The Girls in Blue

by Lily Baxter

  She was on her way back from the ablutions carrying a basket of wet clothes, when she heard the roar of a motorcycle engine. At first she thought nothing of it as there were always messengers travelling to and fro between the priory and the aerodrome, but she realised suddenly that it had slowed down almost to a walking pace and was close behind her. She stopped and turned slowly as the rider drew the machine to a halt at her side. He took off his leather helmet and goggles confirming her suspicion that it was Gil Maddern.

  ‘Hello, Miranda.’

  ‘Hello.’ She eyed him coolly.

  ‘I thought if you weren’t doing anything important, you might like a jaunt into town.’

  ‘It seems a long way to come on the off chance. I might be on duty.’

  He glanced at the washing basket. ‘Very true, but I telephoned first and checked with your section officer.’

  ‘I don’t believe you. She wouldn’t divulge something like that over the phone.’

  ‘I had to fib a bit. I said that we were engaged and that I was being posted far away, and this was our last chance to see each other before I left.’

  ‘You’re such a liar. How could you make up something like that?’

  ‘Call it quick thinking on my part. That’s what keeps us alive in dog fights with the Luftwaffe. You don’t get second chances up there, but you and I started off on the wrong foot, Miranda. Will you give me another go? Perhaps we could have a spot of lunch, followed by a sedate walk around the castle ruins, and finish off with afternoon tea in one of those quaint teashops owned by genteel elderly ladies.’

  ‘You think of everything, don’t you?’

  ‘Does that mean you’ll come?’

  She hesitated for a moment, but the wicker basket was heavy and water was dripping onto her shoes. The thought of a day out and some half decent food was too tempting to pass over. She was about to accept but glancing down at her plain grey slacks and thick woollen sweater she realised suddenly that she must look like a complete frump. ‘I’ll have to change first.’

  ‘You look fine as you are,’ he said with a casual shrug. ‘Slacks are more suitable for riding pillion than a skirt.’

  ‘You were watching.’ She felt her cheeks flame with colour but she looked him in the eyes. ‘How did you do that?’

  He grinned. ‘There’s a mirror on the handlebar. Very useful and saves turning one’s head.’

  She was about to protest when she realised that he was teasing her and she laughed. ‘It was dark and it was snowing. There’s absolutely no way you could have seen anything.’

  ‘A chap can use his imagination, can’t he?’

  She shook her head. ‘I’ll definitely wear slacks. Give me five minutes and I’ll be with you.’

  It was a good fifteen minutes before she emerged from the hut, still wearing the same slacks but having changed the thick woollen sweater for a cotton blouse and a cashmere cardigan. Stopping for a moment to button her camel coat, she adjusted her beret and climbed onto the pillion. She knew they would be seen as they left the priory grounds and tongues would start wagging, but somehow she did not care. The lure of a day out was too appealing to resist.

  It was cold but the rain had ceased and the drive through the country lanes was uneventful. Gil handled the machine expertly, and after the first couple of miles Miranda began to relax. By the time they reached the town centre she could honestly say that she had enjoyed the experience, although on a couple of occasions when Gil overtook a lumbering horse-drawn farm cart she had had to close her eyes and pray for deliverance. It was midday and they lunched in a mock-Tudor restaurant where the waitresses were motherly middle-aged women who immediately fell for Gil’s charms and could not do enough for him. The brown Windsor soup was thick and glutinous but the bread rolls were fresh and still warm from the oven. Miranda noticed with a wry smile that Gil had an extra pat of butter on his plate, and when the main course was served she was certain that his fillet of plaice was at least half as big again as hers. He managed to plough through it together with the huge portion of chips and rewarded the waitress with lavish compliments and his most winning smile.

  Miranda waited until their plates were cleared away and the waitress was out of earshot. ‘Aren’t you ashamed of yourself?’ she whispered.

  ‘I was just being polite. It’s good to show one’s appreciation.’

  ‘You were flirting with that poor woman. You’re shameless, Gilbert.’

  His eyes danced with merriment. ‘Now you sound like my mother. She always calls me Gilbert when she’s cross with me.’

  It was impossible to keep up the pretence that she was angry and Miranda smiled. ‘I bet she spoiled you when you were a child.’

  ‘Not at all; she was very strict.’

  ‘But you were an only child.’

  ‘I don’t know what gave you that idea. As a matter of fact I have three older sisters, and I can assure you they didn’t spoil me either.’

  ‘Is that how you know so much about women?’

  ‘I learned to respect them, and to appreciate them. My father died when I was six, leaving Mother with four of us to bring up on her own. She took over the business and made a great success of it.’

  Intrigued, Miranda leaned her elbows on the table, watching him carefully. This was not the blasé, devil-may-care Mad Dog character he chose to portray. ‘What sort of business, Gil?’

  ‘My grandfather was an auctioneer and Father went into the business straight from school. They did well enough but then Father became ill and the firm lost money. It took Mother several years but she built it up again and did even better.’

  ‘She must be quite a woman.’

  ‘She is.’

  ‘And your sisters?’

  He paused, looking up to smile at the waitress as she brought them their dessert of apple pie and custard. ‘That looks wonderful. Thank you.’

  ‘I hope you enjoy it, sir.’ She moved away to serve the couple at the next table.

  ‘You were telling me about your sisters.’

  ‘Beth and Mary are both married and Felicity works in the family firm. I’m supposed to be taking over from Mother when she retires, but I know she’s not going to give up easily.’

  Miranda was intrigued. She was seeing a completely different person from the man she had imagined Gil Maddern to be. ‘Do you want to be an auctioneer?’

  He pulled a face as he dug his spoon into the pie. ‘Perhaps it’s not the career I would have chosen, but if I survive this war I suppose I’ll settle down and take up the gavel. I owe it to Mother. She worked damned hard to put me through university.’

  ‘Yes, I can see that, but do you think you would be able to give up flying?’

  ‘You understand, don’t you? You barely know me and yet you’ve put your finger on the one thing that would make it almost impossible for me to do my duty by my family. How did you know that, Miranda?’

  She shrugged her shoulders, embarrassed by the intensity of his reaction to what had seemed a perfectly natural assumption on her part. ‘It’s obvious that you love what you’re doing, even though it’s terribly dangerous and there’s a strong chance that one day your luck will run out.’ She pushed her plate away. ‘I’m sorry, but I really can’t manage to finish the pie. It’s delicious but I’m full.’

  He gave her a long look. ‘You’re upset, and I can’t imagine it’s the thought of me buying it that’s made you look like that.’

  Startled, she raised her eyes to his. ‘I – I was thinking about my Uncle Jack. He’s a pilot in Fighter Command.’

  ‘This isn’t about him though, is it? I might not be psychic but I’ve got three sisters. I know when girls are keeping secrets. There’s someone else, isn’t there?’

  ‘Not really. Well, in a way.’ Miranda toyed with her spoon, drawing lines in the custard on her plate. ‘It’s something and nothing. Just a man I met when my mother sent me to live with my grandparents in Weymouth.’

  ‘Do you feel like tel
ling me about him? I’d like to know. Maybe it would help to talk.’

  In spite of everything, Miranda found herself confiding things to Gil that she had never shared with anyone, not even Rita. He listened intently until she had finished speaking.

  ‘I suppose you think it’s stupid having a crush on someone who’s so antagonistic towards my family,’ Miranda said, waiting nervously for his reaction. ‘I know how it must seem.’

  ‘Not at all. I think it’s perfectly natural and that I’ve got a serious rival.’

  ‘Now you’re teasing me again.’ Miranda looked away, wishing that she had kept her thoughts and feelings to herself.

  He reached across the table to lay his hand on hers. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to sound flippant.’

  ‘You must think I’m awfully silly.’

  ‘No, of course not, and I’m glad you felt able to share that with me.’ He raised his hand to beckon to the waitress who had just served the people at the next table. ‘May I have the bill, please?’

  The cold air outside almost took Miranda’s breath away. The street was quiet and with all the shops closed it was hardly the most exciting place to spend a Sunday afternoon. The wind sent dead leaves dancing across the paving stones and heavy cumulus clouds threatened rain or even sleet.

  Gil tucked her hand into the crook of his arm. ‘What would you like to do now, Miranda?’

  She shivered despite the warmth of his body close to hers. ‘It’s a bit chilly. Perhaps we ought to be getting back now.’

  ‘Actually, I’ve a better idea.’ He met her curious gaze with a rueful smile. ‘I have a confession to make.’

  ‘Really? Okay, now it’s your turn.’ She fell into step at his side, wondering what was coming next and intrigued in spite of herself. ‘Go on.’

  ‘I have a secret passion for Dorothy Lamour, and on the way here I saw that The Road to Singapore is playing at the Majestic. If we get a move on we should just make the matinee performance.’

  ‘Well,’ Miranda said, pretending to frown. ‘I wouldn’t want to come between you and Dorothy, and anyway it’ll be nice and warm in the cinema. Let’s go.’

  ‘Promise you won’t get jealous,’ Gil said as they quickened their pace. ‘I mean, it’s deadly serious between me and Dottie. I’m a pushover for exotic women wearing sarongs.’

  ‘Your secret is safe with me.’

  It was dark when they came out of the cinema but Miranda hardly noticed the sleet-spiked rain. She had enjoyed an afternoon of pure escapism, and reality had not yet claimed her. ‘I really loved that film. Thanks, Gil.’

  He slipped his arm around her shoulders as they were jostled by the crowds of cinemagoers pouring out onto the street. ‘It looks as if we’re too late to find a teashop open.’

  ‘I think I’d better get back to camp anyway. But thanks again. It’s been lovely.’

  ‘We must do it again very soon.’

  They started off in the direction of the car park, but Miranda was suddenly uneasy. ‘Perhaps we’d better leave it for a while.’

  ‘Why? What’s the matter?’

  ‘Nothing, really.’

  ‘It doesn’t sound like nothing if you don’t want to see me again.’

  ‘It’s not that, exactly. It’s just that, well, girls talk.’

  ‘You shouldn’t believe everything you hear.’

  ‘I know, and I don’t. But …’

  They had reached the car park and he stopped, taking her by the shoulders. ‘But what?’

  ‘I’ve already told you that it’s complicated, and anyway I don’t want to get involved with a chap who might …’ She bit her lip. ‘Don’t make me say it.’

  He let his hands fall to his sides. ‘You don’t want to fall for someone who might go for a Burton at any given moment.’

  ‘It sounds dreadful when you put it that way.’

  ‘But that’s what you were thinking, isn’t it?’

  ‘Something like that, I suppose.’

  He climbed onto the motorbike. ‘I’ll take you back to Henlow.’

  ‘I’m sorry, Gil. I didn’t mean to spoil things. I’ve had a truly lovely day.’ Her voice broke but there was nothing she could do other than get on behind him and hold on as he kick-started the engine. She was not certain if the moisture on her cheeks was due to the rain or her own tears as she rested her head against his back. Somehow it had all gone horribly wrong and she did not know how to make it right again.

  The rain had ceased when he dropped her off outside hut five, and the clouds had parted to allow a watery moon to shed its light on the priory and its grounds.

  ‘Goodnight, Gil,’ Miranda said warily. ‘Thanks again for a super time.’

  He slipped his hand into an inside pocket and pulled out a hanky. ‘Your mascara’s run,’ he said, pressing it into her hand. ‘Take care of yourself, Miranda.’ He revved the engine and drove off before she had a chance to say anything.

  She walked slowly towards the hut door, clutching the hanky. She knew that she had done the right thing, but she could not understand why it felt like the worst decision of her life.

  Gloria opened the door to let her in. She was frowning ominously. ‘Where the hell have you been, Goody Two-Shoes? The section leader wants to see you in her office toot sweet. Looks like you’re for the high jump.’

  Chapter Eleven

  AS SHE SAT in the crowded railway compartment, Miranda could still hear the section leader’s voice ringing in her ears. She had broken the news to Miranda as gently as was possible, but the knowledge that her father had been killed in action still came as a body blow. Somehow she had never linked danger and death to the fact that he was a professional soldier. Her father had been invincible; a hero who won every battle, but now she had to come to terms with the fact that he had been one of the fatalities of the North African campaign. She could not remember exactly what happened next, except that she had been granted compassionate leave, and now she was on her way to her grandparents’ home to comfort and be comforted.

  She had telephoned to say that she would be arriving on the midday train, but she was not expecting to be met. She had flung a few things in a small holdall and had resigned herself to brave the chill winds and wait for a bus, but as she left the station she heard someone call her name. She looked round and saw Tommy Toop standing beside a military staff car and to her surprise he was in uniform. She hurried towards him. ‘Hello, Tommy. I didn’t know you’d joined up.’

  He saluted, grinning. ‘It weren’t voluntary, miss. I had no choice, but as it happens it ain’t so bad. I’m a driver, as you might have guessed.’

  ‘I can see that, but what are you doing here?’

  ‘I’ve come to meet you.’ He opened the car door. ‘Hop in.’

  She could feel the east wind scything through the streets and sand blasting anyone and anything in its path, and she did not waste time arguing. She waited until he had taken his seat. ‘Are you supposed to be doing this?’

  ‘Nope, but your gran sent a message to the camp at Bovington. My colonel’s one of your grandad’s old pals, apparently. Anyway he was coming here today to inspect a camp near Moonfleet and he said I could pick you up and take you home. Sorry to hear about your dad, by the way.’

  ‘Thank you.’ She sat in silence for a moment, struggling to maintain her composure. Dealing with the sympathy of others was almost as hard as coming to terms with the knowledge that she would never see her father again. She took a deep breath. ‘So how do you like being in the army?’

  ‘It’s okay. In fact I’m having the time of me life.’ He shot her a sideways glance and winked. ‘There’s lots of opportunities for a chap to make a bit on the side. I’m up to all the dodges; legal ones, of course, and I’m even managing to save a bit from me pay. I get three square meals a day, which is more than I ever had living at home, so I can’t complain.’

  ‘Lucky you.’ Miranda lapsed into silence again until they were halfway along the beach road. ‘Have
you heard from Rita recently?’

  ‘Yep. She’s been transferred to Warmwell which is just down the road from me. We’re stepping out regular, only she won’t admit it. She’s got her eye on one of them glamour-boys at the aerodrome, but she always falls back on good old Tommy.’

  Miranda gazed at him in amazement. She could hardly believe how much he had changed since she last saw him. He seemed like a different person now, and she was impressed. ‘Good for you, Tommy. Rita needs someone steady in her life, poor girl. But to be honest I never thought it would be you.’

  ‘Nor I, miss. But there you go, that’s what war does to folks. You either swim with the tide or you go under. I ain’t the type to do that. Unsinkable, that’s me.’

  ‘I’m very glad to hear it,’ Miranda said and was surprised to realise that she meant it. With his father and brothers constantly in and out of prison, Tommy’s future had always been a matter of conjecture, but his devotion to Rita appeared to be genuine and he was obviously determined to better himself.

  He dropped her off at the gates of Highcliffe and drove away with a toot-toot on the car’s horn, which made her smile. Perhaps he was unsinkable as he said; she hoped so for his sake. She opened the gate, pausing for a moment to take in the view although the world seemed to end at the cliff top, and Portland had disappeared behind a grey veil of fog. A few seagulls mewed mournfully overhead, but otherwise the only sound was that of the waves lapping the shore. The wind had dropped suddenly and the air was eerily still, as if the elements knew that there was sadness and loss hanging in a cloud over the old house. She went down the path and made her way round to the back door.