‘I heard you boys were grounded.’
‘Yeah, I don’t think they knew what to do with us. They were about to use some of the guys as spares, but then you came along.’ Val rubbed his jaw, casting a sceptical look.
‘Okay, I’ve seen enough. Oh, one thing. The ship needs her own distinctive look. I saw Slater earlier – he’s about the best there is for nose art.’
Val grinned, and his face relaxed as he jumped back into the jeep. ‘Sure thing, Mac.’
Later, Mac took a walk along the perimeter track out to his old spot by the farm. In the adjoining field, land girls formed a wave of khaki in dungarees of yellow-brown topped off with bright headscarves, as they dug in harmony. He swallowed. So much bad had been aired out here. All the prayers he’d whispered had sailed into the wind, and yet he’d never returned to the base any lighter. His gaze flicked across a field of straw; its golden ears swayed and whispered in the breeze. He pursed his lips. A bird of prey cried out above, and he lifted his face to the sky, shielding his eyes from the sun’s glare. Black wings fanned out in the blue as the sun’s fingertips caressed his skin and his scars burned in the heat.
The Texas Rose and all but one of his old crew were gone. He recalled their faces and heard their voices. He had to block them out. Thank God he had Stella. He loved her body and soul, but was he doing the right thing in marrying her? The truth was, he was damned either way. At least she was happy. Yet a dark shadow hung over him.
All this time, he’d been desperate to resume his tour of duty, craving service life, but the reality was he was starting afresh. He realised it was a different camaraderie he craved, one where he was surrounded by his brothers from the ward. He had stepped away from an existence of familiar normality and acceptance and had ventured into new territory. At least Stella was close by.
He glanced at his hands and clenched them a few times. His fingers were stiff and ached. Maybe he’d been overdoing things. He offered up a silent prayer and asked God for help. All he had to do was make sure he stayed in one piece. He heaved out a breath and steeled himself for all that lay ahead.
Chapter Thirty
Peenemunde, August 1943
‘Charlie. What are you doing back here?’ Stella’s heart lurched. He was supposed to be with Alex up in Lincoln. Did that mean Alex was here too? He cast her a nervous smile and as she ambled towards him, he slipped a hand into his tunic pocket and dragged out a pale blue envelope. She faltered. Alex used stationery just like that; in fact, all of the letters he’d ever sent her were in envelopes exactly like that.
‘Hello. Might I have a word?’ Charlie’s voice was soft, with a nervous edge.
The hair at the nape of her neck bristled. ‘Yes, of course.’ What did he want with her? Probably the messenger on behalf of Alex, no doubt. Lord, he was still plotting how to keep her in his life. She opened the door to the staff room, and Charlie followed her in. She glanced at him, raising her chin. ‘Well, what is it, Charlie? I know this isn’t a social call. You’re here because of Alex, aren’t you?’ She stared at him, long and hard, narrowing her eyes.
‘Yes, I’m afraid I am.’ He glanced at his feet, his brow furrowed.
Stella huffed out a breath and her heart gathered pace. ‘How many times do I have to tell him? It’s over, finished. I ended things for good reason.’ Her head pounded, and heat flared in her face. ‘For goodness’ sake, he’s supposed to be getting married.’
Charlie took a step towards her, still grasping that slip of blue. ‘I’m afraid he’s not getting married anymore.’
Oh, so he’d sent the messenger to do his dirty work. That was low, even for Alex. ‘Well, you can tell him from me that I don’t want to know. He treated me appallingly, and he deserves everything he gets.’ Her chest heaved as the torrent of words gushed out of her.
‘Please, Stella. Just listen for a minute. Sit down.’ His tone was curt and took her by surprise.
She met his gaze, and his eyes flashed with pain and the breath caught in her throat. She didn’t want to sit, but he was sitting now so, reluctantly, she sank down beside him.
‘Stella, Alex isn’t getting married, and he didn’t send me here today, not exactly.’
She swallowed. Her mind hurled words around, scrabbling for some kind of logic, and when she looked into his eyes, she stiffened.
‘I’m so sorry, but Alex went down with his crew over Germany a couple of weeks ago. No chutes were seen.’ He reached out and placed his hand lightly on hers. ‘Peenemunde. We lost a number of aircraft.’
Stella froze, staring, transfixed, at Charlie. All of Bourn’s aircraft made it back that night. Grief flashed in his eyes as numbness crept into her soul. Alex couldn’t be dead. He had to be safe.
Charlie’s eyes were brown, the colour of hazelnuts. She swallowed. As he continued to speak, she saw his lips move, but all she could hear was ‘no chutes’ echoing around in her head. Her eyes swam with tears until she couldn’t focus and then silently they fell, and Charlie’s voice filtered through.
‘I’m sorry. I know you’d had a falling out. Alex didn’t elaborate, but I could see he felt rotten about it. Whatever it was about, he regretted it. He told me that much.’
A sob escaped Stella’s lips and took her by surprise. Her chest heaved and another came, even though she tried to stop it. She shouldn’t be feeling like this – like her world had come crashing down around her. She’d been angry, but she never wanted this. ‘Oh, Alex.’ Her jaw trembled as she cried and Charlie squeezed her hand, then pressed the blue envelope into her palm. She gazed down. It was addressed to her. Alex’s writing.
‘If anything happened, he wanted me to give you this. I think it explains things.’ He glanced at the clock on the wall. ‘I’m so sorry. It’s been a terrible time. Alex’s death hit everyone hard. Well, I’m afraid I must get back, or they’ll think I’m AWOL.’ He cast an apologetic smile as he rose and headed for the door. ‘Look after yourself, Stella.’
She continued to stare at the envelope. A part of her didn’t want to read his words while a part of her was hungry for them. Carefully, she tore it open and unfolded the letter within.
My darling Stella,
If you’re reading this, then it is because I have gone. Please don’t grieve for me. I loved you, truly I did, in spite of everything. I’m so sorry for hurting you and making such a mess of things. There was only ever one girl for me, and it was you. It was just a pity I couldn’t see clearly enough at the time. What I did was unforgivable. I was weak, and I hurt you. Please try to forgive me, my darling. Marry your American if that’s what you want and know that I am happy for you. I wish you a long and happy life, for you truly deserve it.
I shall leave you now, and know that I am safe and among friends. Perhaps one day we might meet again. I’d like that very much. God bless.
With all my love,
Alex. xxx
Stella’s chest lurched and heaved as she sobbed, and she drew her legs up and curled into a foetal position on the chair, the letter in her hand, scrunched against her chest. Pain seared through her, severing her breaths. She screwed her eyes shut and summoned his face. Yes, she’d loved him, more like a brother at the end, but she’d loved him, and now she was breaking.
After a while, she blew out a breath and was silent. She glanced at the clock on the wall. Six o’clock. She’d been there over an hour. She gathered her things and wandered outside, clambered on her bicycle, and headed for home. The sun was bright in a milky blue sky, and the birds chorused with joy. Everything carried on as normal, except nothing was normal and she wanted to shout and scream and tell them to stop singing because Alex was dead, and she sobbed into the warm breeze as she cycled home.
Mac headed out to RAF Bourn. He glanced at his watch – ten past six. ‘Damn.’ A cyclist sailed around the bend up ahead, wobbling around all over the place like a pilot struggling to stay in formation. Stella. She cycled towards him in her grey-blue uniform as the wind gently teased her blon
de hair from beneath her peaked cap, and stray curls oscillated in the breeze. He slammed the brakes on and skidded to a halt, sprang out of the jeep, and stood in the middle of the road with his hands on his hips.
He beamed as he eased his crush cap back with his forefinger, his face creasing into a broad grin. She was a picture all right, only she wasn’t slowing down fast enough on that damn cycle of hers. The brakes squealed, and he put his arms out, managing to grab her and the cycle and bring them to a halt and she fell against his chest, sobbing.
‘Hey, what’s happened?’ He held her tight. ‘It’s ok, honey. I’ve got you.’ Eventually, she ceased and sniffed and raised her face up to his. Her reddened eyes glistened. He pressed his lips to her brow, then rested his head against hers. ‘What’s happened?’
‘Alex, he’s, oh God, he’s dead.’ She broke down again and buried her face against him.
He held her tight. Jeez, he was gone. Mac wouldn’t wish that on anyone, even Alex.
‘How did you find out?’
She pulled away from him and dragged a handkerchief from her pocket, dabbing her eyes. ‘His friend turned up at the base and handed me a letter.’
Mac pursed his lips. A letter of regret, no doubt, making her feel a whole lot worse. ‘What does it say?’
She took a deep breath and blew it out slowly. ‘He apologised for everything.’ Her lower lip trembled, and she caught her breath. ‘I can’t believe he’s gone.’
Mac’s stomach tightened. He hated seeing her upset, especially over him. ‘I’m sorry.’ He was, but a part of him couldn’t help wondering if Alex still held a piece of her heart. He sighed. ‘Come on. I’ll take you home.’
Stella looked into his eyes, dabbing her nose with a hanky, a dazed expression on her face. He took the cycle from her, crammed it into the back of the jeep, and sprung into the driver’s seat.
‘I don’t think you should be riding that thing. It’s lethal. I’ll get it fixed for you.’
Stella never uttered a word, and an air of uncertainty slipped between them as he drove silently to Lilac Cottage, drawing up outside five minutes later. He walked her to the front door, his arm around her, pressing her to his side. The door swung open well before they reached it.
‘Oh, how lovely to see you again, young man.’ Mrs Brown glanced at Stella and her smile faded. ‘Oh, dear, whatever’s wrong?’
‘She’s had a shock, ma’am. Sad news about Alex.’
The older woman’s eyes met his as she stepped back and ushered them inside, into the living room, and then said something about making tea. That seemed to be the magic drink here. Everything was solved with tea. Pity they couldn’t soak the entire German army with the damn stuff.
Stella sat on the sofa, and he crouched down in front of her. ‘Hey, I’ll go get your bicycle and leave it outside for you, okay?’ She stared at him but didn’t speak. He dashed outside and hauled the cycle out of the jeep. He stood outside for a moment longer, rubbing his jaw as alarm bells rang in his head. It sure had been a rough day. He considered his own bad news about his old crew; something he now couldn’t share with her. He blew out a long breath.
Back inside, Mrs Brown had given Stella a cup of tea, and she took Mac aside.
‘She hasn’t said a word. Did she tell you anything?’
‘Well, she said he’d gone. I just assumed he went down on a mission. Then she clammed up.’
‘I’ve never seen her like this before. I suppose she’s in shock.’
‘Yeah, probably, ma’am.’ Stella began to cry, and he sat beside her and took her in his arms. ‘Come on, honey. It’ll be all right. Wasn’t anything you could’ve done.’
‘I could have helped him, but I didn’t.’ She stifled a sob. ‘I told you when we met that things were difficult. I was worried about what he might do.’
Mac didn’t know what she was driving at. Come to think of it, she never had explained things, and he’d never asked her as he’d been so wrapped up in his own problems. ‘What do you mean?’
‘He was a mess. In front of everyone else he put on an act, but inside he was crumbling, piece by piece. Ever since he lost his friends, and then his cousin. I don’t think he could cope.’
‘That’s not why this happened. Stella, he must have been shot down. There’s nothing you could have done. It happens.’ Now he saw where this was heading, and he swallowed.
‘I could have helped him, but instead, I abandoned him. Don’t you see? He asked me to promise not to leave him. He needed me, and I wasn’t there. I did this.’
‘Oh, sweetheart, you weren’t to know, and it’s not your fault. Please don’t cry.’ He wiped her tears away with his thumbs. The voice from the grave had certainly stirred things up.
‘I let him down.’
Mac shut his eyes for a second and sighed.
‘I made you promise.’ She sat up, pulling away from him.
‘Hey, I’m not about to let you down. And you didn’t let Alex down so quit saying that.’ Her face was red, her eyes wide and glazed. ‘What exactly did the letter say?’
‘It doesn’t matter.’ She got up and walked over to the window. ‘Mac, if you don’t mind, I’d like an early night.’
Her cold, detached voice hit him in the chest. ‘Okay, if that’s what you want.’ He stared at her back as she wrapped her arms around herself. She never turned around. He moved towards her and lightly placed his hand on her shoulder, her muscle tensing beneath his touch. ‘Maybe I’ll see you tomorrow or the next day.’ He paused. Hell, he couldn’t leave it like that. He wrapped his arms around her and brushed the top of her head with his lips. ‘I love you. See you soon, honey.’
As he reached the jeep, he turned to look back at the window where she stood, hugging herself, her eyes in a trance. No smile, no wave. Nothing. He didn’t know what to do or how to reach her, and he could only hope that she would snap out of it soon.
Chapter Thirty-One
A Cottage in the Ashdown Forest, September 1943
The setting sun cast the last vestiges of golden light through the open window, illuminating the painting which glistened beneath its touch, the oils still wet. Archie stepped closer, careful not to tread on the squeezed-out tubes of paint that lay abandoned on the bare, wooden floor.
Freddy’s studio was strewn with canvasses, some stacked against the walls, while others hung around the room. The smell of linseed oil and the mix of turpentine and oil paints hung in the air and intensified the closer he stepped to the canvas. It was a familiar odour that reminded him of home, of his artist mother, Mabel and his elder brother, Jack, and his chest tightened as he drank it in fervently.
Freddy stepped back for a moment, studying the image before him, his lips pursed tight, his forehead furrowed, a streak of black smeared across his cheek. The palette rested in the crook of his left arm while he held a cigarette casually between the second and third fingers of his left hand. In his right hand, he raised the brush and made some fine, sweeping strokes to the canvas, adding detail and definition to his subject’s face. Archie stood, transfixed, with the same, intense fascination he’d had as a child while watching his mother paint. He recognised hues of burned umber and yellow ochre as Freddy mixed colours to add to the complexion. The look of intensity etched on his face suggested that he was far from satisfied with his work and a pensive wave rolled in the air. Archie edged away.
Freddy had asked him to drop by and take the first glance at the painting when he ran into him yesterday at the hospital. As Archie gazed around, his eyes were drawn to a particular oil painting on the wall. It depicted an RAF crew standing in front of their Lancaster Bomber on a grassed airfield. The crew gazed into the distance with brooding eyes. Seven young men, all unsmiling, dressed in their flying clothes, and the breath hitched in Archie’s throat as he imagined what they’d been thinking at that precise moment. One of the men wore a defeated expression, almost as if he knew what lay ahead – or was perhaps thinking of a previous mission – and Archie�
�s skin prickled as the hairs bristled at the nape of his neck.
‘Freddy, when did you paint this one?’
‘Hang on a mo.’ Freddy added some fine brush strokes to the canvas, and then spun around. ‘Ah, that was RAF Binbrook. I did a short stint there, last year.’ He dipped his brush into a clear glass jar and sloshed it around, and the water swirled into murky brown almost instantly. He then sauntered over to join Archie.
‘Yes, I remember that day most vividly. They had their minds on the mission ahead and were rather rattled at having to pose for me. But orders are orders, and so they posed, and grumbled, while I attempted a quick sketch.’ He drew on his cigarette and savoured it for a moment as if recalling that very day, that precise moment, and then released a vapour of white into the air.
‘Yes, the bombardier had to endure a little good-humoured ribbing from a couple of the lads. He’d recently become a father.’ He hesitated for a moment. ‘They never returned from that mission.’ Freddy gazed at the painting for a few moments longer and heaved out a heavy sigh, his eyes dark and serious. ‘Right then, come and have a look at this. Time waits for no man.’
‘Don’t I know it?’ Archie strode across to the latest creation. The man in the saline bath – one of his own patients to be precise. ‘Ah, yes. Excellent, Freddy. It’s very humbling.’ Archie scrutinised the scene. ‘You’ve illustrated the nurse superbly, tending to her patient. She’s almost angelic. And the airman looks relaxed, just as he should be in the tub.’
His eyes lingered on the nurse wearing her white surgical mask. A thick lock of black hair had escaped from her headdress and cupped her cheek. She was slim, the curve of her hip defined as she leaned over the enamel bath wearing black rubber gloves, delving into the water with a pair of forceps to remove a dressing from the man’s leg. The man lay outstretched, his arms resting on the side of the bath, the burns to both legs clearly evident – red and raw. The angle of his head was dipped as he looked down at his injuries, and the definition of his shoulders, the trapezius and deltoid muscles, was illustrated to perfection. But Freddy had captured the mix of emotion perfectly in the man’s posture and in his burned face, although the face was not exactly clear – obviously an artistic decision.
THE BEAUTY SHOP Page 28