Not2Nite
Page 10
“What is it?” he asked.
“The station commander wants to see you in his office,” the young man answered smartly. Though they were equal in rank, Guy was accorded a degree of deference that no attempt on his part seemed able to change. He not only felt like a grandfather sometimes, he was treated like one.
He rolled his eyes. With only one week left in his pilot training program, he didn’t know what he’d done to bring himself to official attention, but he had to assume it wasn’t anything good. He just wanted to keep his head down and get his training done. Up until now he’d thought he’d been successful.
“Thanks,” he muttered and headed toward the makeshift headquarters. Construction was ongoing and things were usually chaotic, but permanent buildings were slowly being erected.
The commander was puffing on a pipe and studying the mess of papers that covered the surface of his desk. He looked up and almost smiled when Guy entered.
“Corbett, I’ve got a job for you,” he said, coming straight to the point.
“Sir?”
“What do you think of staying here and training the next load of young fellows? You’ve shaped up to be a good pilot, and more to the point, your engineering background means you know what makes a plane tick. Let’s face it. Anyone can fly across the channel and drop bombs. We need someone here who can give these young fellows the training they need to make sure they can get back again.”
Guy’s heart dropped. “Is that an order, sir?”
The commander sighed. “I rather hoped you’d be pleased to stay closer to home turf. The Americans are going to get involved any day now, and if you’re here, you can easily transfer to your own army or air force when the time comes.”
“I’d prefer to get over there and start actively participating as soon as possible.”
“Very well then. I won’t force you. You’ll be joining an RCAF squadron, and you’ll be with them for the rest of the war. Is that clear?” When Guy nodded, he concluded resignedly, “Try not to get yourself killed in the meantime. We’ve spent a lot of time and money to train you.”
As he walked out of the building and back to his barracks, Guy knew that the commander had been right. It would be a lot smarter to stay where he was and help to train others. He had the age, temperament, and experience to ensure that the young recruits would listen to him and learn what they had to. He might even help to keep a few alive that otherwise wouldn’t survive their first bombing run. And it would be safer, which is why most of the training was done here in Canada instead of closer to the theatre of war.
But he’d made a vow to fight for Molly’s sake and somehow staying safe on another continent, no matter how much doing so ultimately contributed to the overall war effort, just didn’t seem to fulfill that vow.
When it came right down to it, his needs were simple. He wanted to shoot himself some Nazis. That’s why he’d worked so hard and trained so hard, and that’s why he was going back to England as soon as he could get himself across the Atlantic.
Perhaps the commander didn’t make his request an order because he was an American. He didn’t like to think he was treated with any more consideration than the Commonwealth recruits, but politics were politics, war or no war, and it was a lot easier for him to walk away if he wanted to.
In any case, his orders came through almost immediately after he refused the instructor position. He and some of his fellow graduates were to grab the first transport overseas and report for flying duty with RCAF 404 Squadron at RAF Thorney Island, where ever that was.
As Guy soon found out, Thorney Island was in West Sussex. He wasn’t sure where West Sussex was, and as it turned out, it didn’t matter. No sooner had he arrived than he discovered that the entire squadron was heading for Scotland.
And more training. Part of the agreement that saw flight training headquartered in Canada stipulated that when RCAF crews got over to England they would be equipped by their hosts. What that meant in actuality was that frequently when an RAF squadron got some shiny new planes they sent the old beat up ones to whatever RCAF squadron was desperate enough to take them.
So when he arrived, eager and impatient, the newly formed squadron had just received a great many old Bristol Blenheims that had to be fixed up before they could be flown. Then they had to learn how to fly them.
Guy began to think the war would end before he got his first crack at the enemy. And Scotland was a lot colder than Trenton had been even if it was summer.
One thing hadn’t changed, though. With the exception of the hand-me-down planes, he still felt like the oldest one there. Especially when the young fliers started getting excited about the possibility of a dance. It was a bit of a tradition for whatever squadron was staying at the base to throw a party for the ground crew, other support staff, and locals. Far from home and out of their depths, a lot of the newly minted airmen thought a Saturday night blow out was a great idea and could talk of little else when they weren’t actually flying or sitting through another lecture. Guy didn’t have anything against the occasional party, but he wasn’t young enough to want to talk about it with every breath.
He wandered out of the mess hall on the afternoon of the big dance to escape the chatter and heard the now familiar drone of a plane engine—another Blenheim, if he wasn’t mistaken. And he seldom was these days after all his training. He’d been promised the next plane in and his spirits lifted. He hurried across the makeshift airfield to have a look at the plane and greet the pilot who had flown her up to Scotland. After that trek he should know any idiosyncrasies the plane might have and Guy wanted to pick his brains. He wanted no surprises under combat conditions.
He waited patiently as the plane taxied in, watching carefully to see if he could spot any problems. But she’d come down smoothly and was brought to a halt without any sign of a struggle. Either the pilot was very, very good or the plane was.
When the cockpit door opened, he was surprised to see a member of the ground crew who had guided the plane in rush up and help the pilot jump out. They weren’t usually accorded such consideration.
He was even more surprised when the pilot took off ‘his’ helmet and a cascade of blonde locks tumbled down ‘his’ flight suit. This pilot was no man. Though it wasn’t unusual for aviatrixes to ferry planes around the country—and across the pond, for that matter—this was the first one he’d encountered.
“Darling!” the pilot said to the fellow who had helped her. “Thank you. How lovely to see you again. I could just kiss you after being alone all that time in the air, but I’ve chewed off every bit of lipstick, and I refuse to kiss a man without leaving some evidence.”
“Miss Bristol, you’re a tease,” he replied and she flashed him a quick smile before turning her attention to Guy. She strode over to him without hesitation and held out her hand.
“Charlotte Bristol,” she said, by way of introduction as she unabashedly gave him the once over. “If you’re standing here watching something as unexciting as a routine plane delivery, I can only assume it’s your plane I’ve just hauled north. I suppose you want to know all about it.”
Guy introduced himself in his turn. “If you wouldn’t mind. We can go to the mess hall and get you a cup of tea or coffee to warm up if you’d like and something to eat.”
He made to take her arm, but was interrupted by the ground crew man.
“Miss Bristol, there’s a dance tonight. Are you staying for it?”
“A dance? I wouldn’t miss it for all the wine in Italy and a chance to personally punch Hitler in the nose,” she told him with a smile. “You must promise to save a foxtrot for me.”
“I will,” he grinned, before turning to the plane.
“So, Guy,” Charlotte said, “You don’t quite sound like a Canadian. Where are you from?”
“I’m American.”
She looked at him thoughtfully. “A handsome American called Guy. You wouldn’t happen to be an engineer, would you?”
Guy was
startled. “Yes, as a matter of fact I am. How did you guess that?”
Charlotte didn’t reply immediately and then she seemed to come to some decision. “Listen, Guy. I’m kinda tired right now. I think I’d like to grab a bite to eat and then kip down for a couple of hours. How about meeting me at the dance tonight? Instead of that cup of tea you offered, you can buy me a drink.”
Guy hadn’t been planning to go to the dance, but he couldn’t think of anything to say that wouldn’t sound churlish, so he agreed. But as he watched her walk away, he wondered what was up.
****
The main hall had been decorated with bits of strung together colored paper and flowers—it was the best they could manage under the circumstances—and a local band had been commissioned to belt out as many big band hits as they could. When Guy entered, the room was full of cigarette smoke, loud music, and swaying bodies. The festivities were well under way.
He made his way to the make shift bar to order a drink before turning to survey the room. In one corner he could see a group of men huddled in a circle laughing attentively. He could tell by the way they were standing that he’d found what he came for. Drink in hand he wandered over to see if his suspicions were correct.
The pilot, Charlotte, was indeed the centre of attention. When she caught a glimpse of Guy’s amused face standing a little apart from the rest she immediately shooed her coterie away. After she’d promised dances for everyone, they left, reluctantly and with pointed glares in Guy’s direction. She nodded toward a vacant chair across the small table and invited him to sit down.
“I’ll let you off the drink you were going to buy me, darling, because I seem to have quite a few in front of me already.”
Guy sat down before asking, “I’m sorry, this sounds rude, but have we met?”
Charlotte didn’t immediately answer, and he began to worry he’d committed some kind of faux pas. It wouldn’t be the first time his naïve belief that Americans and Englishmen spoke the same language had gotten him into trouble.
“No we haven’t,” she finally said. “Let me ask you a question in turn. Do you believe in love at first sight?”
“That’s hardly the sort of question one asks of someone they’ve just met, is it?” Guy countered. “If you were a man and I were a woman, I’d think it was a pick up line. But you actually seem to be serious.”
“I am. Humor me.”
“Then, yes. I do believe in love at first sight,” he said, crisply. This was not a conversation he wanted to have, with her or with anyone else. “Can we talk about my plane now?”
“She’s a beaut. You won’t have any trouble with her. Why do you believe in love at first sight?”
“Is there some reason we’re having this rather bizarre conversation?” Guy countered. “Are you some kind of shrink in your spare time or something?”
“No, darling. That would entail much too much effort. Let’s just say I’m curious about you.”
Reluctant though he was, there was something in her expression that forced a response out of him. “I believe in it because I’ve seen it. Are we done? Maybe you’d like to dance.” He gestured toward the floor where couples were gathering in anticipation of the next song.
“No thank you.” Charlotte pulled a cigarette out of a case lying on the table. Putting it up to her lips, she waited expectantly for Guy to light it. He pulled out his lighter and did so, and before he could put it away, she held out her hand, obviously expecting him to hand it to her. He did so and she looked it over carefully. Something she saw there seemed to satisfy her.
“It was a graduation present,” Guy said.
“I know. From your father.”
“You told me we’d never met. How could you know that?”
“Molly told me. She told me all about you. That was my final test to see if it was really you—whether you carried the lighter she told me you lost on the street in London one night during the blackout.” She looked at him steadily. “You do remember who Molly is, don’t you?”
Guy felt like he’d been kicked in a place no lady would ever admit to knowing about, never mind kicking. He could feel his face draining of color and his pulse pounded unpleasantly in his temples.
“You knew Molly?” he managed to ask.
“She’s my cousin and my flatmate. One morning several months ago, she came dancing home from spending the night fire watching on a roof with a man who put the smile back in her eyes. I’d never seen her like that before. That’s when I learned there was such a thing as love at first sight. But she never saw him again.”
“No,” Guy was able to say through the pounding and his gritted teeth. “She died two days later. I waited for her, and she never came. And I blamed her for being a coward. For not believing what we had could be real. And she was dead.”
“So that’s it,” Charlotte said. “I thought there was more to it. You’re wrong, you know. She wasn’t dead, and she wasn’t a coward. Molly is very much alive.”
If the pounding in his head had been loud before now it was like an explosion. He looked at Charlotte with bewilderment and hope fighting for dominance in his eyes.
“What? But the old man…he told me she’d been killed. The building was completely destroyed.”
“I’m sure he didn’t. You must have misunderstood. She was injured and taken to hospital. That’s all. She didn’t die. She’s recuperating at her parents’ house in Yorkshire.”
At that moment the band started playing “Night and Day” and before Guy could respond, the young ground worker who had guided in Charlotte’s plane was at the table.
“They’re playing a foxtrot, Miss Bristol,” he said, holding out his hand. “You promised.”
“Not now,” she said immediately and returned her attention to Guy who, roused out of his own thoughts, looked back at her in a daze.
“Go,” he said. “I need air.” He stood up from the table and somehow made his way through the crowd toward the door, leaving her behind without a thought.
The night was crisp and cool and the stars shone bright, but Guy barely noticed.
Molly was alive.
The very thought consumed him. He felt like the world was starting to turn on its axis again, like the oxygen in the air around him had been replenished.
He needed to know what had happened, how she was, how he could have been so mistaken. But even as all these questions swirling in his brain he knew there was only one that really mattered.
If Molly was alive and in England, what was he doing in Scotland?
Chapter Eleven
It took no small amount of wrangling, but Guy somehow managed to extract forty-eight hours of leave out of his commanding officer. It helped that he was a good pilot who hadn’t asked for any favors in the past. It also helped that his plane rather conveniently developed a stutter that Charlotte insisted should be looked into before anyone was allowed to fly it in combat.
“Didn’t I mention it before?” she asked, wide-eyed, when Guy questioned her about its sudden appearance. “Must have slipped my mind in all the excitement of dancing with you, darling,” she said.
He pointed out that they hadn’t actually danced together, but she seemed to consider this a mere bagatelle.
Two days later, he was on a train to Yorkshire. Thank God Molly was somewhere close. He’d see her soon.
****
The letter and small parcel had arrived with the morning post and Molly was still trying to digest what it meant exactly.
Darling,
Put on your best bib and tucker and try not to limp. I highly recommend you spend the afternoon ensconced in one of the delightful wicker settees that dot the terrace looking out over the drive. I have used up one of my prayers especially for you, and the weather gods have promised sunshine and blue skies. Be patient and all will be revealed.
Love and kisses,
Charlotte
P.S. I have enclosed my very best lipstick. Put some on. You won’t regret it.
Her thoughts returned to a path they’d trodden too many times during her convalescence. She’d sworn to Guy that love at first sight couldn’t exist, that memory couldn’t stand firm in the face of time passing. Yet she remembered every word he’d spoken to her, every inflection of his voice and every contour of his face.
And she remembered that after their one night together, he had disappeared without a trace. Enquiries at the Embassy had been met with a rather chilly reply that boiled down to the simple fact that women who knew next to nothing about the person about whom they were asking would be given no information. That even that was more than they deserved was strongly implied. Trying to track down the mysterious Uncle John in Leicester was pointless from the word go.
Guy was gone. She accepted that. It simply hadn’t been meant to be.
But it didn’t mean she was looking for a replacement, no matter how well-meaning Charlotte’s attempts. She was actually a little surprised by behavior that would have been more typical of her mother. For all her outward bon vivancy—if that was even a word—Charlotte was usually more sensitive. But because it was Charlotte, she would put up with it.
Consequently, shortly after lunch she did put on her best summer dress, as well as a dash of Charlotte’s lipstick, as instructed, and slowly made her way out to the terrace where the sun was, indeed, shining. She was soon joined by Angela, who had become a constant companion after leaving London with Molly and her mother, who had gratefully accepted a job as lady’s maid/nurse to Molly as she recuperated.