The Ops Room Girls

by Vicki Beeby

  But Evie just shook her head. ‘A girl from Cowley, an officer? It’ll never happen.’

  The others returned with their drinks at that moment, so there was no chance to pursue the conversation.

  But all through the rest of the evening, he couldn’t tear his gaze from Evie, admiring the way her hair shone a deep coppery red when it caught the light and how her face seemed to glow each time she smiled. The voice in the back of his mind reminding him he had no right to get involved with a woman was growing quieter, drowned out by another voice. The new one asked, why not? Why not snatch a little happiness while he still could?

  Chapter Nine

  ‘No,’ Jess said, scowling at May. ‘I’m not stepping a foot out of this house until you do as I say.’

  ‘But—’

  ‘I said no. It’s bad enough having to wear our uniforms, but you’re not going to the dance with your hair scraped back like an ancient schoolmistress. Hand me your brush.’

  Amused, Evie watched resignation chase reluctance across May’s face. May handed over the brush, and Jess unpinned May’s hair and brushed it out until it fell in a lustrous mahogany sheet over her shoulders. With deft fingers, Jess coaxed it into waves and pinned it in the front.

  ‘There,’ she said, stepping back to admire her handiwork. ‘All the pilots will be wondering what Katharine Hepburn is doing at the Amberton village dance.’ She turned May round to face the schoolroom fireplace, where the mirror hung upon the chimney breast. ‘Take a look, if you don’t believe me.’

  May peered into the mirror. ‘I look so different,’ she breathed.

  Jess’s face softened. ‘You’re the same beautiful May, but with better hair. Now do you believe what we’ve been telling you all along?’

  May didn’t look convinced, but she didn’t attempt to change her hair.

  Jess turned on Evie. ‘I don’t know why you’re smiling like that. It’s your turn.’

  Evie submitted to Jess’s ministrations. ‘You can’t make me look like Katharine Hepburn.’

  ‘More like Greer Garson.’

  Evie had no idea how she did it, but under Jess’s skilled fingers, her straight red hair was soon falling in Hollywood waves.

  ‘Now for the finishing touch.’ Jess handed Evie her lipstick.

  Evie hesitated. The burgundy lipstick, that had made her feel so daring when she’d bought it in Brighton, was now forever associated in her mind with the distressing sight of the beaten soldiers returning from Dunkirk.

  Jess must have read her mind, for suddenly her expression was serious. ‘Listen to me, Evie Bishop. Today all our pilots are safe, but you must have heard the mutterings of the senior officers. We only have a short time, a few weeks at most, before the Germans try and do to us what they’ve done to the rest of Europe, and our boys will be on the front line.’

  Evie did know. Only that morning, in the Operations Room, she’d overheard Peter Travis muttering to the Ops ‘A’ about the latest intelligence of German squadrons building up near the French coast. It wouldn’t be long before all that air power was unleashed in the skies above England.

  ‘I don’t see what that has to do with me wearing lipstick.’

  ‘We don’t know how many of our boys will still be here next month or next year, but tonight they’re coming to dance with pretty girls and have fun. We owe it to them to look our best, not like we’re about to go on duty. So put on your lipstick and scent – and you, May – then let’s show them some Hollywood glamour, and help them forget the war for a few hours.’

  Evie couldn’t argue with that, so she applied the lipstick and gave herself a spritz of perfume. She had no more time for doubts, for Jess glanced at her watch and squealed, ‘Hurry! The transport will be at the door any minute.’

  They grabbed their gas masks and dashed down the stairs.

  The transport dropped them beside the green in Amberton, opposite the village hall. It was a pretty brick and flint building, with a steeply pitched tiled roof. There was a little garden at the front. It had probably been a mass of flowers before the war, but now ranks of greens and vegetables filled the beds. When the driver cut the engine, the cheerful strains of ‘Little Brown Jug’ drifted out from the open doors. As it was Midsummer’s Eve, the sun was still up but it hung low over the trees, painting the sky a deep gold. Evie had no doubt there would be plenty of revellers still up to see the sun rise, but as she was on an early watch the next day, she’d be sure to take the first transport back to High Chalk House.

  Several of the Czech pilots greeted them with enthusiastic good evenings as the three girls walked arm-in-arm into the hall, through the door and then the heavy blackout curtain. Evie had a quiet smile when Peter Travis gazed open-mouthed at May and looked in danger of dropping his drink. Although she’d been wary of the obvious attraction between the two at first, worried the inexperienced May would get hurt, now she’d got to know Peter better, Evie was convinced he would be good for May and she wished the two would admit their feelings for each other. His kindness and encouragement had done much to bring May out of her shell, and Evie knew he could be depended upon not to let her down. There wasn’t even the worry that Peter might be killed or captured. Being based in Ops, he was about as safe as it was possible to be with a war on.

  Evie looked around the hall. There was a real band, she was pleased to see, set up on the stage at the end of the long room. Light flooded down from spotlights high up on the rafters, illuminating round tables set around the edges of the hall. The centre was filled with couples dancing, feet tapping on the polished floorboards. Most were in uniform; the RAF and WAAF personnel far outnumbered the villagers. The civilian suits and dresses stood out among the air force blue.

  The girls hurried to place their gas masks upon an empty chair. Jess whipped her compact out of her case and gave her face a quick inspection before replacing it. They were about to cross to the bar, when a tall pilot approached. There was no mistaking the dark hair and ice-blue gaze of Milan.

  ‘Good evening, ladies,’ he said, then turned to Jess. ‘Would you like to dance?’

  Evie watched them whirl into the dance, feeling a twinge of envy at the ease with which Jess glided across the dance floor. Evie had learned the foxtrot and waltz at school – apparently dancing was a necessary skill for young ladies – but she’d never been to a real dance before. She didn’t know if she had the nerve to dance even if she was asked. Still, it was fun to watch, and she had May for company.

  No sooner had that thought struck than Peter Travis approached and asked May to dance.

  May blushed a becoming pink and glanced at Evie.

  ‘Go on,’ Evie said. ‘I don’t mind.’

  May accepted, still blushing, and placed her hand on Peter’s arm, allowing him to lead her onto the dance floor. Evie watched them with a smile. Neither of them seemed to know any dance steps, but they held on to each other and shuffled from side to side in time to the music, laughing each time one or the other tripped.

  ‘What’s so funny?’

  Evie jumped at the sound of Alex’s voice. She turned to find him standing beside her. ‘Oh,’ she said, pressing a hand to her chest in a vain attempt to slow her rapid heartbeat. ‘I didn’t see you there. I was just smiling at May trying to dance with Squadron Leader Travis.’ Suddenly remembering Alex’s rank, she wondered if she should salute, but a glance around the hangar showed her other WAAFs talking and dancing with officers and not a salute in sight. The formalities seemed to have been suspended for the dance.

  Alex followed her gaze and smiled. ‘I hesitated to ask you to dance because I don’t know how, but that doesn’t seem to have stopped those two.’ He offered her his hand. ‘Will you dance with me? Or, to be more accurate, will you stand patiently while I trip over your feet?’

  Evie took his hand with a smile, then faltered at the surge of warmth that flowed up her arm from their joined hands. ‘I…I do know how to dance, you know. I can teach you.’ She was gabbling to co
ver her confusion. ‘We can try a foxtrot.’

  ‘Go on, then. You’ll find it more of a challenge than teaching English to a bunch of rowdy Czechs.’

  Before she could reply, his right hand was on her back, and she stood facing him, her right hand still clasped in his left. She dared to place her right hand on his arm and shivered at the feel of firm muscle through the cloth of his sleeve. Painfully aware of the heat of his hand upon her back, she demonstrated the basic step of a foxtrot.

  ‘Start with your left foot forward,’ she said, moving her right foot back to match. ‘Now step forward with your right. Good. Now sidestep two quick steps to the left.’

  Soon they were dancing in time with the music. It was more of a gallop than a foxtrot, but Evie didn’t care. Her senses were overwhelmed with the music, Alex’s nearness; even the faint scent of coal tar soap that clung to him seemed exotic because it was part of Alex.

  She leant back so she could smile up at him. ‘See, I knew you could do it. How come you can’t dance, anyway? I thought it was practically an essential accomplishment for a dashing English pilot.’

  ‘Ah, but I’m not English. I’m Scottish, and I was brought up by my very austere grandparents.’ The soft roll of each ‘r’ emphasised the assertion.

  ‘Oh.’ She wanted to ask what had happened to his parents but hesitated in case it was a painful subject.

  Alex must have understood her dilemma for he waved away her concerns and explained. ‘I was orphaned a long time ago, when I was too young to really understand what was happening. My father was killed in the last war, and my mother died of Spanish Flu just after.’

  ‘I’m sorry.’ She had the feeling this wasn’t something he shared with many people, and felt she wanted to return the confidence. ‘The last war destroyed so many lives. My father was gassed. He survived but never fully recovered. He died last year.’

  ‘That must have been tough. Is that why your mother turned down your scholarship?’

  ‘Probably. I never asked. I couldn’t stay in Oxford after that, seeing others enjoying student life while I slaved at some menial job, so I joined the WAAF.’

  ‘That was brave of you.’

  It was as if all the other dancing couples faded out of existence. All that was left was the music, and Alex holding her in his arms.

  Then the band segued into ‘Cheek to Cheek’. Neither of them said a word. Whether Alex pulled her closer, or if she leaned in herself, she didn’t know, but now she was pressed tightly to his body, and she melted into his arms. Alex was too tall for them to actually dance cheek to cheek, but they swayed in time to the music, not following any particular dance. Evie was pressed so close she could feel the rapid beat of his heart. Or was it hers? It was impossible to tell. If he dipped his head just a little, their faces would be close enough to kiss.

  Flustered, suddenly unsure, Evie looked over Alex’s shoulder; her gaze fell on all the uniformed men grouped around the bar. Then her mind seemed to play tricks on her, because she wasn’t seeing the strong, healthy men of RAF Amberton, but the bent, broken bodies of the soldiers she had seen in Brighton. Then the image shifted to her father coughing his lungs out and her mother’s drawn, anxious face. She shivered and pulled away slightly, overcome with a sense of dread. The war was closing in and when it arrived, Alex would be on the front line. As much as she shied away from the thought, she had to face facts: there was a high chance that Alex would be killed.

  ‘Are you all right?’ The concern in Alex’s eyes nearly undid her. More than anything she wanted to forget the war and be held by Alex all night, but the longer she stayed with him, the greater the risk of falling in love.

  ‘I… The heat’s making me a bit dizzy.’ Who was she trying to fool? Alex was making her head spin, not the heat. She should walk away, leave while her heart was still her own. Because if she fell in love with Alex and then lost him, her heart would shatter.

  ‘Let me get you a drink.’

  A rapid drumbeat sounded the opening bars of ‘Sing, Sing, Sing’, pounding in time with Evie’s heart. When the rest of the band took up the tune, Evie saw Peter Travis lead May back to her seat. This was her opportunity to murmur an excuse and return to her friends, but the words wouldn’t come. She allowed Alex to guide her to a quiet corner seat and sat tapping her feet in time to the music while he went to fetch drinks. Surely another few minutes in Alex’s company wouldn’t hurt. But when he returned, he handed her a glass of punch then sat beside her in silence, scowling into his beer mug. She shot him several slantwise gazes. Maybe he was just being kind, and didn’t really want to be with her. She tried to ignore the lurch of disappointment. That was what she wanted, wasn’t it? She should leave.

  She was braced to rise, racking her brains for an excuse, when Alex cleared his throat. ‘Evie, I… Oh, dash it, it was easier when I rehearsed this in my head.’

  Her mouth went dry. The frenetic tune urged her to run, but her legs wouldn’t move. All she could do was wait, throat tight, while he tried again.

  ‘What I mean is, if this was any other time, I’d be asking if I could court you, but this war…’

  She seized on it. ‘Yes, the war.’ Her voice shook, and she swallowed, cross with herself. This was what she wanted, wasn’t it? She should be relieved Alex was offering her an escape. ‘It’s the wrong time.’

  ‘Aye. Chances are I won’t make it. At the moment there’s no one who would mourn my death, and I want to keep it that way.’

  I would mourn. But she couldn’t say it. She felt winded by his casual acceptance of death. Her head spinning, struggling to comprehend how anyone could endure that burden, she forced a smile. ‘Anyway, I have to focus on my duty. I can’t afford any distractions.’

  Evie ignored the tiny voice in the back of her mind that told her it was too late. She already found Alex Kincaith a powerful distraction.

  * * *

  Well, this wasn’t awkward at all. Alex sipped his beer, unsure what to say next. Maybe he’d misread the dreamy expression on Evie’s face when they’d been dancing, but he’d been sure when she’d tilted her face up to his, she’d wanted him to kiss her. He’d wanted to. If they hadn’t been in a crowded room, he would have done, but he wasn’t going to share their first kiss with the entire village.

  Fool! Despite silently rehearsing what he wanted to say to her while they danced, it had come out all wrong. He’d been trying to ask if she’d wait for him, but the only thing to come out of his mouth had been a list of all the reasons they couldn’t be together.

  She needn’t have agreed quite so quickly, though. It looked like he’d misread the looks she’d given him. She obviously hadn’t felt the same spark of electricity when their hands had met. It was a good thing he had got his words wrong. Imagine if he’d told her of his growing feelings, asked her to wait for him so he could court her when all this was over, only for her to declare that she didn’t feel the same way. He shuddered to think of the pity in her eyes every time they met after that.

  A figure in uniform approached. Karol Šimek. Alex tensed. He smiled a greeting, trying to hide his dislike of the man. It was unfair to take such an immediate dislike to someone. It could only be because Evie liked him and was taken in by his charm.

  Karol stopped in front of Evie’s chair. ‘I was going to ask you to dance, but if you’re too tired…’

  Evie rose. ‘Oh, no. I’d be delighted.’ She shot a sideways glance at Alex, but then turned a bright smile upon Karol and took his arm.

  Alex watched them go. Clearly Karol had mixed in the circle of society expected in an officer, for he was an accomplished dancer. He didn’t need to look at his feet and he certainly wouldn’t trip. Instead he whirled Evie around the dance floor, weaving expertly around other couples. Other couples turned to watch them. Not surprising when they looked so right together – the elegant, sophisticated young pilot partnering the fiery redhead who shone with an inner radiance that made Alex’s breath catch. Karol guided Evie around
the corner in perfect time with the music, then dipped her right in front of Alex. When she rose, her face was flushed, and she gazed into Karol’s eyes, her beautiful face alight with laughter.

  He couldn’t take any more of this. He strode out of the hall and found himself walking up the road towards the station. His shadow stretched long and thin ahead of him as though straining to escape from the idiot it was attached to. Eventually he came to the fence separating the RAF station from the village. He leaned against a huge copper beech that towered over the fence and watched the sun sink low over the treetops.

  After a while, calm acceptance washed over him. What did it matter if Evie danced with Karol Šimek, or every member of Brimstone squadron, come to that? She’d declared her intention to focus on her duty, and he believed her. It was the right thing to do. If he was going to get his squadron through the war, he needed to do the same. And in the end, whether Evie had feelings for him was irrelevant. He was aware of an ominous heaviness in the air. Thunder clouds were gathering, would soon unleash their fury in the skies above Britain. It was no time for personal considerations. Each had their own small but important role to play, and Britain’s only hope of survival was if everyone did their appointed tasks to the best of their ability.

  Halting footsteps sounded behind him, and he spun around to see Peter Travis approach.

  ‘Not disturbing you, am I?’ Travis asked.

  Alex shook his head. ‘Why aren’t you dancing with that driver of yours? I thought she was rather smitten with you.’

  ‘Best that she’s not.’ Peter pointed at his leg. ‘Not exactly every girl’s dream.’

  ‘What does she think – have you asked her?’ Alex didn’t know the girl in question very well, but from what he’d seen, she wouldn’t have cared if Peter had a false leg, hooks instead of hands and an eye patch.

  ‘What’s the point? She deserves better than this.’

  Alex wondered what had brought this on. The last he’d seen of Peter, he’d been dancing with the striking driver – May, that was her name – looking as though he hadn’t a care in the world. ‘I don’t know what you mean,’ he said, uncomfortable with the turn the conversation had taken. ‘You’re one of the finest officers on the station.’ He hesitated. Talking about his feelings was totally alien to him, but he couldn’t let Peter – whom he was fast coming to regard as his closest friend – believe he didn’t deserve love. ‘No one who matters will think any worse of you for having a leg missing.’