by Daisy Styles
Kit stood up and straightened his back. What wouldn’t he give for a long soak in a hot bath! Rafal was right, he should take advantage of the officers’ billets, of the clean sheets and home-cooked meals served by Raf’s pretty fiancée. It would be a damn sight better than camping out in his office and surviving on bacon butties and tea! His brief was to establish Bomber Command at Holkham. Volunteer pilots from New Zealand, Poland, Canada, the United States and Australia, plus regular RAF pilots, were undergoing gruelling physical training which would prepare them to fly the mighty Lancaster bombers due to arrive at RAF Holkham in the spring. As officer in charge, Kit was responsible for timetables, training and billeting, but sitting behind a desk doing paperwork for eighteen hours a day was not his forte.
In the early days of the war, he’d been commended for bravery after intercepting a German fighter plane intent on blowing up the B-17 bomber he was accompanying across the English Channel. As the B-17 headed safely on its way to Hamburg, Kit realized there was a hole in his tank and the plane was losing fuel fast. He crash-landed just off the coast of Dover, where he was found unconscious and bleeding heavily from head wounds. For his brave action, he was awarded the Distinguished Service Order, which he’d hidden in his sock drawer at home. The last thing Kit was interested in was ribbons and gongs. As far as he was concerned, he had simply been doing his duty as an officer for his king and country.
Once the Lancasters arrived, the RAF would have a better chance against the Luftwaffe, who, up until now, had been winning the war for the Germans. No matter how devoted Kit was to Whitleys and Wellingtons, he knew they didn’t stand a chance against the might of the German Messerschmitts. The RAF needed heavier fighter planes with bigger engines and a bigger fuselage to house a bigger bomb load. It wasn’t until the Germans razed Coventry to the ground in November 1940 that the Prime Minister decided that if the Hun could wreak havoc, so could he. In his typical, bullish way, Churchill commissioned the building of seven thousand Lancaster bombers, a great number of which were allocated to airfields along the east coast, with instant access to the North Sea. Kit was counting down the days till he could get his hands on his first Lancaster and take to the skies over Germany.
As Kit was shaving the thick golden-blond stubble from his chin, Rafal returned with another pot of tea and two bacon butties, which a ravenous Kit fell on immediately.
‘So what’s it like at Walsingham Hall?’ he asked between enormous mouthfuls. ‘You seem to be there most of the time.’
‘Upstairs is bloody trainees,’ Rafal replied, using one of Ruby’s favourite expressions. ‘Plenty code girls.’ He blushed then quickly added, ‘I have my Rubee, so no interest, maybe you like?’
Kit shook his head.
‘Definitely no interest.’
‘Below stairs is three very beautiful cooks.’
Kit smiled indulgently. Beautiful cooks below stairs didn’t normally come in threes, but he didn’t say anything that would disillusion Rafal. Instead he said, ‘Can you bring the jeep round? I need to take a quick look at the new operational building.’
‘Right away, sir,’ Raf replied with a smart salute.
The drive in the open-topped jeep quickly blew away the cobwebs brought on by lack of sleep. Kit pulled up the fur-lined collar of his leather flying jacket as a sharp east wind whistled around his ears.
‘Polish wind!’ Raf joked, as they bounced along the mile-long runway that ended by a turnip field. ‘Straight from the Balkans.’
‘Bloody freezing, wherever it’s coming from,’ Kit chuckled, looking out proudly over Holkham airfield, which, when he’d arrived, had been little more than a few derelict Nissen huts surrounded by turnip fields.
The Met Office, signals room, rest rooms, control centre and operational centre surrounded the newly built control tower and runway where Spitfires, Whitleys and Halifaxes stood ready for take-off. The guard house, hospital, NAAFI, chapel and post room were housed in newly built, spacious, red-brick houses, beyond which stood the renovated Nissen huts that provided accommodation for the hundreds of men on site. The next stage of building work was the erection of domestic blocks for the WAAFs who would shortly be arriving at Holkham; women who would be working around the clock plotting the course of outgoing and returning planes on huge mapping tables and operational wall charts.
Raf pulled up outside the new block, which was presently being fitted out with teleprinters, radio transmitters, radar detection screens, decoding machines and a row of telephones. Pleased with the progress going on all around him, Kit nodded. ‘We’re just about ready for action,’ he said.
‘Thank God for that!’ laughed Raf. ‘All we need is planes to boom-boom Fritz!’
‘The Lancasters will be here soon enough,’ Kit promised.
On their way back to Kit’s office, they drove past the big hangar which housed the training unit. Outside, hundreds of airmen were doing their gruelling daily exercises, essential for the maintenance of their fitness levels: only the physically fit could tackle the arduous task of flying long hours through enemy territory on dark nights in sub-zero temperatures. When the airmen weren’t on route marches or cross-country runs, they were being prepared for combat: night-vision tests were carried out and regular swimming classes were held in a freezing-cold swimming pool, where servicemen in full RAF kit practised the drill of ditching into the sea. Kit gave a cheery wave as they passed by the square-bashing airmen.
‘Keep it up, fellas,’ he hollered. ‘It’ll be worth it in the end!’
‘Yeah, try telling that to Hitler!’ one of the pilots yelled back.
By late afternoon, with the winter sun going down over the flat fields like a ball of orange fire, Kit, struggling to keep his eyes open, shoved away the pile of order sheets he’d been ploughing through all afternoon.
‘Time for a hot bath,’ he told Johnny, his second-in-command, who was working at his desk at the other end of the room.
‘Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do,’ Johnny joshed, as Kit reached for his flying jacket and headed for the door.
‘Chance would be a fine bloody thing!’ Kit laughed.
Kit went outside and squeezed into the bucket seat of his ancient MG. He murmured encouraging words as he tickled his precious car into life by teasing the throttle.
‘Come on, girl, you can do it. Come on,’ he urged, his breath turning to steam and misting up the windows. Suddenly, the MG juddered, then, with a roar, she burst into life and rattled down the drive. As she gathered speed, Kit put his foot down, then, with his headlights off, he drove blind along the dark, narrow lanes which wound their circuitous way to Walsingham Hall.
The officers had all been given keys to their billet in the west wing of the hall, which had its own entrance. Kit parked his MG, grabbed his kit bag from the back seat and headed indoors, where he bumped into one of his fellow officers.
‘If you want a good supper, make it quick to the dining room,’ the officer suggested.
His flying jacket thrown over his shoulder, Kit wasted no time in sniffing out the dining room, which was now empty. A small, slim, dark-haired girl wiping down the table-tops called out, ‘You’ve missed supper.’
Frustrated and starving, Kit swore under his breath, ‘Damn! That was a bloody waste of time!’
Seeing his tired, disappointed face, Ruby said, ‘Wait, I’m sure the cooks can find something.’
With a reassuring nod, she hurried below stairs, leaving Kit alone in the empty canteen. He appraised the family portraits which hung across the length of the once beautiful dining room. He was so engrossed in studying a grumpy Elizabethan Walsingham that he barely heard Maudie approaching with a loaded tray. After cooking and serving her tasty tomato, paprika and fish pie, which the trainees had hungrily polished off, Maudie was distinctly irritated by the thoughtless officer who’d turned up late and given her even more work to do.
‘We usually finish serving at seven o’clock,’ she said sharply, as she set down a sli
ce of Bella’s famous game pie, a baked potato and a mountain of sprouts and, to follow, a slice of her delicious apple strudel. ‘You’re lucky Ruby took pity on you.’
Kit stared incredulously at the food; the sight of it was making his stomach rumble.
‘Oh, my God! This is wonderful. Thank you.’ He laughed in delight and turned to the girl who’d served him.
When his sky-blue eyes locked with Maudie’s mesmerizing green ones, Kit stopped laughing and Maudie stopped complaining. For a few seconds, they simply took each other in. Maudie thought he was without doubt one of the most handsome men she had ever seen, while Kit simply gazed, rapt, into her beautiful pale face, framed with tumbling, golden-red curls.
‘Thank you, thank you so much,’ he said, repeating himself.
Maudie nodded curtly. He might be gorgeous, but she couldn’t spend all night gawping at him! Remembering her dignity, she reluctantly turned and walked away, aware as she retreated of his eyes following her across the room. Once he was alone, Kit devoured the delicious food, which he could easily have eaten fifty times over. It was so good to have hot, freshly cooked food. Raf was quite right, he really should use the facilities more often; after all, the hall was less than a ten-minute drive away from the airbase.
‘You were lucky,’ Ruby said, when she reappeared to clean the table-tops.
‘I certainly was,’ Kit said. As he lit up a Craven A, he took in the girl’s glossy, dark hair and beautiful eyes and smiled to himself. She was the same girl Raf had proudly showed him a black-and-white photograph of just that week. ‘Am I right in thinking you’re Raf’s fiancée?’ he asked.
‘Indeed I am,’ Ruby proudly retorted. ‘We’re getting married soon,’ she added, with a sweet, excited smile.
‘He’s a good man.’
‘He’s lovely!’ Ruby giggled.
Sated and happy, Kit ran himself a hot bath, which he wallowed in until it turned tepid. Wrapped in a bath towel, he headed to his room, where the bed seemed to rise up and greet him. Still in the damp towel, Kit fell face down on to the mattress and slept soundly for fifteen hours.
When he awoke he couldn’t make out what time it was. He was so used to waking in a dark, cold dawn, stretched out on his office chair, Kit now took a few minutes to luxuriate in the clean sheets and the warm eiderdown. Snuggled deep down under his bedding, he peeped out to see bright morning light filling his room. Reaching for his watch, he gasped when he saw it was nearly midday.
‘Gotta get back to base,’ he mumbled to himself, and jumped out of bed. Then, looking at his watch again, he thought with a smile that he might just have a spot of lunch before he left. The idea of another meal served by the willowy, green-eyed beauty was enough to keep Kit in the hall for at least an hour longer.
After a quick wash and a shave, Kit donned his light blue uniform, then set off for a quick tour of the hall. In the library, which was chillingly cold and smelt of stale cigarettes, Kit went along the shelves, admiring the leather-bound first editions of Shelley, Wordsworth, Dickens and Thomas Hardy. He flicked through a copy of Far from the Madding Crowd and jumped at the sound of a silky, soft, caressing voice,
‘I hope you weren’t thinking of removing that?’
Stung by the thought that somebody might think him a thief, Kit turned angrily, and said, ‘I certainly was not!’
The voice belonged to a slender, beautiful woman with shoulder-length silver-blonde hair, wide blue eyes and high cheekbones. She was impeccably dressed in a lavender-blue tweed suit, with the wartime regimental short swing skirt, brogues and nylon stockings, a luxury for most women, but not this one, who oozed wealth and style. Her smile was slow and slightly mocking as she studied Kit’s indignant face.
‘I’m not in the habit of stealing other people’s belongings,’ he added, less hotly.
‘Forgive me,’ the languid, smiling woman murmured. ‘So much goes missing in a requisitioned house full of women with no breeding.’
Kit’s thick blond eyebrows flew up. ‘And also men with no breeding?’ he asked.
Her eyes fixed on his lapels, where his squadron leader’s badge denoted his officer status.
‘I’m sure a man such as you does not belong in that category,’ she replied, and extended her hand to Kit. ‘Lady Diana Walsingham. Pleased to meet you.’
‘Kit Halliday. Pleased to meet you, too,’ he replied. He shook her firmly by the hand and smiled, a smile that crinkled the corners of his eyes and revealed his strong white teeth and full, generous mouth. ‘I’m billeted in your impressive west wing, for which I am extremely grateful.’
Gazing at the well-spoken, polite and stunning-looking young officer standing before her, Diana could barely believe her luck. Compared to the men she socialized with in Norfolk, Kit Halliday was a young god ‒ and he lived right under her roof. He was perfect material to accompany her on long walks by the sea, for cocktails, shoots, dinners ‒ and for bedding, too!
Taking a cigarette from a packet in her crocodile-skin handbag, Diana inserted it into a silver holder, which she held out, clearly expecting Kit to light her cigarette.
‘I can’t tell you how uplifting it is to meet somebody of interest. This dreary war has stolen our joie de vivre,’ she drawled.
Kit lit the cigarette, which she inhaled deeply, then blew the smoke out through her aquiline nose.
‘Sorry to disappoint,’ Kit answered, ‘but I’m really not at all interesting. I’m just an officer at Holkham airfield, where I sit all day, checking order forms and building regs for the new base. I call that very boring!’ he said, with a self-deprecating shrug.
Rather embarrassed by the fact that Lady Diana’s big blues eyes were raking up and down the length of his body, Kit mumbled on, ‘I am, however, most grateful for your hospitality.’
‘I’d like to say the pleasure’s all mine, but that would be a big bloody lie!’ Diana continued. ‘You’ve no idea how ghastly it is to be told what to do in your own ancestral home,’ she added, with a little moue of her voluptuous mouth.
Kit checked the clock on the mantelpiece. He really needed to get a move on if he was going to have lunch before reporting back to the base.
‘We’re starved of company upstairs,’ Diana said, with a bewitching smile. ‘Do promise you’ll join us whenever you can?’
Kit made a slight bow. ‘I’m rarely here, but thank you for your kind invitation. Excuse me, but I’m afraid I really do have to go now.’
As he hurried away, Diana flung her half-smoked cigarette into the empty fireplace.
‘You’re just the kind of man who could make this place tolerable,’ she murmured underneath her breath, as she moved towards the door, a scheming smile on her perfect face.
Meanwhile, below stairs, the cooks were setting the trays for lunch.
‘That handsome RAF officer’s here for lunch,’ Ruby informed her friends. ‘You should clear away his plate, Maudie, and sneak another look at him!’
Maudie blushed. Nobody could deny that the man was attractive, but she wasn’t the kind of woman to be seduced by good looks alone.
‘Hearts and minds are more important than charming smiles,’ she replied. ‘Anyway, I don’t see why I should clear away for him,’ Maudie added, as she left to go upstairs with bowls of steamed jam roly-poly and custard. ‘He’s got arms and legs. He can clear away himself.’
In the dining room, wearing her cook’s dowdy black dress and frilly lace cap, which barely contained her wild, red-gold curls, Maudie felt cringingly self-conscious as she served dessert. Without even looking up, she knew Kit’s eyes were watching her all the time. When he approached to collect his pudding, he held on to the bowl she offered longer than was necessary.
‘I must say, the food here is stunning,’ he said gratefully. ‘Don’t know how you manage it, with rationing getting harder by the day.’
‘We’re inventive below stairs!’ she replied briefly.
‘Geniuses, I’d say! I’m Kit Halliday, by the way. I�
��d love to shake your hand, but I daren’t let go of my jam roly-poly!’
Maudie burst out laughing.
‘It’s my favourite,’ he added, sounding like a hungry little boy. ‘I could eat it till the cows come home.’
Maudie smiled at his enthusiasm for her food.
As they gazed at each other, Kit noticed the charming spattering of golden freckles across Maudie’s small nose. But a high, brittle voice behind Kit instantly wiped the smile off Maudie’s face.
‘Dahling! I hoped I’d catch you before you scuttled off back to that ghastly old airfield,’ Diana gushed, and reached up to peck Kit on the cheek.
Embarrassed, Kit turned from a red-faced Maudie, who could barely conceal her irritation, to Diana, who, though he barely knew her, was treating him like her new best friend.
‘Mummy and Daddy are simply agog to get to meet you,’ she simpered, as she slipped her arm through Kit’s, causing him to slop custard on to the serving counter. ‘We wondered if you’d like to join us for dinner tonight. It won’t be anything special, just the usual grim slop the dreadful cooks produce.’ She stared in disgust at the dish of jam roly-poly he was holding.
Feeling awkward and embarrassed, Kit looked apologetically over his shoulder to Maudie, but she was dashing towards the stairs.
‘Damn! Damn! Damn!’ she seethed furiously under her breath. ‘I should have known better. Stupid, stupid me!’
Once in the kitchen, she slammed the door so hard Ava and Ruby jumped with fright.
