The Spitfire Girls

by Jenny Holmes

  Aware that three or four other men at the bar were listening, Teddy paused to let the full impact sink in. The landlord nodded again as he pushed the glass of beer across the counter. ‘What about you, young lady?’ he asked Bobbie. ‘Will it be another Dubonnet? We’ve run out of lemonade.’

  ‘A straight Dubonnet is fine,’ she assured him, though her head was already spinning and she felt a little unsteady on her feet.

  She and Teddy took their drinks to a quiet corner.

  ‘Rixley must seem awfully tame after the action you’ve seen.’ Bobbie did her best to ignore the curious stares of the other customers, which she put down to the fact that the locals rarely saw outsiders in their pub. She pushed back her mane of light brown hair then raised her glass and took a small sip.

  ‘Oops,’ Teddy commented, reaching forward to rescue her glass when she put it down close to the edge of the table. He saved it from overbalancing and spilling on to her lap. ‘I’m glad of a change of scene, to tell you the truth. I’m expecting a new posting any time now.’

  ‘That’s a pity.’ Bobbie’s unguarded comment slipped out. She blushed and took another sip. ‘Where will they send you – do you know?’

  ‘To America, all being well; to train their pilots and test their new aircraft. That’s what I’d like to do next. You never know; it might even bring that promotion to wing commander before the Yanks and Mr Churchill wind things up with Herr Hitler.’

  Bobbie did her best not to be distracted by the immaculate parting in Teddy’s fair hair. It must take practice to get it so straight and to make the hair lie sleek and flat to either side. There was one rebellious lock at the crown, though. She thought of pointing it out but decided against it. ‘I have a target of my own to aim for,’ she confided. ‘I hope to clock up enough hours to make first officer by the time my birthday comes round.’

  Teddy’s early impression of Bobbie had been confirmed by their evening together: she was a bright, shiny little thing with more than a touch of the tomboy about her. And he was increasingly certain that she was keen on yours truly. ‘And when will that be?’ he asked.

  ‘In a couple of weeks’ time.’ Hoping that he would ask for precise details and then offer to help her celebrate the occasion, Bobbie was disappointed when Teddy started to quiz her about her family and life before the ATA.

  ‘So where exactly is this country pile of yours?’ He shuffled along the wooden bench to sit closer to her and rest his arms along the back of the settle.

  She could practically feel his breath on her cheek and smell the shaving soap he used. ‘Up in the Highlands, north of Glencoe.’

  ‘And is it a castle or more like a shooting lodge?’

  ‘It’s a Victorian idea of a castle, I suppose. You know: a rambling old place, with turrets and so on.’

  ‘Stags’ heads on the walls? Suits of armour in the banqueting hall?’

  Bobbie nodded. ‘You must come and see for yourself when all this is over.’

  ‘I’d like that.’ Teddy’s arm edged down on to her shoulder and he let his hand dangle forward. ‘I expect you had ponies and so forth?’

  ‘You expect right, Flight Lieutenant Simpson.’ She made a show of removing his hand. ‘And you? Might I have come across you in the showjumping world in your youth?’

  ‘Not on your nelly. If I wanted to jump anything, I preferred to do it on my own two feet, thank you very much. Hurdles, high jump – you name it.’

  Everything in the room had taken on an unusual tilt, Bobbie noticed. ‘Why are those men at the bar staring at us?’ she enquired with genuine puzzlement.

  ‘It’s you they’re staring at, Second Officer Fraser. They’re bewitched by your beauty.’

  Dismissing the onlookers, she used her elbow to dig him in the ribs. The room tilted the other way as the landlord came across to sweep their empty glasses from the table then call time on his remaining customers.

  ‘Time for bed.’ Teddy stood up and offered Bobbie his hand. He slipped it through the crook of his elbow then steered her towards the door. When he found that it had started to rain, he whipped off his jacket and hung it around her shoulders to walk her back to their cramped billet, chatting as they went.

  ‘About time too.’ Mrs Evans’s sour face greeted them on the doorstep. ‘I’ve been waiting up for you so I could lock the door.’ No sooner said than the landlady had ushered them in and turned the key. ‘I’m off up to my room,’ she informed them. ‘I’d appreciate it if you two kept the noise down.’

  ‘And thar she blows!’ Teddy whispered conspiratorially as the landlady mounted the stairs. As Bobbie giggled, he slipped his hand into the pocket of his jacket, pulled out a hip flask and waved it in tantalizing fashion in front of her. ‘Nightcap?’

  Woozy – that was the word for how she felt when she shook her head, as if her brain was loose and knocking against her skull. ‘No, ta. Better not.’

  ‘Sure?’ He lured her from the narrow hallway into the living room by continuing to wave the metal flask.

  She followed him with a laugh. Then, before she knew it, the flask had vanished, the jacket had slipped from her shoulders and Teddy’s hands were around her waist, his lips pressing against hers. She pulled back from the embrace.

  ‘Better not,’ she said again.

  ‘Sure?’ he repeated.

  His lips tasted of tobacco and Bobbie wasn’t certain whether or not she liked that. But the kiss had felt nice once she’d got over the surprise. So she leaned in and initiated another, softer one. It went on for longer and she floated into it, enjoying the feel of Teddy’s hands on her hips and her arms around his neck. Tobacco and soap, the scratch of stubble against her cheek.

  At last, after what felt like an eternity, he stepped back. ‘These walls have ears,’ he warned as footsteps sounded on the bare wooden stairs and the landlady reappeared at the door, hot-water bottle in hand.

  ‘I forgot to fill this,’ she muttered at the guilty-looking pair. ‘And just as well, by the look of things.’

  ‘And I’ll say goodnight!’ Bobbie said gaily, stumbling over the hearthrug as she left the room and faintly aware that she didn’t want to give the landlady any more cause for gossip. ‘Goodnight, Teddy,’ she mumbled as she leaned heavily on the banister and fumbled her way up to her room.

  ‘The first train to Rixley leaves at eight,’ he called after her. ‘With luck we’ll be back in time for elevenses.’

  ‘Champion. I’ll be down for breakfast, seven on the dot,’ she said from the landing. At least that’s what she’d attempted to say. It might not have come out of her mouth with crystal clarity but Teddy had probably got the drift. Bobbie opened her bedroom door, stumbled forward and within two steps she was flat on her back on the lumpy bed, fully dressed, teeth unbrushed, and already sinking deep into oblivion.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  The note from Lionel lay open on Angela’s dressing table as she chose her silvery-grey silk dress for their first evening together since June.

  ‘Dearest Angela,’ it began. ‘Write down this date in your diary: Saturday, the 25th of September. My ship is in dock for repairs. I’ve been granted shore leave for twenty-four hours and will come and pick you up as soon as ever I can. Where shall we go? Shall I take you dancing or would you prefer to find a quiet spot to sit and catch up? It’s entirely up to you. The main thing is that we’ll spend a few precious hours together. I can hardly wait, my darling. Until then – with love and kisses, Lionel.’

  Grey silk – close-fitting with a gored skirt and a halter neck. Black patent shoes. A corsage of pink silk roses.

  After she’d received Lionel’s note on the previous Wednesday, Angela had scribbled a hasty reply – ‘What a lovely surprise – too exciting – missing you dreadfully – all love, Angie xx’. Their reunion had been bound to happen eventually so she might as well settle her mind to the visit.

  ‘Better here or here?’ she asked Bobbie as she moved the corsage to various positions along the ne
ckline of her gown.

  ‘High on the shoulder,’ was Bobbie’s advice.

  ‘This lipstick or this?’

  ‘The coral pink.’ Angela had shared her news about Lionel a few moments earlier, when Bobbie had walked into her room to find her in petticoat and stockings, wondering what to wear. ‘Where will he take you?’ she asked enviously.

  ‘To the Mount Hotel in Highcliff, overlooking the harbour. But the arrangement is that he’ll pick me up here. I’m to meet him downstairs in the bar at half past seven.’ A glance at her watch told Angela that she had a mere twenty minutes to get dressed. ‘Now, darling, if you don’t mind …’

  Bobbie felt herself being whisked out into the corridor, almost bumping into Jean who was dressed in a pale blue twin-set and her dark blue skirt, with a double string of cultured pearls around her neck. Flustered apologies were exchanged and it became obvious that both girls were heading in the same direction: down the damaged main staircase and into the lounge bar overlooking the front terrace.

  ‘The days are closing in already,’ Bobbie commented, casting a glance through a long, low window, still taped up after the German attack. ‘Autumn is really setting in.’

  ‘“Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness”.’ Struggling for something to say in response, Jean threw in the tired quotation.

  ‘Shelley?’ Bobbie hazarded a guess.

  ‘Keats.’

  ‘I was close!’ Laughing off her mistake, Bobbie noticed Douglas catch Jean’s attention so she headed on alone to the bar where she broke up a cosy gathering of Cameron, Teddy and Hilary. ‘Guess who’s due here any minute to meet Angela. Lovely Lionel; that’s who.’

  Hilary and Cameron greeted the news enthusiastically while Teddy asked Bobbie what she would like to drink.

  ‘Orange juice if there is any,’ she replied.

  ‘Staying away from the Dubonnet tonight, eh?’

  ‘Yes; after Wednesday I’ve signed the pledge,’ she declared, one eye on the door so that she was the first to spot Lionel enter through the main door in his navy blue mess jacket, white waistcoat and trousers. ‘Wait there; I’ll be back,’ she told Teddy before sprinting across the room to greet the new arrival.

  Lionel wasn’t prepared for the whirlwind that was Bobbie Fraser. In fact, he was feeling nervous about the evening ahead, tugging at the hem of his jacket and clearing his throat, glancing behind him at his MG sports car parked outside the door. ‘Steady on,’ he told Bobbie as she took both hands and tugged him towards the bar. ‘I’m a little early. Oughtn’t I to wait here in the hall for Angie to appear?’

  ‘Oh, don’t worry – she’s still trying on frocks, you know what she’s like. Hilary and Cameron are here in the bar. And you look as if you could do with some Dutch courage.’

  So they went in together, Lionel in the dress uniform of a Royal Navy captain and Bobbie in a swirl of emerald-green chiffon, to warm handshakes and a barrage of questions as to where Lionel’s ship was docked and demands for a detailed account of his latest naval adventures.

  ‘It’s good to see your ugly face again,’ Cameron told him with a friendly nudge. ‘How long has it been?’

  ‘Too long,’ Hilary broke in, relaxing for once and falling into their old familiar way. ‘Knowing Angela, she won’t be down for ages yet, Lionel. So what’ll you have to drink – your usual Scotch?’

  Amid the buzz of conversation Teddy approached Bobbie with her glass of orange cordial. ‘Why the glad rags?’ he asked, admiring her tiny waist and bare shoulders while trying to steer her clear of the crowd.

  ‘This old thing!’ she teased, adjusting her straps. ‘No particular reason.’

  ‘You look nice anyway.’ Now that Teddy had succeeded in cornering Bobbie, he was scarcely paying her any attention. From what he could pick up from overheard snatches, it seemed that the Royal Navy visitor belonged to Angela. He was a substantially built chap whose white waistcoat and starched white shirt emphasized his healthy tan but whose nicotine-stained fingers showed a heavy smoking habit – one of the inevitable side effects of being a Navy man. His thick brown hair and bushy eyebrows made him seem less refined than his old school chums, Hilary and Cameron, and on the whole Teddy thought that the naval man looked and sounded unremarkable. If it ever came to a contest for Angela’s favours between this steady-as-you-go sea captain and himself, Teddy was pretty sure who would come out on top.

  ‘Teddy?’ Bobbie tugged at his sleeve.

  ‘Hmm?’ Here came Angela now, swanning down the stairs in a slim, silver evening dress, in full war paint. Her dark hair was swept up and she glided into the room.

  ‘I said, I’m organizing a soirée to celebrate my birthday next month so please keep the evening of the fifth free.’

  ‘I will, provided Herr Hitler lets us,’ Teddy said with a smile. ‘Unless I’m already winging my way across the pond to teach the Yanks how to fly, that is.’

  Bobbie caught Hilary’s stern glance and smiled uneasily at him. Across the room, sitting together in a window seat, Jean and Douglas seemed sealed in their own world of earnest and no doubt clever conversation, while at that moment Lionel turned to see Angela make her entrance and was instantly oblivious to everyone else there. What must it be like, Bobbie wondered, to be as enraptured as Lionel Cawthorn obviously was? So blind, some might say.

  ‘Now, how about a real drink?’ Teddy prompted, taking the glass of cordial from Bobbie without waiting for a reply.

  In the women’s billet at Rixley, Mary packed her suitcase. She looked back over the day’s events with a flutter of excitement mixed with strong apprehension, remembering how, at midday, she’d chosen her moment to knock on the office door next to the control tower then entered to find Flight Lieutenant Cameron Ainslie sitting at his desk, up to his eyes in paperwork as usual. This had been her plan: to catch him alone, with no other officer around.

  ‘Yes?’ he’d enquired in his abrupt way, a pencil tucked behind his ear and with a distracted air. But when he’d seen that it was Mary hovering nervously by the door, he’d taken off his glasses, closed the buff-coloured file that he’d been working on and encouraged her to take a seat. ‘Now, what can I do for you?’

  ‘Sir, I’d like an application form for the pilots’ conversion course, please.’ The carefully rehearsed sentence had emerged stiffly and she’d resisted the urge to flee from the room.

  Cameron’s eyes had widened for a moment.

  He’s about to send me packing. Mary had been convinced that her request would be turned down point-blank.

  ‘Yes; very good.’ Rapidly overcoming his surprise, he’d stood up and pulled open the appropriate drawer in the steel filing cabinet behind him. ‘Good idea, Mary.’ He’d dispensed with formalities as he handed her the form and given her an encouraging smile. ‘I’m sure you’ll get on very well.’

  ‘If they decide to accept me.’ Taking the paperwork from him, she’d scraped back her chair and stood up.

  ‘No, no; stay here and fill it in,’ Cameron had suggested, handing her his fountain pen and making it clear that he would leave her in peace to get on with it. ‘Might as well, eh? There’s a blotting pad there, under that pile of papers. I’ll be back in five minutes,’ he’d said as he’d departed. ‘I’ll vouch for you, by the way,’ he’d added as though delivering an afterthought.

  When he’d returned, he’d taken the completed form from her. ‘I’ve been on the blower to an associate of Commander Gower and put in a good word for you,’ he’d informed her.

  ‘Already?’ With Cameron’s backing, things were obviously moving much faster than Mary had anticipated. The pace of events had unsettled her but she’d tried not to let it show.

  ‘Yes. I emphasized how efficient you’ve always been as a driver and how calm you are in an emergency. They’re obviously keen to have you – that goes without saying.’

  Lost for words, she’d taken a deep breath to compose herself.

  Typical Mary – silent and hard to read. Camer
on had watched her struggle to take things in. Recalling how touchy she could be, he’d steered away from any comment that might sound condescending and stuck with the practical instead. ‘It’ll mean a couple of weeks down in Thame, learning the ropes – aircraft and engine theory in the classroom to start with. But it shouldn’t be long before an instructor takes you up in a dual-control Corsair or the old Gypsy Moth and before you know it you’ll be flying solo.’

  He’d made it sound straightforward – something that Mary could actually achieve. ‘Thank you, sir.’ She’d breathed the words of gratitude. ‘I mean it; thank you very much.’

  ‘No need for the sir; we’re off duty.’ He’d smiled briefly and held the door open for her. She’d left the office, her cheeks burning and her head in a whirl – even more so when half an hour later, she’d encountered Stan sitting with Jean in the canteen.

  ‘So, you finally plucked up courage,’ he’d said as she’d sat next to him and watched him tuck into bully beef and mash. ‘Congratulations, Mary; you’re on your way.’

  ‘How did you find out?’ Instinctively she’d batted away Stan’s warm words.

  ‘A little bird told me,’ Stan had said with a wink over the hiss of the tea urn and the rattle of cutlery.

  ‘What does he mean, “you’re on your way”?’ Jean had asked. ‘What have I missed?’

  ‘Mary here has only gone and applied for the pilot conversion course and been accepted,’ he informed her. ‘What do you make of that?’

  Jean had studied Mary’s flushed cheeks. ‘I think that’s a marvellous idea,’ she’d said calmly. ‘Don’t worry; you’ll sail through with flying colours.’