by Garry Ryan
He closed the door.
CHAPTER 8
“You look better.” Sharon sat down on a metal chair in Linda’s hospital room. “I brought you some magazines.” She lifted the cloth bag and put it on the table next to Linda’s bed.
“Honeysuckle wants to see you.” Linda closed her eyes, opened them, breathed into her hand to check her breath, and grimaced.
“What about?” Sharon asked.
“I’m not really sure. You know my mother — she can be a bit secretive.”
“Not with me.” Sharon shook her head.
“Did I tell you Honeysuckle wants to talk with you?”
“Yes.” Sharon nodded.
“Oh. Didn’t I just say that? I’m a little fuzzy. The morphine, you know. Wonderful stuff, by the way.”
“So the doctors are putting your ass on your legs?”
“You have such a blunt way of explaining the most delicate and intricate of surgeries. And, as usual, you’ve hit the nail right on the head. You always manage to cheer me up with that direct approach to any problem.” Linda smiled.
“You were saying that your mother wants to see me?” God, Linda looks so thin and her hair has lost its shine.
“Yes, she said that you must drop by when you get a delivery close to her neck of the woods.” Linda looked out the window as a man walked past.
“What do you see?”
“One of the boys who’s had his nose burned off. They’re building him a new one. You must have seen one or two on your way in. They have their new noses connected to one shoulder. Quite a shocker when you first see it. Now it’s all old hat. They’re still worried I might lose a leg, you know.” Linda looked at her friend.
“I didn’t know.”
“And they say you’re the reason why I have any hope at all of keeping both. How did you know to bring me here?”
“The pilot we met the morning your brother flew in from France. Remember?”
“Vaguely.” Linda stared at the wall. “If memory serves, I was busy beating him up.”
“Richard, the Lysander pilot, had been burned. He told me about this hospital.”
“Guinea pigs.”
“What?” Sharon asked.
“The boys call themselves guinea pigs. Much of the medicine practiced here is experimental. Sometimes it’s called plastic surgery.”
“Plastic. Sounds like something new.” Sharon looked at the mini-tent of elevated white sheet above Linda’s legs.
“Speaking of new, what’s new with your father?” Linda asked.
“I saw him again. Just after I flew through a Luftwaffe bomber formation.”
Linda sat up on her elbows. “Come on, tell me how you managed to find yourself doing something that mad!”
Sharon told Linda about flying into cloud, being hunted by a Messerschmitt Bf 110, and the ensuing collision.
“I don’t know all of the rules about air combat, but I think you may be well on your way to being an ace. That makes three, if memory serves.” Linda raised her eyebrows. “You Canadians are such a fierce lot.”
Sharon shrugged. “It was all about staying alive, believe me. It was plain dumb luck that I missed colliding with one of the Heinkels.”
Linda shook her head. “It was more than luck. Every time we fly together, I’m quite envious of your instinctive ability to react to different circumstances.”
“Too bad I’m such a disaster when it comes to having a family.”
“Look, your mother left to get you away from that brother and father of hers. Honeysuckle said your mother was so different from everyone else in her family. She wasn’t pompous and posh like the men. And she didn’t pretend everything was just fine in her family, like Cornelia does. Everyone seems to think that your mother was really quite remarkable.” Linda reached for a glass of water. “Christ, I’m always so thirsty in this place.”
“I miss her every day.”
Linda looked over top of the glass. “Of course you do. Just don’t miss what’s right in front of your face.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means that a family isn’t always made up of blood relations. If you can’t see that, then you may have the eyesight of an ace, but you’re still blind as a bat.” Linda sat the glass down next to her bed. “My arse is sore. I’m going to roll over on my side.”
“Tempsford? Where’s that, Mother?” Sharon asked.
Mother scratched his head. “Not sure, exactly. Apparently, it’s near Bedford. Once they drop you off at the assembly hangar for the Lysander, someone will surely give you directions.” He handed her a chit and pointed her in the direction of the duty Anson that was to drop her at her next delivery.
“I’m sorry, Mother, but where’s Bedford?”
“North of London, near Cambridge.”
She was the first to be dropped off at a small airfield west of London where Lysanders were assembled.
An aircraftsman leaned against the open hangar door. “You the one here to pick up the Lysander?”
“That’s me.” Sharon felt the morning sun against the back of her neck. It might turn out to be a rare day for flying.
The aircraftsman reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out an envelope. “I was told to give you this.”
Sharon took the envelope and opened it. Inside was a detailed map placing Tempsford about halfway between Bedford and Cambridge. A compass heading was written across the top of the map.
After she completed the walk around, Sharon could sense the eyes of the aircraftsman on her back as she made the ten-foot climb up the side of the Lysander and into the cockpit.
She kept her ATA handbook of aircraft tucked into the pocket of her coveralls as she went though her checks. She said, “Clear!” and started the engine. The airframe shuddered. The exhaust belched smoke. She waited for the engine to even out, then began to roll ahead.
After running up the engine and completing her preflight checks, she aimed the Lysander into the wind and marveled as its high, long wings bit into the wind and carried her into the air after a remarkably short takeoff run.
The expanse of Plexiglas made the cockpit into a greenhouse. Sharon wiped the sweat from her forehead as she leveled off at one thousand feet and headed north. She opened a side window to get some air moving inside the cockpit.
After about twenty minutes, she thought, I’ve got the feel of this thing. She tapped the envelope in her breast pocket and played the directions back in her mind as she maintained her heading and looked ahead for Bedford. The Lysander’s high wing made it easy to see what was beneath her.
For a few minutes, she almost enjoyed England as the landscape rolled along. It was relatively easy to find Bedford, even though she’d never been there before, and then she headed east.
Tempsford was only seven miles away. She spotted the runway, checked the wind, and was the only aircraft in the circuit. She landed on the grass strip and taxied toward a collection of construction equipment. A man with a leather vest waved his arms over his head, then pointed to his left.
She taxied toward a patch of tarmac, gave the Lysander’s Bristol engine a twitch of throttle, kicked the rudder, and swung the aircraft around. Sharon shut down, undid her harness, slid the canopy open, and climbed over the side.
“It’s good to see you again.”
Sharon turned as she pulled off her leather flight helmet. Standing there was Michael — Linda’s brother. His hair was a sandy blond in the morning sunlight, and he was a head taller than her.
She felt uncomfortable under the scrutiny of his blue eyes. “What are you doing here?” Sharon pushed her brown hair back, combing it with the fingers of her right hand. I must look a sight.
“I’ve been awaiting your arrival, actually.” Michael nodded in the direction of a black, silver-grilled Austin parked at the edge of the tarmac.
Sharon frowned and looked sideways at him. “What do you mean?” Was my being here part of a plan? Why am I so nervous?
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sp; “I mean, I wanted to thank you for taking care of Linda, and I wanted to ask you some questions.”
“Why?” Sharon looked around her. Construction workers were pouring tea from flasks and leaning against the back of a truck.
“Honeysuckle told me to bring some coffee and a bite to eat. It’s in the trunk of the Austin.” He turned and walked toward the car.
Sharon waited for a moment, then followed. He obviously went to a great deal of trouble. How did he know it would be me doing the delivery?
When she approached the car, Sharon heard a snarl. “What’s that?”
Michael opened the boot and pulled out a picnic basket. “What’s what?”
This time, she heard a growl.
“Are there bears around here?” Sharon asked.
“Bears?” Michael began to laugh. “It’s my mother — she’s snoring!”
“Honeysuckle is here?” Sharon asked.
“What? Who’s there?” The voice came from inside the car.
Sharon leaned in an open window. The car smelled of oil and leather.
Honeysuckle was in the back seat. She wiped her mouth. “There you are!”
Sharon stepped back.
Honeysuckle opened the door, stood up, and hugged Sharon close. “You darling!”
Sharon looked at Michael and asked, “What did I do?”
“You made sure that Linda was flown to the hospital.” Michael set the picnic basket on the grass.
“The surgeon thinks he’ll be able to save her legs because of you.” Honeysuckle wiped at her eyes. “If you hadn’t done that, she might have died from shock or infection. They use salt baths to treat burns at East Grinstead and have a very high survival rate for burn patients.” Honeysuckle pulled out a handkerchief and gave her face a working over.
“Should we eat?” Michael asked.
Both women glared at him.
Honeysuckle said, “Men think only of their stomachs.”
“It was just a question!” He picked up the basket and headed for the shade under the wing of the Lysander.
Honeysuckle took Sharon by the elbow, and they followed Michael. “I hope you don’t mind. I made Harry set this up. They needed aircraft delivered here. It’s a new airfield. All very secretive, you know. I simply wanted to thank you face to face.”
Sharon shrugged. “I just did what needed to be done.”
“That’s exactly why we’re here.” Michael set the basket down in the shade.
Honeysuckle released Sharon and pulled the red-and-white checked cloth off the top of the basket. “What have we here?”
“You packed it, Mother,” Michael said.
“Where’s your sense of humour? You’ve become so serious since you returned from France.” Honeysuckle pulled out sandwiches wrapped in waxed paper. She handed the first to Sharon. “It’s real ham, not that disgusting stuff from a can.”
Sharon sat down next to Honeysuckle. For a moment, Sharon imagined she caught the scent of her mother. She closed her eyes, trying to hold onto a rich memory of Leslie’s hand on hers. It was gone. She opened the waxed paper and inhaled the scent of fresh-baked bread, butter, mustard, and ham. Sharon longed for home as she bit into the sandwich.
Michael sat down next to her. His arm brushed against hers.
Sharon felt a tingling in her belly.
Michael reached across and took the Thermos.
Sharon felt heat on her face.
He poured a cup of coffee and handed it to her.
“Thanks.” Sharon held the sandwich in one hand and the coffee in the other.
Honeysuckle looked over as the workmen started up some of the machinery. “What are they doing?”
Michael ignored his mother’s question and turned to Sharon. “So, being from Canada may mean that you speak French.”
“Don’t you dare change the subject, Michael, and don’t even think about recruiting Sharon for your bloody nighttime flights into France! It’s dangerous enough being in England!” Honeysuckle pointed a finger at her son, then turned to Sharon. “Linda told me about your close shave with those Messerschmitts.”
I hope she didn’t tell you all of it.
Michael frowned at Honeysuckle.
“I was just making conversation, Mother.” Michael handed her a cup of coffee.
“You forget, I know how you and your father work. There will be no recruiting of Sharon. Is that understood? We will not repay her kindness to Linda by putting her in more danger.”
Michael went to reply.
Honeysuckle held up her hand to stop him.
Michael took a bite of sandwich instead.
What is going on here? Sharon thought.
“Michael and his father are beginning the organizing and supplying of resistance forces inside occupied France.” Honeysuckle looked at Michael, as if daring him to tell her to be quiet. “They need pilots to fly our people in and out of the continent. If you spoke French, he would then try to recruit you. He may, in fact, be trying to recruit you anyway. You have quite a reputation in the RAF. The Royal Air Force is such a closed little community, you know.” She looked at Sharon. “Yes, I said RAF, not ATA. You see, I have many sources of information, just like my husband.”
Damn it, Linda, your devotion to revealing secrets can be so annoying.
“And no, Linda did not tell me about the way you broke up that Nazi bomber formation,” Honeysuckle said.
“Mother, all of this is supposed to a secret! By rights, I should have you arrested.” Michael smiled at Sharon.
Honeysuckle waved her sandwich at him dismissively. “Sharon’s one Canadian who is not going to be used as cannon fodder to protect the Empire! Now, we need to talk about your Uncle Marmaduke.”
“My uncle?” Sharon asked.
“Yes, your uncle. He’s certainly no relation to me, although he has tried to have relations,” Honeysuckle said.
“Mother!” Michael shook his head. “What’s come over you?”
“Well, he has a way of making his presence known to all of the young women who live near the Lacey Estate. And he thinks that you” — Honeysuckle pointed at Sharon — “have come to England with the sole intention of laying claim to your mother’s property.”
“What?” Sharon asked. What kind of mess am I in now?
“Marmaduke treats his servants as if they don’t exist. So when he talks with his wife or his mother, he often talks in front of the people under his mother’s employ. And they talk with me.” Honeysuckle looked at her son as though expecting him to contradict her.
“That’s not why I came to England,” Sharon said.
“Yes, we know that, but your uncle is a man who thinks that everyone else in the world was meant to provide for people like him. He believes that rules are meant for others to follow, and that he has the right to live his life the way he does because of who he is. Most of all, he is not a man to be taken lightly. It would be better if you were careful in your dealings with him. And it could be a disaster if you were unaware of his motivations.” Honeysuckle reached for her coffee.
“It’s true, Marmaduke has become comfortable in his role as a member of the privileged class,” Michael said. “And he has been known to take certain liberties. At the same time, certain events from the Lacey family’s past mean that he must navigate some very treacherous territory.”
“We both know that,” Honeysuckle said.
Sharon waited. What are they talking about? I’m inside the conversation, but outside of their understanding.
“His desire to conceal certain embarrassing family secrets could become useful,” Michael said.
“This is such a dirty business,” Sharon said. My uncle comes close to raping me, and all we can do is politely dance around it by saying things like “embarrassing family secrets.”
Michael said, “We’re at war. It’s all about dirty secrets and dirty tricks.”
Enough of this! Sharon finished her sandwich and rolled the waxed paper into a ball. Abov
e her, a pair of blackbirds with orange bills dove, climbed, and turned. The pair swooped low over Sharon’s head and disappeared behind a shrub. She stood up, finished the last of her coffee, and looked down at Honeysuckle. “Please tell me what my mother was like when she was young.”
“I’ve been hoping you would ask.” Honeysuckle stood and brushed off her dress. “Come on, Michael, you drive us to Bedford. Sharon and I have things to talk about.” She reached into the picnic basket and pulled out a packet of letters tied together with a while ribbon. “Your mother wrote these to me. Would you like them? I’ve been saving them for you.”
CHAPTER 9
Sharon put her uniform jacket on the back of the chair at the cottage. Will I ever see Linda back here, stuffing her face with fish and chips?
She turned back to the door and saw a letter leaning up against the baseboard. It had been pushed through the mail slot.
Sharon bent over, scooped the letter up, and read the return address. The name Patrick O’Malley was written in the top corner. She sat down and used her nails to peel back the envelope flap. Her thumb and forefinger picked out the letter and unfolded it. Possibilities ran through her mind, then she began to read.
DEAR SHARON,
I’VE BEEN WRITING THIS LETTER FOR A FORTNIGHT.
YOU HAVE A BROTHER. THERE, I’VE SAID IT. A HALF-BROTHER.
BUT THERE’S NOTHING HALFWAY ABOUT SEAN.
I’D LIKE YOU TWO TO MEET. PERHAPS YOU COULD GET A DELIVERY
TO BIGGIN HILL FOR AUGUST 18TH? IT’S HIS ELEVENTH BIRTHDAY, AND
I THINK IT WOULD BE A GOOD TIME FOR THE TWO OF YOU TO MEET.
YOUR FATHER,
PATRICK
Sharon read the letter again. I have a brother. She closed her eyes and savoured the euphoria.
CHAPTER 10
“I’ll do what I can.” Mother had dark circles under his grey eyes, and he leaned with one elbow on the counter at the White Waltham dispersal hut. He handed her the chit with her delivery. “It’s another Lysander, same place as last time. Cloak and dagger stuff.” He winked.