by Jenny Holmes
‘Do you think so?’ Mary had a sneaking admiration for Jean and valued her opinion. ‘Am I cut out to be a pilot, though? That’s what I wonder.’
Jean had smiled warmly. ‘It’s natural to be nervous. But yes, I’d say you’re exactly what they’re looking for. And good for you for plucking up the courage – I know what it takes to fill in that form.’
Mary had nodded then let out a loud sigh. ‘It’s thanks to Stan. He gave me the kick I needed.’
‘You’re welcome.’ Pleased that Mary had seen fit to confide in Jean, Stan’s smile was broad. ‘And here’s another bit of news: Flight Lieutenant Ainslie has ordered me to drive you to Highcliff first thing tomorrow morning, to put you on the train to Thame. They’ll bring in another driver pronto to fill your shoes, but we know there’s no shortage of volunteers in that department.’
So I didn’t dream it, Mary had thought. I really am signed up for the course!
‘Early to bed for you tonight,’ Stan had advised as Jean had cleared his empty plate and carried it with hers to the trolley stacked with dirty crockery. ‘We’ll have to be up with the lark to get to Highcliff by seven.’
Which was why now, as dusk fell and rain swept across the airfield, Mary was folding her civvy clothes – two skirts, three blouses, one maroon woollen dress, a pair of court shoes, two sets of underclothes – and leaving her washbag and hairbrush handy on top of her bedside locker for an early start. The room was silent except for the hiss of the paraffin stove at the far end of the hut and the erratic gusting of raindrops against the dark window panes. It was to be Mary’s last Saturday night at Rixley for a while at least and she felt an unexpected twinge of regret. Despite the new world of opportunities opening up before her, there was no doubt in her mind that she would miss the familiar faces – Stan, Gordon, Harry, Jean and the rest – and the safety of her old routine.
Lionel had whisked Angela off in his sports car and Teddy had unaccountably vanished when Hilary approached Bobbie at the bar. ‘Good to see Lionel again, albeit briefly,’ he remarked as he perched on the stool next to hers.
Bobbie was on edge, wondering where on earth Teddy had sloped off to. ‘Yes, lovely Lionel. I’ve only met him twice before but I took to him from the off.’ She swilled her drink around her glass then took a small sip.
‘He’s a good chap; decent through and through,’ Hilary agreed. Despite his off-duty rig of fawn and brown knitted cardigan teamed with twill slacks and polished brogues, his abrupt military air remained. ‘We go back a long way, Lionel and I.’
‘So I gather.’ Angela had told Bobbie vivid stories about what the small gang of Oxford graduates –Angela’s brother Hugh plus Cameron, Hilary and Lionel – used to get up to in the London clubs a couple of years earlier. ‘I hear it was great fun. The good old days, eh?’
Hilary downed the last of his drink. ‘Yes, but a word of advice – don’t believe everything Angela tells you. She has a tendency to exaggerate.’
‘So the rumours are false – you didn’t go from theatre to dance hall every night then off to a club to drink into the wee small hours?’
‘Not every night.’
‘Just once in a while, eh? I still say it must have been fun.’
‘Yes, it was.’ Hilary had approached Bobbie with a more serious purpose. ‘Which brings me to a matter concerning you and Teddy Simpson.’
Bobbie was startled by the apparent switch in direction. ‘What on earth do you mean?’ she asked defensively.
‘First of all, Bobbie, I’m sorry about your overnight stay in Harkness earlier this week.’
‘Why are you sorry?’ she enquired with assumed nonchalance. ‘It’s not the first time that I’ve been stranded and I’m sure it won’t be the last.’
Hilary’s mouth twitched in irritation. ‘I hear that the only bed and breakfast available proved unsatisfactory.’ He raised his hand to stop her from interrupting. ‘It’s all written down in the report that Teddy lodged with Douglas; the lack of a separate room and so on.’
Bobbie blinked then shook her head violently. ‘Teddy and I didn’t have to share … I took the bedroom and he slept in the living room. I hope he made that clear.’
‘I’m pleased to hear it. Still, it was unfortunate that you two were thrown together in that way.’ Rapping his empty glass down on the bar, Hilary forged on. ‘Obviously, from a professional point of view, it’s preferable for male and female personnel to observe a certain distance.’
‘Who says so?’ Bobbie’s heart lurched.
‘I do. At least until they’ve had the time to form a proper acquaintance,’ her commanding officer insisted. ‘It’s early days – Teddy Simpson has only just got here.’
‘Listen to me, Hilary: nothing improper happened at Harkness.’ She spoke with heavy emphasis on the word ‘improper’.
‘I’m not suggesting that it did.’
‘Yes, you are; that’s exactly what you’re suggesting. And while we’re on the subject, let me point out that it would be none of your business even if it had.’ Bobbie’s heart continued to thump as she put her glass on the bar and slid down from her stool. ‘It’s not against the law, so far as I know.’
‘Quite. But it’s my job to maintain discipline in this ferry pool and in my view it’s best not to risk muddying the waters with the ups and downs of personal relationships.’ Though Hilary had failed to anticipate Bobbie’s irate reaction to his well-meaning advice, he knew that it was too late to backtrack. ‘Please don’t take offence. All I’m saying is that a girl needs to know a good deal more about a chap before she jumps in with both feet.’
‘And I thank you for your advice.’ Bobbie fought back tears of embarrassment and fury. For the first time in her life her morals had been called into question and she was left with a very unpleasant feeling in the pit of her stomach. ‘Now if you don’t mind, Hilary, I’ll say goodnight.’
He watched her flounce away in a cloud of bright green chiffon, nose in the air and looking straight ahead.
Cameron sidled up to him, pipe in hand. ‘What’s got into our wee Scottish lassie tonight?’ He assumed, rightly, that Hilary had been heavy-handed over some minor matter of discipline – after all, subtlety had never been his strong suit.
‘Lord knows,’ Hilary said with a shrug. He hadn’t had to deal with women pilots until he’d been posted to Rixley and the truth was he was a little out of his depth. He’d been warned in advance that women didn’t always like taking orders and privately suspected that aviation would never be their field of expertise. But he didn’t expect them to fly off the handle the way Bobbie had just done. ‘Never mind, old thing; she’ll get over it,’ he told a puzzled Cameron. ‘It’s my round. What can I get you?’
‘I’m sorry; this place isn’t up to much.’ Lionel glanced around the Lounge Bar of the Mount Hotel. It was a stuffy room with faded wallpaper and shapeless armchairs with worn chintz covers. A dingy oil painting of a sailing ship adorned the chimney breast and the only other occupant of the room was an elderly man in tweeds who smoked a pipe in his fireside chair.
‘Never mind – beggars can’t be choosers.’ Determined to make the best of things, Angela chose a corner as far away from the old man as possible. ‘My goodness; that’s quite a cough,’ she whispered as the pipe smoker’s chest rattled and he spat into the grate.
‘We could try somewhere else?’ Lionel suggested.
‘No, darling – not before we’ve raised a glass or two.’ She settled into one of the armchairs, legs elegantly crossed.
‘You’re sure?’ He hovered next to her chair, reflecting that he’d imagined a better place than this for their reunion. But the only alternative to the Mount had been one of the poky harbour-side pubs filled with rowdy fishermen and their sharp-tongued wives.
‘Quite sure. Sit down, darling; do.’ Angela leaned forward to pat the seat of the chair opposite. ‘Look, here comes someone to take our order.’
A woman with crimped grey hair, wearing a
mustard-coloured dress that gave her complexion a sallow tinge, listened to their requests then went away without speaking. She quickly returned with their drinks on a stained wooden tray and deposited them on a low table, again without saying a word. The man by the fire continued to cough and spit.
Lionel’s grimace made Angela laugh. ‘Please don’t worry; I’m perfectly happy here and I’m all ears, waiting to hear the low-down – the top-secret things they won’t allow you to write in your letters. Whose ships have you been sinking and what heroic tales do you have to tell?’
Same old Angela, Lionel thought, making light of the most awful events. He understood that this was how she got through: by refusing to think too deeply or seriously. ‘Lately we’ve been in the Aegean. My ship sailed from Malta earlier this month. We ran into trouble off Corfu; hence we’re currently in dry dock awaiting repairs.’ He stopped short of relating any more details and sat uncomfortably with his drink.
‘Why so cagey? No, of course; you’re not allowed even to speak about it. It’s all hush-hush. I quite understand.’ She smiled at him to hide her disappointment at how the evening was going, though the distance between them yawned as wide and deep as the Grand Canyon. ‘What news of the family?’ she prompted cheerily.
‘Father’s still hard at it in the War Office, working with Montgomery on God knows what fresh tactics for North Africa. Mother is well and living quietly in the house in Dorset. What about yours?’
‘Still at the mill with slaves,’ Angela quipped. ‘Father can’t keep up with the never-ending orders for worsted for army uniforms. He’s put the women in the spinning and weaving sheds on overtime and keeps the looms running seven days a week but it’s impossible to keep up with the demand. The men have mostly been conscripted, of course.’
The pleasantries continued for several more minutes, exasperating Angela and puzzling Lionel. Neither seemed able to break through the polite veneer until she stood up suddenly and suggested a walk in the hotel grounds.
‘But it’s raining,’ he objected. ‘You’ll get wet.’
‘I don’t mind; I’m wearing a decent winter coat. Come along; let’s get a breath of fresh air.’ She led the way, turning up her fur collar then pausing in the front entrance to test for raindrops. ‘See, it’s easing off.’
So they stepped outside into a damp mist that rolled in off the sea, deciding to leave the hotel grounds and venture a short way along a cliff path to the sound of waves crashing on to the rocks below.
‘It’s single file, I’m afraid.’ Angela picked her way carefully while Lionel followed. She felt the wind raise the hem of her skirt and blow her hair in all directions. Straight ahead, the dark outline of a ruined church loomed. ‘It’s blowing a gale. What do you say we seek shelter for a while?’
Again Lionel followed without saying anything. Angela had always been full of surprises. It was one of the aspects of her character that had first fascinated him: the way she would take it into her head to leave a smoky club on the Strand to roam the broad streets and end up paddling in the fountain in Trafalgar Square, not minding if she attracted comments from strangers. There was one time when she’d dared him and her brother Hugh to climb one of the plinths and sit astride the lion to sing ‘Rule Britannia’, which they’d done to her great delight. Such light-hearted fun had suited the times. But now, with the world turned upside down, it seemed out of kilter with the prevailing mood. As they approached the churchyard in the thick darkness, Lionel took out his cigarette case and quietly lit up.
‘There, that’s better.’ She found a sheltered spot out of the wind. ‘Smell the salt in the air. Isn’t it glorious? On second thoughts, you’ve probably had enough of the old briny to last a lifetime.’
‘Angela.’ He drew smoke deep into his lungs.
‘What is it, darling?’ It was chillier than expected so she wrapped her coat more closely across her chest, feeling the cold smoothness of its satin lining.
‘We must talk,’ Lionel insisted. ‘It’s been so long since we had the opportunity.’
‘I know; ages and ages.’ She could scarcely see his features but his tone of voice told her that he was building up to the serious topic that she’d been doing her best to avoid.
‘About our future,’ he continued doggedly. ‘I’d like to know one way or the other where we’re going with all this.’
‘Oh.’ She sighed, leaning back against a rough stone arch. ‘Why must we be going anywhere? Why can’t we forget about tomorrow and live in the moment – now especially?’
‘Because of the war?’
‘Yes. None of us knows if there’ll even be a tomorrow. Take me, for instance. I’m up in my Spit at ten thousand feet, never knowing what I’ll find – a sudden thunderstorm or Jerry coming at me out of nowhere and me unarmed, with only a simple compass and a stopwatch to get me out of trouble. And there’s you on your captain’s bridge, watching out for the next torpedo or squadron of Heinkels flying at you out of nowhere. You see?’
Her face was a pale disc against the stone, her dark eyes wider than ever. Lionel leaned in and kissed her. ‘That’s why,’ he murmured as he drew back. ‘If there isn’t to be a tomorrow, well, at least let me know if you feel for me what I feel for you. That would be something to be going on with.’
Angela felt her heartbeat quicken. They’d been in this situation several times before: Lionel seeking the reassurance of a formal engagement, her feeling the pressure of making a commitment. Previously she’d been able to fudge it by returning his kisses in a light-hearted way, saying that she was truly fond of him and didn’t want their relationship to end. Which was true. But she’d wanted them to go on in an open-ended way, sharing good times, not looking too far ahead. They were still young, after all.
‘Well?’
‘I’m fond of you,’ she whispered.
‘But do you love me? Will you marry me?’
The cold mist surrounded them, the sea roared. Danger crowded in on them from all sides, and with this feeling of life running out of control Angela drew Lionel close. What answer should she give? Should she say the words he longed to hear?
CHAPTER SIX
‘Will all pilots report to the operations room for their chits!’
The call over the Tannoy system broke the early-morning silence of the airfield as Mary set off with Stan for Highcliff station.
‘Repeat: all pilots to the operations room!’
‘That’ll be you in no time at all,’ Stan assured her as he drove through the gates.
Mary twisted round in her seat to return Jean’s hasty wave as she sprinted out of the canteen ahead of Angela Browne and Bobbie Fraser. The three women pilots wore their sheepskin jackets unzipped over their Sidcot suits and carried their helmets as they rushed across the lawn to be first into the ops room to receive their orders for the day. The idea that she would soon be joining them gave Mary butterflies in her stomach.
Stan settled in to enjoy the drive past Burton Grange, through Rixley village with its church and row of cottages then on towards the coast. ‘You certainly made a good impression on someone,’ he teased Mary, who had slung her suitcase on the back seat of the car and now looked nervously ahead. ‘I’m talking about Flight Lieutenant Ainslie. I overheard him singing your praises on the phone yesterday – he couldn’t say enough in your favour.’
‘Lord knows why,’ she murmured as they entered a green and gold tunnel formed by overhanging branches of closely planted trees. Glimpses of a bright blue sky between the autumn leaves promised a fine day ahead. ‘The only time he’s had anything to do with me was when we ferried those patients from the convalescent wing to the hospital on that dreadful night and I ended up in a dead faint on the floor.’
‘He didn’t mention that,’ Stan said with a smile. ‘It was all: “Mary Holland is an excellent driver … In my experience Mary Holland is extremely dependable … She may not have many qualifications but she has a darned good head on her shoulders.”’
M
ary laughed at Stan’s accurate impression of their superior officer’s accent. She blushed nonetheless. ‘I’ve got a lot to live up to, then.’
‘You can do it.’ The car emerged from the trees on to a sunlit scene of rolling hills broken up by small copses and the occasional rocky outcrop. ‘Make sure to drop me a line telling me how you’re getting on.’
‘I will,’ she promised. She swayed against Stan as the car rounded a bend at top speed, her face still flushed.
‘Oops!’ He grinned.
‘Stan Green, you did that on purpose!’
‘As if I would.’
She flicked his arm with her fingers; a ‘take that!’ gesture that didn’t need words.
‘Mind you don’t take on any fancy airs down there in Thame,’ he warned. ‘We don’t want you coming back to Yorkshire all la-di-da.’
‘As if!’ She wished that all men were as easy to get on with as Stan. ‘Haven’t you thought of applying for the conversion course yourself?’ she mentioned as they passed between high hawthorn hedges. Was it her imagination or was the sky already lightening the way it did when you approached the coast?
‘Not likely,’ he protested. ‘I prefer to keep both feet firmly on the ground.’
‘You mean you’re afraid of heights?’
‘Scared stiff; always have been. I’ll go like a bat out of hell on two wheels or four but you won’t find me going within half a mile of an aeroplane, unless it’s to mend the fuel pump or what have you. If you ask me, a man would be born with a pair of wings if he was meant to fly.’
‘Or she,’ Mary corrected. She spied her first glimpse of a glittering watery horizon straight ahead. ‘So why push me into doing what you would never do yourself?’
‘Fair point.’ Stan always enjoyed chipping away at Mary’s brittle reticence and regretted that their journey was coming to an end. ‘I hope you realize that I’ll miss our little chats.’
‘Yes and likewise. But I hope I’ll be back.’
