Janet Woods

by I'll Get By

  ‘How useless it all is; I wish the war would end.’ Tears in her eyes she pressed her face against his chest. ‘Why did you stop?’

  ‘Because you don’t deserve to be taken furtively in the dark on your first time, but royally, in a four-poster bed spread with satin sheets, and me ravishing you in fine style for half the night beforehand, so you don’t know whether you’re coming or going.’ Pulling her to her feet he tipped her face up and kissed her; then picked up his coat and shook the plant debris from it. ‘I won’t allow anyone to hurt you . . . not even me.’

  She believed him.

  As they walked back to the house a plane with a trail of smoke and flames cartwheeled silently across the sky and disappeared behind some buildings. There was a huge roar and flames shot into the air.

  ‘How many air crew would that have been carrying?’

  ‘I’m not sure, seven or eight as a guess.’ And then he added as though he’d read her mind, ‘I imagine they used their parachutes and all got out.’

  Fire engines clanged everywhere. A warden came out of the darkness, swearing as he shouted at them to get under cover and calling them bloody fools.

  Beside her, Nick stiffened. ‘We’re British. Stiff upper lip and all that.’

  ‘You’d better be, else you’ll get a bullet up your Khyber Pass.’

  The warden was a short, podgy man of middle years. Nick placed a hand on his shoulder and warned gently, ‘Try not to be so coarse, there’s a young lady present.’

  ‘Ere, who do you think you’re talking to . . . what’s your bleedin’ name?’

  ‘In answer to your first question, perhaps you’d care to advise me as to that. Nicholas Cowan to the second.’ He handed the man a card. ‘If you wish to take this further please feel free to present yourself at my office. I work for the Admiralty. In the meantime I’d be obliged if you’d apologize to my companion.’

  A straw of torchlight flickered over the card and was quickly switched off. ‘Sorry miss . . . sir,’ he said, and Nick let him go.

  ‘Thanks for not taking it further. He was only doing his job. He probably fought in the last war.’

  ‘Actually, he was right and I was wrong. He was being heroic in the only way he knew how. I just didn’t like our adventure being spoiled by something so mundane as a warden telling me off.’

  ‘Don’t be so haughty. He might be a professor of theology in his day job. The man was concerned because we were behaving like idiots. I didn’t like your adventure much. You scare me.’

  ‘I admit, it didn’t end as happily as it should have. Didn’t the danger make you feel gloriously alive though?’

  She supposed it had, but it was a double-edged sword. ‘It also made me think about the dead, the dying and the maimed.’

  ‘Their lives are the price we pay for war.’

  She refrained from stamping her foot. ‘The only price we pay is inconvenience in our daily lives. The dead pay the ultimate price for all of us. It’s easy to dismiss life when you’re an onlooker and death is faceless.’

  ‘I know. I also know that it’s the industrial area that’s being targeted. We were not in any real danger.’

  They went into the Andersen shelter, where she turned her back on him.

  ‘Don’t shut me out. Come here. There must be something you like about me.’

  Everything, she admitted to herself.

  Placing an arm around her he pulled her against his shoulder and she relaxed. He was always so neat and clean. Tonight the soft covering of skin on his neck smelled of sandalwood soap. The small pink lobe of his ear was in reach of her tongue, should she care to extend it. She wondered what it would taste like. She was too aware of him . . . of herself. She spent a pleasant twenty minutes imagining almost every inch of him under her exploring hands. Her body was in a feverish turmoil from his closeness, though she kept her hands tightly fisted in case they wandered.

  Before too long the planes flew back from where they’d unleashed their cargo of death, but they were bloodied. Engines coughed and spluttered and missed their beats, like failing hearts. Some trailed smoke. There were a couple of explosions as they released the leftover bombs, dropping them like sizzling dumplings into a seething stew. The act was indiscriminate and anonymous, so the pilots wouldn’t feel the guilt of seeing a face twisted with pain, or hear the cries of a mother being carried on a stretcher, away from the side of her terrified children. They didn’t watch a man trapped in his fireside chair, legs crushed, and listening to the rest of his life ticking away while hearing the cry of his first grandchild who’d been born without medical help in the stair cavity to a terrified woman with nowhere else to go.

  ‘Don’t be cross with me. I didn’t start the war.’

  ‘I know you didn’t.’

  When she ran a finger gently down his face he took her hand in his and placed a kiss in the palm. ‘I think I’m falling in love with you, Miss Margaret Elliot.’

  Everything inside her churned at his declaration. She didn’t know whether to laugh or cry at the thought of him being in love with her. ‘You can’t do that to me . . . I like someone else.’

  ‘Tell me about him.’

  ‘He’s in the army, fighting at the front, and he’s a lawyer.’

  ‘And a hero, and you’re waiting for him to return home.’

  ‘Yes to both . . . they’re all heroes.’

  ‘And you’re wondering what an able-bodied upper-class twit like myself is doing behind a desk.’ He had that teasing note in his voice again. ‘If I were a hero instead of a coward would you wait for me?’

  ‘Nick . . . I don’t think you’re a coward. Don’t talk like that. Somebody might hear you and report it.’

  ‘What’s his name, this hero of yours?’

  ‘Rainard Stone. He’s an army captain. I worked for his parents before I became a Wren.’

  ‘Rainard? What sort of name is that?’

  ‘People call him Rennie.’

  ‘Does this Rennie love you in return?’

  ‘I don’t know, really. He hasn’t said. I think he might do . . . he said I’m too young.’

  He sighed. ‘He’s a lost cause who doesn’t want a child bride because he knows he’s too dull and you’d leave him eventually. You’re waiting on the off chance that he might change his mind about that. So what were you doing with me tonight? It’s a big responsibility for a man to have a young woman in love with them. Having one love requires fidelity, which is a sacrifice on the man’s part. To start with, they have to stop whoring around.’

  ‘Rennie wouldn’t do anything like that. Besides, I didn’t say I loved him, just that I like him . . . quite a lot.’

  ‘Are you sure about that? The sexual act means very little to a man except to provide a need to satisfy his urges.’ Picking up her hand he ran his thumb across the fingers. ‘Where is your engagement ring?’

  ‘Oh, we’re not engaged or anything. Rennie is much too sensible to commit himself during the war. He was engaged once, to Pamela. She still loves him, I think.’

  ‘He should be getting all he can of you, while he can. You didn’t act as though you were serious about someone else, earlier.’

  Her ears heated even though her blood ran cold at the thought of anything happening to Rennie. ‘Oh . . . I didn’t do anything with you.’

  ‘But you would have done if I’d had some protection in my pocket, admit it.’

  ‘Well . . .’ a blush spread into her cheeks and she was glad it was dark so he couldn’t see it. ‘I was curious, and got carried away by the moment.’

  ‘You found me irresistible, did you?’

  ‘Yes, Nick . . . I did just at that moment. Wasn’t that the outcome you were trying to achieve?’

  ‘You could quite as easily say I was just a man who came to dinner, one who saw an opportunity for a pleasant and sensual interlude to round the evening off with – and forgot the basic precaution. Next time, if there is one, I’ll come prepared and try not to disa
ppoint your maidenly heart. That’s if your heart was involved.’

  ‘You could also say . . . in fact, I think you did say – and she deepened her voice. ‘I think I’m falling in love with you, Margaret Elliot.’

  ‘Stop making a mockery of me. I’ve never loved anybody except myself before. It makes me feel self-sacrificial.’

  ‘Woe is you, my lord, for you were nearly undone.’

  The burst of laughter he gave was self-deprecating. ‘I’d say it was nearly the other way round. I might have been lying when I said that.’

  ‘I considered that at the time. Now I’ll say that my maidenly heart wasn’t involved, and you didn’t disappoint me. You would have done if you’d been less considerate though. I shall wait for the four-poster bed and the satin sheets.’

  ‘Ouch! I’ll have you know it was more selfishness than consideration on my part. I didn’t want to be responsible for either the loss of your virginity, or the creation of an unloved child.’

  ‘I reserve the right to hold myself responsible for the loss of my virginity.’

  ‘And what about the child?’

  ‘Who said it would be unloved, though it would be better off with the love of two parents.’

  The all-clear siren began its banshee wail, like the curtain coming down at the end of a Shakespeare play, though whether farce or tragedy, she couldn’t tell. She only knew it had been magnificent in one way, and tragic in another.

  Taking her face between his hands Nick kissed her. It was a long and lingering kiss . . . loving almost – an enigma, like him. ‘I don’t think I can win this debate I’m having with myself,’ he said when he finished with her.

  ‘Neither can I.’

  ‘And I doubt if there are any satin sheets to be found. We’re down to practicalities.’

  Now it was her turn to laugh. ‘If nothing else this little episode poses the question: If you don’t want me and I don’t want you, what the hell are we doing here with each other wanting each other like crazy?’

  Nick could find no answer for that. All he knew was the girl had managed to get under his skin without even trying, and was fast becoming an obsession.

  When he arrived home Nick went into his father’s study, picked up the receiver and gave the operator a number.

  ‘Do we have a file on a Captain Rainard Stone?’ he asked the man who eventually picked up the receiver.

  Thirteen

  9 July 1940

  Leo managed to snatch a few hours at home. He took a bath and then fell asleep, waking to find his pot-bellied woman watching over him.

  He’d stolen a red rose he’d seen blossoming in a cottage garden, and although it was only half open and hardly more than a bud, it was in a small crystal vase on Esmé’s dressing table.

  He smiled at her. ‘I’ve missed you, my sweet. Come here and lay down beside me.’

  When she joined him, he gently palpated her stomach, and then he placed his ear against it. There was a fast, steady tick of the baby’s heart among the gurgles of the fluid sac. The infant . . . their infant was of a fair size. He kissed her swollen midriff then looked up at her. ‘The head’s engaged.’

  ‘You don’t have to worry, Leo. Everything’s proceeding as it should.’

  ‘BP?’

  ‘Blood pressure is perfectly all right. I’ve kept a diary. If you want to read it then it’s on the dressing table. But may I remind you that you’re not my doctor, even if you are my doctor . . . Doctor.’

  He chuckled. ‘You’re looking a bit pale. Have your iron levels been checked lately?’

  ‘I’m taking iron pills.’

  ‘I wish you’d go and stay with Livia. I’m sure she’d love to have you there.’

  She sighed. ‘You’re worrying unnecessarily. I’ve got a midwife on call and I’ve got Meggie and Judith.’

  ‘I can’t see Meggie doing much. She faints at the thought of pricking her finger.’

  ‘You’d be surprised at how grown up and capable Meggie’s becoming, and haven’t you forgotten one thing?’

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘I’ve delivered lots of babies for other women, so I don’t see why I can’t deliver our own if need be.’

  ‘I love you, Mrs Thornton.’

  Tears touched her eyes.

  ‘Why are you crying, my darling girl?’

  ‘It’s because I love you too, and I miss you. I’m feeling a bit weepy now the baby is almost here . . . something to do with the imbalance of the hormones, I expect.’

  But that wasn’t the reason. She was crying because of what must stay unsaid between them – the reason why he wanted her to go and stay with Livia. If something happened to him she would need someone strong to support her. And if anything happened to her he knew he wouldn’t want to live.

  So he took her in his arms, spooned her into his body and held her gently, loving her and feeling contented, even though they feared for each other and lied while the clock ticked away each second. Soon, she slept, the rise and fall of her chest and the steady pulse of her heart against his, reassuring him.

  His precious few hours of normal life were used up too soon, but not wasted, he thought, as he quietly dressed, and drew the quilt up over her.

  He gazed down at her, kissed her mouth and whispered words of love against her ear. He left her in the early hours of the morning – left her with the responsibility of their unborn infant, both of them pretending she was asleep to make the parting easier.

  He stood outside waiting for Derek Smithson to arrive on the squadron’s shared Triumph 100 motorcycle. None of them knew who actually owned it.

  One of the engineers had found it in a hedge, bent and battered, and after a while had adopted it as a squadron mascot, and had fixed it up. Leo’s car was languishing in a garage that had access to the lane at the back.

  The air had a damp coolness to it. The moon had travelled on, the sky was dark, and rain showers pattered against the dark, sightless windows. There was a hint of orange in the sky to the west, but whether first light or fire Leo couldn’t tell. Both perhaps.

  Smithy arrived, the bike growling, but with an occasional wounded cough thrown in. Leo took the pillion seat and they were off, the rain bouncing off their helmets and shoulders. He began to wonder what the day would bring.

  For the last couple of weeks the airmen had snatched what rest and sustenance they could. Air raids had been constant and fairly predictable, but mostly they were confined to the industrial and dockyard areas. They slept in their clothes.

  When they weren’t flying they used the accommodation on the base, for sleeping, writing letters or playing chess. Today they were home in time for breakfast. Clattering into the engineers’ workshop they abandoned the bike and followed their noses to the mess.

  A battered Spitfire had just hopped over a line of trees and Leo’s eyes narrowed in on it as it skewed sideways to come into land.

  Most of the flyers were awake, responding to the smell of breakfast.

  ‘G’day, Doc,’ they began to call out when they spotted him, and he grinned when someone began to whistle ‘Waltzing Matilda’. They were an unruly and disrespectful bunch of buggers, but he wouldn’t have them any different.

  He slapped several strips of bacon and an egg between two pieces of toast, savoured every morsel then washed it down with a mug of tea.

  The door opened and a young man entered. He stood there, looking as nervous as a fish on Friday. His face was familiar and Leo sifted through the dregs of his memory.

  He was young, but not too young to have seen some action, for he walked with a limp. Approaching him, Leo held out hand. ‘Squadron Leader Leo Thornton.

  ‘If I’m not mistaken, you’re Edwin Richards.’

  The lad looked pleased at being remembered. ‘Yes, sir. I’d prefer being called Eddie though.’

  ‘How did you come by the limp?’

  Richards’ flushed. ‘I had a bit of a prang, and broke it. That was three months ago.’

/>   ‘What were you flying at the time?’

  Richards looked even more embarrassed and lowered his voice. ‘Actually, I wasn’t flying anything. I was on my brother’s go-cart when the front end parted from the back. When the leg healed it was shorter than the other.’

  ‘Either it wasn’t stretched into position correctly before it was splinted or you tried to walk on it prematurely and moved it out of place. I can see the lump from here where it healed and the bone is overgrown. I’m surprised they allowed you to fly.’

  ‘I’d applied to become a pilot long before the accident and I was able to report to training school. I told them I’d pulled a muscle to explain the limp, and nobody looked too closely at it. It doesn’t hurt. A couple of days ago I was given instructions to report to you.’

  ‘Have you trained on Spits?’

  ‘I brought one with me,’ he said with schoolboyish pride.

  ‘Ah . . . is that what that aircraft is? How many flying hours have you put in since school cadet training?’

  Richards shrugged as he admitted. ‘Twelve . . . six with the RAF.’

  ‘Let me see your log book.’

  At least he hadn’t lied about the six. ‘Collins . . .’ Leo bawled across the room. ‘This is Eddie Richards. He’s yours, so take him up and give him a workout for half an hour.’

  ‘Have you seen what he arrived in, skipper? It’s patched up with corned beef tins and one wing is higher than the other. She drags her arse along the ground like a dog with worms.’

  Eddie was as hot in defence of his ungainly first aircraft as a mother was of her infant. ‘She’s a bit of an antique and she rattles like hell, but she flies straight if you compensate for the wing. Her frame is twisted by hard landings, and she’s been pancaked a couple of times. As long as you put the tail down gently she doesn’t scrape.’

  ‘No wonder they got rid of her. She’s expendable. However, they should remember that pilots aren’t. But if it’s capable of being flown, we have to fly it. I’ll put you on the list for something more serviceable. You can have some breakfast when you come back and we’ll get an engineer to look her over.’