“I told him since I knew you, I’d volunteer our crew. They aren’t pleased at all, but it worked for the chief.”
“Why did you volunteer?”
“I didn’t want anyone else out there with you.”
She knew what he meant, or at least she thought she did. “Trying to be my big brother again?”
“Something like that.”
“Uh-huh.”
He cleared his throat. “I’d like to say meet me for dinner tonight, but my friend invited me over for a meal.”
Disappointment touched her, but she understood. “You’re going to miss the dancing tonight at the Savoy.”
She caught James throwing her a look, and she smiled.
“Huh. Well, I can’t dance anyway.”
When she hung up, she knew she had a big smile on her mug. She had gotten the solid permission to ride with the AFS on Saturday and that made her extremely happy.
James continued with his call, and to his credit he didn’t say a thing about her call with Alec when he hung up. A short time later Benjamin walked in, looking as used up as anyone she’d seen. Pugs walked in behind him.
Sylvie decided she’d jump right to it. “Benjamin, can I speak to you? I have permission to ride along with the AFS out of Fleet Street on Saturday.”
Benjamin stopped in his tracks, a surprised look on his face. “You’re kidding.”
She took in a big breath, unwilling to allow him to push back on this one. “No. I just got the thumbs up.”
He glanced at James and Pugs.
Pugs said, “Well, well, well.”
“It sounds like a wonderful opportunity,” James said.
Benjamin sat down at his desk and clasped his hands over his stomach. “So you men think this is all right?”
James sat back in his chair as well, a slightly amused look on his face. “Of course. She’s a war correspondent. It’s what war correspondents do.”
Pugs made one of his grunting noises. “I think it’s a bad idea. But we can’t stop her. She’s got permission.”
She almost held her breath, waiting for Benjamin to think of some excuse to derail her plans.
Instead he shrugged and threw his hands up. “Fine. If you men have no objections, I guess it’ll be all right.”
James stood. “I don’t see what the problem is in the first place. She’s filed several more stories in her short time than we have. She’s proven her worth on our team. She reflects well on the paper. Isn’t that our main goal? Good journalism.”
She smiled, gratified. “Thanks, James.”
He returned her smile. “Any time.”
Pugs tapped a pencil against his desk. “You’re only saying that because you’re sweet on her.”
“Shut up.” James glared at Pugs.
“Stop tapping the desk.” Benjamin gestured at Pugs. “Everyone get to work.”
Sylvie felt James looking at her, and a blush warmed her cheeks. She knew James felt something for her, if only a mild attraction. She could ignore it to do her job.
When she returned to the Savoy that night, she didn’t see James or Alec, but that suited her fine. Instead she spent time in the shelter downstairs while the bombs fell.
* * * *
Saturday, September 21
Sylvie hadn’t seen Alec in all this time, and anticipation rose and bubbled inside her. When she arrived at the Fleet Street AFS station, she already had her notepad and pencil ready. She noted the sandbags outside the station, but it gave her little comfort. Excitement in what would happen tonight fought with fear. With a deep breath, she entered the station.
A young woman walked right up, her short red curls bouncing and eyes bright. “Hallo, may I help you?”
Sylvie shook the woman’s hand. “I’m Sylvie Hunnicut.”
“Oh, yes.” The woman smiled widely. “I’m Sally Higgins. Alec said you’d be here this afternoon. Welcome.”
The woman’s warm attitude and smile instantly put Sylvie at ease. “Thank you. Perhaps I can interview people first.”
Sally almost clapped her hands together. “A wonderful idea.”
“I think we should show you around the station and explain how all this stuff works.” Alec walked into the room, a cocky smile on his face.
Happiness filled Sylvie. A second later concern removed that glorious feeling. He wore a bandage over his right eye. His blind eye.
She met him halfway across the room. “Alec, what happened?” She reached up to touch his forehead near the bandage. “You’re hurt?”
“He’s clumsy,” another male voice said. The man walked in, his carrot-colored hair bright in the room. “He fell on his bum during an exercise yesterday.”
Sylvie laughed softly. “Well, he is clumsy. I can attest to that.”
“Don’t listen to Bink. We went to a fire yesterday, and a piece of brick fell from a damaged building,” Alec said.
Worry spiked inside Sylvie. “How bad is it?”
“A scrape.” Alec’s teasing smile said he liked her concern.
She noticed the room had filled with more firefighters, including two other women. All of them watched her exchange with Alec. Embarrassment tackled her. She smiled and started introducing herself. She met Bink and Felix as well as everyone else in the station. Some of the firefighters gave her sly looks, as if they distrusted her.
Alec disappeared during part of the exchange. She couldn’t decide if she liked that or not. The journalist in her didn’t want distraction, and he definitely distracted her.
Sylvie looked at Chief Rickard. “I think I’d like to interview Sally, and she can tell me all about the AFS. If that would be all right with you?”
The man with the handlebar mustache and bald head nodded. “That would be fine. Sally, give her the full tour.”
Sally nodded and her eyes sparkled with enthusiasm. “Brilliant.”
As Sally showed her around the building, she kept a steady stream of information coming. The Fleet Street Station was larger than Sylvie expected. It boasted ground floor offices, recreation rooms, and a catering and kitchen area. In the cellar was the control room, and the third floor was where officers slept.
Sally explained the sixty-hour training program, which in Alec’s case went down to practically nothing since the bombings had begun on September seventh. She showed her four trailer pumps pulled by two cars and two lorries. She allowed her to glance at the eighty-two page AFS General Training Manual. She also showed Sylvie the uniform. Overalls, caps, boots, belt, and axe. The tunic, trousers, and oilskin leggings came in handy for wet drills. So far they hadn’t received waterproof coats, but they hoped they’d receive them soon.
“What do the men do when they get wet?” Sylvie asked, feeling stupid to ask but wanting to know just the same.
Sally shrugged. “They just stay wet. Until they can get back here. If they’re lucky, a Red Cross van comes by with pretty girls serving hot tea. You can bet that warms them.”
Sylvie laughed. “I imagine.”
“Definitely an improvement over fighting a fire.”
Sally gestured toward a back room. “Come on. There’s a hot cuppa for you back here and we can talk more.”
Sylvie followed her to a back room and settled at a long table, which obviously worked as a dining area. Sally served Sylvie hot tea in a chipped teacup with saucer.
Sylvie sipped the tea and sighed. “Thank you so much.”
“I swear tea is what keeps Britain alive.”
“Seems that way. I love coffee, but I haven’t seen much of it over here.”
Sally leaned forward. “I love it too. I think you and I have a lot in common.”
Sylvie smiled and turned a new page in her notebook. “That certainly could be. Now, tell me more about the AFS.”
Sally cleared her throat. “We have a lot of drills during the day even with the fires going on at night. The men are generally exhausted because of that. All of us are. There are drills for drawing water out of riv
ers and water tanks and hydrants. We have to learn what to do when fire appliances are rendered useless and how to deal with the appliances if they break.”
“Have you seen that happen?”
Sally stood and went to a cupboard where she brought out a wrapped package. “Not yet at this station.” She grabbed a dinner-sized plate and produced cookies from the package and placed them in front of Sylvie. “I almost forgot about these.”
“Oh, no. I can’t eat these. The men need the food more than I do.”
“Pfft!” Sally waved one hand as she sat down. “It’s only two for each of us. I think they can be spared.”
Sylvie liked this woman more all the time. Sally pushed a plate of cookies toward Sylvie again.
Sylvie relented and bit into a cookie. “Sugar cookies. Amazing. Who baked these?”
“One of the firemen’s wives brought them yesterday. Rather delicious. She said they don’t have that much sugar in them, but I think they’re lovely.” She leaned forward and whispered. “Truth be told, the guys hate these biscuits.”
Sylvie’s stomach growled loudly as she polished off one cookie and then another.
“And they’ll do in a pinch when its cold out and the tea is hot. Last week we actually had hot chocolate. Amazing,” Sally said.
“So how long have you been in the AFS?”
“Six months. I wish they would let us women go out on the line with them.”
“It seems like you do very important work at the watch room.” Sylvie said.
Sally nodded. “It’s a twenty-four hour a day job for all the women here.”
“Tell about the structure. I’m not sure I understand all the ranks.”
Sally explained that each station had six substations. Each substation, such as theirs, had a senior fireman. After the lengthy explanation, Sylvie realized her article would soon sound too clinical for readers, and she decided to ask some more personal questions.
“What did you do before joining the AFS?” Sylvie asked.
“I’ve been a housewife for some time. My husband comes from a posh family. We met by accident at a pub in the East End. He’s in the RAF now. My Mum and Dad said it wouldn’t last, but we’ve been married two years. I’m a bit surprised myself.”
“The strain is tremendous on couples who are apart for so long. It can’t be easy.”
Sally looked wistful. “It isn’t.”
Sylvie savored the cookie, eating her second one more slowly. “Congratulations.”
Sally’s expression changed a little, and Sylvie had the distinct impression Sally had left something key out of the conversation.
Then Alec walked in and Sally’s eyes lit up like a bonfire. Suddenly Sylvie knew what that little something had been.
“Alec, come sit with us,” Sally said.
Alec gave Sally a genuine smile and sat next to her. “Don’t mind if I do.”
Sylvie’s attention bounced between Sally and Alec, and the last bit of cookie almost stuck in her throat. She took a quick sip of tea. The gaze Sally gave Alec belonged to a woman who enjoyed a man. Sylvie’s stomach made a small jump as she considered what this meant. Maybe Sally and Alec had a thing for each other? It would make sense, being thrown together on duty and working side-by-side. A weird panic rose inside her. What if Sally and Alec…
No. Sally was a married woman. Alec would never go for an affair. Would he?
The doubt this thought produced almost made her forget why she was here. Then she took back her attention, mashing down the jealous thoughts rampaging in her head.
Sylvie scribbled on her notepad. “I have a few questions for you both.”
“Absolutely.” Sally’s attention turned back to the matter at hand.
“Sally, how do you handle working with all these men? Your family isn’t concerned about it?” Sylvie asked.
Sally chuckled, a soft and genuinely amused sound. “They might be, but I don’t talk to them all that much. You see, when I married, they already didn’t approve of my husband. But they’ve never approved all that much of me in the first place. They tell me I get above myself and take on airs.”
Sylvie’s journalistic thought process took over. “Do you?”
Sally didn’t flinch from the direct question. “Goodness no.”
“I see.” Sylvie wrote quickly. “And it doesn’t bother you…that your family doesn’t approve?”
Sally shrugged. “I’m very much into a woman being independent and pulling her own weight with this war. I don’t think most of us can afford to sit on our bums and keep the old ways. The only way Britain will survive is if we all pitch in. That means women working in areas they didn’t before. Don’t you agree, Alec?”
Alec smiled and winked at Sally. “Too right.”
Something sly came into Sally’s eyes as her gaze danced between them. “Alec says you two have known each other since childhood. How come you aren’t sweethearts? Or are you?”
Surprise held Sylvie mum, but Alec didn’t look bothered.
“We’re too much alike,” he said, no longer smiling. “Aren’t we, Sylvie?”
What else could she do but agree? “Definitely. Stubborn. Single-minded.”
Sally didn’t look convinced, but thank God she didn’t belabor the point.
“Did you hear the official news today?” Alec asked suddenly. “Churchill has given permission for the Underground to be used as an air raid shelter.”
Sally made a soft grunting noise. “But some people are already using it.”
Sylvie wrote quickly. “At least with official approval the shelters Underground might be safer.”
A short time later, Sally and Alec returned to official duties. It wasn’t long before the sirens went off again and Jerry started his nightly campaign of terror. Sylvie’s pulse rose in anticipation. Tonight she would finally have the story opportunity she’d wanted for so long.
Chapter 9
Riding in the car with Alec, Bent, and Felix as they towed a pump toward Howard’s Timber Yard was about the most exciting thing Sylvie had ever experienced. She acknowledged a part of herself, right then and there, she hadn’t known existed before tonight. Adventure ran in her blood. Of course she should have known this before. She’d gotten into jams more than once with her stubborn insistence on challenging established rules.
As they rolled through the streets, the glows from more than one fire reminded her this wasn’t an adventure but deadly business. Nervous but thrilled to ride along, Sylvie caught herself talking too much.
“She’s quite the pip, ain’t she?” Felix asked.
Sylvie turned toward Felix—he sat right next to her in the back seat. “I’m right here, Felix. You’re talking about me as if I’m not here.”
A bashful look came over his face. “Sorry, miss.”
“I’d watch out, Felix. She is a pip,” Alec said.
She wanted to pop off with a snappy something that would show them all her mettle. Instead she kept it professional. As the dark buildings went buy, light from the fires ahead made the way easier to navigate. Tension traveled up her body, her muscles going tight.
“Here we go.” Bink’s voice reflected concern. “Straight into hell.”
Sylvie decided to remember what he’d said. Darkness prevented her from making notes. Time passed slowly as they continued slow progress along the streets.
“No wonder things burn down around here. We can’t move any faster,” she said.
“Can’t be helped,” Bink said from the seat in front of her. “We run over a civilian, there will be hell to pay.”
She didn’t want them to think she criticized their efforts. “Of course. If you crash, you can’t help anyone else.”
When they reached the timber yards a long time later, Sylvie quickly discovered her ignorance about firefighting. Walls of flame shot upward from the timber yard despite the efforts of dozens upon dozens of pumps on the scene. As Alec pulled the pump into line with the others, Felix and Bent bailed out
to get orders on where they were needed the most.
“My God. Where do you start?” she asked.
In awe and fear, she watched the flames devour everything in their path, barely held back by the firefighters’ efforts.
“Damn good question.” Alec handed her something from the front seat. “Wear these.”
In the dark she almost couldn’t tell what was in her hand. “What is it?”
“Gas goggles. You don’t want eye injuries. I’m wearing a pair.” He slid a balaclava over his head and fastened the goggles in place before putting on the helmet. Then he handed her an extra helmet.
“What…” she started to say.
“Get rid of the fancy hat and wear the helmet and goggles.”
She stared at him for a few seconds.
“I’m serious, Sylvie. Wear it.”
Despite the bossy tone, she knew he was right. “Sparks off the fire.”
With the goggles and other head covering, he looked like some sort of weird creature from a nightmare. “That’s right.”
She worked on removing the hat and tossed it aside. Her hair tumbled down, but she ignored it. She didn’t have time to braid it. She’d have to work the situation with what clothing she possessed.
Felix opened the door. “When you two are done playing, we’ve got a fire out here. They want this pump over on the north side.”
She heard Alec curse under his breath. “Get in.”
As she plopped the helmet on her head, Alec drove them to the north side. As the fire drew nearer, she could feel the heat in the car. Tension rose inside Sylvie. Her stomach tumbled and flipped with an anxiety she couldn’t contain. She’d never crept closer and closer to a fire this huge in her life. She leaned forward to look out the windshield as fear threatened to derail her plans for calm.
You’re a journalist, Sylvie. No matter what you’re feeling, you have to do this.
She drew in a breath and let it out slowly. Noise outside the car hid the sound. Good. If they knew how nervous this made her, they’d believe all the things said about women as war correspondents. It didn’t matter if this whole thing scared her to death, she couldn’t show it.
One London Night Page 15