by Lily Baxter
She waited on the priory forecourt for half an hour, walking up and down in order to keep warm. The wild wind tugged at her Veronica Lake hairdo, dragging strands from beneath her beret and tangling them in her scarf. She glanced at her watch, wondering whether he had forgotten or had been unavoidably delayed. After an hour she was beginning to think that she had been stood up when she saw Angela running across the gravel from the direction of the ops room. She knew by the expression on her face that something was terribly wrong.
Chapter Fourteen
‘BUT HE WASN’T even on duty.’ Stunned and barely able to believe what she had just been told, Miranda could not accept the fact that Gil was dead.
Val thrust a cup of tea into her hands. ‘Angela said the air crew were scrambled and apparently the pilot who was rostered for duty went down with flu, so Gil took his place.’
‘He ditched in the sea,’ Miranda said hopefully. ‘Do we know anything else?’
Janice shook her head. ‘No one reported seeing a parachute. The Hurry was in flames when it hit the water. I’m sorry, love. Rotten luck.’
Miranda put the cup and saucer back on the table. ‘I’m sorry, I can’t drink it. I feel sick.’
‘Thank God my Cyril is a physical wreck,’ Janice said, shaking her head. ‘At least I know he’s safe working for the gas board.’
Gloria lit a cigarette, offering the pack to Miranda. ‘Take one, love. It’ll calm your nerves.’
‘No thanks.’ Miranda rose from the chair in the mess where the girls had taken her after Angela had given her the sad news. ‘I think I’ll get some fresh air.’
‘Will you be okay?’ Janice asked anxiously. ‘D’you want someone to go with you?’
Miranda shook her head. ‘No. You’ve all been very kind, but I think I’d like to be on my own for a bit.’
The rest of the day passed in a haze. Everyone was sympathetic but as Angela pointed out at supper that evening, it was fortunate that Miranda and Gil were not going steady. It was true, of course, but Miranda would have given anything to turn the clock back to their first date. She wished with all her heart that she had given Gil the chance to prove the gossips wrong, but instead she had behaved like a love-struck schoolgirl mooning over a man she barely knew. Gil had been so full of life and that last evening in the pub he had been kind and understanding. She had really thought that they might have something going for them, and now she was finding it hard to believe that he was never coming back. She hoped against hope that there had been a terrible mistake. Details of the dogfight were sketchy and she had to wait until Angela came off duty that evening before she could get more information.
‘Is there any chance that he might still be picked up alive, Angela?’
‘We heard his Mayday over the tannoy with his call sign, but it was very faint. He’d taken a direct hit, as had Reggie Madigan. We lost two planes in that encounter and no one was able to say if the pilots had bailed out. I’m so sorry, Miranda. It’s beastly bad luck.’
‘We were just getting to know one another, but it’s still a terrible shock. I just wish I’d been nicer to him in the beginning.’
‘Darling, hindsight is a wonderful thing. We all say and do things we regret later, but I’m sure he didn’t hold it against you. He wouldn’t have wanted to see you again if you’d really upset him.’
‘No, I suppose you’re right.’
‘I’ve been here longer than you, Miranda. I’ve seen this happen to other girls and some of them were engaged to pilots who bought it. It’s all part of the rotten war and there’s nothing we can do about it.’
‘I feel so guilty, Angela. I believed what the girls said, and I didn’t give him a fair chance.’
‘But you made it up the other night. We all saw him clowning around and making you laugh. That didn’t look like a chap with a broken heart. Try to think of it that way, if you can.’
Miranda did try, but she could not sleep that night for thinking of Gil’s last few minutes before his plane crashed. She had heard enough Maydays while working in the plotting room to know the sound of panic and desperation in the pilot’s voice. Some of them had survived, but very few were ever picked up alive from the cold waters of the Channel or the North Sea. The numbness she had experienced on hearing of her father’s death was replaced by raw-edged pain. Raif was lost to her and now Gil had been taken before they had a chance to really get better acquainted.
Next morning she could hardly drag herself out of bed and she found it almost impossible to concentrate on her work in the plotting room. At lunch time her supervisor told her to take the rest of the day off, and in the middle of the afternoon she received a summons to the section leader’s office.
After a brief preamble she perched her glasses on the end of her nose and scanned Miranda’s service records. ‘I’m granting you a fortnight’s compassionate leave, Beddoes.’
‘Thank you, ma’am.’
‘In cases like this it’s common practice to transfer personnel to another station, although I’ll be sorry to lose a good plotter.’
‘I don’t want any special treatment. I’d really prefer to remain here.’
Her stern demeanour softened just a little. ‘I’m aware that your mother is working for the SOE, and that you’ve only recently lost your father. The death of the young pilot following on so soon must have affected you quite badly.’
‘It has, but I was only just getting to know him. It’s not as if we were engaged or anything. I’d like to keep my job here, ma’am.’
‘Very well. As I said, I’d be sorry to lose you, but we can’t afford to have someone in the plotting room whose mind isn’t fully engaged on the job in hand. Therefore I’ve arranged a railway pass for tomorrow, and you’ll take the compassionate leave. That’s an order.’
‘Yes, ma’am. Thank you.’
It seemed strange being back at Highcliffe with nothing to do and everyone treating her as if she were an invalid. Annie had been moved to bring her breakfast in bed on the first morning after she arrived home, and Granny had put a vase filled with Michaelmas daisies on her dressing table. It was nice at first to be petted and pampered, but after a couple of days Miranda was beginning to feel restive and even a little bored. Having grown accustomed to the hectic work in the ops room and the crowded atmosphere of hut five, she found the peace and quiet of the old house stultifying. She tried not to think about Gil, but that proved to be impossible. The best she could do was to hope that the end was swift and that he did not suffer.
There was a lull in the local air raids as the Luftwaffe seemed to be concentrating most of their efforts on London, but this was a constant source of worry to Miranda as Jack and Raif were probably in the thick of the aerial battles. She could only pray for their safety, and if her grandparents were worried they kept their fears to themselves. Miranda saw little of them during the day as her grandmother was kept busy with the WVS, and Grandpa combined his duties as magistrate with running his platoon in the Home Guard.
Miranda wandered about the garden when the weather was reasonably fine and dry, feeding the hens, collecting eggs and generally trying to be useful. Driven by curiosity she decided to take a look inside the coach house but found that it was locked and the key was missing. It was obvious from the cobwebs forming lacy curtains on the inside of the windows that no one had been in there for some time, and Miranda suspected that Granny had had a hand in closing down the illicit still, even though it meant she had lost her bartering power with the local farmers. Elzevir, she thought, must be brokenhearted having been deprived of his favourite tipple. Left to her own devices, Miranda retreated to the peace and quiet of the widow’s walk, and spent hours sitting outside, wrapped in her grandmother’s old fur coat, watching the changing moods of the sea and sky.
At the end of the fourth day she had had enough of her own company and she made up her mind to telephone Izzie, hoping to catch her that evening when she returned from work in the torpedo factory. It seemed mad that
all their lives should have been blighted by something that happened all those years ago. She waited until after supper when her grandfather had left for a Home Guard practice and Granny was settled by the wireless in the sitting room attempting to knit balaclava helmets for the army. She could be heard muttering every time she dropped a stitch or misread the pattern, having misplaced her reading glasses.
Miranda picked up the telephone and dialled the number.
‘Hello. This is the Carstairs residence.’ Mrs Beasley’s voice shrilled in Miranda’s ear.
‘Mrs Beasley, hello. It’s Miranda Beddoes. Is it possible to speak to Isabel?’
‘Just a moment, Miss Beddoes; I’ll see if she’s in.’ There was a long pause.
‘Miranda, is that you?’ Isabel’s more youthful tones sounded breathless and eager.
‘Yes, it is. How are you?’
‘I’m okay. What about you? And where are you?’
‘I’m at Highcliffe. I’ve got a few days’ leave and I wondered if we could meet somewhere, just to chat. I felt awful after what happened at the party.’
‘I can’t talk about it now, Miranda.’ Isabel dropped her voice to a whisper. ‘Daddy is somewhere around and he wouldn’t approve at all, but I’d love to see you.’
‘It’s Saturday tomorrow. Are you working?’
‘No, it’s my weekend off. I’ll have to hang up now, but meet me at the Jubilee clock at midday and we’ll talk then. Bye.’
Standing beneath the clock, Miranda had been waiting for what seemed like ages before she saw a familiar figure running towards her. Pink-cheeked and panting, Isabel gave her a hug. ‘Sorry I’m late, but the trains never run on time these days.’
‘It doesn’t matter. You’re here now.’ Miranda linked arms. ‘Let’s go somewhere and get a cup of tea and something to eat. I’m starving. There’s a café a little further along the Esplanade, let’s go there.’
‘All right. That sounds like a good plan.’
They walked quickly as the clouds gathered, threatening a shower, and said little until they were seated at a table in the café and the waitress had taken their order.
‘How are you, Miranda?’ Isabel said, scanning her face anxiously. ‘You look a bit peaky.’
Miranda could not bring herself to tell Izzie the real reason for her spell of leave and she made an effort to sound cheerful. ‘I’m fine, but more important, how are you? What’s happening between you and Jack?’
‘We’re still seeing each other, but it has to be in secret. I love him, Miranda, and he loves me. I hate all the lies and subterfuge, but I won’t give him up.’
‘Have you tried telling your father? I mean, he might be able to put your mind at rest.’
‘I wouldn’t dare. He’d be absolutely furious that I’d been seeing Jack in the first place, and he’d be sure to deny that he’d had an affair with your grandmother. He’s so used to wriggling out of difficult situations that I think he’s forgotten how to tell the truth.’ Isabel opened her handbag and took out a compact, flipping it open and examining her face in the tiny mirror. ‘I love my father, and he’s a brilliant surgeon, but he’s got a terrible weakness for a pretty face. Raif and I realised that a long time ago. I don’t know how Mummy puts up with him.’ She brushed an almost invisible smut off her nose and closed the compact with a snap, dropping it back into her bag.
‘She must love him a lot,’ Miranda said slowly. ‘I don’t think I could put up with a husband like that.’
‘I’ve never been certain how Mummy feels about anything, but I think it’s convenient for her to be married to someone who’s at the top of his profession. They don’t spend much time together. She’s going to Hollywood at the end of November when her play finishes.’
‘And Raif?’ Miranda simply had to ask.
‘I haven’t seen much of him. I do worry about him though.’
‘Has he got anyone special?’
‘Not that I know of.’ Isabel sat back in her chair as the waitress arrived with a tray of tea and dumped it unceremoniously on the table.
‘Sandwiches coming up in a mo.’ She stomped off to take an order from the next table.
‘Service with a smile,’ Isabel said, chuckling.
Miranda picked up the teapot. ‘Shall I be mother, or will you?’ She hesitated, gazing at Isabel whose face had suddenly crumpled like a baby that was about to cry. ‘What’s the matter?’
Isabel delved into her handbag once again but this time she brought out a hanky and mopped her eyes. ‘I’ve been trying to ignore the signs,’ she murmured. ‘But I’m afraid I’m …’ She shook her head. ‘I can’t even say it.’
Miranda had overhead snippets of conversations that started this way in the mess at the priory. She put the teapot down. ‘Are you pregnant, Izzie?’
A blush suffused Isabel’s face and she glanced round nervously. ‘Keep your voice down. Someone might hear.’
‘But are you?’
‘I think so, but I’m not absolutely sure. I keep hoping it’s a false alarm.’
‘Have you seen a doctor?’
‘I daren’t. Our doctor is a family friend. He’d tell Daddy and then I’d be in even more trouble.’
‘I don’t see how you could be.’ Miranda poured the tea, passing a cup to Isabel. ‘I don’t know how tea is supposed to help but it’s what everyone does in situations like this.’
‘It’s not funny. My life is ruined.’
‘I’m sorry. No, it’s not a joke, but you must tell Jack. I’m assuming he’s the father.’
‘Of course he is,’ Isabel said indignantly. ‘I’ve never been with anyone else. We were going to get married before that awful Ivy woman spoilt everything.’ Fresh tears poured down her cheeks and she buried her face in her hanky.
‘Two cheese sandwiches.’ The waitress slapped them down on the table. She glanced at Isabel, raised her eyebrows and walked away.
Miranda stirred her tea thoughtfully. ‘You must tell him, Izzie. He’ll do the right thing by you.’
‘But what is the right thing?’
‘I don’t think you can decide that on your own. You simply have to talk it over with Jack, and we need to get the truth out of someone.’
‘Not my father.’
‘Then that leaves my grandmother.’
Isabel took a large bite from her sandwich, chewed and swallowed. ‘Will you, Miranda?’
‘I think it ought to be Jack who tackles her on the subject, not me.’
‘But he isn’t here. This is a matter of life and death.’
Miranda stared at her aghast. ‘You wouldn’t? I mean you really wouldn’t, would you?’
‘What choice would I have? If I tell Mummy everything she might be able to arrange for me to go into a private clinic in London.’
‘Is that what you want, Izzie?’
Isabel’s eyes welled with tears. ‘No, of course not. If Jack and I had got married as we planned this would have been a happy time.’ She took another bite of her sandwich. ‘I’m so hungry these days. I’ll be fat as a barrel soon and then no one will want me ever again.’
‘Stop it.’ Miranda leaned towards her, frowning. ‘Stop talking like a ninny. You must telephone the aerodrome and see if you can get a message to Jack. Tell him you simply must see him.’
‘But it could be days before he gets a pass. I can’t leave it much longer, Miranda.’
‘Then I’ll have a word with Granny. She won’t like it, but I’m going to ask her outright.’
Miranda had to wait until after supper when she knew that they would not be disturbed. She found her grandmother in the small sitting room, peering at a knitting pattern. ‘May I come in, Granny?’
‘Of course.’ Maggie tossed the pattern aside. ‘Come and sit down. You poor girl, you must be bored stiff being stuck here with nothing to do.’
‘Not at all. It’s lovely to be here, but I’m afraid my leave will be up soon.’
‘Jack will be disappointed to have miss
ed you.’
Miranda pulled up a stool and sat down. ‘Granny, there’s something I have to ask you and I don’t quite know where to start.’
‘At the beginning is usually a good place.’ Maggie peered at her over the top of her reading glasses. ‘What’s this all about, Miranda? I sensed that there was something on your mind at supper.’
‘It’s something that Aunt Ivy said when she’d drunk too much at the party. I need to know if it’s true.’
‘Ivy’s tongue runs away with her when she’s had a few gins. What did she say?’
‘There’s no easy way to put this.’ Miranda took a deep breath. ‘She said that you’d had an affair with Max Carstairs and that Jack might be his son.’
Maggie stood up, sending knitting needles and wool flying. ‘Tittle-tattle. Idle gossip. You should know better than to listen to Ivy. Dreadful woman. I don’t know why I’ve put up with her all these years.’ She rounded on Miranda, fixing her with a hard stare. ‘Is this about the Carstairs girl and Jack? Did she put you up to this?’
‘She’s pregnant, Granny. She’s expecting a baby and it’s Jack’s. They were engaged to be married and then Ivy dropped her bombshell. You’ve got to tell them the truth. If it’s lies then they need to know.’
Maggie collapsed onto her chair. ‘I can’t,’ she whispered. ‘How could they do this to me?’
‘All you’ve got to do is to deny it. Surely that’s not so hard?’
‘I suppose it had to come out,’ Maggie said slowly. ‘I’ve been dreading this moment for twenty-five years.’
‘But you did have an affair with Max Carstairs.’
Maggie leaned back against the cushions, closing her eyes, and a faint smile curved her lips. ‘He was the most exciting man I’d ever met, and I was desperately in love with him.’
‘Tell me about it, Granny.’
‘It’s not easy to talk about something so personal.’
‘But this affects others now, especially Jack and Izzie.’
Maggie was silent for a moment and then she nodded her head slowly. ‘I suppose it’s time to admit the truth, but it happened such a long time ago.’
