by Jenny Holmes
Angela shook her head. ‘Last reported off the southern tip of Spain, heading for the Dodecanese.’
‘You don’t say.’ Bobbie gave her a sharp look. ‘How do you feel about that?’
‘Sorry, of course.’
‘I’ve been wondering: did Lionel have the all-important talk with your papa?’
‘Hush!’ Angela warned as footsteps approached. ‘Yes,’ she said under her breath as Jean returned. The family approved of the engagement. The deed was done.
‘Marvellous!’ Bobbie was on the point of sharing the good news with Jean when Angela stepped between them.
‘I say, Jean, I hear you’re in line for promotion to flight captain after your recent heroics.’
‘Am I?’ It was the first Jean had heard of it and she blushed furiously. ‘Who have you been talking to?’
‘Hilary. He’s made sure that the top brass got to hear of your exploits. It’s only a matter of time, believe me.’
Bobbie went off to greet the first arrivals, Cameron and Douglas – the former fashionably dressed in a tweed sports jacket and open-necked shirt, the latter more conservative in a double-breasted navy blue suit. ‘Help yourselves to drinks,’ she told them as she stationed herself by the door.
Angela towed Jean in her wake to say hello to Cameron. ‘Where’s Hilary?’ she demanded.
‘On his way.’ Cameron scanned the room, which was quickly filling with guests. ‘There’s no Lionel, I take it?’
‘Sadly, no. I was just saying to Jean: Hilary has put her name forward for promotion, and quite right too.’ There was a nervous energy in Angela’s voice as she skipped between subjects in her usual animated style. Her cheeks were flushed. ‘I wish I’d seen Jerry’s face when he caught sight of his opponent. Imagine the shock of realizing that a mere woman had outflown him!’
‘It’s no more than we’ve come to expect of you, Jean.’ Anticipating a relaxed evening, Cameron poured himself a whisky. ‘But I see we’re embarrassing you. And you don’t have a drink. What would you like?’
‘Hilary, hello.’ Over by the door, Bobbie’s welcoming smile was broad as she stood on tiptoe and accepted a peck on the cheek. ‘I was afraid you wouldn’t make it.’
‘Happy birthday, Bobbie – I wouldn’t miss it for the world.’ Though Hilary was no lover of these occasions and his desk was piled high with unanswered correspondence, he deemed it necessary to show his face. ‘I may have to leave early,’ he warned her. ‘Please don’t be offended.’ He smiled and nodded hello to Cameron and Douglas then wove his way between ATA pilot Horace Jackson, Fred Rowe from the met room, Third Officer Agnes Wright and several other junior-ranking officers from the ferry pool. He’d almost reached the table where drinks and a large cake with candles were set out when Angela intercepted him.
‘Hilary, at last. Did you walk here or come in the car?’ Her voice rose above the hum of conversation as she linked arms with him. ‘Never mind; it doesn’t matter. The important thing is that you’re here.’
Accustomed to her vivacious manner, Hilary didn’t notice anything unusual. Angela was Angela: flitting from person to person, alighting on one then fluttering off like a bright butterfly. Truth to tell, she’d always been too frivolous for censorious Hilary’s liking but Lionel had been smitten early on by her raven locks, delicate features and striking deep blue eyes – each to his own, of course. There; she was off again – sliding her arm free and floating towards the door to greet Teddy.
‘Happy birthday,’ Teddy told Bobbie as Angela approached. He inclined his head towards the birthday girl – a gesture that fell between a formal bow and a more intimate recognition. His eyes locked with hers for a brief moment and then Angela whisked him away.
Bobbie’s heartbeat quickened. Was it because of the special look she’d exchanged with Teddy or because Angela’s interruption had unnerved her? It was difficult to decide. In any case, Bobbie’s duties as hostess pushed her on; more smiling and greeting followed by assigning gramophone duty. ‘Who’ll take charge of changing the records?’ she asked the group, which included Fred, Agnes and Horace. ‘The gramophone is tucked away behind the drinks table. Do I have any volunteers?’
Two hands shot up and Bobbie chose Agnes.
‘Watch out; she’ll be at the sherry all night,’ Horace complained. A late recruit into the ATA, having failed the eyesight test for the RAF, he made up for his slight stature and already-receding hairline with a keen wit, usually directed against his female colleagues.
‘Ha ha, very funny!’ Teetotaller Agnes shook her head and departed.
The strain of playing hostess weighed heavily with Bobbie. She felt that the evening was off to a slow start but hoped that music would improve the atmosphere. Not that there was much room for dancing, she realized. Oh, why in the world had she chosen the Fox? Wouldn’t it have been better to have held the party at the Grange, where there was more space?
‘Here.’ Teddy sidled up with a glass of Dubonnet. ‘We can’t have the birthday girl standing all alone without a drink in her hand, can we?’
Gratefully, Bobbie took the glass and felt her heart race once more. The music had started: a Glenn Miller big-band number that swung along nicely. She looked up at Teddy and thanked him.
‘I’m sorry you missed your target,’ he told her. ‘I know it means a lot to you.’
‘It does,’ she admitted. Everything in Bobbie’s life prior to joining the ATA had come easily; she’d never had to strive or prove herself, had simply sailed on a wave of affluence and affection into whichever harbour she chose. Ever since she could remember she’d been surrounded by family who loved her and by any number of governesses, tutors, school teachers, dressmakers, milliners, house maids, stable lads and gamekeepers whose support and encouragement she took for granted. Gaining promotion to first officer had been her first real challenge: a test of her independence as well as proof of her skill as a pilot. ‘Still, there’s always tomorrow,’ she said to Teddy with a determined tilt of her head.
‘That’s the spirit.’ He cast an eye around the crowded room then turned his full attention back to her. ‘We can’t let Jean take all the glory, can we?’
‘Oh, I would never put myself in the same league as Jean,’ Bobbie said quickly.
‘Uh-oh, Miss Modesty! Don’t let Squadron Leader Stevens hear you say that.’
‘It’s true. Jean is far and away the best pilot on the base. You know that she won a scholarship to the Women’s Air Reserve, which makes her very bright indeed.’
‘Well, I have noticed that she always has her head stuck in a book.’ Teddy’s attention drifted again. He saw Angela flit from Hilary to Cameron then back to Hilary. No doubt the trio were reminiscing about the good old days, a conversation that would automatically exclude him so he decided to stay where he was for the time being. A new record had begun: a cheerful song by Gracie Fields that set his teeth on edge. Wish me luck as you wave me goodbye, Cheerio, here I go, on my way.
‘Do you fancy a stroll in the fresh air?’ he suggested to Bobbie as he took her by the arm.
‘Just for a few moments,’ she agreed.
‘Until this song is finished,’ he said as he led her down the corridor and through the public bar. ‘I don’t know what people see in our Gracie, I really don’t.’
‘It’s good to see Bobbie letting her hair down,’ Douglas remarked. He and Jean had found a quiet corner close to the door. They’d just watched Bobbie and Teddy go outside for a breather and now sat as fly-on-the-wall observers as festivities got properly under way. Horace and Fred had stationed themselves close to the keg of beer and were imbibing freely, while Angela, Cameron and Hilary shared a joke in the centre of the room.
Jean agreed. ‘It’s funny, though; she was dreading reaching the grand old age of twenty-two.’
‘It beats the alternative any day of the week.’
‘Yes, of course.’ Jean’s response was quick, though she was slightly taken aback by the flash of gallows humo
ur from Douglas.
‘How old are you, Jean?’ He looked intently at her as he waited for her answer.
‘I’m twenty; it’s on my file.’
‘Yes, of course. When I was your age, back in the olden days, we never imagined events would take this turn for the worse. My father’s generation had just fought the war to end all wars. No one in their wildest dreams envisaged Herr Hitler storming to power and setting up the Third Reich, taking over half of Europe.’
Jean registered the regret in his voice. ‘My father thought the same way. He never fought in the Great War, though; fishing was a protected occupation.’
‘Mine did.’ Douglas could remember standing with his mother on the station platform in 1917, waving his father off to war. The Union Jacks fluttering in the sunshine and the men in uniform leaning out of the train windows had made it seem jolly to his ten-year-old self. His mother had dabbed her cheeks with her handkerchief then they’d gone home and had scones for tea. That had been the last time Douglas had seen his father. ‘That was why I was one of the first to volunteer for the RAF this time around – so that their sacrifice shouldn’t be in vain.’
The sombre subject sat uneasily beside the chirruping voice of Gracie Fields so he steered Jean in a new direction. ‘You’ve no idea how relieved I was to receive that phone call from you last Wednesday. In my mind’s eye I had you ditching your crate into the North Sea at the very least.’
‘I’m sorry you had to tow her back from the Grange.’ Jean’s apology was sincere. ‘I was hoping to save you the trouble.’
Douglas shook his head. ‘I wasn’t talking about the Spit; it was you I was worried about.’
Her forehead creased then she forced herself to look directly at him. The expression on his broad, square face had lost its usual guarded aspect and he stared straight at her, studying her response. ‘I came through without a scratch,’ she reminded him, ‘so you needn’t have been concerned.’
‘It was the not knowing.’
‘Quite. Will they ever get round to providing us with a radio, I wonder? I mean, it makes no sense to send us up without some means of communication. Or is it that they think we have enough to do as it is, just mastering the art of flying? Do you suppose that’s it?’
‘Not knowing what had happened to you.’ Douglas cast aside his reserve. He would repeat his remark and let Jean interpret it however she wanted. She would probably see it as fatherly concern, given the difference in their ages. So be it.
She frowned again, as if trying to work out a puzzle. ‘As you see: all’s well that ends well.’
He thought how lovely Jean was, even when she knitted her eyebrows into a frown. There was a dignity about her that he seldom saw in young women and a self-containment that put her out of reach. There’s no fool like an old fool, he told himself as he stamped on his tender feelings until they squealed for mercy. Then he proceeded to make a superficial remark about the new tune on the gramophone.
‘Thank you, though,’ Jean interrupted. She reached out to rest her fingers on the back of his hand; the lightest of touches.
Douglas lowered his gaze. Even if he’d been ten years younger and in his prime, he would have stood little chance with Jean. He saw that he was in danger of making a great fool of himself. ‘Not at all,’ he said as he stood up and made his excuses. ‘I was only doing my job; whenever a pilot fails to bring in an aircraft on schedule, it’s a cause for concern. Now if you’ll forgive me …’
‘Of course,’ Jean said. Douglas left somewhat abruptly. The puzzle in Jean’s mind remained unsolved.
By nine o’clock the party was in full swing. Horace had shoved Agnes to one side and chosen up-tempo records that had set everyone dancing despite the crush. A few desultory drinkers from the public rooms had gatecrashed, including non-commissioned ranks from the ferry pool – Gordon was there, joining in the fun with Olive, Harry and Stan – and now Bobbie was persuaded to stand on a chair in the centre of the room, awaiting a chorus of ‘Happy Birthday’ when the next record ended.
‘Stay right there,’ Angela ordered. ‘Teddy, don’t let her escape!’
Teddy jumped up beside Bobbie and put his arm around her waist while all the men in the room except Hilary and Douglas knelt in a circle at her feet. Jean, Agnes, Angela and Olive stood smiling in the background.
‘Look at her; there’s nothing of her,’ Olive whispered to Agnes.
‘Yes, you wouldn’t think she was twenty-two to look at her; more like fifteen or sixteen.’
Bobbie’s glowing face gave off a mixture of embarrassment and childlike delight. She came no higher than Teddy’s shoulder as she looked down at her assembled admirers. ‘Do I really have to perch up here?’ she protested.
‘Yes!’ the men clamoured.
As the loud hiss of static signalled the end of the record, Teddy waved one arm in the air to conduct the raucous song. ‘Ready? “Hap-py birth-day to you …”’
Bobbie leaned against Teddy’s chest and put her hands over her ears.
‘“… Happy birthday, dear Bobbie, happy birthday to you!”’
The song finished and Teddy jumped down from the chair. He lifted Bobbie and swung her to the floor.
‘Cut the cake!’ Harry and Gordon cried.
Teddy led her to the table and handed her a knife. She sliced through the white icing and into the dark fruit cake.
‘We need plates!’ Another cry went up and Olive ran to fetch Mrs Loxley, who appeared with a pile of assorted saucers and dishes.
‘This is the best I can do at short notice.’ The canny landlady noticed rows of empty bottles and glasses as she plonked the crockery on the table. ‘There’s plenty more beer on tap in the Snug,’ she announced in a loud voice as she hurried back to her post.
‘Regretfully, it’s time for me to call it a day,’ Hilary told Douglas in an undertone soon after the cake had been cut.
‘Me too.’ Douglas took his car key from his jacket pocket. ‘I can give you a lift back if you like.’
The two officers said their goodbyes to Bobbie then took their leave, Douglas limping heavily in Hilary’s wake. They were jostled in the corridor by happy party-goers and they welcomed the cold night air as they stepped outside.
‘What a racket, eh?’ Hilary said through clenched teeth as he got into the car. ‘But a chap has to show willing.’
Douglas said nothing. He knew he’d still be kicking himself tomorrow morning when he remembered how he’d overstepped the mark with Jean. He’d seen her chatting with Horace as he and Hilary had made their exit and the sight had made him furious. Idiot! he told himself as he drove through the village on the short journey home. Get back to your chits and met reports. From now on keep your head down and try not to give Jean Dobson another thought.
By eleven o’clock Angela had danced with every available partner, including Harry, who had two left feet, and a worse-for-wear Fred Rowe from the met room, who could do little more than shuffle and grin his way through a quickstep. Thick blue cigarette smoke curled around Bobbie’s makeshift birthday banner and up towards the beamed ceiling. Empty glasses were stacked on the table next to the remains of the cake.
‘My poor shoes!’ Angela complained to Bobbie as Horace exchanged a joke with Fred then placed the final record of the evening on the turntable with a remarkably steady hand. ‘I wish I’d known Harry and Fred were such clod-hoppers; I’d have steered well clear.’
The words were hardly out of her mouth when Teddy took Angela by the hand and claimed the last dance. He held her close and they swayed rhythmically while a stranded Bobbie was quickly rescued by Cameron. Soon they too had joined the dancers in a revolving embrace.
‘I trust you’ve had a good time?’ Cameron’s hold was relaxed, one hand resting lightly on Bobbie’s back. Flickering gaslight reflected in the lenses of his glasses and his expression was kind.
She nodded. ‘Better than expected, as a matter of fact. Thank you for asking.’
‘It’s
not exactly the Ritz, though.’ Throughout the night Cameron had kept a watchful eye on Bobbie. He’d seen how nervous she’d been at the start and how she’d gradually relaxed. But then she’d seemed embarrassed by the hoo-ha surrounding the ‘Happy Birthday’ song, mostly thanks to Teddy. The silly chair business had brought out a protective feeling in Cameron, though he reminded himself that Bobbie was perfectly capable of looking after herself.
‘No, I was happy to keep it low-key.’ Cameron’s left palm was cool beneath Bobbie’s fingertips, his expression hard to read behind his glasses as she looked up into his face. When a nearby couple threatened to back into them he neatly sidestepped Bobbie out of trouble. ‘How about you; have you enjoyed my party?’ she asked.
‘Very much. It’s good to have something to celebrate once in a while – a birthday or an engagement. As a matter of fact, I’m due to attend a good pal’s wedding later this month. I’m looking forward to that.’
Bobbie bit her lip and nodded. It was on the tip of her tongue to share Angela’s exciting news. Now is not the right moment, she decided. Far better to wait for the official announcement.
The music ended and the couples separated – all except Angela and Teddy, whose arms stayed wrapped around each other in a dark corner of the room. Horace lowered the gramophone lid and came out from behind the table as Mrs Loxley bustled in.
‘Do you need a hand with the clearing up?’ Jean was the first to volunteer. She’d reluctantly agreed to a last dance with Harry, who was eager as a puppy but without a musical bone in his body, and she’d been relieved when it had ended. Now she was happy to stay behind and help put the room to rights.
The landlady handed Jean a tray then pointed to the empty glasses. When Olive stepped forward to collect the ashtrays she received a grateful nod. Soon there was a small group of helpers taking down balloons, sweeping the floor and carrying away the empty beer keg and bottles of spirits.
‘Who would like a lift?’ Cameron called from the doorway. ‘Bobbie, why not come with me? Where’s Angela got to? And Jean; it’s started to rain. I’ll wait in the car for you.’ He stepped aside for Stan, Harry and Gordon to pass.
