She took a breath and let it out slowly, with a weak smile. ‘Perhaps I will. Your birthday is well timed, because I’ll have my glass eye by then. It’ll be my first night out with two eyes.’
I saw tears in the other eye, but pretended not to notice.
‘I’m so glad.’
‘No more pirate Ellie,’ she said, with another half-hearted smile. ‘It’s been an experience. I went to see an eye painter, who spent a long time making sure to match the colour to my other eye. The eyes he paints are wonderfully realistic.’
‘I’m sure you’ll look splendid.’
‘I just hope to look normal, although I’m worried that I won’t be able to continue my dancing career if I can’t see clearly on my right side.’ She shrugged. ‘It doesn’t really matter because Raymond wants to marry me.’ This time her smile was real, although tremulous. ‘I don’t need two eyes to be his wife.’ The smile faltered. ‘Raymond took Cameron’s death badly. We need something to cheer him up, so thanks for the invitation, Maisie.’
‘You’re very welcome.’
The door to the common room was pushed open. Jill Peterson entered and greeted us both warmly.
‘When is your film going to be shown, Maisie? I’m longing to see you up there on the big screen.’
I smiled. ‘It’s only twenty minutes long, and I’m in it for about two of those. Just one line at the start and then glimpses of me among the mayhem being brave. The story is really about Rose and Avis, two plucky ambulance girls who dash into a burning building to rescue an old man. My friends and I are window-dressing. They’re still finishing it, but said they’d let us know when it’s going to be in the cinemas.’
‘In time for your birthday?’
‘I doubt it.’
‘Shame. It would have made it extra special.’
The week before my birthday was extra special, but for all the wrong reasons. It was the week of ‘the Wednesday’ and ‘the Saturday’.
On the nights of Wednesday the sixteenth of April and Saturday the nineteenth of April, German raiders came over in force and inflicted two of the heaviest attacks on London since the war began. By my birthday the lives of more than two thousand Londoners had been lost.
At nine o’clock on the Wednesday, six hundred bombers came over in waves and did not depart until just before dawn. The first wave dropped parachute flares to illuminate the streets. The next wave dropped hundreds of ‘bread-baskets’, cannisters filled with incendiary bombs. They were designed to split open as they fell so that each of them scattered dozens of magnesium-filled incendiaries that ignited on impact.
Each plane held as many as seven hundred bread-baskets, so thousands of incendiaries fell that night. The fires they started raged so furiously that at the height of the firestorm an orange glow lit the sky over London and that guided new waves of bombers. Some carried high-explosive bombs. Others dropped the dreaded parachute bombs, land mines attached to parachutes that drifted silently down to detonate upon contact, or on a timer. When they exploded they destroyed entire city blocks.
That is what happened at Pancras Square, a large four-storey block of flats near St Pancras Station. It was destroyed when a parachute bomb landed in the courtyard between a surface shelter and the flats.
My shift at Bloomsbury station was sent to Pancras Square to collect the wounded. We worked without ceasing, all night and into the day, ferrying to hospital dozens of seriously injured patients. Many more had been killed; we carried our stretchers past the rows of pitiful sacks that contained their remains.
The Pancras Square incident kept us busy all night, but it was only one incident in a night of horrors. More than a thousand Londoners lost their lives on the Wednesday. Thousands of buildings were hit, homes, offices, businesses. Almost every window in St Paul’s Cathedral shattered. The Houses of Parliament, the Admiralty, the Law Courts and the National Gallery all suffered direct hits, and Selfridges on Oxford Street was completely burned out. It was the worst raid of the war so far.
I was off duty on the Saturday night. I spent it in the practice room at the club, huddled with the rest of the girls, trying to sing through the worst of it as more than seven hundred raiders swept up the Thames Estuary to London. Before they returned to their bases in France at dawn, the explosives, incendiaries and mines they dropped left a devastating trail of devastation, injury and death, worse than that of the Wednesday. Thirteen firemen lost their lives that night, the worse single loss the Fire Brigade had ever sustained. And in Hornchurch, an entire family of nine, including seven children under eleven, was wiped out when their shelter sustained a direct hit.
Despite it all, life went on. Milkmen still delivered, even though they had to pick their way through bomb debris. Mail was collected and distributed. People still grumbled about the meat rations, the butter rations, the government, Hitler and the air raids, but no one spoke of giving up. The food we ate might have been boring, but there was enough of it, thanks to the Land Army and the convoys from America. Those convoys were now escorted by US battleships as far as Iceland, because President Roosevelt had extended the Pan-American Security Zone. I wondered how long President Roosevelt would be able to act so obviously contrary to America’s supposed state of neutrality in order to help Britain.
Our hopes of an end to the Blitz were raised when the RAF night fighters began to bring down more and more enemy planes. The story, just as Powell had said, was that our pilots had been given extra rations of carrots and this had improved their night sight. I was sceptical. Whatever it was, though, it seemed to be working, and the bombers did not always get through.
After seven months of bombardment, spring was coming to London at last. Green shoots appeared in bomb-site rubble. Primroses and daffodils and crocuses painted the parks with colour. I attended Easter services at St Giles-in-the-Fields and when I sang with the rest of the congregation:
Alleluia, alleluia, alleluia!
The strife is o’er the battle done;
The victory of life is won;
The song of triumph has begun;
Alleluia!
I prayed my hardest that it would soon be true of this war.
And then it was my birthday.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
The Hungaria was crowded with men and women in uniform and evening dress. We followed the waiter to our table and as we settled into our seats I glanced around. The restaurant was a bustle of waiters serving tables and couples wheeling around on the dance floor. Flowery murals on the wall added a splash of colour. A gypsy orchestra was playing as we entered and the restaurant was very merry and bright.
Celia looked svelte in emerald green, and Lily was demure in a blue dress. Ellie wore a pretty frock of apricot silk. I wore a dress I’d borrowed from Bobbie, red chiffon with sequinned shoulder straps. On her it was floor length, on me, mid-calf, but it displayed my assets to full advantage. I thought I looked good, and was a little sorry that I hadn’t agreed to let Lily ask one of Jim’s friends to come along.
According to the sign outside, the Hungaria restaurant in Lower Regent Street, Piccadilly, was ‘bomb-proof, splinter-proof, blast-proof, gas-proof and boredom-proof’. After the raids of the past week, this was more important than its reputation for good food. Yet I couldn’t help but remember that the Café de Paris had enjoyed the same reputation for safety.
‘Care to dance, birthday girl?’ asked Jim Vassilikov, Lily’s tall blond husband.
I smiled, took his hand and we entered the fray. I’d met Jim a few times before and I liked him. He was in RAF Intelligence and I sometimes wondered if I should have told him about the microfilm. It was too late now; I’d made my decision and I refused to regret it. I hadn’t seen Michael Harker since the morning in March when I’d handed over the microfilm, but I’d thought about him far too much. A week after he had rescued the couple a package had arrived for me. It contained two pairs of silk stockings, but no note. I wondered how he had managed to find them, and could only assu
me that Americans had access to supplies that we British didn’t.
‘It’s nice to look up to a dance partner,’ I said, smiling. Jim laughed.
‘Lily’s been told by more than one woman that she acted most unfairly by marrying me, because at five foot one she had her pick of men, whereas tall girls need men my height.’
He whirled me around expertly and I settled in for an enjoyable waltz. We’d taken only a few steps, however, when a man tapped him on the shoulder and said, in an American-accented voice, ‘May I cut in? Your pretty wife looks awful lonesome back there.’
Before I knew what had happened, Jim had surrendered me to Michael Harker and returned to Lily. Michael took hold of my hand, pulled me towards him, and into the dance.
‘Neatly done,’ I said, heart thumping embarrassingly fast. ‘What are you doing here?’
He smiled. ‘Celia Ashwin rang me at the embassy and suggested I might enjoy a night out. Said she’d be here with her new man celebrating a friend’s birthday, and I’d know some of the party, including Jim and the birthday girl.’
‘I’m the birthday girl,’ I said.
‘Sure you are, kid.’
‘Not kid, I’m no longer a teenager.’ I looked up at him through my lashes.
He smiled. ‘Yep. You’re almost grown up.’
‘Almost?’
‘Maisie, I like you more than any other girl I know, but I don’t date minors. You’re too young for me, honey.’ He whirled me around and kept my hand in a tight grip as I tried to pull away from him. ‘I’d be sad if we can’t be friends, though. And I’d sure like to help you celebrate your birthday. Won’t you let me do that?’
He swung me around until I was dizzy. I stared at his chin and surrendered to the music. Storming off because a man wasn’t interested in you would be the height of stupidity. He didn’t want me like that. I could wear the prettiest frock I owned, I could show my assets to their greatest advantage and he still wouldn’t want me like that. He wanted to be friends.
I raised my eyes to his. He was looking at me with a worried expression, and the crease had appeared between his eyebrows.
‘Can’t we be friends, Maisie?’
He had lost his wife tragically only seven months before. Try not to be so ridiculously self-centred, Maisie.
I managed a real smile. ‘Of course we can. We are already.’
His answering smile was quite devastatingly heart-breaking. I examined his chin again. He pulled me closer and we danced together like a dream.
‘Thank you for the stockings,’ I said.
‘How are your knees?’
‘All better. No scars.’
‘That’s good to hear, especially now you’re a movie star,’ he said teasingly. ‘When is the masterpiece to be shown?’
‘I’m not sure. In June, I think.’
‘Can’t wait.’
When the music stopped he led me back to the table. The first course was served. It was delicious, as was the wine. Between the courses I was given presents, which I hadn’t expected. French perfume from Lily and Jim. A mysterious package from Celia and Simon, which she told me to open later, when I was alone. Scented soap from Ellie and Cameron. From Michael a small packet. He also said it was to be opened later.
When Michael and I were having our second dance I mentioned my interrogation by Casey and Lowell.
‘Yeah, I heard about that,’ he said. ‘Sounds like you held your own with them. Thanks for not mentioning my name. It would have been difficult for me if you had.’
‘I was tempted to throw you to the wolves. I think they suspect me of looting his body.’
He frowned. ‘I doubt that Casey or Lowell will bother you again. If they do, let me know.’
‘Um, I was really sorry to hear about your wife.’
His grip on my hand tightened, but he was quiet for a beat or two. ‘Thanks,’ he said. ‘I try not to think about it. She loved life and it was a … bad way to go.’
I felt like a fool to have brought up such a painful subject while we were dancing. For a while we were silent, moving to the beat of the music, his body guiding mine in movements so familiar I had no need to think. He was a good dancer, lightly leading me through the usual hazards of bunched groups and clumsy dancers, into the gaps that appeared without warning and gave us clear air.
After a while he smiled. ‘You sure are provocative, kid. Wearing that dress in public. You’re a menace.’
I laughed and glanced down. My assets were most definitely on show.
‘It’s borrowed,’ I said, ‘and bit small for me, really. But it’s almost impossible to find nice dresses nowadays unless you’re a good seamstress or you know one, or you’ve hoarded pre-war outfits.’
‘I was kidding. It’s a lovely dress. You look gorgeous. I’ll have to introduce you to some nice American boys at the embassy who are more your own age.’
I shrugged. ‘It’s a mug’s game to fall in love in wartime.’
‘Sure it is, kid. But sometimes it just happens.’
He was absolutely right. Sometimes it just happened.
When I returned to the club later that evening I opened my two mysterious presents. Celia’s gift was an exquisite set of silk lingerie. She’d put a note in with it saying that it had been part of her trousseau and had never been worn. I held the filmy stuff against my body and sighed. Perhaps I’d never wear it either.
Michael’s present was smaller, a neat little box. Inside was a gold locket, oval, on a gold chain. It was engraved with my initials, M.H., surrounded by pretty flowers. They were his initials, too, of course. I pushed the catch and it opened to reveal space for a photograph, but it was empty.
It was a romantic gift, but his card said simply, ‘I thought it was a fair swap. Thanks again, and happy birthday, chorus girl.’
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
A few days after my birthday I returned to the club after my shift to find that the previous day a note had arrived from Dan Lowell of the American Embassy. He asked me to do him the honour of lunching with him on any day that I was free. His handwriting was small and neat, not like Michael’s more open scrawl. I stared at his note for a while, wondering what to do. Michael had told me to let him know if either Casey or Lowell contacted me, but I was trying awfully hard to forget about Michael Harker.
Lowell’s note made it seem that he was flatteringly anxious for my company. It wasn’t beyond the bounds of reason that he might have taken a fancy to me when we met, but I had a feeling that he still thought I knew something about the contents of Egan’s watch fob, or he wanted information about Michael. The timing of his invitation was fishy, only a few days after I’d seen Michael.
I decided to accept the invitation and wrote that I would be free on Saturday, the third of May. His reply expressed delight and said that he would pick me up outside the club at one o’clock.
As Saturday drew closer I began to worry that I hadn’t told Michael about it. Several times I went down three flights of stairs to the club’s telephone, only to stare at it for a few minutes and return to my room. The thought of hearing his voice was too exciting. I wanted to see him far too much, and it worried me.
The Thursday before I was due to meet Lowell I decided to tell Michael. Only by then I was at the station and the only phone was in Moray’s office. When I requested permission to use the telephone for a personal call Moray was not happy.
‘You know it’s against policy,’ he said.
‘I’ve never asked before. Please, it is important.’
He grudgingly agreed, saying, ‘No more than three minutes.’
But when I rang the American Embassy, Michael Harker was away.
‘No, I don’t know when he’s likely to return,’ said the receptionist in a flat, bored voice. ‘Do you wish to leave a message?’
Casey and Lowell both worked at the embassy. Would they see any message I left? Think, Maisie.
‘No. Yes. Please tell him that, um, that Miss Tiller called. Te
ll him that I’m meeting our old friend, um, Miss Hyam, on Saturday, so I have to cancel our lunch appointment.’
The bored receptionist repeated the message and hung up.
I put down the receiver and smiled to myself. The message informed Michael of the facts; all he had to do was use his brain.
He was waiting for me in Manette Street, early on Friday morning as I walked home after my shift. The spring sunshine gave him no concealing gloom, and perhaps that’s why I saw him immediately, lurking in a doorway.
‘Good morning, Michael,’ I called.
He stepped out, looking abashed.
‘And to think I’ve been trained to be inconspicuous,’ he said, walking over to me. ‘What gave me away?’
I smiled and didn’t answer.
‘I got your message,’ he said. ‘Very cryptic, it was.’
‘You worked it out, though?’
‘I think so. You’re meeting Lowell for lunch tomorrow. When did he invite you?’
‘Last week.’
He frowned. ‘I thought we’d agreed that you’d tell me if Casey or Lowell contacted you.’
‘And I did tell you.’
‘What’s it about? Did he say?’
‘He sent me a note. I’ve got it here.’ I pulled it out of my pocket and handed it to him. Michael pulled it out of the envelope and read aloud:
My dear Miss Halliday,
I hope you won’t take this amiss, but I have been feeling bad about the rough time we gave you the other day and I’d really like to try to make it up to you.
Would you do me the honour of lunching with me one day, when you are next free? I’d sure like to get to know you better.
Yours truly, Dan Lowell
Michael handed it back to me. ‘Why’d you say yes?’
‘Because it’s poppycock. It wasn’t the other day that they questioned me, it was more than six weeks ago. Why’d he wait so long if he wanted to ask me out? It makes no sense, so I wanted to know more. Do they still think I’m the person who stole poor Mr Egan’s things?’
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