Beneath Us the Stars

by David Wiltshire

  He chuckled.

  ‘Me too. Despite what you may have heard about us Yanks, this is not like me at all.’

  In an oak-panelled room they stood in line and drew coffee from a large battered urn.

  She led the way as they took their cups to a table and sat down. ‘It used to be served properly, but all the younger men are away.’

  When he sipped the warm liquid Bill couldn’t help giving an involuntary wince, for which she found herself apologizing – maddingly – yet again.

  ‘Sorry, I suppose you get the real thing.’

  Bill made a mental note to be more careful in the future. Their hosts had been at total war in the Atlantic now for four years. They had rationing and shortages of everything.

  ‘Yes – it’s not so bad for us. You folks have to put up with a lot.’

  Feeling uncomfortable he changed the subject.

  ‘How old did you say this college is?’

  She propped her elbows on the table and raised the cup to her lips with two hands. She looked at him over the brim. ‘Founded fifteen ninety-one. This part built – sixteenten and something or other.’

  In disbelief Bill shook his head.

  ‘That’s amazing. Do you know, this is the oldest building I’ve ever been in. It’s wonderful.’

  She snorted.

  ‘You ought to be here when there is a fen blow – it’s freezing. I need to wear the boots my mother gave me, all the time – even in bed.’

  He chuckled.

  ‘You should try our airfield.’

  She eventually plucked up courage to ask about him.

  ‘Have you been here long?’

  ‘Eight months. This is my first furlough.’

  ‘And you are staying in Cambridge?’

  Nodding, he beamed. ‘Yes, I was lucky. My hotel is right here in town.’

  She looked away. ‘I thought you people normally went up to London.’

  He raised an eyebrow. ‘You people?’

  She shifted uncomfortably.

  ‘Sorry – I meant – well, you know – you airforce types …’ She tailed off lamely.

  Bill, who couldn’t take his eyes off her, felt a moment of panic. ‘We’ve got a bad reputation, huh?’

  One delightful eyebrow rose as she teased: ‘No – no; exuberant perhaps.’

  He shook his head. ‘Well, sometimes the boys need to let off a little steam. London? Not for me. Frankly I just couldn’t face it. I’m not a big-city fan at the best of times, so Cambridge seemed like a good idea. I’ve always wanted to see the place. Harvard was founded by a Cambridge man, but I guess you know that.’

  ‘I do.’ She looked quizzically at him. ‘Were you at Harvard?’

  He lowered his cup gently to the saucer. ‘I had a semester term, then the Japs bombed Pearl – and here we all are.’

  She was pleasantly surprised. ‘What were you reading?’

  ‘Law.’

  It seemed to please her. ‘Really. Is your father a lawyer?’

  Bill grinned. ‘No – a dentist.’

  She feigned mock horror, put a hand to her mouth. ‘Oh dear, don’t look at mine.’

  He couldn’t help himself. ‘I already have. They’re beautiful.’

  She pulled a face. ‘Nobody’s ever said that before.’

  But she was inordinately pleased. In the pause that followed he eventually said, ‘And your parents, are they academic?’

  She giggled.

  ‘Oh dear me no. Dad was a printer but works in an aircraft factory now, and does fire-watching. He was lucky to get home from Dunkirk, though he was badly wounded. Mum looks after the home front and her parents, who are getting on a bit.’

  Nodding, he took another sip, looking at her all the time.

  ‘So, aren’t you very young to be a fellow?’

  ‘Well, it’s the war again isn’t it? Shorter degree courses and a lack of people to fill some of the positions.’ Her eyes flashed. ‘As a woman I’ve been uniquely lucky. There is no precedent for the position I hold in this all-male college. It’s unheard of – so much so that I have to live out. But I was the only one available to fill the gap. The war has changed a lot of things; traditions are under threat – not a bad thing, sometimes.’

  He shook his head. ‘I think you are being modest.’

  ‘Anyway,’ She grunted. ‘What exactly do you do in the Air Force?’

  ‘I fly a P51 Mustang.’

  She couldn’t keep the sudden anxiety out of her voice. ‘That’s dangerous.’

  Bill shrugged. ‘Being in a tank or a sub – that’s my idea of dangerous.’

  They spent another ten minutes talking about nothing in particular, Bill just happy to be in her company, unable to get enough of the sight and sound of her.

  She felt the excitement of being with him, began to feel more confident, was conscious of the continuing effect she seemed to be having on him. It was something that she had been aware of with male colleagues, and before that fellow students, but they had not interested her or excited her like this man. It was as if a veil had been removed from her existence. Everything seemed in sharper focus.

  With their cups empty they reluctantly got to their feet and made their way slowly back to the porter’s lodge.

  He turned to her. ‘That was really great. I appreciate the time you spent on me.’

  It was freezing cold. She began to shiver. ‘It was a pleasure. I really enjoyed myself.’

  He wanted to wrap his arms around her – keep her warm for ever. Instead he held out his hand. ‘Well, I won’t detain you any longer.’

  She took it. He smiled weakly, held on a fraction longer than he should have. They both knew it. She wasn’t unhappy.

  At last Bill said: ‘Thanks again.’

  When he appeared not to be going to say any more she smiled and reluctantly turned to go.

  ‘It was a pleasure.’

  She walked away, desperately hoping that he was watching her, that something would happen.

  He gazed at her retreating slim figure, his own longing rising with each step she took away from him.

  Never had he so wanted to see more of a girl before. There was just something about her that made him feel good, whole. Emotion suddenly overcame all restraint or shyness.

  He called out: ‘Hey.’

  She stopped immediately and turned, waited.

  ‘Yes?’

  He took a deep breath. ‘I don’t suppose – would you like – ah – can we meet again?’

  Her answer nearly blew him away. It also startled her. ‘Yes, I’d like that.’

  He was disbelieving. ‘You would?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Bill was so taken aback that he didn’t know what to say next. She prompted him.

  ‘Have you any idea when?’

  He came to – fast.

  ‘Tonight? I don’t suppose you’re free tonight for dinner?’

  Her face fell. ‘Oh dear, I’m booked to dine in college.’

  The agony affected them both, then with a deep breath she said: ‘I’ll make some excuse. Anyway, somebody will get my portion of food.’

  Bill brightened up. ’Gee, that’s great. What say I come by here at seven? We could eat at my hotel if that’s OK with you, then maybe a drink at the Blue Boar or somewhere of your choice?’

  ‘Fine. Till then – goodbye.’

  Tingling with excitement she walked quickly away, frightened that something might spoil the most terrific, wonderful moment in her life.

  Bill watched her go, then turned to leave, and caught the porter looking sternly at him. He gave a huge grin and a high flung salute as he left.

  The rest of the afternoon passed quickly. All his well-laid plans went out of the window. He went to the American Red Cross building, managed to buy some nylons from one of the guys before returning to the hotel.

  In his room he slipped out of his jacket, kicked off his shoes and flung his tie on to a chair. He’d brought a bottle of Jack Daniel�
��s with him. On the chest of drawers was a tumbler and water-jug. He grabbed the glass, sat on the bed, carefully poured a generous measure, thought about it, poured most of it back, then lay down, head against the board.

  What was happening? Less than four hours ago all he could think about was getting back to the job. Now, all he could think about was that moment he first saw her. It was as if an arrow of desire had pierced his heart. He winced; where on earth did that come from? It was like something from a ten-cent girls’ magazine. Then he remembered that his eyes had taken in a volume by Blake in the library: …

  ‘Bring me my arrows of desire.’? So it wasn’t so corny after all.

  Then he had a sudden shocking thought.

  He didn’t even know her first name.

  CHAPTER THREE

  The object of his desire was sitting at her dressing-table, an old dressing-gown covering her camiknickers, worried about her first ever date with a complete stranger, one who had aroused such a storm in the previously tranquil ocean of her mind. His name was Bill. She savoured it again. Bill.

  With a pair of heated tongs she was trying to wave her hair, convinced it wasn’t going well. Irritated, she put them down on the stand and looked at herself in the mirror yet again. It would have to do.

  She wished she’d paid more attention to clothes and make-up in the past but they hadn’t really figured in her interests.

  Fortunately she had an old lipstick and some powder her mother had given her, and an eyebrow pencil, which a friend had tried to make her use without success.

  She set about her task. When she had finished she contemplated her face from all sides, and felt that she looked like a certain type of woman. Was it the right thing to be doing? She held her nerve, took a pearl-handled hair-brush and did some finishing touches to her hair, then slipped off her dressing-gown. With a large powder-puff she lightly dusted her shoulders and neck with some scented talc.

  Her dress she had already selected. It was a simple black affair with a thin belt, gathered sleeves and a V neck, last used when she had received her double first in London. After she had slipped her feet into Cuban-heeled shoes she took a final look at the completed article, then at the clock on the mantelpiece. Time to go.

  She drew on her beige coat with its high collar that framed her head, and tightened the belt. The only hat that seemed to go with everything was a black beret with a pom-pom. It had been given to her by a friend who’d bought it when she had toured France in the last year of peace.

  She pulled it down one side, tucked some curls in, teased others out until she was as happy as she was going to be with her appearance. The girl who looked back at her from the mirror was a stranger to her.

  She took a packed bus into town. It was full of girls going out for the night, chattering and laughing. When she heard them talking about GIs and Yanks she felt herself blushing, almost got off and went home – almost. She steadied her nerve with the memory of him, and got to her destination, letting herself in through a side gate and crossing the college paths to arrive at the porters lodge. The porter gave her a startled glance that made her panic.

  ‘Good evening, Doctor Rice.’

  ‘Good evening, Sam.’ She smiled uneasily. ‘Everything all right?’

  He coughed, conscious that his amazement at her appearance had been so obvious. ‘Yes, you expecting a taxi, Doctor?’

  ‘No – no, somebody is calling for me.’ She glanced up at the clock on the wall behind him, was about to say: ‘I’m early,’ when the bell clanged as the handle outside the massive oak doors was pulled. She nearly jumped out of her skin.

  The porter stepped to the blackout curtain, disappeared behind it as she listened to the small inset door creak open. His voice was immediately recognizable.

  ‘I’m here to meet Doctor Rice.’

  ‘Yes, sir, come in, she’s waiting.’

  The door shut, then the curtain was pulled aside. Bill stepped into the light, and pulled up as he set eyes on her. ‘Wow.’

  The porter coughed and waited to let them out. Flushing, she managed: ‘Good-evening.’

  Bill wanted to whistle – just as the enlisted men would have done. Instead he said: ‘You look absolutely marvellous.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  Unable to bear the porter’s now over-impassive face any more, she said quickly: ‘We’d best be going.’

  She led the way. With a flourish the porter pulled the curtain behind them, plunging them into pitch blackness, then opened the small inset door. Pale moonlight flooded in.

  As soon as they were standing on the cobbles outside the door shut behind them. She had a vague feeling of panic, there was no going back now.

  Their faces showed like ghosts, disembodied by the dark shadow of the surrounding high wall.

  ‘Here, hang on to my arm.’

  Hesitantly she did so. It felt very intimate.

  As they walked up the street – darker than it had been in the sixteenth century when the college was new and lit by burning rushes, the porter returned to his lodge. His young assistant, who was spreading lard on to slices of bread, steaming mugs of tea already prepared, said: ‘Who’d have thought it – that young Doctor Rice – a Yankee basher.’

  The older man snapped: ‘Watch yer mouth, young Owen. Doctor Rice is a respected member of the faculty, even though she’s a woman.’

  But his moustache twitched, and he had to pass a hand across it to hide the grin.

  As they walked through the dark streets of Cambridge, with crowds of men shouting and laughing in the tongues of their native countries, but with the accents of the New World dominant, occasional wolf whistles followed her progress, her heels clicking on the pavement.

  She hung on to his arm, quite frightened by the reaction she was evoking. By the time he guided her up the steps of the hotel she was acutely aware of the raw biological urge of men who knew they might not be alive the following week.

  Inside, in the small foyer, they removed their coats. As they followed the ancient head waiter to their table Bill’s eyes wandered over her slim figure with its small waist, shapely legs, and gleaming hair.

  He was amazed. He’d been smitten the moment he had set eyes on her, but now, in a totally different way, she was a knock-out.

  As they took their seats, the head waiter holding her chair for her, a small trio in the corner began playing. Couples moved on to the tiny dance-floor.

  Bill took the smudged, typed card that passed for a menu, but still only had eyes for her.

  He cleared his throat, said nervously: ‘That’s a wonderful dress.’

  At that moment the waiter said: ‘The special tonight is fish-pie.’

  Nonplussed, they both looked at him for a second, then burst into laughter.

  Frowning, the man snapped: ‘Is there something wrong?’

  Bill eventually managed: ‘No – nothing to do with you, it was just the timing. Sorry.’

  Huffily the bent-up figure retreated. ‘In that case I’ll come back in a minute.’

  When he’d gone they sat in silence for a second, broken by Bill saying: ‘Never did have much success with sweet talk.’

  ‘It was a very nice thing to say.’ She’d hardly finished when they both laughed.

  ‘Oh dear.’ She found her handkerchief and pressed it to her eye. They studied the cards in silence, both aware that ‘nerves’ were at the root of it all.

  At last, ruefully, Bill said: ‘Timing or not, the fish-pie does seem to be the best.’

  She agreed. ‘Sawdust sausages or stew with hardly any meat isn’t too attractive. I’ll have the fish too.’

  He took that to be disappointment. Concerned, he said: ‘Would you like to try somewhere else – we don’t have to stay here?’

  She shook her head and laid her menu down. ‘Good heavens, no. It’s rather nice here. Food is the same everywhere. After nearly five years of war there’s not much choice.’

  ‘Maybe I can help you. I can get a few things
from the PX.’ Even as he offered he knew it was a mistake.

  Firmly she declined. ‘No – thank you all the same.’

  He winced. ‘Sorry, coming on the rich Yank, huh?’

  She relented. ‘No – it’s me. It was very generous of you to offer.’

  He pleaded. ‘Can we forget it?’

  She gave a little smile that made him want to grab her and kiss those beautiful lips as they moved.

  ‘Nothing to forget.’

  He made a note not to present the nylons tucked in his trench-coat pocket. Not for a while anyway.

  The waiter returned with his pencil stub poised above his pad. ‘Are you ready to order now?’

  Bill spoke for both of them. ‘Yes, we’re going for the fish-pie – sounds great.’

  The pencil stub received a lick before being put to use.

  ‘And to drink, sir?’

  ‘Is there any wine?’

  The waiter was triumphant. ‘Not any more. The last bottles went Christmas forty-two. We can offer you beer, whisky or water.’

  They both looked at her.

  ‘Water for me.’

  ‘Do you mind if I have a drink?’ Bill asked.

  ‘Of course not.’

  He looked up at the waiter. ‘In that case I’ll have a glass of your excellent warm beer.’

  With a sniff the order was recorded.

  ‘Very good, sir.’

  When he was gone she said; ‘I think you upset him.’

  Bill was regretting it already.

  ‘Yes. Sorry.’ He changed the subject, ‘Did you get your work done OK?’

  ‘What work?’

  Bill emphasized with a hand movement. ‘You had some books in the library when I interrupted you.’

  She was dismissive. ‘Oh that – yes of course.’

  ‘You sound a very determined lady.’

  She raised one finely contoured eyebrow. ‘My father calls it obstinate.’ She looked down into her lap. ‘But most of the time I wouldn’t say boo to a goose. In fact, I’m really very shy.’

  It brought a grunt of sympathy from him. ‘And I suppose you won’t believe me if I say the same?’

  She smiled, and they lapsed into an awkward silence, listening as the band played ‘Whispering’.

  The drinks came at last. Bill tried to make amends with the old boy.