by Jenny Holmes
‘Happy now?’ he asked Jean who stood in the office with her chit in her hand.
‘Wednesday,’ she repeated. ‘Will your friend carry out the test himself?’
‘No, I expect it’ll be his registrar. Harold will look at the results then give me the bad news in person.’ Shuffling his papers into a tidy pile, Douglas cleared his throat as the door behind Jean clicked open and Gillian entered the room.
When Douglas’s secretary exchanged glances with Jean, she understood that Jean had done the dreaded deed. ‘Stan said to tell you that your Spit is ready and waiting for you on Runway Two,’ she reported with a sympathetic smile as she took her seat behind her desk. ‘And, sir, the met-room boys are right this minute heading to the canteen for a cuppa if you care to join them.’
Jean ran down the steps with a sense of relief. The news from the doctors might not be all bad, she told herself. Perhaps the damage was temporary, or if not, perhaps wearing hearing aids would allow Douglas to carry on flying. Hope for the best, she told herself. Picking up her parachute pack from the bench beneath the control tower, she sprinted towards her plane – the last pilot to take off on this clear-sky Monday morning.
‘Better late than never,’ Stan grumbled as he and Bob kicked away the chocks. The youngster didn’t look where he was going so backed straight into Jean as she was about to vault up on to the Spit’s wing.
‘Ouch; my foot!’ She wiggled her squashed toes inside her fur-lined boot.
‘Sorry … I didn’t mean … sorry!’ The lanky lad offered garbled apologies before scurrying off towards the nearest hangar.
Stan offered Jean a hand to get up into the cockpit. ‘Nitwit,’ he muttered about his assistant.
Jean shook her head. ‘Don’t blame Bob – I was in too much of a hurry.’ With one foot on the wing, she hesitated. ‘Douglas and I went to see Gordon on Friday,’ she mentioned as casually as she could. Ever since Angela had teased her about an admirer whose name began with an ‘S’, Jean had been keen to clear the air between herself and Stan but hadn’t been sure how to go about it. Now, however, she realized that she’d much rather Stan heard the news from the horse’s mouth.
‘I know you did,’ Stan said grudgingly, looking down at the runway instead of at Jean. ‘I visited him yesterday. Gordon mentioned that you two had beaten me to it.’
Where did Jean go from here? How to break it to Stan gently?
Slowly he tilted his head back to meet her worried gaze. ‘You and Douglas – congratulations,’ he said awkwardly. ‘I wish you all the best.’
Jean blinked in surprise before clambering into the cockpit with less than her usual grace. ‘You knew?’
‘I’ve got eyes in my head, haven’t I?’ Chin up, best foot forward – time to move on.
‘Thank you, Stan. I mean it.’ Jean turned on the engine, surprised when Stan jumped up on to the wing then leaned in to peer at the control panel.
‘Just checking the oil warning light,’ he explained. ‘I topped her up last night so she should be fine. Away you go.’
Jean smiled at him then lowered her goggles. Her hand was already on the joystick, the revs mounting as Stan slid to the ground.
‘We’ll have to go out for a drink some time; you and Douglas, me and Gillian,’ he yelled above the engine’s throaty roar.
‘You and Gillian?’ Jean echoed. Had she heard that right?
‘Yes,’ Stan shouted, giving Jean the thumbs-up as the wind from the propellers tugged at his clothes. ‘She’s good fun, is Gillian. I took her to a darts match at the Fox on Saturday night. We got on like a house on fire.’
Chin up. Angela’s last words before Bobbie had climbed into her cockpit still rang in Bobbie’s ears. Now she flew at 3,000 feet over the moors of the North Riding, with Richmond below and the coast ahead. The day was crystal clear. She could see for miles.
‘Will you be all right?’ Jean had been full of concern at breakfast. ‘You don’t think it’s too soon?’
‘No, I’ll give it a go,’ Bobbie had replied. ‘I want to prove to myself that I can still fly. Aetheris Avidi, and all that.’
‘Good for you.’ Mary had been the only one who hadn’t fussed or questioned. She’d walked quietly with Bobbie through Burton Wood then queued with her to receive her chit.
‘A Spit to Lossiemouth,’ she’d announced. ‘Hurrah; I can do that in my sleep.’ Her destination was ferry pool unit number 10. She would hug the east coast as she headed north, take in Holy Island before crossing the Scottish border then on over the empty, mostly featureless Lowlands with their mile after endless mile of farmland. All would be calm and straightforward. Bobbie would be able to leave everything behind and breathe easily.
‘How will you get home?’ Jean had wanted to know as she too walked out to the runway.
‘I’ll fly back in a Corsair, weather permitting.’ Bobbie had her orders for the day written on her chit and her Pilots’ Notes tucked firmly in the breast pocket of her Sidcot suit.
Jean, Angela and Mary had gathered to wish Bobbie luck and she’d been first off the ground – increasing revs and gathering speed, hand on the stick, feeling the tilt of lift-off, the rapid climb. Bobbie had relaxed, airborne at last.
On the Wednesday afternoon of that week Cameron drove Douglas to Highcliff and dropped him off at the harbour side. Each had been lost in their own thoughts so the journey had been mostly silent until their destination came into view.
‘Give my regards to Harold,’ Cameron said as he steered down the narrow main street. ‘Tell him long time no see. We’ll have to put that right.’
‘I’ll tell him.’ Douglas had given Cameron the deliberate impression that this was a social call. He’d asked Cameron to drop him off some distance from the hospital and told him that a lift back to Rixley was already organized. After Cameron pulled up beside a stack of fishermen’s paraphernalia, close to a moored fishing boat, Douglas got out then rested one arm on the roof of the car and leaned back in. ‘What time will your hearing finish?’
Cameron was to be part of another disciplinary panel, meeting at an RAF station ten miles up the coast. A wireless operator had been caught dead drunk while on duty. The lad had been incapable of climbing unaided into his aircraft, let alone carrying out his reconnaissance duties. His pilot had reported him and now he was up before a four-man panel, including his squadron leader and Cameron. ‘With luck we’ll be through by three. I hope so; I’ve arranged to pick Mary up. She’s due to fly in to Richmond at four.’
‘What a coincidence.’ Douglas winked then patted the roof of the car with the flat of his hand, a signal for Cameron to turn then set off back up the hill as Douglas made his way to the hospital. It amused Douglas that Cameron, normally such a stickler for the rules, would turn a situation to his advantage when it suited him. And who could blame him when it came to his protégée? Mary Holland had come back from Thame transformed, emerging like a bright blue butterfly from her dowdy cocoon. Of all the Atta girls Douglas had come across, he had never seen anyone so downright proud of gaining her wings.
Driving up the hill, Cameron glanced at Douglas in his overhead mirror. It was common knowledge among their crowd that Harold Inman had been invalided out of the Royal Navy and had ended up in charge of the Ear, Nose and Throat Department at King Edward’s. Social call, my foot! Douglas’s meeting with him today was beyond doubt a medical matter. ‘Fingers crossed it’s nothing serious,’ Cameron said out loud as he came to a junction and turned on to the Richmond road.
Mary flew in early and had to wait three-quarters of an hour for Cameron’s car to appear. He seemed thoughtful as he opened the boot for her and waited for her to stash away her belongings.
‘How was the hearing?’ she asked once they were under way.
‘Simple enough.’ Cameron looked straight ahead as he worked his way through the gears. Despite the warm day, he still wore his hat and gloves. He sat upright behind the wheel, the stresses of the day apparent in deep frown lin
es between his eyebrows. ‘A young wireless operator was found drunk and incapable when reporting for duty; an open-and-shut case.’
The dismissive tone made Mary mirror his frown. It kept her at a distance and reminded her of the old, stiff-upper-lip Cameron, before she’d got to know him better. ‘You’re quiet,’ she observed tentatively. ‘Are you sure there’s nothing the matter?’
‘Quite sure.’
‘That’s all right then.’ Abandoning the staccato exchange, Mary lapsed into silence. Cameron’s smile of greeting had been lukewarm, she remembered. There’d been no kiss on the cheek and none of the usual lively questioning – how was your flight, what did you fly, have you had a good day? Ah, she thought with a sudden sinking feeling, someone has had a word in his ear since I last saw him, along the lines of, ‘Don’t get too familiar with the lower ranks.’ Hilary perhaps.
Cameron felt Mary shift nervously in her seat. He glanced sideways to see her sitting slightly forward with a glum expression, clutching her gloves and staring out of the side window at the setting sun. Perhaps she was upset because she’d had to wait. Better make amends. ‘I’m sorry I was late,’ he said. ‘The hearing went on longer than expected.’
‘These things happen. I didn’t mind waiting.’ They’d reached the junction with the Great North Road, where a convoy of army lorries meant that Cameron had to pull up while Mary’s thoughts followed a miserable route. If Hilary has issued a warning not to fraternize, please tell me. Better to say outright that you and I are not meant to be rather than leave me in suspense.
The lorries trundled by, followed by two Austin pickups packed with squaddies then by a farm tractor and a motorbike.
‘Today was a preliminary hearing. It turned out it wasn’t a first offence. The alcohol was for Dutch courage, according to the lad’s pilot. Without it he was a gibbering wreck every time he climbed into a plane.’
Mary turned to look at Cameron. ‘What’ll happen to him now?’
‘Court martial and automatic discharge. Maybe even a prison sentence.’ He checked that the main road was clear then pulled out. ‘Some might count themselves lucky to be out of the fray, but not this lad. He swore to the panel that he would never touch another drop, that he would turn teetotal and never let us down. I wanted to believe him.’
‘But?’
Cameron shook his head. ‘He was too far gone along that path, drinking five or six pints every night, hiding bottles of spirits under his mattress. He wouldn’t have been able to keep his word.’ There was another matter bothering Cameron that he and the lad’s squadron leader had talked through, but he would keep quiet about that for now. ‘It’s a fine line between having a couple of drinks with your pals just to take the edge off things, which most of us do, and drinking yourself senseless, as in this case.’
‘I wouldn’t like to be the judge of that,’ Mary said quietly.
Having waited for an open stretch of road, Cameron signalled to overtake the army convoy then his face relaxed a little. He put his foot down hard on the accelerator. ‘I’m sorry if I’ve been off with you. I’ve got a lot on my mind.’
Mary gave a long sigh of relief. It seemed their way ahead was clear after all.
‘Incidentally, did I say how glad I was to see you?’
‘You did not,’ she fired back, blunt and to the point. ‘As a matter of fact, I thought that you’d gone off me. Don’t look at me like that, Cameron; keep your eyes on the road!’
‘Gone off you?’ he echoed as Mary grabbed the steering wheel to keep him from mounting the grass verge. ‘Good Lord, woman – you’re not serious!’ He steered off the road into a layby and squealed to a halt. Ignoring derisive yells from the squaddies as they rode by, he took Mary’s gloves and placed them carefully on top of the dashboard. Then he held both of her hands in his. ‘Why would I do that?’
‘Because,’ she said with a shrug. For the reasons she’d talked to Jean about: two families that were chalk and cheese, a father and a brother whom she would gladly disown. But now, as she gazed at Cameron’s face, his eyes began to tell her a different truth. Without a word spoken, she understood exactly where the relationship was leading and where she wanted it to go.
Dismissing her doubts and fears, Mary leaned forward to kiss this complicated, clever and compassionate man. Oh, and handsome too; never forget that.
‘You see,’ Cameron breathed as their lips touched. ‘No one could ever compare with you, Mary; not in a million years.’
CHAPTER NINETEEN
‘Did Bobbie get back safely?’ That night Teddy made a beeline for Angela in the bar at the Grange. He was still in uniform, with his tie loosened and the top button of his shirt undone.
Angela tilted her head and viewed him through half-closed eyes. ‘Yes, she did, since you ask.’
‘Good for her. Three days back in the aviation saddle; this calls for a celebration. Is she in her room?’ About to dash off and fetch Bobbie, Teddy was prevented by Angela’s restraining hand.
‘She’s having an early night. It’s been a long day; the poor darling is done in.’
‘And no wonder, after what she’s been through.’ Jean had been buying drinks for herself and Mary but now she butted into the conversation.
Teddy found himself uncomfortably sandwiched between Angela and Jean, with Angela’s hand still on his arm. He sensed a build-up of tension as he reached across the bar for an ashtray for Angela.
‘Yes, Bobbie took a nasty bump to the head,’ Angela drawled through pouting red lips and a spiral of blue cigarette smoke.
‘But she hasn’t let that little incident in the Maggie dampen her enthusiasm.’ Jean fixed Teddy with her coolest stare. ‘Bobbie’s made of sterner stuff.’
‘That’s good to hear. A whisky for me, please, George. Ladies, in her absence, why not raise a glass to our little Scottish Atta girl? Long may she live to fight another day!’
How dare he? Cutting Teddy dead without a word or a smile, Jean stalked off with her drinks, leaving him to Angela’s tender mercies.
‘What’s got into the Ice Maiden all of a sudden?’ he muttered. He’d never taken to Jean and naturally assumed that Angela shared his low opinion. After all, he and Angela were cut from the same stylish, extrovert cloth. ‘Never mind about Miss Misery-guts over there; what would you say if I were to let you in on a little secret?’
‘It depends what it is.’ Flicking ash into the ashtray with her long, tapered fingers, Angela prepared to play the role of her life. While every nerve ending screamed for her to move as far out of Teddy’s orbit as possible, she kept an outward calm, smiling and raising the cigarette to her lips. ‘Well?’ she murmured, head to one side.
Teddy put a finger to his lips. ‘It’s still hush-hush.’
‘I won’t tell a soul, I promise.’
‘No one else knows.’
‘Yes, darling; there’s no need to tell me what hush-hush means.’ Tilting her head to the other side and inhaling smoke with a quiet pop of her lips, a smile played at the corners of Angela’s mouth.
Bloody hell; did this girl realize the effect she had? Those deep blue eyes set against her pale, smooth skin, the long neck, one shoulder thrust provocatively towards him. ‘I’m in line for a new posting at last. It’s a big step up.’
‘You don’t say,’ Angela said slowly. ‘When exactly?’
‘In ten days from now.’ He watched her face carefully for her reaction.
‘Where to? Will it be over the pond as expected?’
‘Not quite. The Yanks will have to wait. It turns out I’m needed closer to home; if I said exactly where and who for I’d be in real trouble.’
‘Uh-oh, top secret?’ Hell and damnation! Angela’s fingers itched to wipe the smirk off Teddy’s smug face. ‘Well, congratulations. I’m sure your aviation skills are much in demand.’
He slid his empty glass across the bar. ‘Another whisky please, George. Make it a double. Oh, and the same for Angela too.’
‘Does
Bobbie know about this mysterious promotion?’ she asked with another flick of her cigarette.
‘No; why?’
‘I thought you might have taken her into your confidence, that’s all.’
‘Listen, Angela, Bobbie’s a sweet girl but she wouldn’t be able to keep the news under her hat – not like you.’
‘Sweet?’
‘Yes, your typical girl next door, bless her.’ A chap could drown in the depth of those come-hither blue eyes. As if magnetized, Teddy drew his stool a little closer.
‘I got the impression that Bobbie meant more to you than that,’ Angela said without blinking.
‘Why? What’s she been saying?’ Teddy’s guard shot up. What new game was this?
Angela continued with a conspiratorial smile. ‘It’s not what Bobbie says – it’s more what I observe for myself. There was that pair of nylons for a start.’
‘Oh, she told you about them, did she?’
‘Naturally; we two are thick as thieves. It was a kind thought, darling; a gift any girl would be glad to receive. And I’m sure it helped speed Bobbie on her road to recovery. Then before that there was the night out to the Spa Ballroom – she told me all about that little escapade.’
Hearing Angela’s heavy emphasis on the word ‘all’, Teddy sieved his drink through his teeth then rapped down his glass. ‘Did she say that she had a good time?’
Slowly and deliberately Angela stubbed out her cigarette. ‘She had a marvellous time, darling. Those were her very words.’
‘Good; glad to hear it. Poor Bobbie ended up a wee bit tipsy; did she say?’
‘Yes.’ Angela leaned closer so that their shoulders touched. ‘Between you and me, she’s not a great imbiber – due to a serious lack of practice in her youth. A couple of drinks and Bobbie is flat on her back.’ She finished speaking and stared him down.