Ambulance Girls At War

by Deborah Burrows

  Simon dropped me back at the club in his tiny Hillman, which was a far cry from the luxurious beast driven by Dan Lowell. I rushed upstairs to bathe and prepare for the dinner. I chose a pretty pale green jersey dress from Paris before the war. It was a day dress, but fine for the Soho restaurant. Nowadays everyone seemed to wear day dresses when they went out, sometimes even slacks, in case they were trapped all night in a shelter.

  I checked myself in the dressing table mirror. It was rather a clingy dress and quite low cut. I wondered if Michael would like it.

  I’d wasted my efforts. When I joined him on the doorstep, he scarcely glanced at me. I had wondered what it would be like to see Michael Harker angry, and it seemed very clear that I was about to find out.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  Michael’s face was all stone and jagged edges. He took my arm and practically dragged me along the street until we came to the restaurant doorway. A knock and we were through the blackout curtain and inside. It was again full of Frenchmen, who again whistled and called out to me. Michael ignored them, too.

  Our table was in a corner, and we had relative privacy.

  ‘Why did you do it, Maisie?’ were his first words.

  I stared at him, wide-eyed. ‘Do what?’

  ‘Turn me in to Lowell and Casey. They’ve strung me up good and proper. I’ve spent the last couple hours trying to defend myself.’

  ‘What?’ I stared at him, aghast.

  ‘Now I’m under suspension – I’ll be sent away in disgrace.’ All the anger drained away from his face, and it softened to blank misery in his eyes. ‘I hate to leave Britain when things are still so bad. And I sure don’t trust Lowell or Casey to do anything to help this country.’

  ‘What? What do you mean? What did I do?’

  He laughed, somewhat bitterly. ‘If you don’t know then I guess he played you, honey.’ He looked up, into my eyes. ‘What’d he tell you? That I killed Harry Egan?’

  ‘Yes, but I didn’t believe him.’

  ‘You believed something. You told him what he wanted – that I was at the Café de Paris that night, and that I searched Harry’s body, took his wallet and watch. That was all he needed to know.’

  ‘He already knew it. I just …’

  My voice trailed away as I realised Michael was right. I’d been played for a fool. Lowell hadn’t known for sure that Michael was there that night. He’d said it and I’d confirmed it.

  ‘I’m so sorry. He said—’

  Michael pulled out a packet of cigarettes, shook one out and lit it. He sucked in the smoke as if it was a lifesaver. ‘He said he just wanted you to confirm a few details. Is that what he said?’

  ‘Yes. But it was more than that. He—’

  ‘What?’

  ‘He also said you were on a vendetta. That you were a – a lone wolf. You blamed the Germans for your wife’s death and were blundering around and making mistakes that could hurt America and Britain. He said that they knew about Egan. He said that you went there to confront Egan and kill him, and that your actions could …’

  Michael was shaking his head, and a slight, bitter smile hovered around his lips. I stared at him. ‘I’m so sorry. I should never have believed him.’

  ‘He’s good at what he does.’ Michael breathed a laugh. ‘So he said I was on a vendetta because of poor Vivi’s death.’ He shook his head. ‘Her death was a tragedy, but this is war. The German U-boat commander didn’t know it was a ship full of kids. It was bound to happen one day, the way they kept sending children overseas. I told Vivian not to go, but she wouldn’t listen. She wanted to get away from England and she wanted to get away from me.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘She was leaving me, Maisie. The marriage had been over for a while. When the bombing began Vivian decided that there was no point in staying here and pretending any more. She was going to get a divorce in the States.’

  ‘Will you lose your job?’ I asked, trying to gather my thoughts together.

  ‘Nah. Lowell is trying to say I killed poor Harry, but he can’t prove anything, because I didn’t. The lone wolf story is one he’s spinning at the embassy, too. It’s obvious now that Egan was a fifth columnist, and everyone’s ducking for cover. If Lowell or Casey convinces the Ambassador that I’m too hot to handle, they’ll send me somewhere else.’ He sighed. ‘It’d sure be a shame. I’ve gotten fond of old Blighty and I was willing to go out on a limb to protect it.’

  ‘Like turning up at the Café de Paris that evening?’

  ‘Yes.’

  I didn’t know what to say. I’d made a stupid mistake. Michael might be sent away, probably somewhere dangerous. Perhaps he’d be killed. It was all my fault.

  ‘Michael, I—’

  ‘Forget it, kid.’ He stubbed out his cigarette. ‘Let’s eat, drink some wine and forget it. It was worse thinking that you’d been willing to betray me.’

  ‘It’s better to know that I’m a gullible fool?’

  ‘You’re certainly no fool.’

  ‘But I’m gullible,’ I said bitterly.

  He smiled. ‘You’re young and you trust people.’

  ‘I trust you, Michael.’ My voice broke.

  He held my gaze for a while, then breathed a laugh. ‘It hurt to think that you didn’t.’

  I blurted out, ‘Is there anything—’

  ‘Nothing, but thanks.’ He looked down, readjusted the cutlery with a long finger. ‘In my job there are always ups and downs. I’ll miss England.’ Michael looked up and smiled at me. ‘And I’ll miss you, chorus girl.’

  At his smile I felt again that sharp pain somewhere deep inside me. I looked down at the table, and found that I was clutching my napkin in a tight, twisted grip.

  He sighed. ‘I’m sorry I was so angry. I should have realised that Lowell had gotten around you. I forget sometimes what a baby you are.’

  At that I looked up, indignant. ‘I’m a twenty-year-old woman, thank you very much.’

  ‘You’re a baby when it comes to men like Lowell.’ His expression sharpened. ‘Did he make a pass at you?’

  ‘No. He flattered me, but no pass.’

  ‘Shame.’

  ‘What!’

  ‘Then I’d have an excuse to slug him.’

  ‘I can look after myself, I’ll have you know, Mr Michael Harker. I’m not your property to be defended.’

  He smiled. ‘Sure, kid.’ His gaze shifted downwards to my chest. ‘So you like the locket I bought you.’

  ‘I love it,’ I said, touching it with my fingers. The frock was low cut, and when Michael dragged his gaze back up to my face I saw with some satisfaction that his cheeks were tinged with red. He seemed to collect himself and called the waiter over to order the meal.

  ‘Do you really come from a family of eleven?’ I said, teasingly, once the waiter had left. ‘That’s what you told the girls at the club.’

  He laughed. ‘No. And Mom’s in blooming health, in case you were worried. I’m one of six kids. Four boys, two girls. I’m the youngest, the spoiled baby. Which is why I got to go to college while the others had to work as soon as they turned fourteen. I’m the first and only member of the family with a college education.’

  ‘They didn’t mind?’

  ‘They insisted. The whole family kicked in to make sure I stayed at school and then found enough between them to buy what I needed to start college. The scholarship paid for most, but not all and I worked my way through.’

  ‘And went down the mine in the holidays?’ He looked surprised, so I said, ‘You told me that when you were digging through the bomb-site rubble.’

  Michael smiled. ‘Yeah. When I was fourteen I got a bee in my bonnet about not contributing to the family. You know how boys are at that age. I wanted to be independent. Then Dad arranged it so I could work in the mines over the holidays. Told me I could see how I liked it.’

  ‘And you hated it.’

  ‘It’s a rotten job. Smelly, dirty, tough work. I liked
the men I worked with, but not the job. And it’s a trap. You end up bound to the mine-owner for life because you never seem to make enough money to get out. I worked there every holiday until I graduated. It was a great incentive to do well at college.’

  ‘That’s how I felt about factory work,’ I said. ‘I was determined to make a career of dancing. My mother had been a dancer before I was born, so I suppose it’s in the blood.’ I sighed. ‘Having me put paid to her career. She couldn’t go away dancing with a baby, so she moved back with her parents and became a steel factory worker.’ I paused, then said, ‘Mam was my grandparents’ only living child – of five children, the only one living – but they were shamed by my birth and never really forgave her for it.’

  ‘Your grandparents didn’t ever thaw towards you?’

  I toyed with my napkin. ‘Not really. Granddad could be kind sometimes, when Nannan wasn’t looking.’ I smiled at the table. ‘He was a lay preacher and used to practise his sermons on me. I loved it when he did, although what he said was often terrifying.’ I looked up at Michael. ‘Hellfire and brimstone, that sort of nonsense.’

  ‘And your grandmother?’

  ‘She was never … kind.’

  ‘You told me she used to hit you.’

  ‘Did I? Only when she could catch me.’ I gave him a cheeky smile that quickly faded. ‘When I was a little girl, I’d be left with Nannan all day when Mam and Granddad were at the steelworks.’ I toyed with my cutlery. ‘She disliked me when she was sane, and hated me when she wasn’t. I learned very young to get out of the house when her eyes turned darker. We had lovely neighbours, who understood and would take me in until she calmed down. It was a close-knit community.’ I gave him another smile. ‘At heart, I’m still more a Yorkshire lass than a Londoner.’

  ‘You and your mom came to London. How did your grandparents take your leaving?’

  ‘Granddad was hateful. He was really mean to Mam, ranting and raving and saying we’d both go straight to Hell. It was horrible. I’ll never forgive him for it.’

  His red, angry face had terrified me. And so had his declaration that we were destined for Hell, because I knew how he felt about the place from his sermons. It still upset me to think about the day we left Sheffield.

  ‘Honey, you were only twelve. You’d have seen things in a childish way. Do you think he might simply have been hurt that you were both leaving? His only daughter and grandchild were going away and leaving him alone with a wife who was …’ He shrugged.

  ‘I suppose you may be right,’ I said, huffily. Michael had no idea how terrifying it had been to see Granddad like that.

  ‘And you’ve never been back to see them.’

  ‘Mam visited them once, when I was on tour. Then she – she died. I was so angry when they didn’t come to London for her funeral that I haven’t wanted to see them.’

  Michael seemed to be searching for the right words. ‘It was a long time ago. Don’t you think you should reach out to them, now you’re back in England? You’re all they have.’

  ‘I send them money,’ I said, defensively. ‘Even when I can scarcely afford it.’

  ‘When your mom was in trouble – pregnant and unmarried – they took her in. They looked after you both. Some parents wouldn’t have.’

  I stared at him. How could I explain it to this man, with his loving, happy family who had all made sacrifices so that he could stay on at school, go to university? He had no idea how awful my childhood had been with Nannan’s rages, and the grinding, relentless poverty. And then, when I had a chance to escape, Granddad had said such spiteful things to Mam. She had cried all the way to London. I could never forgive him for doing that to her.

  ‘But your ma forgave them, kept in touch with them?’ he said.

  ‘She wrote every week from London. When she – she died, I telegraphed Granddad to tell him, but I had no reply. I wrote after the funeral, and I got a short letter back from Granddad saying he hadn’t been able to come to London.’

  I glared at Michael. ‘Then he asked if I had a job, because Mam had been sending them money each week, and they needed it. So I wrote that I’d send them what I could. And I have done, every week except when I wasn’t in work.’

  ‘You should at least write to them.’

  ‘Why should I?’ My tone was angry. It hurt that he should take their side. ‘I’ve never told them my address because I don’t want to have anything to do with them.’

  ‘You’re all they have, and they’re all you have.’

  ‘They don’t love me, Michael,’ I said angrily. ‘They never did. I was an embarrassment to them, and they thought I’d ruined my mother’s life. You know nothing about it, so keep out of it.’

  ‘Okay, I’ll keep out of it,’ he said. ‘It’s your life, kid, but it cuts me up to think that you’re all alone in the world.’

  Our meal arrived then, and I busied myself with eating. Michael was just trying to be nice, to look after me. As usual, he was treating me like a younger sister. The trouble was, I didn’t want him to think of me like that.

  ‘When are they likely to send you away?’ I asked a short while later, although the thought of him leaving caused a real pain, deep in my chest.

  He shrugged. ‘Next week, maybe the week after.’

  We’d got to the coffee before I remembered. I reached out and grabbed his arm. ‘Michael, Celia says that Dan Lowell was often at her house before the war, being pally with her husband. Cedric Ashwin, the fascist leader.’

  ‘Lowell might have been ordered to keep an eye on Ashwin.’

  ‘That’s what he told me when I asked him about it. Only, Celia is fairly sure that Lowell told Ashwin that he was part-German.’

  Michael frowned at the table. ‘There are lots of Germans in America, Maisie. Even if he is, it means nothing.’ He looked up at me. ‘I’ve never liked him, though.’

  Neither had Celia. If she and Michael both had the same reaction to him, it was good enough for me. And he had tricked me to get Michael away from England.

  Michael sipped his coffee and said nothing for a while.

  ‘You need to flush him out,’ I said. ‘How can I help? What should I do?’

  ‘Nothing. I’m trained for this sort of thing and you’re not.’

  I gazed over his shoulder, hoping that I wasn’t giving myself away. ‘Is it dangerous, what you’re trained for?’

  ‘Sometimes. But so is what you do.’ His voice changed, became harsher. ‘I hate that you’re out there in the raids. I hate that you might be injured, or killed, like those firemen in April.’

  I looked at him then. He was staring at me fixedly, and with an intensity I’d not seen before in his eyes. My heart began to thump. Perhaps it’s not all on my side. Perhaps he does want me like that. He broke eye contact to look at the table top.

  ‘Maisie,’ he said, still looking down, ‘I’m sorry, but I can’t …’

  ‘It’s all right,’ I said. ‘Why don’t you walk me home.’

  We walked along the dark, silent streets to the club. The slender light of our torches lit the fractured footpath in front of us, meeting, mingling and falling apart. At the door to the club I turned to him.

  ‘I want to help you expose Lowell.’

  ‘We don’t know he’s done anything. Honey, leave it to me.’

  ‘But—’

  I stopped talking because he was leaning in towards me. My heart was thumping so hard in my chest I wondered if he could hear it.

  He turned his head at the last moment and touched my cheek with dry, cool lips. ‘You’re a good kid, Maisie Halliday,’ he whispered. ‘The best.’

  ‘I’m not a kid,’ I said.

  ‘I know.’ He kissed my cheek again, then turned and walked away.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  At the station the next morning Moray told me I’d be going with Celia to deliver supplies to Middlesex Hospital.

  ‘What are we carrying?’ I asked.

  ‘Bandages and iodi
ne,’ said Moray. ‘And if Celia promises not to cover it in bricks and smash the windscreen, she can drive the new ambulance. The Studebaker will be M.I.A. for a while yet.’

  ‘Can’t make that promise in the Blitz,’ said Celia. ‘I’ll do my best, though.’

  ‘Honestly, Moray,’ I said, annoyed. ‘It was a time bomb. How was I supposed to protect the Studebaker?’

  ‘I should have thought that was obvious.’

  ‘What? How?’

  ‘Keep away from time bombs.’

  I made a face at him, and he laughed.

  ‘Is it really a new ambulance?’ I asked hopefully.

  Moray grinned. ‘No, it’s a modified 1935 Humber 16/60 saloon. But it should be a smoother ride than the Studebaker.’

  ‘I, for one, am extremely jealous,’ said Lily, looking up from her knitting. ‘I’m stuck with the Monster for eternity, it appears.’ On her return to Bloomsbury station Lily had been given the same 1937 Ford V8 she had driven before she left.

  ‘There’s a reason for that,’ said Moray. ‘Only you have the knack of taming the beast.’

  ‘Wish I could tame this dratted wool,’ she said, gazing wistfully at Harris. ‘I’ve dropped another stitch. How do I fix it up again?’

  Celia and I went down to the garage to see our new machine. We circled it warily.

  ‘Yet another chimera,’ said Celia.

  ‘I have no idea what that word means,’ I replied.

  ‘Greek mythology. A monster with a lion’s head, a goat’s body and a serpent’s tail. I mean that the Hummer, like the Studebaker, is several things joined together.’

  I could see her point. There was an elegant Hummer front, but a square box had been riveted on to the back. I checked, and the previous shift had left it properly supplied with bandages and blankets. The first-aid box was all in order, too.

  ‘Moray’s right,’ said Celia, once we were on the road, ‘It’s much smoother to drive than the Studebaker.’

  ‘I’ll find out on the Wednesday shift,’ I said. ‘Moray had better let me drive it then, or else. Turnabout is fair play.’