‘Our Father, which art in heaven. Hallowed be thy name.’ Bud’s voice filtered through the interphone.
Lower, lower they came as the concrete runway rushed up beneath them.
‘But deliver us from evil. For thine is the kingdom.’
The control wheel now shuddered so violently, the vibrations juddering through Mac’s arms and torso as he bounced in his seat, and they jolted as they touched down hard with a squeal of rubber. The ship immediately bounced back up before coming down hard with the single wheel now firmly on the ground, screeching in delight. Mac kept the Texas Rose upright for several seconds before she gracefully tilted over to the other side, her wingtip gouging concrete, orange sparks fizzing into the air like hundreds of fireflies glowing at dusk. He applied the brakes, but nothing happened. As the runway ran out, they rode across the bumpy grassed field at speed. Mac glimpsed the meat wagon in pursuit, the blood-red cross on its olive-green roof. Still travelling at around fifty miles per hour, Mac stared ahead as the end of the airfield approached, the boundary hedgerows rushing forward to greet them, and then the wing clipped a concrete building, sending Mac lurching forward as they spun around in an arc and finally came to a standstill. The number one engine belched out black smoke, and the sharp smell of high octane fuel reeked in the air.
For a few seconds, Mac sat stunned, and then a flicker of orange flashed from the corner of his eye. He glanced at the engine where flames now leapt, lashing the wing. ‘Fire! Everybody out!’ He unclipped his belt. Wilson rushed ahead of him and jumped through the nose hatch, closely followed by Tex. Mac charged through the ship. The radio room was empty. Just as he entered the waist, a loud explosion knocked him off his feet and for a moment, everything went silent. His face stung, and something wet slipped down his cheek and neck, but the fire was spreading fast, and he had to reach the tail. He jumped out of the waist door and ran to the rear of the ship. The tail door was still shut. He opened it and found Danny unconscious on the floor. ‘Hey, Tex. Give me a hand. Danny’s out cold.’ Mac jumped inside, despite the stifling intensity of the flames. Tongues of orange-red lashed the waist, sweeping towards them. Tex climbed in and between the two of them they half dragged, half carried Danny to the awaiting medics, while the flames licked at their heels.
‘Come on, Mac. The whole ship’s burning. There’s nothing more you can do.’
‘I’m not leaving Birdie in there to burn, goddammit.’ He darted back inside. The smoke, thick and black, caught in his throat and he coughed, gasping for breath. One side of his face prickled as the searing heat intensified. Every breath was a fight, and his nose and throat seared as the flames devoured the oxygen. He grabbed Birdie by his arms and dragged him towards the door, but another explosion rocked him and his knees buckled as he dropped to the floor. The portable oxygen cylinders in the tail must have gone up. This was it. He was burning to death. He swallowed and closed his eyes for a second, as his family and Stella flashed through his mind. Then, a surge of adrenaline flooded his body like a raging torrent, and he hauled himself up and cried out as the fire reached him, lashing his lower legs as he dragged Birdie to the exit.
‘Jesus Christ, Mac! You’re burning.’ Wilson, standing waiting by the door, pulled the injured gunner out and let his body drop to the ground, where he rolled him and threw his jacket over him to beat out the flames. Mac staggered out and fell onto the grass, which was now soaked with water from the fire hoses. A medic threw a blanket over his legs to smother the flames, and the wet ground soaked into him. Intense pain radiated through his legs, his hands, and face, and a wave of nausea swelled in his gut. As he lay sprawled on the ground, his limbs began to shake and his teeth chattered, but he fixed his gaze on the medic now attending to Birdie.
‘Get back, clear the area.’ The firemen stepped back, still pointing hoses at the B-17, as the greedy flames raged, blackening her skin, tearing it from her frame, devouring her whole.
A second medic shook his head, draped a blanket over Birdie’s body, and dragged it up over his face. Mac glanced at his crew who looked on, stunned, and Virg stood, wide-eyed, wiping his eyes with gloved hands.
Mac’s heart lurched, and his chest heaved. ‘No!’ He twisted to one side and retched. Then, like lightning, sharp, stabbing pain seared through both hands. He held one out in front of him. The flight glove was crispy, blackened and partially melted. He tried to remove it, but a searing pain plunged through his hand, throbbing and stabbing, and he cried out.
‘Don’t do that, Lieutenant, I’ll see to those for you.’ The medic shouted to his colleague. ‘I need another stretcher over here.’ They carried Mac to the awaiting field ambulance.
‘He can’t be dead.’ Mac’s voice quavered. The acrid smell of smoke drifted in the air, but a stranger, nauseating odour filtered in, pungent, foul, like burned meat. He swallowed.
‘He’s gone, the poor kid. You did everything you could.’ Wilson took out a cigarette and lit it, his hands trembling. ‘Looks like he got hit pretty bad. Nothing anyone could have done, Mac.’
Mac lay back on the stretcher and gazed at the sky. Milky blue with white cloud, the perfect day for flying in the old Curtiss. Maybe dad was up there right now putting her through her paces. His heart suddenly ached for home.
‘I’m just going to give you a shot of morphine, Lieutenant.’
There was a sharp sting in his right arm and within a few minutes, Mac relaxed and floated on a warm, hazy cloud. ‘So tired,’ he mumbled, as he sailed into the fog. ‘So goddamn tired.’ He closed his eyes as the pain subsided, embracing the darkness which somehow seemed reassuring.
Chapter Thirteen
Longthorn Manor, April 17th 1943
The sleek, black train steamed into Exeter station at half past three in the afternoon. The journey had been long and the conditions cramped, with soldiers and kitbags spilling out into the corridor. Stella couldn’t stop thinking about Mac, and she longed to see him – to explain. She picked up her leather suitcase, stepped off the train, and made her way across the platform, as a sickly hollow feeling seeped into her stomach. Never before had she felt so torn. She sighed, wishing she wasn’t here at all.
‘Stella!’
Alex strode towards her, resplendent as ever in his RAF uniform and his mouth creased into a smile, making him even more handsome, his blonde hair smoothed back, glinting gold in the afternoon sun. Seeing him again, so close, she realised why she fell for him all those months ago. But would it ever be enough? He fixed his dark chestnut eyes on her, took her in his arms and planted a kiss on her mouth. ‘Oh, darling, I’ve missed you. I’d almost forgotten just how beautiful you are.’
Despite his warm smile, his dim eyes gave him away, along with the new lines etched around them and the freshly carved furrows on his brow. They hadn’t had the chance to talk properly before now, and he still hadn’t said anything about his cousin. ‘I’m so sorry about Peter.’ Stella met his gaze, but he looked away.
He coughed to clear his throat. ‘Yes, jolly bad luck.’ He grabbed the suitcase from her and strode across to the car, a Triumph Dolomite Roadster in ice blue. ‘He kept saying his time was running out.’ His face twisted into a semblance of a half-smile but then sagged, replaced by a drawn, downcast expression of grief.
‘He expected it?’ As soon as she said the words, she regretted them.
‘Don’t we all? Oh, let’s not talk about it.’ Alex’s voice was cold and brusque. He turned the key, the engine roared to life, and he sped out of the station.
The journey to his home took about ten minutes, and he barely spoke except to answer her questions. He was beyond reach and had obviously taken Peter’s death hard. He braked suddenly, and Stella lurched forward as they turned into a narrow lane flanked by large black iron gates.
Alex’s face brightened. ‘Well, here we are. The old homestead.’ He smiled as he drove along the rough, rutted tree-lined road. A grey-stone Georgian house loomed ahead, shrouded by a cloak of creeping ivy which
clung to its skin.
‘It’s lovely, Alex,’ Stella lied. An icy prickle snaked around her shoulders as she turned her face to the roof, where demonic stone gargoyles leered at her. Established hydrangea and rhododendron bushes with blooms of pink and red flanked the well-tended lawns.
Alex drove up to the front door and cut the engine. ‘Come on.’ He patted her knee and cast a smile before clambering out.
She stepped onto the gravelled drive and stones rolled and crunched beneath her feet. A black Labrador bounded towards them, ears flapping in the gentle breeze, barking and wagging its tail with vigour. A tall, middle-aged woman, elegant in dress and poise, stood at the dark oak front door, her mouth a tight red line.
‘Ben, old boy.’ Alex knelt to greet the dog, who furiously licked his face. ‘Have you missed me?’ Ben barked and trotted around, his tail held high.
‘Mother, this is Stella. I told you she was adorable.’ Alex beamed and slipped his arm around Stella’s waist.
‘It’s lovely to meet you, Mrs Russell.’ Stella smiled politely.
‘I trust you had a pleasant journey.’ Her cold, clipped, tone belied the smile she wore – if you could call it a smile. She closed the door behind them, blocking out the light.
Stella followed behind as Mrs. Russell led the way through an oak-panelled hallway into a library, with walls filled from top to bottom with books. The Labrador slipped past and retreated to a wicker basket near the fire. The smell of burning logs failed to mask the stale, musty odour which hung in the air. Pictures crammed the remaining walls, which Alex pointed out were portraits of his ancestors. He seemed pleased to be home and hadn’t stopped smiling, but it was almost a forced smile. Perhaps this was just what he needed – a weekend away from the war.
‘Alex, I’ll ask Mrs Briars to bring you some tea.’ Mrs. Russell’s smile faded as she breezed out of the room.
Stella sensed the icy unease drift away, and she smiled as Alex drew her close and kissed her. ‘I’m so glad you’re here.’ He exhaled a deep sigh. ‘I’d almost forgotten how it feels to be at home.’
She leaned against him on the sofa, his arm around her shoulders. He hadn’t been this affectionate in ages. Perhaps she could believe in his love for her, but the moment’s thought brought with it a fresh wave of pain and loss, and then Alex released her abruptly when the door opened.
‘Ah, hello, Mrs Briars.’
A grey-haired woman bustled in carrying a large tray laden with tea and sandwiches and set it down on a nearby table. ‘Will that be all, Master Alex?’ she said, her rounded, ruddy face breaking into a warming smile.
‘Yes, thanks, this looks wonderful.’
Stella was famished after her journey and in desperate need of sustenance. Alex poured the tea, and they helped themselves to food. The fire crackled and spat as they ate and chatted, and the war might have been a million miles away, but she couldn’t shake the image of Mac from her head.
Alex glanced at his watch. ‘Goodness, it’s half past five already. I’d better show you to your room so you can get unpacked. Dinner’s at seven thirty sharp.’ He took her hands and pulled her towards him, taking her in his arms. His uniform was rough and scratchy against her cheek, and the memory of Mac’s soft touch and his smell sailed into her head and pinched her heart.
‘I’ve missed you, darling, you know that, don’t you?’
She raised her chin to speak but found his lips, waiting. His kiss was soft at first, but then a hunger set in and his tongue, urgent and searching, surprised her. He’d never kissed her like that before. ‘Oh Stella,’ he whispered, kissing the length of her neck, drawing her body to his. She was so close to him – too close. It wasn’t the same, and the intuitive voice in her head yelled as much. Since the moment she stepped off the train, she’d been making comparisons.
‘Come on.’ Alex led her to a sweeping staircase and to the first floor, where more ancestry portraits hung. She followed him along a dusky hallway, her eyes sweeping over every picture, a swirl of faces adding to the confusion in her mind. The dark-red carpet was threadbare in places, and abruptly ended where Alex stopped, its edge frayed as if it had been severed. Beyond stretched dark, stained floorboards running to the end of the corridor. A musty odour drifted in the air.
‘Here we are.’ Inside, the bedroom was large, with windows overlooking the rear gardens. He placed her suitcase on the double bed, which was flanked by two mahogany bedside tables with matching cream lamps. ‘I wish I didn’t have to dash, but there’s something I have to do before dinner. I’ll leave you to unpack, and I’ll come for you at seven.’ He cast a brief smile before closing the door behind him.
A chill slid down her neck. The room seemed unused and unloved. Stella sank down onto the bed. She was alone in a strange old house; an intruder, or was it that she was an outsider? A gentle breeze flowed into the room through the open sash window, carrying a sweet floral scent. She peered out. Blobs of blue flecked the grey sky, and light rain drizzled. From below, roses clung to the stone walls with flowers of red and white, their heads nodding in the shower. Cherry blossom trees graced the garden, with soft, pink flowers casting their skins adrift in the gentle breeze, blanketing the carpet of velvet green below.
The clip-clop of hooves grew nearer, and she glimpsed the gravelled yard over to the right where a rider approached on a sleek black horse headed towards the house; towards Alex. He was waiting in the arched entrance to the stable yard. The rider dismounted and removed her hat, revealing a sheen of blonde hair scraped back into a hairnet. Dressed in riding breeches and a tweed jacket, she hugged Alex tightly, and he greeted her with a kiss on the cheek. Who was she? Whoever she was, he was inviting her inside. A stable boy appeared and led the horse away. She half expected Alex to come and get her so that the two women might be introduced, but there was no knock on her door, no sound at all.
After about ten minutes, she could bear it no longer, so she tiptoed out into the hall where she caught the sound of laughter drifting upstairs. She peered over the oak bannister into the entrance hall. It was a woman’s laugh. Alex didn’t have a sister. Perhaps she was his cousin or a family friend. No doubt he’d tell her about it later. Footsteps clattered across the tiles below, and the woman slipped into view, leading Alex by the hand towards the front door. She whispered something in his ear and Alex laughed, then she kissed him on the lips. That wasn’t the touch of a friend. Stella’s vision clouded with swarms of red, and she trembled as a rush of adrenaline surged through her veins.
She stormed back to her room and locked the door behind her. How could she have been so stupid? When Alex had professed love, she’d almost believed him. She sank down on the bed as a wave of nausea struck her and her eyes swam with tears. She’d been a fool – the biggest fool – and pushed Mac away for this. Why? Because she’d felt it was right to support a friend in need. Clearly, Alex didn’t need her at all.
The image of Mac’s hurt face perched in her mind. How dare Alex treat her this way? He’d betrayed and used her once too often. What if Mac had finally given up on her? For all she knew, he could be meeting someone else right now, and it was all of her own making; all because of her misplaced loyalty. Why had Alex pleaded with her to come here when he clearly had someone else sheltering in the wings? Nothing made sense as she sank down on the bed. Her mother had pushed too far this time and read it all wrong, yet she was glad. Now she was free, or at least she would be as soon as she could leave. But what would she find when she returned?
Tears stung her eyes. She cast a gaze outside at the sky. ‘Please be safe, Mac. Please come home,’ she whispered. She might be stuck here for tonight, but tomorrow she would return home. She only had to make it through dinner and afterwards, she would confront him. Adopting a steel resolve, she flicked a gaze at the long, black cocktail dress hanging up – a dress she had no appetite to wear.
At seven o’clock, Alex knocked on her door and came into the room. ‘Oh, Stella, you look beautiful.’ He kisse
d her cheek and took her hand in his and led her downstairs to the dining room.
Stella walked into a chilled atmosphere, despite the log fire. Alex pulled out the chair for her, waiting for her to be seated. His parents glanced up then exchanged a look between them. Stella gazed around at the red painted walls, which were adorned with pictures of hunting scenes. The conversation seemed a little awkward, but Stella bore their questions with grace. They asked her all about her family, her background, and her aspirations. It was almost as if they were interviewing her for a position in the household. Whatever it was, she was not in the mood for it.
Alex’s mother set her cutlery down. ‘Alex, darling, how is Elizabeth? It’s such a pity I missed her earlier.’
His gaze darted across to Stella, and a pink flush tinged his cheeks. He shuffled in his seat. ‘Oh, well, she’s very well. She wanted to know how it was all going, service life and all that.’
‘I hear she might volunteer with the Red Cross – good girl, she’ll do a grand job no doubt.’ Alex’s father smiled. ‘And you, young lady, how do you find life in the WAAF?’
Stella swallowed a mouthful of potato and peered along the stretch of polished mahogany towards Mr Russell, who raised his crystal glass to his mouth and drained the last of his red wine, swallowing deeply. ‘I enjoy it. Well, we all have to do what we can for the war effort.’ At least, some of us do. She eyed Mrs Russell, who didn’t appear to be the sort who did anything useful.
‘Elizabeth is the daughter of Earl Hamilton-Jones. They own quite a large estate just north of here. Such dear friends. She’s an only child now, so sad. Her brother joined the RAF in 1939 and was shot down in his Spitfire over the Channel. They never found him, poor boy.’ Mr Russell shook his head.
THE BEAUTY SHOP Page 12