowing Richard, he just wants to keep you to himself,’ Bill whispered. ‘As if he doesn’t have more than his fair share of girls. But life is too short to hang about, don’t you think?’
‘Yes,’ Irena answered distractedly. From the corner of her eye she noticed Richard staring at her, an almost hungry expression in his eyes. Quickly, she looked away.
‘I think you’d rather talk to Richard,’ Bill sighed. ‘Most girls do.’
Irena felt the heat rise to her cheeks. ‘Not at all,’ she protested. ‘Actually, I’m engaged to be married.’
Bill studied her through half-closed eyes. ‘Where is he, then?’
‘I don’t know. I’m not even certain he’s still alive.’ To her chagrin her voice wobbled.
Bill was immediately contrite. ‘Gosh, I’m sorry. I can be such a big mouth at times.’
Eleanor leaned over. ‘Leave the poor girl alone, Bill. There’re plenty of others who will give you the time of day – and anything else you ask if you give them a chance.’
Marion had returned with another woman Irena hadn’t met. After a while, when Richard continued to ignore Marion, they drifted on to the dance floor where they wrapped their arms around one another, holding each other up as they swayed in time to the music. No one seemed to give their extraordinary behaviour a second glance. Indeed, as the night wore on couples were openly kissing on the dance floor and a woman was dancing on the table, her eyes closed, a lit cigarette hanging from her brightly painted lips.
Irena felt distant, apart. She wished she could be like the other women – forget – even for a moment – what she’d lost.
She took a long sip of her drink and gathered herself together. She was meant to be celebrating finding Aleksy. ‘Do you dance?’ she asked Bill.
He grinned. ‘Like a giraffe on gin, but I’ll give it a go.’
But Richard was on his feet before him. ‘May I?’ he said.
Irena let him lead her onto the dance floor. The band struck up a waltz and she tried to relax into his arms, but she was too acutely aware of the pressure of his hand on the small of her back and the way she fitted under his chin. How safe it felt to be held like this.
A couple swirled past, the woman, breath-stoppingly like Magdalena with her petite frame and dark hair.
Madzia and Aleksy should be married by now. Magdalena should be dancing somewhere having fun, dressed up and smiling. The waltz finished and all of a sudden Irena couldn’t bear to stay a moment longer. It didn’t feel right to be enjoying herself when thousands were dying every day. It didn’t feel right to be enjoying herself when Magdalena was dead. She grabbed her bag and mumbled something about leaving, before squeezing through the crowded dance floor and outside.
She leaned against the door for a moment sucking in lungfuls of air, trying to stop herself shaking.
‘For God’s sake, Irena, what is it?’ Richard said, gently pulling her around to face him. She hadn’t thought he’d come after her.
‘I need to go home.’ Her teeth were chattering.
‘I’ll take you, then.’
She shook her head. ‘You go back inside. I can get a taxi.’
‘You’ll be lucky. No, my girl, you’re coming with me.’
‘I’d prefer to be on my own.’
But he took her elbow and steered her along the street, towards his motorcycle. ‘Something has upset you. Did someone say something?’
‘No, I was thinking of my friend – and my fiancé.’
‘You’re engaged?’ He removed his cap and ran a hand through his hair. ‘My bad luck. I should have gues
sed someone as beautiful as you would be taken. So where is he?’
‘I’d rather not talk about it.’
He touched his fingers to his cap. ‘I promise I won’t tell anyone else. Scout’s honour.’
How could this man understand? He strode about going to nightclubs, laughing with his friends as if hell itself wasn’t banging on the door. He had his family, his friends, his home. How could he know what it felt like to have lost everything? That even the memory of the man she’d promised to love for ever was slipping away, and that it felt wrong to be laughing and dancing.
