The Chase: A Novel

by Brenda Joyce

  “A Spitfire on the run from an ME-110,” Lionel said flatly. He handed her the binoculars.

  Rachel trained them up at the sky, just in time to see the Spitfire bank so tightly it was almost impossible, wheeling away from the Luftwaffe fighter plane. The Spitfire banked again, coming back toward the ME-110. “Yes,” Rachel cried, her heart feeling as if it were wedged in her throat. She focused the glasses briefly on the Spitfire’s markings. Her heart lurched as she realized the plane was K 5281, and that it belonged to the Seventy-second Squadron. She knew the plane. Just like she knew the pilot by voice and name. She must have listened to a dozen conversations in which “Hawk” was the RAF adversary in a dogfight with the Luftwaffe. He stood out from his peers; not only was he American, he had that distinctive and funny New York accent. He had scored three kills since July, and as he was the first American to down a Luftwaffe plane in the war, he was rather infamous. But perhaps his infamy came from the rumor that he had claimed to be a Canadian in order to enlist in the RAF. Rachel had heard that his actual name was Eddy Marshall.

  Machine-gun fire burst out another time. But this time it was the Spitfire attacking the ME-110 from behind.

  Before her very eyes, the German fighter exploded in midair.

  “What happened?” Lionel asked calmly beside her.

  Rachel was about to hand him the glasses when she realized something was wrong. The Spitfire was wobbling from side to side as it began its descent. “We got the bloody Emil,” she said, “but something’s wrong. Hawk Marshall is hurt.” She realized his fighter must have been hit in the initial round of firing.

  He was descending now rapidly, at a steep, unusual angle. Rachel could hear his engines, and she had been around planes enough by now to know that this one didn’t sound right.

  “He’s going to crash-land,” Lionel said matter-of-factly.

  Her heart felt like it had stopped. Rachel watched the Spitfire trying to correct the angle of its descent by lifting its nose. It was flying over the burning factory now. But every time the fat nose bumped up, it came down heavily again. Suddenly the roaring engine began to whine.

  The fighter somehow cleared the building by inches, not feet. It was flying so low now that Rachel was afraid it would crash into the roof of the farmhouse in the field behind the factory. As it angled down, cows scattered, bellowing. A dog in the barn began to bark wildly. The plane managed to clear the rooftop of the house.

  The fighter was about to hit the ground. However, a patch of trees was directly in front of it. Rachel now saw that one of the wings was flapping at its tip, as if broken, like a chicken wing. The front two wheels touched down. The plane screamed and bumped up again.

  The group of close-knit trees was just meters ahead. The Spitfire went down another time. This time it stayed down, brakes screaming now as it headed directly for the trees.

  Rachel watched the plane start to collapse onto one side, swerving ever so slightly, enough to avoid a head-on collision with the trees. But instead, the trees sheared off the plane’s other wing, metal screaming and shrieking.

  The plane continued past the trees, wingless on one side, and finally came to a shuddering stop in the center of the field.

  Rachel turned to look at Lionel, and together they ran to his car, jumping into it, Lionel gunning the engine. He jumped the curb of the parking lot and plowed through the fence enclosing the pasture. All the cows had fled to the perimeter. They bumped and bounced over the rutted ground. And as Lionel halted the car a few meters from the Spitfire, Rachel saw the pilot’s helmeted head appear from the open cockpit. She jammed open her door and ran toward the plane.

  He tipped up his goggles and tore off his helmet, tossing it away. He began climbing out. Rachel reached the broken wing just as he leaped to the ground. He staggered, and she caught him. His full weight landed on her, pushing them both against the side of the Spitfire. The metal skin was burning-hot to the touch.

  Rachel gripped him more tightly, until they both regained their balance by leaning on the plane. “Are you all right?” she asked anxiously.

  As she spoke, it struck her how big he was, at once tall and strong, and there was something odd about his being in her arms—it felt familiar, either that or it felt right.

  He looked down at her.

  Rachel froze. Any further words she had been about to utter escaped her now. Any air she’d had in her lungs was lost. Time stood still. The past disappeared, and the future and the present became one. Looking into a pair of smoky green eyes, she had the craziest thought: I know this man.

  And then the thought was gone.

  “I’m fine . . . now,” Eddy Marshall said.

  CHAPTER 16

  Rachel couldn’t seem to find her voice. His smile reached his eyes. He had amazing eyes. “I think I’ve crashed right at the feet of an angel,” he said. “Are you an angel?”

  There was laughter in his tone. It sparkled in his eyes. He had just crashed, perhaps even destroying his plane, and he was joking with her. Rachel was oddly immobilized. The soft sound of Lionel’s steps brought her out of her strange paralysis. “Is the plane safe?” she managed.

  “She won’t blow. I got hit in the windshield and the wing. She’s okay, we can save her,” Eddy said. His gaze remained unwaveringly upon her. He still wore a slight smile, and now Rachel noticed two deep dimples, which intensified the sense one had that he was extremely good-natured.

  Suddenly he glanced past her at Lionel.

  Rachel stepped back, out of their mutual embrace. She realized he had several cuts on his face, which were bleeding. They looked superficial. “Are you hurt?” she asked.

  “Sprained my wrist,” he said. “Banged up my knee. But I think that’s it.”

  Lionel paused before them. “Nice flying,” he said. “I’m Lieutenant Lionel Elgin.”

  Eddy turned. “Sorry, bud, can’t shake. Squadron Leader Eddy Marshall. Number Seventy-two, out of Biggin Hill.”

  “You’re an American,” Lionel commented.

  “Damn right, I’m a Yank through and through.” But Eddy was looking at Rachel again.

  She became aware of the disconcerting intensity of his gaze. She knew she was blushing. “We had better get you to a hospital. You need to have your wrist looked at,” Rachel said softly.

  “Only if you are a nurse in disguise,” he returned.

  “I’m afraid I’m not a nurse,” Rachel replied, wishing she were.

  He met her gaze, his smile fading. “It’s just a sprain. My knee’s okay. We need to call this in. I need to get back to base.”

  He was a heroic man, Rachel couldn’t help thinking. Heroic and handsome, thinking of his plane and his duty first. Rachel felt overwhelmed by the pilot standing before her—and she was acutely aware of being overcome. “Please, have a doctor look at your wrist. And at your knee and those cuts. You really should.”

  “All right,” he said softly, as if they were alone. “Has a guy ever refused those eyes of yours?” But he wasn’t smiling anymore and he flushed.

  Rachel felt her cheeks heat up like boiling water again. Quickly she turned aside, ducking her head. He is only flirting with you, she thought. But deep in her heart, she didn’t believe that at all.

  “The medics are busy at the factory. There’s a hospital a few kilometers from Eltham. I’ll take you there,” Lionel said, a rude voice cutting between them.

  “That would be great.” Eddy glanced briefly at Lionel before looking at Rachel again. “You haven’t introduced yourself,” he said.

  “Rachel Greene. I’m Lionel’s cousin, actually, although we met by chance today.”

  “I see.” He smiled at her. Rachel looked away. The trio began walking back to Lionel’s Bentley. Rachel’s arm bumped into Eddy’s. She moved aside, putting more distance between them. He kept glancing at her, but she pretended not to see. She felt very small beside his much larger frame—she guessed he stood an inch or so over six feet, and he was a broad-shouldered man
. Of course, his flight suit was padded with thick fleece. She had heard it was horridly cold up there in the skies above London.

  He could be a poster boy, she thought, for the RAF. He should be a poster boy for their recruiters.

  It struck Rachel like a bolt out of the blue that she was being unfaithful to Joshua by being so fascinated with Eddy Marshall. She stumbled.

  “Hey!” He caught her, sliding his arm around her waist. “We don’t want you to sprain something, too, now do we?” He smiled into her eyes.

  She was in his arms again. It was doing crazy things to her body. Rachel pulled away. “I’m fine, thank you.”

  His expression faded. He gave her an odd look. They continued back to the Bentley in silence, Eddy studying the ground.

  She hadn’t meant to reject him. He was only flirting, only being friendly. But of course she had to reject him—she had a serious boyfriend whom she intended to marry one day.

  Rachel told herself that it was absolutely normal for her to react as she had to this handsome American fighter pilot. All the RAF pilots were notorious and dashing to begin with—when they weren’t fighting Stukkas and Junkers, they were drinking and gambling and chasing women. This particular pilot had undoubtedly left a string of broken hearts all over southern England, she decided with determination. Rachel knew she was not the first woman to become all fluttery in his presence. It did not mean she did not love Joshua.

  Lionel opened his door as Eddy went around to the car’s other side. “We’ll pick up your bicycle and throw it in the trunk, if you’d like to ride with us.”

  Eddy, about to use his left hand to open the passenger door, froze.

  Rachel looked at Lionel. She had no reason to go to the hospital with them. Then, aware of Eddy’s stare, she slowly looked at him.

  Suddenly his hand went to his head and he staggered a little, as if he’d lost his balance. “Wow,” he said. “This huge pain just went through my head.” He leaned against the side of the car, as if faint.

  Rachel was already running around the trunk to him. She thought he was engaging in theatrics to keep her attention, but she couldn’t be sure. He had just crashed in a Spitfire. He could have a concussion. She put her arm around him, and he leaned against her. It was a hard male body—she had never had this kind of awareness before. “Are you dizzy?”

  He blinked at her. “Suddenly I’m seeing double. There’s two of you, angel, two beautiful blondes.”

  She met his very lucid gaze; he looked away with a smile he failed to hide. He was pretending to be dizzy. Still, Rachel did not move away. She couldn’t help being flattered. “Maybe you’d better sit down.”

  “Yeah,” he said roughly. “Maybe you’d better help me.” It wasn’t a question.

  Their eyes locked.

  Her heart began catapulting around inside her chest. “I’m afraid to let you go. God forbid you should faint and hit your head again.”

  His smile widened. “God forbid. God forbid I should drop dead, go to heaven, and find an angel there like you.”

  “You are a terrible charmer,” Rachel said with a smile, still supporting him.

  “Honey, I’m a man,” Eddy said.

  Ridiculously, she blushed again, but this time they both laughed a little. Feeling happier than she ever had, Rachel opened the door and helped him into the front seat. “Don’t abandon me now,” Eddy said. “You’re my good-luck charm.”

  “I’ll come to the hospital, but just for a while, since I have to get home,” Rachel conceded, trying to be prim.

  Eddy did not try to hide his delight.

  A few minutes later, the bicycle was sticking somewhat precariously out of the trunk, and they were on their way.

  “That was some dogfight,” Lionel commented once they were back on the motorway. “Not many pilots could land a plane in that condition in a cow pasture and simply walk away.”

  “Thanks,” Eddy said. “I’ve been flying since I was a kid.”

  “Really?” Rachel asked, impressed.

  He twisted to look at her in the backseat. “I started flying when I was ten.”

  Her eyes widened. “Is that possible?”

  “I love planes. My dad would take me out to a small private airfield on Long Island, and one of the pilots there took a liking to me. Now, I didn’t solo until I was thirteen,” he added with an infectious grin.

  “Only thirteen?” Rachel quipped.

  “Only,” he said.

  “You’re from New York?” Lionel asked, interrupting them.

  “Sheepshead Bay, Brooklyn,” he said cheerfully.

  “What brought you to Britain?”

  Eddy finally faced Lionel. “That damned megalomaniac, Hitler,” he said, no longer smiling and deadly serious. “He has to be stopped. Obviously. I got tired of waiting for America to join the war. I think we will. But later, rather than sooner.” He turned to wink at Rachel. “I’m an impatient guy. I can’t sit around twiddling my thumbs when I can be doing something—like shooting down German bombers.”

  Rachel smiled at him.

  Lionel glanced at her in his rearview mirror. “Well, I am afraid that this time they shot you down.”

  “It was the first time, but I doubt it will be the last,” Eddy said.

  “Don’t say that!” Rachel cried, aghast. “You might jinx yourself!”

  He gazed at her. “So you care,” he said.

  She stiffened. “Of course I care.”

  He turned away, smiling and satisfied.

  Lionel met her gaze in his rearview mirror again. Rachel looked away instantly. Whatever had made her declare herself like that? And what would Joshua do or say if he knew about this day?

  “And you, Rachel? Do you work in that factory we were just at?” Eddy asked.

  She shook her head. “I’m a WAAF at Fighter Command.”

  “Really?” he exclaimed, twisted around again so he could converse with her. “How come I haven’t seen you at any of the clubs or pubs in town?”

  Lionel remained quiet, as if concentrating on driving, but Rachel knew he was listening intently. Rachel hesitated. “I don’t really go out like that. I work double shifts and long hours. When I have enough free time at night, I go home to see my father and my sisters.”

  “Where do you live? When you’re not in the ladies’ barracks at Bentley Priory?”

  “My home is on Fournier Street. I’m sure you’ve never heard of it. It’s the East End,” she added, without any shame.

  Eddy shrugged. “I don’t know where that is. I’ve been to a few pubs, but I don’t know my way around London. At least not yet. Maybe you could show me the city sometime?” His eyes met hers.

  He was asking her out. Wasn’t he? She shot a glance at Lionel. Of course, she should tell him she was practically engaged. That she wasn’t available. Rachel could not get the words out.

  Fortunately, Lionel had just entered the hospital car park.

  “Oh, we’re here,” Rachel cried instead of answering Eddy. She avoided looking at him now. She knew he was startled by her failure to say yes.

  Doors slammed as they all got out and entered through emergency. Lionel and Rachel waited while Eddy went to the nurse at reception. Rachel watched him speaking with the redhead. She wasn’t particularly attractive, but she was very busty, and she had a porcelain and perfect complexion. She began to giggle. Rachel couldn’t hear a word that they were saying, but she knew Eddy was flirting with her. In a way, she was relieved.

  On the other hand, amazingly, she was jealous.

  The redhead came out from behind the desk.

  “I can wait,” Eddy was saying. “Take those factory workers before me.” Gurneys carrying victims of the recent bombing waited in the hall.

  “You come with me, Lieutenant,” the nurse said firmly. “We don’t make pilots wait. Especially not handsome ones like you.” She smiled archly.

  “Hon, I will wait my turn, as I am hardly bleeding to death.” He patted her arm. “I’
ll be sitting right over there.” He pointed at a row of empty chairs. “Okay?”

  She finally acquiesced, going back to her duties behind the desk.

  Eddy came back to Lionel and Rachel. “Keep me company?” he said to Rachel.

  “I really have to go.” It was absurd, her eavesdropping on him and the nurse and being insanely jealous. “I’m really late.”

  “You’re not going to bicycle all the way back to London, are you?” he exclaimed.

  “Yes, I am.”

  His face fell. Rachel realized that he understood she was rejecting him. “Well, I hope we’ll meet again. Sometime soon.” His gaze was searching.

  She bit her lip. It was now or never. Give him what he wanted—or never see him again. “I’m sure we will. I’m . . .” She paused.

  “You’re what?” he asked quickly.

  “I’m glad you’re all right,” Rachel said in a rush. She turned abruptly, almost blindly, crashing into Lionel.

  “I’ll help you get your bike out of the car,” Lionel said. “And I’m happy to wait, Marshall. I can give you a lift back to Biggin Hill if you want.”

  For a moment Eddy was silent. Rachel felt his eyes on her back. She wanted to cry. What was wrong with her! “The boys will be picking me and Betty up at any moment,” he said.

  Rachel turned. “Betty?” she asked, instantly thinking of the redhead.

  “My plane,” he said, staring at her.

  He had a girl. Her disappointment was vast. “Oh.”

  “My mom’s name is Betty,” he said.

  Rachel started. “Really?”

  He nodded. “I’m renaming her, though, today.”

  Rachel didn’t move.

  “I’m naming her Angel,” he said seriously. “Because for the first time in my life, I have met one.”

  Rachel was speechless.

  Rachel’s family lived just a few blocks from the Whitechapel High Street synagogue, on a small narrow cobbled street lined with two-story brick homes and a few scanty trees. Most of the homes were divided among two or three families. Here and there the lower floor was devoted to a cobbler’s shop, a butcher store, a grocery, or a milliner. Gardens and yards were out back. Clotheslines hung from house to house, stretched across the street, drying clothing fluttering over the heads of passersby, wheelbarrows, bicycles, and carts like so many multicolored flags. Before the war, the elderly used to sit out on their front stoops in good weather, simply to watch life in the neighborhood pass by and to gossip whenever they could.