‘I’d love a cup of tea,’ she said, stifling a yawn. ‘Come on driver, homeward bound.’
‘Yes, ma’am.’
The drive to Bourn didn’t take long as the jeep whipped along the tree-lined lanes. When they pulled up outside Lilac Cottage, Mac cut the engine. ‘How about coming for a drink with me tonight? We could find a quiet pub somewhere away from the base.’
‘All right. Pick me up around seven.’ She squeezed his hand and leant towards him, brushing his cheek with her lips.
As she did so, he turned, his mouth finding hers. She was too damn tempting, and he couldn’t resist. He slipped his hand inside her great coat and placed it on her thigh, gently caressing the softness beneath. As he slid it towards her waist, she placed her hand on his, guiding it back down.
‘I have to go.’ Stella glanced out at the small cottage, suddenly sounding brisk.
‘Is that your landlady at the window?’
‘Oh no. She’s looking right at us.’
‘Come on then.’ As Mac grabbed the case from the back seat, the front door of the cottage creaked open. Mac glanced up to find a plump middle-aged lady at the entrance.
‘There you are, dear. Did you have a good trip?’ She smiled as she viewed him over Stella’s head with questioning eyes.
‘Oh, yes, thanks.’ Stella’s face flushed scarlet.
‘And I see you have a gallant escort today.’ Mrs Brown glanced between Mac and Stella, her eyebrows raised.
‘Oh, this is Lieutenant John Mackenzie. He’s stationed at Bassingbourn.’
Mac stepped forward. ‘It’s a pleasure to meet you, ma’am.’ He held out his hand.
Mrs Brown’s face softened and broke into a girlish smile, and she giggled. ‘Oh, I’m very pleased to meet you, Lieutenant.’ She shook his hand. ‘Well now, where are my manners? Come in, come in. I’ll make us all a lovely cup of tea.’ She turned and bustled away through the hall.
‘That was easier than I expected,’ Stella said with a puzzled look.
Half an hour later, they were all sitting in the living room with a tray of tea and sandwiches. Mac sat on the sofa next to Stella, and Mrs Brown sat in an armchair by the fire. She seemed intent on finding out everything about him, but he didn’t mind, answering all her questions with all the patience and politeness that had been bred into him from the day he was born. ‘These sandwiches are lovely, ma’am. I hope I’m not depriving you of food now.’
‘Oh no, not at all, Lieutenant. You’re welcome here any time.’
‘Thank you, ma’am. I appreciate your hospitality.’ Mac drained the last of his tea. He didn’t care for it much, but it would be improper to have declined it. He flicked a gaze at the clock on the mantelpiece. Five thirty. ‘Well, ladies, I think it’s time I was getting along. It’s been a pleasure meeting you, ma’am.’ He held out his hand to Mrs Brown.
‘Oh, and you, Lieutenant,’ she said, remaining seated as she shook his hand.
Stella sprung up. ‘I’ll see you out.’
As they walked to the door, Mac couldn’t stop grinning. ‘See you at seven.’
‘All right.’ She smiled, as he reached for her hand.
He leant in and kissed her, feeling her warmth against him as he drew her close, a rush of desire rising within him. ‘Hey, I’d better go,’ he murmured, nuzzling her hair. He opened the door and turned his face to the salmon-pink sky, watching the sun as she slipped towards the horizon. ‘Till later, then.’ He zipped up his leather flight jacket.
‘Bye, Mac.’ Stella gazed up at him, a smile tugging on those velvet lips.
The door closed behind him with a creak as he ambled down the garden path. He sprung into the jeep and turned the key, wondering what was happening here. Did he imagine it or did she really like him? He smiled, but he couldn’t help thinking about what lay ahead. The other guys lived for today, but he was busy making plans. Without them, there was no future, but what he really wanted to know was whether he figured in hers.
A quiet drink. That’s what he’d hoped for so he could finally ask her about Alex, but he hadn’t counted on running into Vera. She was at the pub with Sam, and so far, had kept them chatting for over an hour. Boy, could she talk? Finally, he had Stella to himself, and he drew her close, the heat of her body against his as they swayed across the floor, and the soft dulcet tones of Vera Lynn eclipsed all thoughts of Alex. He closed his eyes for a moment. Holding Stella in his arms was like coming home, but then she stiffened and he felt a tap on his shoulder. He spun around to face a man a few inches shorter than himself, dressed in RAF blues.
‘Alex!’ Stella stepped back.
‘Do you mind if I cut in?’ Alex glowered at Mac, and his eyes narrowed, while the corners of his mouth twitched to form the glimmer of a smirk.
So, he’d turned up, just like that. The proverbial bad penny. Mac drew himself up to his full height of five feet eleven just as Stella stepped forward.
‘Alex, I had no idea you were coming.’
‘Evidently, dear girl.’ Alex placed his hand on her arm and leaned in to kiss her cheek.
Mac tightened his jaw. Goddamn it. Conflict burned in Stella’s eyes, his last glimmer of hope as Alex steered her away, leaving him standing there, alone.
‘Cheer up. It won’t last. Alex is a lying, cheating, no-good swine. Stella feels sorry for him, that’s all.’ Vera took his arm and steered him over to a table tucked away in a corner of the bar.
Later, as Mac cast sideways glances at Stella, he caught her eye occasionally and the look that nestled there reassured him. Ten feet of floor space separated them, but it may as well have been the Channel, the gulf was so vast. He puffed out a breath, slamming the beer bottle down on the table. When Alex slipped his arm around Stella, Mac clenched his teeth. The guy was a fake and something stirred and swelled in his gut, surging up like a volcanic eruption, but he swallowed it down.
‘Hey, come on, Mac. Time to make a move, buddy.’ Sam cast him a sympathetic look.
He didn’t want to go, not just yet. He was keeping his eye firmly on that sleaze. Mac glanced at Stella again, only this time Alex caught him out and his mouth set in a tight line. Mac sprung up, keeping his eyes on Alex.
Sam placed his hand on Mac’s arm. ‘Leave it, Mac. We don’t need any trouble.’
Mac shook him off and strode across to Stella. ‘We’re going now. It sure was nice seeing you again.’ He tipped his cap and cast a half-smile.
‘Yes, yes, run along now. The lady is with me, and I’d appreciate it if you’d leave her alone.’ Alex drew her nearer, but she stiffened.
‘Well, you’ve done a real good job of treating her like a lady so far.’ Mac raised his eyebrows as the adrenaline coursed through his body.
Alex took a slow, deep drag of his cigarette and exhaled smoke in Mac’s face. ‘Like I said, the lady is with me.’
Mac’s face burned and he clenched his fist by his side. The guy was trying to be cool, but he’d touched a nerve. ‘Good night, Stella. Hope to see you again.’ He couldn’t help himself. He turned to walk away and followed Vera and Sam outside, but he halted at the sound of gravel crunching behind him. He spun around. Alex strode towards him with a couple of guys for backup. Just then, Stella appeared in the doorway.
‘Bloody Yanks. Moving in while we’re away fighting.’
‘In case you hadn’t noticed, we’re fighting too.’ Mac took a step nearer.
‘Alex, please don’t.’ Stella came closer. ‘Please.’ Her voice was thin and pleading.
‘Not until I’ve made my point,’ Alex snarled. ‘Get back inside.’
‘Don’t talk to her like that.’ Mac squared up to him. ‘She’s not your property, pal.’
‘I am not your pal.’ Alex cracked his knuckles and took a swing, but Mac dodged out of the way.
‘Please, both of you. Stop!’ Stella’s voice quavered and rang out several octaves higher. Mac turned. Panic flashed in her eyes and her face visibly paled. ‘Mac, look out.’
Stella rushed towards him, but Alex grabbed her arm. ‘Leave it. Go inside, now.’
‘Mac, are you all right?’ She turned those wide green eyes on him.
‘Yeah. I’m okay. You go on.’ He nodded to her and winked.
‘Come on, Mac, let’s get outta here before the landlord calls the MPs. That’s all we need.’
Mac rubbed his face, heaved in a deep breath of fresh air, and Sam hauled him to his feet. Jeez, that was one hell of a sock to the jaw. His heart ached, and a shallow dent punched his pride. She was under his skin all right, and he couldn’t get her out of his head. He had to have her, to hold her in his arms and love her forever. Stella made him feel again after this war had almost ravaged him. She eclipsed the darkness, and he couldn’t lose her, not now.
Chapter Ten
In Sickness and in Health
The afternoon’s surgery had been challenging, and Archie ached from his neck to his shoulders and all the way down to his hands. He strained to focus through weary eyes. The patient, nineteen-year-old Canadian radio operator Tony Smithson, had suffered third-degree burns when his Lancaster Bomber crash-landed. Having lost his eyelids, he was now sporting a new set and would hopefully feel more comfortable within a couple of days.
Archie sighed. The boy’s girlfriend had dumped him most unceremoniously by letter, and Tony had been distraught before his surgery. Why couldn’t these girls realise their husbands and boyfriends needed them, particularly at a time like this when they were most vulnerable? Talk about kicking a fellow when he’s down. On that point, Archie was most resolute. Being rejected by loved ones was such a cruel blow and some of the lads withdrew from life altogether and became lost in the darkness.
He had to show them there was still hope and that not all women would turn away. That was why he had sought out the prettiest of nurses for his own ward. An air of flirting couldn’t do any harm here in the hospital. The sensual drift of perfume in the air was one way of rousing interest and glancing up from a hospital bed to see a pretty face with ruby lips was another. He needed women to show his boys their disfigurements didn’t matter. If only people could look beyond the physical form.
Leaving home to march away to war only to return virtually unrecognisable was emotionally challenging, and Archie pondered the consequences. The mind was an enigma, and he was no psychiatrist, but he knew there was a need to address the psyche if he was to successfully reintegrate his lads into society.
Friends and colleagues were forever telling him he was too involved. Just do your job and operate on them. He sighed. These young men had agreed to serve their country; it was the war that had altered them, and it would be their own countries that deserted them.
It was almost seven o’clock. Time for one last ward round before he retired home for the night. As he strolled through the hospital grounds, he gazed up at the sapphire sky, a myriad of silver stars sparkling around a full creamy moon. In the distance, long beams of light reached up into the darkness, crossing paths as they swept across the night sky. The drift of chimney smoke lingered in the still air while a cacophony of noise drifted out from the closed doors of the ward.
‘Evening, Maestro,’ the boys called out, one by one, an ongoing chorus as he strode along by their beds.
Evans, with his leg in plaster, raced up and down the length of the ward in his wheelchair, propelling himself as if training for the next Olympics. The boy could barely sit stationary for a minute. For the time being, it would be the nearest rush he would experience after his Spitfire. The chap at the piano belted out the national anthem, and everyone who could stand to attention did so, some by their beds, while others huddled around the piano. They stood tall, stiff, chests puffed out, solemn faces held high. Sister Jamieson appeared from her office, her face a picture of calm. Evans whizzed by once more, narrowly missing Sister, who anticipated a collision and stepped out of the way just in time without so much as a flicker of her expression.
‘Good evening, Mr McIndoe. Here for your rounds?’
‘Yes, Sister. Before I forget, a young man will be joining us in the next week or so – an artist. Freddy someone or other.’ He shook his head, unable to recall the surname. ‘He’s with the War Artists Advisory Committee. They’ve commissioned him to produce some paintings so I expect he’ll choose his own muse.’
She raised an eyebrow. ‘Well, thank you for telling me. I’ll make sure the men know what to expect.’
‘Any problems tonight I need to know about?’ Archie surveyed his domain.
‘None you don’t already know of. Pilot Officer Smithson is settled following his surgery. He’s just had more morphine so he’s a little groggy.’ Sister Jamieson stood with her hands clasped in front of her, her chin raised, her back straight and rigid; she was the epitome of deportment, dressed in her navy-blue uniform and pristine, starched white apron. It was plain from the look on her face that she didn’t think patients should be so unruly and boisterous, but she never challenged Archie on the matter. He could sense she didn’t wish to rock the boat.
Archie glanced at the young Canadian. Tony had almost walked away from the crashed aircraft without a scratch, but he went back into the flames to save a friend. Tony staggered out like a human candle, dragging his friend with him, who died shortly afterwards in hospital. Not expected to live himself, the lad had lain for five weeks encased in bandages at a hospital in Sussex before Archie found him. He hoped he would be happy with the surgery. Of course, he had a long way to go, but it was a start.
One of the boys opened a bottle of beer and poured it into a glass. The liquid plopped, fizzed and frothed with a delicious, refreshing tone. Archie found Jack sitting up in bed along with a few others for company, a thick smoky haze rising and swirling around as they all drew on cigars.
‘Hey, Maestro. Thanks for everything – you all did a swell job, and Becky’s thrilled with the way the wedding turned out.’
‘Well, perhaps now you’ll let me do my job and fix that face of yours.’
‘Yeah, sure will. I’m all set for tomorrow, although it sure is a pity we couldn’t have gone away. I guess there’s plenty of time for that later.’
‘Bit late for all that now, don’t you think? Baby’s already on the way,’ Tom said with a glint in his eye. ‘You Yanks certainly are different.’ Everyone laughed. ‘Besides, she can have her honeymoon when you take her back to America with you.’
‘Man, I’m just thankful to be alive, and to have married the prettiest girl I ever saw.’
‘Hear, hear,’ Archie said.
‘Maestro, how about giving us a tune?’ Pete slapped him on the back, taking a swig of beer from the half-pint glass he was holding.
Archie checked his watch. He was expecting Blackie for a late supper around eight-thirty and had to get home. ‘Just the one then.’ He grinned as he sauntered across to the piano. A group gathered around and cheered as he took his seat.
‘Tom, a pint for the Maestro, please.’ Pete thrust a glass into Tom’s hands, who filled it from the keg that rested on a table in the ward and set it down with a dull thud on top of the piano.
‘Thanks, Tom. Now then, what do you rabble wish to hear tonight?’ Archie gulped down a third of the beer, the malted aroma drifting in the air.
‘Oh, you decide. Careful how you go with that pint, you’ve got to drive home yet.’ Tom raised his eyebrows, and everyone laughed.
‘Don’t worry about that, you lousy rabble. I can drink all of you under the table any day.’ Archie flexed his fingers, grimacing slightly at the sharp pain that snapped through them. He must have been working too hard, although he’d never experienced pain quite like that before. Another cheer erupted as b
eer glasses clinked and cigarette smoke thickened.
‘I know – “Kiss Me Goodnight, Sergeant Major” – liven up the old place a little.’
Archie nodded, taking another gulp of his beer. As the notes swung out into the ward, the boys and the nurses sang along with smiling faces and twinkling eyes as they bonded over a pint and a merry tune.
‘Your housekeeper’s outdone herself tonight. First rate.’ Blackie settled back in his chair, waiting for Archie to finish eating. With the blackout curtains drawn, and the fires lit, the warm, cosy cottage held back the winter’s chill.
‘We’ll go into the other room. It’s warmer in there in the evenings.’ Archie scraped his chair back as he stood up. He poured a generous measure of whisky into two crystal glasses. ‘How’s your wife, Blackie?’ The fire roared and crackled as flames caught the logs.
‘Oh, she’s very well. Looking forward to my next leave.’
‘Yes, I expect she is. Can’t be easy you being posted here while she’s left behind in Devon. Still, we’re not the only ones separated because of this damn war.’ Archie sat back in his armchair, drink in one hand and a cigarette in the other. ‘It’s a miracle we’re getting all this help for the boys, though, isn’t it?’
‘Who’d have thought it? What with the war and the rationing, it’s mounting up.’
‘Well, at least now we’ve formed a charity, the Guinea Pig Club has a good chance of prospering and helping those boys who need it.’ Archie removed his spectacles and rubbed his eyes. ‘These men have endured hell – and worse – fighting for their country, and I feel it’s up to us to ensure they don’t become outcasts once this mess is finally over.’
He drew on his cigarette. The boys lost limbs, faces, wives, lovers, lives. They were wiped out and had to forge new lives. ‘Over my dead body will any of them be homeless or begging for the next meal. This club of ours will help them find homes or start a business venture if need be.’
THE BEAUTY SHOP Page 9