On a Wing and a Prayer

by Ruby Jackson

  Agatha smiled, a fairly tentative smile, thanked them, and hurried off.

  ‘You’re a wonder, Nurse,’ said Rose. ‘I hope you’re right, but I’m not going to be here tomorrow, am I?’

  ‘We’re giving you one more night of bed and breakfast, and then you’ll be discharged.’

  When she had gone, Rose lay quietly for a time, feeling the mostly unoccupied ward settling down for the night around her, and it was not Agatha she was thinking about but Nurse Colner. Was she speaking as one who had done exactly as she had ordered Agatha to do, or was she, unhappily, one who had not?

  Should I ask her? No: much too intimate and delicate a question. I don’t know her well enough. Maybe someday.

  TWENTY-THREE

  London, February-March 1944

  Already, in late February, the March winds were practising for their annual thirty-one days of blowing. Since it was a leap year, the winds had an extra day of practice – and they used it – and Rose, tall as she was, was often bowled around the base. Small women, like Prue Church, had a much easier time. Rose and Brad, desperate to see each other, twice arranged to meet towards the end of February, but twice they had to rearrange. Whatever Brad was doing, it was taking up much of his time. Rose’s shopping trip had been postponed three times and she was ready to accept that no flattering new clothes or perfect shoes would be found. And then Cleo phoned the public call box. She was free on the last Saturday afternoon. Could Rose and her friends meet her at Selfridges?

  In the end, only Prue Church and Rose met Cleo. Nurse Colner seemed never to be off duty, and it appeared that Agatha now spent any free time writing to Jeremy. So far Rose had not heard that there had been a reply, but Agatha looked and sounded happier.

  The three who did get together enjoyed themselves immensely. They chatted so long over their tea and scones that there was barely time left for Rose to find shoes, but in the end, with two ‘fashion connoisseurs’ to help, she found the perfect pair. They were available in black and beige, had heels that were almost three inches high and, because of the clever use of decorative leather straps instead of a solid top, could be either formal or semi-formal.

  ‘I’d buy both colours if I didn’t have the widest ankles in the entire ATS,’ moaned Prue.

  ‘They’re designed to make your legs and ankles look thinner,’ Cleo assured her. ‘You have to take a pair, Rose. Depending on the weather or the occasion, they can be formal shoe or casual sandal. The designer’s a genius, and he’s used so little leather he’s probably got two pairs out of leather for one more usual pair.’

  ‘Then he’s a she,’ said Prue, which made them and the shop assistant laugh.

  ‘Black, please,’ Rose decided. ‘More useful.’

  ‘Wouldn’t it be lovely not to have to choose between more useful and just heavenly?’

  ‘And even with such a high heel, they’re madly comfortable,’ said Rose as she waited for her parcel to be wrapped.

  ‘Oh dear,’ said Prue, and the others looked at her.

  ‘What is it, Prue? Are you all right?’

  ‘Height, Rose, height. You’ll tower over the man.’

  ‘No, that’s also heavenly, Prue. With the man I’m meeting, he’ll still have to look down, while I look up.’

  ‘Some women have all the luck.’ Prue called the assistant back. ‘I don’t suppose you have those in a three, do you?’

  Cleo had to leave them then as she had an afternoon meeting, but she reminded Rose of her tailoring skills. ‘Pick up a bargain, Rose dear, and I’ll tailor it to fit. It would be nice to have nothing but a lovely party frock to work on.’

  Rose thanked her and promised to look, and then she and Prue spent the rest of their time walking around central London, a much better way for Rose to see how the city had fared than while driving her rather limited routes. Only one purchase had been made, but they had spent time with a friend, and, for all three of them, it had been a lovely break.

  They stood on a bridge, watching the great River Thames slide slowly past under them. The Houses of Parliament, bruised and battered, still looked magnificent, as if, despite bomb and fire damage, they would stand there, proud against the skyline for ever.

  ‘Do you think the bombing raids are finally over, Prue?’ Rose asked as they leaned their elbows on the bridge and filled their eyes with wonder. ‘Will we soon be completely relaxed as we shop or have tea with a friend? When will we stop straining our ears to hear approaching enemy aircraft?’

  ‘Don’t know when, but it has to be soon. As to relaxing, you’ve seen a wounded soldier, Rose. They’re as safe as they can be in a hospital, but they still strain to hear. Even when the Prime Minister or the King or whoever says the war is over, even when we hear that, it’ll take time for us to relax. But at least one of us has beautiful shoes to relax in.’

  They walked to the Westminster Tube Station, two minutes or so away.

  ‘Talk about relaxing, I hate the Underground.’

  Rose patted Prue on the shoulder. ‘They say it’s much safer down here and we don’t have time to walk back to camp.’

  ‘Just tell me when we’re there.’

  There were no problems, no alerts, no delays. ‘You can open your eyes, Prue; we’re here.’

  Even better was the message waiting for Rose when she got back to her hut.

  ‘Brad telephoned. He’ll ring back at nine.’

  The note was in Agatha’s writing.

  Rose went up to the vehicle depot in a very happy state of mind. There was the never-ending paperwork to keep her busy. Glad that WO Carter was absent, Rose worked quietly until it was time for the evening meal, which she had with Agatha and Prue. More paperwork kept her occupied until just before nine. She closed up and hurried to the telephone box. A girl was already there in animated conversation. Nine o’clock came and, as if to mark the moment, the girl fed more pennies into the machine.

  Rose tried to stay calm. If it were me and I was talking to Brad, I’d hate to be interrupted. So that’s how she and the boy on the other end feel, so be patient.

  At ten minutes past nine, her patience left her, and she rapped on the glass. To her surprise the girl turned and stuck out her tongue. Rose watched a horrified expression cross the young private’s face when she saw that the impatient woman outside in the cold was a corporal. Still clutching the receiver, the girl opened the door. She was in floods of tears. ‘I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to—’

  ‘Calm down and I’ll pretend I didn’t see. Now, say good night to your friend, and give me a chance to talk to mine.’

  Please, please, let him still be there.

  The door opened. The girl came out. ‘Corporal…’ she began.

  ‘Chilly evening, Private. Better hurry to your billet,’ she added as she went into the box – and waited – and waited.

  How long can I possibly stay here, if someone else…? she was thinking as the telephone rang. Please let it be Brad, please let…

  ‘Honey, are you there, Rose? I’m so sorry. I got held up. I hope you haven’t been waiting long.’

  ‘No, of course not,’ she said. The truth was that she had been prepared to wait for ever. And if Brad had made the call later than he had expected, she had disturbed that poor little private for nothing.

  ‘Next Saturday, the fourth, are you free, say from two?’

  ‘I should be.’

  ‘Meet me at Green Park. We’ll have tea at—’ The line went dead.

  On the following Saturday, Rose seriously considered wearing her warm but not-too-flattering Teddy Coat when she set out to meet Brad. She had had no further word from him, but she decided to have faith that they would meet, even for an hour. At the last minute she put glamour before comfort and wore her tailored uniform coat over a two-year-old two-piece costume. She wore her finest stockings – having put on thin gloves in an attempt to prevent snagging – and, of course, the elegant and much-admired new shoes.

  The wind propelled
her along Piccadilly like an autumn leaf.

  Green Park Station. If she stayed down she would be out of the wind but she would see nothing, and if she went out onto Piccadilly, she risked being blown over. She decided to go up into what now passed in London for fresh air. She would walk to the Ritz as there was shelter there. Heart in mouth, she arrived at the corner of Arlington Street and Piccadilly, just as a taxi drew up and disgorged its passenger. She saw him unbend himself from the taxi, stop to pay with a smile and a quip, and then straighten up and turn around to look anxiously in her direction. His eyes brightened and a smile lit up the dull March afternoon.

  Rose was overcome by a wave of…a wave of what? Never had she experienced a feeling like this. Every nerve ending was jumping, as if touched by an electric shock. Her very fingertips tingled and every bone in her body was suffused with longing…But longing for what?

  ‘Rose.’ He said her name as if he was reciting a prayer. ‘Rose.’

  ‘Brad,’ she breathed, and the next moment they were in each other’s arms and she knew what she longed for. This: Rose and Brad together. ‘Oh, Brad, I love you.’

  He looked down into her blue eyes and kissed her. ‘And I love you, my dearest Rose.’

  ‘Now you’ve got that said, lad, can those of us what have trains to catch get past you? A better door than a window you’d make, lad.’

  Brad apologised and drew Rose closer to the wall of the luxury hotel. ‘Better door than window? What did he mean, honey?’

  ‘You’re so tall, he couldn’t see around you or past you, I think, and certainly not through you.’

  Brad was still confused. ‘I get it, I think.’

  ‘Doesn’t matter, nothing matters.’

  ‘Absolutely. Hey, you’re up to my nose. New shoes. Elegant.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  ‘They need to be taken some place nice for very British afternoon tea. I don’t have too much time, my darling, and so dancing in those cute shoes is out, although two hours of having you in my arms is hard to give up. We’ll go to the Goring. Been there?’

  ‘No. I’m a Lyons Corner House girl.’

  ‘Excellent value and service, but today I feel needs some place special. Being with my girl makes it special.’

  The Goring, when they eventually got there, enchanted Rose.

  ‘Oh, it’s absolutely beautiful, Brad. Does that make me sound unsophisticated?’

  ‘I’m never perfectly sure what folk mean when they say sophisticated or unsophisticated. I guess my mother is sophisticated. She would say, “Anderson, this is a lovely room.”’

  Rose laughed. ‘Bradley, this is a lovely room.’

  ‘Why, you sophisticated…’ He did not finish, but bent down and kissed her lightly.

  They walked through the elegantly appointed entrance hall to a welcoming sitting room or lounge. In a large and beautiful fireplace a log fire was burning. Carefully arranged around the spacious room were small square tables with a gleaming leather armchair on each side.

  ‘Cards, possibly,’ said Brad. ‘Let’s take one of the little ones nearer the fire. I like a fabric cover for relaxing, don’t you?’

  They sat down and Rose looked up. ‘Gosh, Brad, just look at that.’

  A sparkling chandelier hung from the ceiling, and the firelight danced off every crystal.

  ‘The light fixture? My mom would have noticed that too. I notice temperature, comfort and food. Two get gold stars. Now we’ll check out number three.’

  Rose laughed at him and continued to gaze in awe around the room.

  There were uniforms from, it seemed, every branch of every service and every country. ‘Look at these servicemen, Brad: Poles, Czechs, French, Norwegians, Canadians, and I think that shorter man hogging the fire is a New Zealander. Surely you’re not the only American?’

  ‘No way. I recognise some of the civvies, and that’s a Marine Corps officer standing under that portrait over there. We have dedicated clubs: one for officers, one for other ranks. There’s one does all ranks, Rainbow Corner, on Piccadilly. Coffee and doughnuts twenty-four hours a day in the basement. I haven’t been yet, but I’m told there’s great music for dancing…Artie Shaw, The Flying Yanks. Arvizo says he saw Jimmy Stewart, the film actor, in there, and a favourite of mine, Glenn Miller. He has an orchestra, plays the saxophone, have you heard of him?’

  ‘James Stewart and Glenn Miller? Oh, we love James Stewart. My friend Sally’s dad is a projectionist in a cinema, and he used to let us in to see all the films; and of course we hear Glenn Miller on the wireless.’

  ‘Arvizo says most of the men like to go to American clubs, but I’m sure there are just as many of us who like to learn about the country we’re in. When I was a kid…’ He stopped, as if embarrassed to talk about expensive foreign holidays.

  ‘Where did you go? I want to know everything.’

  ‘And I’ll tell you, my darling, but right now we need to talk about right now.’

  He was leaving again. She could feel it. Her blood seemed to run cold, as if an icy wind had come in through an ill-fitting window and chilled her to the core.

  The waiter arrived and personal conversation stopped while he fussed around making sure that everything was perfect.

  ‘Sure beats the canteen,’ Brad teased.

  ‘There definitely is at least one artist at work here,’ agreed Rose as she looked at the tiny but exquisite offerings placed on the table. ‘It does look so appetising, doesn’t it?’ She admired the selection of tiny cakes, a swirl of cream or chocolate here, a hazelnut or a fresh raspberry there.

  ‘Looks great,’ said Brad.

  ‘Then let’s taste to see if it’s as good as it looks.’

  The chef was given maximum points.

  ‘Sitting in a beautiful room like this with an even more beautiful girl, a guy might forget there’s a war on.’

  ‘And does he?’

  ‘No, but it sure makes him long for it all to be over. I love you, Rose, and my God, I want you with every fibre of my being but…’ He stopped talking and looked for some time at the markings on the silver pot on the table.

  Rose took her courage in both hands and touched his hand. ‘Brad.’

  He looked up and smiled at her and she could almost think there were tears in his eyes.

  ‘Every day for weeks, I debated with myself. Will I ask her to…?’

  ‘Ask her to what, Brad?’ Strange, unfamiliar feelings were racing around inside Rose. Is he going to ask me to sleep with him? What will I say? I want to be with him but…

  ‘Honey, I want to marry you. I want to marry you right now, this minute. That’s what I had decided. I was thinking and planning and, damn but I’m ashamed of myself; I was going to ask you to marry me today, if we could get a special licence, but I won’t. It would kill my mother and I guess yours wouldn’t be too happy either.’

  Rose felt that she could hardly breathe, so unexpected was the conversation. She gulped. ‘No, my mum wants pretty dresses, bridesmaids, flowers.’

  He smiled and then he said, ‘Rose, will you give me back my class ring?’

  One moment she had been on fire with love and longing, and now she could feel ice form in the pit of her stomach. His ring, she could feel it nestling there between her breasts. For weeks, months, she had kissed it morning and night, and now he wanted it back. The lovely dream was over.

  ‘Of course,’ she said as she tried not to sob. She tried to show, to say nothing, but finally gasped, ‘I don’t understand.’

  He got to his feet and hurried round the table to sit on the well-upholstered arm of her chair and fold her in his arms. ‘No, no, it’s not like that, darling Rose. I wanted to ask you to exchange it for this one,’ and he took a small box from his pocket. ‘I’d get down on my knees but figure you’d be embarrassed to have all these people looking at you – or do you want me on my knees?’

  She smiled through her tears. ‘You’re too tall, you would look a bit silly.’

&nb
sp; ‘I know, but I’d do more than that for you, sweet Rose. Honey, I have to tell you, I’m going away, and I’ll be gone for some time. We should have been gone by now but there have been delays, loads of reasons, but this is it. There’s no leave until our job is done. It will take months, Rose, maybe more, but if we’re successful – and we have to be, I guess; what with all the planning and manoeuvres we just can’t fail – then this war will end. There will be dancing in the streets and all the bells of London town will ring out. Trust me in that. I promise by this ring that we will not fail. I’ll come back and we’ll begin our life together with your family side by side with my mom and dad – among all the flowers and bridesmaids.’ He held the red velvet box out to her. ‘This was my gran’s engagement ring; I loved her to bits and she left this for me to give to the woman I wanted to marry. Darling Rose, will you take this ring?’

  He opened the box and Rose saw the most magnificent diamond ring she had ever seen, the kind of ring that she had never dreamed she would ever see.

  ‘Rose?’

  ‘It’s stunning, but I can’t possibly have a ring like that; it’s much too valuable.’

  ‘You’re worth much more to me than this diamond, Rose. Gran would have loved you. Maybe she foresaw you when she wrote her will.’ He lifted her left hand. ‘Please?’

  Eyes brimming with tears, she nodded, and Brad slipped the ring onto the fourth finger of her left hand.

  ‘Hey, look at that, a perfect fit.’

  He kissed her then, oblivious of the other customers, some of whom pretended not to see.

  Rose blushed as she saw the happy smiles, the occasional disapproving look. ‘It is so lovely. But, Brad, I have to ask. Did you bring this glorious ring to England before you met me? Were you looking for a wife?’

  He laughed, a happy, relaxed sound. ‘No, although I guess every red-blooded male is always looking for a wife. When I talked to Dad a while back, he said he was sailing back to England. I told him more than I told him at Christmas; said you had my class ring but that I wanted you to have Granny’s ring. I’ve had it in my pocket for two weeks.’