The Ops Room Girls

by Vicki Beeby

  The blood drained from Evie’s face. ‘With you inside?’

  He cursed himself for not choosing his words more carefully. It was automatic to fall back on the flippant way the pilots spoke: a way of keeping the perpetual fear at bay. He tried to wave her concerns aside. ‘It was nothing.’

  ‘Were you hurt?’ she asked. Although he hadn’t wanted to worry her, the concern in her voice made his heart swell.

  ‘No. Well, nothing more than a scratch.’

  Evie raised her eyebrows, so Alex pre-empted her next question with, ‘Bob wouldn’t have let me fly up to Oxford if I wasn’t fit, would he?’

  ‘I suppose not.’ But Evie didn’t look convinced.

  ‘Do sit down, Squadron Leader Kincaith. Would you like some tea?’

  Alex hid his start of surprise with a smile and wrenched his gaze from Evie. He’d forgotten Evie’s mother was there. ‘Tea would be lovely, Mrs Bishop. And please call me Alex.’ Seeing Evie about to carry one of the dining chairs to the fireside, he took it from her and placed it between the armchairs before sitting in it himself.

  Mrs Bishop poured the tea, added a dash of milk and handed him his cup with a smile. ‘Alex. Then you must call me Dora.’

  Evie’s round-eyed stare at her mother told him this was an honour Mrs Bishop didn’t confer lightly.

  Dora twisted her hands in her pinny. ‘I’m afraid there’s no sugar, but there’s honey if you’d like to stir in a teaspoon of that. And would you like something to eat? There’s no cake, but I could make some sandwiches.’

  He caught Evie’s doubtful glance, and it struck him how rationing was making its mark on this tiny household. He cursed himself for not bringing something with him. He’d visited enough grocers to have put together a hamper fit for a lord. He hurried to put the poor woman at her ease. ‘Just tea is fine. I’m not hungry.’ But the thought of food reminded him that he hadn’t eaten since breakfast and his stomach rumbled.

  He sipped his tea while Dora poured cups for Evie and herself, then both women sat in the armchairs. Evie sat on the edge of hers, as though planning to leap up at any moment.

  For what seemed like an eternity, the only sound was the ticking of the clock and a flock of starlings squabbling outside the open window. Alex took another sip and studied the pattern of pale pink rose buds on his saucer.

  Then Evie spoke in a rush. ‘We saw a Hurricane fly over earlier. Was that you?’

  Alex seized the subject gratefully. ‘I suppose it must have been.’

  Evie gave a soft laugh. ‘I got so used to watching out for your Hurricane at Amberton, it’s funny to think you flew over this house without me realising it was you.’

  Her words enveloped him like a warm blanket on a cold day. She watched out for him? If Dora hadn’t been in the room, sipping her tea, back poker-straight, he would have spoken the words he’d come here to say. Instead he placed his cup on its saucer with careful precision before replying. ‘Funny to think I flew over this house without knowing it was yours.’ Although it was probably a good thing he hadn’t known. He’d have been so busy straining for a glimpse of her he’d have probably flown into a chimney.

  He glanced up from his cup at the same time as she looked at him. Their eyes met with a jolt to the stomach. She was sitting in a pool of sunlight that warmed her cheeks to a pink glow. He felt he would burst if he didn’t release the words in his heart, but Dora’s presence meant he couldn’t say anything other than the polite, conventional words the British were supposed to say when drinking tea.

  ‘How long are you staying in Oxford?’ It was Dora who spoke, and it cost Alex physical pain to tear his gaze from Evie to address her mother.

  ‘A few days. It depends how long it takes to get my plane fixed.’ And whether Evie wanted to see him again. If she did, he wouldn’t leave a second before he was due back with his squadron.

  ‘Have you been to Oxford before?’ Dora asked.

  He shook his head.

  ‘Well, then, you should take the time to explore. It’s a beautiful place. Evie could show you around, couldn’t you, Evie?’

  ‘I’d like that.’ He gazed at Evie, willing her to agree. ‘That is, if you’re well enough?’ He cursed himself for not remembering she’d been sent home to convalesce. ‘Don’t feel you have to if you need your rest.’

  ‘Oh no. I mean, I’d love to.’

  ‘Then that’s settled. I’ll come and fetch you tomorrow morning at ten, and you can show me the sights.’

  Her glowing smile was all the answer he needed.

  * * *

  Evie spent longer than usual in front of the mirror the next morning. Yesterday she’d simply twisted her hair into a knot at the back of her head, and she’d spent the whole of Alex’s visit acutely conscious of her drab appearance. She brushed her hair until it gleamed, then pinned it into the style Jess had told her suited her face, sweeping it up into rolls at her temples, letting it fall loose behind. She hesitated, then applied the lipstick she’d bought in Brighton. She smiled as she did so, wondering how Jess and May were getting on at Amberton. She would write them a long letter this evening.

  She gazed at her reflection, a flutter of anticipation in her chest. What news would she have to tell them by the end of the day?

  The roar of a motor engine split the air, making Evie jump. No one around here owned a motor car, but the engine sounded far more powerful than one belonging to a tradesman’s van. Curious, she slipped into the front room and peered out of the window. She could hardly believe the sight that met her eyes. A sleek, green sports car was parked right outside the house. The top was rolled down to make the most of the warm sunshine, and the man climbing out of the driving seat was none other than Alex.

  He glanced at the house. Evie straightened with a jerk and stepped back from the window, her cheeks heating at the thought that Alex might have seen her watching him.

  She tensed, listening to the creak of the gate then the even tread of his footsteps up the short path. Even though she was expecting it, she still jumped when the rap of the door knocker echoed through the house. She blew out a steadying breath and smoothed the front of her skirt. She’d spent ages searching for a cotton dress that wasn’t frayed or moth-eaten, but in the end had resorted to putting on her uniform. There was no way she was going to embarrass Alex by obliging him to be seen with a girl in tatty clothes.

  ‘Alex,’ she greeted him as she swung open the door. Even speaking that one short name seemed to use up all the breath in her lungs.

  ‘I thought we’d see Oxford in style,’ Alex said after greeting her. He indicated the car.

  ‘I thought you flew up,’ Evie said, still struggling to draw breath into her tight chest.

  ‘I did. This isn’t mine. I bumped into a pilot friend of mine in the bar of the Randolph last night, home on sick leave. He offered to lend me his car while I’m here, and there’s enough petrol as long as we don’t go too far afield. It’s a Lagonda V12. What do you think?’

  He waited while she collected her gas mask then escorted her down the path. She gazed at the car in awe. It was so highly polished she could see their reflection in it. She hardly recognised the elegant WAAF walking beside the tall, handsome man in his pilot’s uniform. She gave a shaky laugh as she saw curtains twitching in the windows of more than one house on the street. She could just imagine Mrs Wilkins, the street busybody, pursing her lips and saying to her husband, ‘I always said that Evie Bishop was getting too big for her boots.’

  ‘I don’t know what the neighbours must think,’ she said, ‘but I think it’s wonderful.’

  He opened the passenger door and took her hand to steady her as she lowered herself onto the leather upholstery. Even with the roof down, she was immediately surrounded by the scent of leather and polish.

  ‘I can’t imagine what my grandparents would say if they could see me now,’ replied Alex. ‘This is a far cry from the Austin 7 my grandfather owned.’

  It occurred to Evie
then that she knew very little of Alex’s family background. It was one of the consequences of the war: it flung people together who would otherwise have never met or had anything in common. But somehow the old way of doing things, the importance of learning about a person’s background, didn’t seem relevant any more. The only thing that mattered was the here and now. She would enjoy today, for who knew how many days of sunshine and freedom were left to them?

  ‘Where shall we go?’ Alex asked, shutting her door.

  She knew exactly what she wanted to do. She wanted to live the dream she’d cherished for so long. ‘Let’s start with Christ Church Meadow.’

  She directed Alex towards the city centre, across Magdalen Bridge. They parked on the High Street, opposite Magdalen College’s impressive tower. She fiddled with the door latch, unable to get it open.

  Alex climbed out of the car and walked around to her side. ‘Allow me.’ He opened her door and took her hand. She was hardly aware of climbing out from the car. All she knew was the spark between their joined palms, the delicious tingle that flowed from fingertips all the way down her spine. She straightened up and lifted her gaze to his face. He was gazing down at her with an intensity in his eyes that set her stomach aflutter.

  ‘A man should take care of his date.’

  She swallowed. ‘Is that what this is – a date?’

  ‘Aye.’ He faltered, looking younger, all of a sudden. ‘If that’s what you want, of course.’

  She couldn’t stop the beaming smile. She was sure Jess would lecture her about retaining an air of mystery, keeping a man on his toes. But there was no hiding the way she felt. ‘Yes. It is.’

  Alex’s answering smile must have matched hers. He tucked her arm into his, and they set off at a slow amble down the street. It was a good thing she had his arm to support her, as her legs were trembling so hard, she doubted she could have walked unaided. She led them down Rose Lane, where the trill of birdsong drifted over the high wall of the Botanic Gardens, competing with the chatter of thoughts jumbled in her head. How was this going to work? He was an officer, while she was a mere aircraftwoman. She was working class, he was… Well, she wasn’t sure exactly what he was, but there was something about his soft Scottish burr that gave an impression of refinement. Of class.

  And she could never forget Harriet Digby’s tears when she’d heard the news of her fiancé’s death. Was she setting herself up for more grief if she opened her heart to Alex?

  Alex must have read something of her inner debate, for he stopped and placed his hands on both her shoulders. His gaze bored into hers. ‘I can’t offer you much, Evie. You know what I do, and I won’t let my feelings for you stop me from doing my duty. I can’t promise you a tomorrow. I don’t know how many tomorrows I have. All I know is we have today, and I want to spend it with you.’

  ‘Yes.’ Relief and happiness bubbled through her. ‘That’s how I feel, too.’

  They resumed their walk, and the walls and hedgerows opened out upon the wide green space of Merton Field. Evie led them around the edge until they entered the broad expanse of Christ Church Meadow. The upper end of the meadow was busy with schoolchildren making the most of the last few days of the long holiday, kicking footballs, playing tag and flying kites. It was soothing to walk in silence, listening to the children’s shrill laughter with the soft whisper of the trees in the background. Evie’s heart was too full for words, and she was glad that Alex didn’t feel the need to talk about what they’d just said. It was enough to know they wanted to be in each other’s company. She wouldn’t let herself worry about what a relationship with Alex would mean. She would simply enjoy being with him today.

  ‘My babi – my Czech grandmother – would have loved it here,’ Alex said after a while as they strolled on the tree-shaded path along the River Cherwell. ‘She often used to take me to Kelvingrove Park in Glasgow. Said it reminded her of the parks in Prague.’

  ‘Glasgow? I thought you lived on Skye?’

  ‘It was my maternal grandparents who lived on Skye,’ he replied. ‘My mother volunteered as a nurse in Glasgow at the start of the last war, and that’s where she met my father. I lived with my babi and grandpa after she died, and they lived in Glasgow too.’

  ‘How did they meet?’ She’d often wondered how a Czech woman had ended up living in Scotland.

  ‘My grandfather was a concert pianist. He travelled all over Europe in his day, back in the last century. He met and married my babi in Prague.’

  ‘And that’s why you can speak Czech,’ Evie said. Then she frowned. ‘How did you end up on Skye?’

  A shadow passed over Alex’s face, and he looked so sad Evie regretted asking. ‘My grandpa and babi were Catholic. My mother’s parents are Presbyterian. They never forgave my mother for marrying a Catholic, and broke off all contact with her. But when they heard my mother had died, leaving me an orphan, they were determined I should be brought up by them. My grandpa and babi fought to keep me, but when I was seven, my grandpa was taken ill with TB. Grandfather MacLeod said I should be taken away from the risk of contagion.’ Alex’s brows drew together as though from sudden pain, and he swallowed. ‘I never saw them again. My grandpa died a month after I left, and Babi followed only a fortnight later.’

  Evie could only squeeze his arm, her heart too full to speak for a moment. After a silence broken only by the splashing of ducks in the river, she said, ‘How awful. You must miss them.’

  ‘All the time,’ he replied. ‘But I don’t want you to think my MacLeod grandparents were unloving. They were strict, but only did what they believed best for me.’

  Evie wasn’t fooled, though. She could read in his bleak expression how it must have felt to be taken from the grandparents he loved to live with people he hardly knew.

  ‘Anyway,’ Alex said in a lighter tone, clearly signalling the end of the subject, ‘now I can remember my babi by practising Czech on our new pilots.’ He quickened his pace, for they had slowed almost to a standstill while he spoke of his grandparents. ‘Come on. I thought you were going to show me Oxford.’

  It was a glorious morning, made all the better by Evie’s feeling of closeness to Alex now he had shared something so personal. They followed the path along the tree-lined banks of the Cherwell, and Evie pointed out the college buildings that could be glimpsed through the branches. All the while she was acutely aware of Alex’s strong arm beneath her hand, and the way her heart stuttered whenever their eyes met. She felt as though her feet were floating a few inches above the path. Before she knew it, they’d passed the point where the Cherwell met the Isis and were now approaching Folly Bridge. From there they turned up St Aldate’s and back into the town. At that point, recollecting her promise to act as Alex’s guide, Evie showed him Christ Church Cathedral, Carfax Tower, and led him around the narrow lanes between the colleges.

  ‘I can see where the phrase “dreaming spires of Oxford” comes from now,’ said Alex, gazing up at the honey-coloured pinnacled buildings surrounding Catte Street. His gaze drifted to the sky, where a few white clouds scudded across the blue. A pucker formed between his brows and Evie tensed, knowing he must be thinking of his friends who might be fighting a desperate battle at this very moment.

  ‘What’s it like, up there?’ she asked.

  When he lowered his gaze, his eyes were as opaque as the clouds. He gave a tight smile. ‘It’s all over so fast, there’s not really time to think.’ He took her arm. ‘Now I’d like to buy you lunch. Where shall we go?’

  It was clear he didn’t want to talk about his experiences, and Evie regretted her question. Nevertheless, she could sense he was deeply troubled about something and wished he would confide in her. And it wasn’t as if she was unaware of the dangers fighter pilots went through – she witnessed them at every watch, albeit from the safety of the Ops Room.

  ‘Evie?’ Alex prompted.

  ‘Oh!’ Evie felt her face colour and she had to rack her brains to remember what he’d asked. ‘I…ah, I
don’t usually eat out in Oxford.’ And when she did it was in the kind of cheap café she didn’t think Alex would want to visit.

  ‘Not to worry,’ Alex said easily. ‘I’m staying at the Randolph. They serve lunch, I noticed, so we’ll eat there.’

  The Randolph! He might as well have suggested eating at Buckingham Palace. Evie could only nod mutely and allow Alex to lead her there. She could hardly believe that she, plain Evie Bishop from Cowley, could be walking through the famous Gothic doorway, into the plush interior of the most exclusive hotel in Oxford. She tried not to look too awed as they followed the waiter to their table, but she couldn’t resist looking around at the impressive oil paintings lining the walls and craning her neck to see all the college shields encircling the walls near the coffered ceiling.

  She only came back down to earth when, after taking their seats beneath a portrait of a Cavalier, a man at the next table gave an abrupt exclamation. Evie glanced at him and saw him throw a silver cigarette lighter upon the table. ‘Dashed thing won’t work.’ The man leaned across the gap between his chair and Alex’s. ‘I say, you don’t have a light, do you?’

  Alex patted his pockets and produced a book of matches which he handed to the man. The man lit his cigarette and returned the matches with a murmur of thanks. It was all over in a moment, but instead of putting the matches back in his pocket, Alex turned them over and over in his hands, seemingly transfixed.

  ‘What’s wrong?’ she asked. She was starting to worry that something had happened to him. Was there more behind Alex’s leave than his Hurricane needing repairs? She had been so surprised and flustered at his sudden visit yesterday that she hadn’t questioned it.

  Alex gave a small start and slipped the matches back into his pocket. ‘Nothing.’