The Girls in Blue

by Lily Baxter

  Valerie rose to her feet, catching Miranda by the hand. ‘Get up,’ she hissed. ‘I know that chap who came in first. I danced with him a couple of weeks ago. He’s hot stuff.’

  Miranda had no option other than to stand up and she craned her neck to get a better look. As always she found herself comparing Val’s hot stuff to Raif, who seemed to have set a standard in her head by which to measure the attractiveness of men. ‘Who is he?’

  ‘That’s Gilbert Maddern. Isn’t he just super?’

  Miranda was unimpressed. ‘He looks okay.’

  ‘Are you blind? He’s absolutely gorgeous and all the girls in hut five would just die for a date with Mad Dog. That’s his call sign and it suits him.’

  ‘Well, what are you waiting for? Go and ask him for a dance.’

  Valerie shook her head. ‘I couldn’t do that. I don’t think even Gloria would go up to a bloke and ask him to dance.’ She stiffened, clutching Miranda’s arm. ‘Oh my God! He’s coming this way. He must have spotted me.’

  ‘Now’s your chance then,’ Miranda said, giving her a gentle push in his direction.

  Valerie opened her mouth to speak but he did not seem to notice her as he approached Miranda with a disarming smile. He held out his hand. ‘Gil Maddern. How do you do?’

  She was too surprised to do anything other than respond politely. She shook his hand. ‘Miranda Beddoes. How do you do?’

  ‘Now that we’ve introduced ourselves, would you care to dance, Miss Beddoes?’

  She could feel Val breathing down her neck and she hesitated. ‘I – I mean we were just having a cup of tea,’ she said, casting an imploring look in Val’s direction.

  ‘Don’t mind me,’ Val said, curving her lips into the semblance of a smile.

  ‘That’s all right then,’ Gil said, taking Miranda by the hand. ‘Shall we?’

  ‘He’s a heartbreaker,’ Val whispered in Miranda’s ear. ‘He’s had more girlfriends than I’ve had hot dinners.’

  Miranda was quick to hear the note of jealousy in Val’s tone. She could quite believe that Gil Maddern might be a practised flirt, but his smile was infectious and there was a wicked twinkle in his hazel eyes and a lopsided quirk to his lips as though he was about to grin. He was also clasping her hand in a firm grasp that would have made it quite a struggle to pull free. She could feel Valerie’s eyes boring into her but she could hardly refuse his request without offering a good excuse – and she had none. ‘Yes, thank you.’ He was still holding her hand as he led her onto the dance floor, where the pace had slowed considerably as the couples moved slowly to Glenn Miller’s ‘Basin Street Blues’.

  ‘I haven’t seen you here before,’ Gil said, taking her in his arms. ‘Are you one of the girls from Henlow Priory?’

  ‘Yes. How did you know that?’

  ‘You’re obviously not from the village.’

  ‘How can you tell?’

  ‘Perhaps I’m psychic.’

  He smiled again and she could see why some of the girls were bowled over by him, but his charm was a bit too studied for her liking. ‘And perhaps you like to chat up new girls so that you can boast about your conquests.’ She could tell by his startled expression that he had not been expecting this reaction.

  ‘That’s not true. I’m actually very shy when it comes to women.’

  ‘Now that is a downright fib,’ she said, laughing.

  He whirled her round as the record came to an end. ‘At least I’ve made you laugh. You should do it more often.’

  ‘There isn’t much to laugh about these days.’ She met his amused gaze with a frown. ‘I spend eight hours a day, sometimes twelve, moving little blocks around a grid and tracking the flight paths of chaps like you. Sometimes we hear them over the tannoy calling Mayday. It’s the most chilling sound you could ever imagine, and even more so when it goes silent. We all hate that.’

  He did not release her immediately. ‘When I’m up there, kissing the clouds, I’ll be glad to know that someone is thinking about me, and caring what happens.’

  ‘Oh, please.’ She broke away with an exasperated sigh. ‘I bet you say that to all the girls.’

  ‘No. Only the pretty blondes.’

  ‘That is such a corny chat-up line, Flying Officer Maddern.’

  ‘Now I’ve offended you. I’m sorry, but it was meant to be a compliment.’

  ‘It doesn’t matter.’ She glanced over her shoulder, looking for Val and Janice, but they were seated at a table chatting to a couple of the young men who had come in with Gil. There was a lull in the music while someone shuffled through a pile of records and the dancers began to leave the floor in search of refreshments.

  ‘How about a truly awful cup of tea or a glass of watered down orange squash?’ Gil followed her back to her seat. ‘Or a totally tasteless and rather soggy biscuit? People come from far and wide to sample the food here.’

  She shot him a sideways glance. ‘Are you always like this?’

  ‘Like what, Miss Beddoes?’

  ‘So – so persistent.’

  ‘My Latin master told us that his tutor had had to translate a motto into Latin for an American university: Pep without purpose is piffle. That’s always been my motto too.’

  ‘And your purpose is?’

  ‘To get to know you better, Miranda.’

  ‘Now you’re shooting a line,’ she said defensively. ‘I’m not that naïve. I bet you’ve said things like that to every girl at Henlow Priory.’

  His lips twitched. ‘Almost all; and it usually works.’

  ‘Sorry, Mad Dog, not this time.’ She glanced at the clock on the wall above the tea bar. ‘Nine thirty. I’d best be getting back to Henlow.’

  His smile faded. ‘Are you that eager to escape from my boring company?’

  ‘Not at all, but I have to be up early in the morning. Goodnight, it was nice meeting you.’ She walked towards the row of pegs where her garments were now buried beneath a mass of flying jackets. She did not look back, hoping that by now he had got the message that she was not in the mood for a mild flirtation. She had allowed herself to fall for Raif’s charms and she was determined not to make the same mistake with Mad Dog Maddern. She was burrowing beneath the coats trying to find hers, when someone relieved her of their weight.

  ‘Allow me. I can’t stand by and see you struggle. You could suffocate under that lot.’

  Reluctantly, she stood back and allowed Gil to systematically unhook the heavy sheepskin flying jackets. ‘Thank you,’ she murmured. ‘But I could have …’

  ‘Managed on your own; I know.’ He turned to her, shaking his head. ‘What an independent girl you are, Miranda Beddoes.’

  ‘Yes,’ she said nodding slowly. ‘I suppose I am, although I’d never given it much thought.’

  ‘Which one?’

  She stared at him blankly. ‘I’m sorry?’

  ‘Which coat is yours?’

  ‘Oh, yes. I see what you mean.’ She pointed to her camel coat and the matching felt beret. ‘They’re mine.’

  ‘I might have guessed.’ He lifted them off the peg. ‘Classic, understated and ladylike.’

  She took them from him, trying not to snatch. ‘In other words, boring.’

  ‘Not at all.’ He replaced all but one of the flying jackets and slipped it on. ‘Come on then. I’ll take you back to Henlow. That’s if you don’t mind riding pillion on my motorbike.’

  Chapter Ten

  IGNORING HER PROTESTS, Gil opened the door. ‘Best foot forward – mustn’t forget the blackout.’

  ‘Remember the blackout.’ The familiar cry of the tea ladies left Miranda with little option other than to hurry outside and close the door. Not that there were any enemy planes droning overhead, nor were there likely to be in these weather conditions, as it had begun to snow. Large feathery flakes swirled from a black velvet sky creating a graceful aerial ballet as they floated down to settle on the frozen ground. The world about them had turned into a monochrome fairyland and Mi
randa had to smother a cry of pleasure.

  ‘It’s beautiful, isn’t it?’ Gil said as if reading her thoughts. ‘But let’s get you home while it’s still safe to travel.’

  ‘I can walk. You should get back to the aerodrome before the roads become impassable.’

  He pulled the collar of his flying jacket up to his chin. ‘I wouldn’t hear of it. Come on, we’re wasting time.’ He flicked snow off the saddle and climbed on.

  She hesitated for a moment, wishing that she had worn sensible shoes instead of slavishly following fashion. It was painfully obvious that trudging through snow in high heels was asking for trouble, and she hitched up her skirts to sit astride the pillion.

  ‘Hold on,’ he said as he kick-started the engine and drove off slowly at first but gathering speed as he negotiated the winding country lanes.

  Terrified and yet strangely exhilarated, Miranda slid her arms around his waist and held on, resting her cheek against the soft leather of his jacket. Apart from the occasional sideways slither, the tyres seemed to be coping with the icy surface and she closed her eyes, hoping that he was as good at handling a motorbike as he was at piloting a plane. Even through the thick protective fleece she could feel the tension in his muscles as he struggled to keep the machine on the road. The conditions seemed to be getting worse each minute, and there were moments when she feared they might end up in a ditch, but eventually they drove through the gates of Henlow Priory. Gil pulled up outside the great house. ‘Are you okay?’

  She nodded. ‘Yes, thanks.’

  He steadied the bike while she got off, which was a feat in itself as she pulled her skirts even higher exposing an indecent amount of leg, thigh and suspenders. She was very glad that his back was turned and there was no one else to witness her struggles. She straightened up, adjusting her clothing. ‘It was very good of you to give me a lift in this awful weather.’

  ‘Actually, I rather like the snow. It makes everything look pure and clean, as if the world had just been invented.’ He chuckled, shaking snowflakes from his eyebrows and lashes. ‘But there are disadvantages.’

  ‘Well, thank you again.’ Miranda was suddenly at a loss. Had she been living at home she would have felt bound to ask him in for a hot drink before setting off on the treacherous ride back to the aerodrome, but that was simply not possible. ‘I mustn’t keep you.’

  ‘Are you billeted in the house?’

  She pointed to hut five. ‘I’d have thought you would know where the girls were living.’ She could not resist the dig.

  ‘Touché!’ He saluted her and revved the engine. ‘I’ll see you again soon, I hope.’

  Her lips were too frozen to allow a smile and she answered with a brief nod. ‘Please go now or you’ll never make it.’

  ‘Does this mean that you’re worried about me, Miranda?’

  ‘Not really. I’m simply freezing to death.’

  He leaned over and kissed her briefly on the cheek. ‘We’ll meet again very soon, and that’s a promise.’ He drove off and disappeared into the snowstorm.

  ‘I don’t think so,’ Miranda murmured, turning in the direction of the Nissen hut. ‘I’m not in the market to get my heart broken by a glamour-boy whose life is on the line every time he takes to the skies.’ As she made her way carefully through the snow she could not help thinking about Raif. She had tried to convince herself that what she felt for him was just a crush, but if that were so then why could she not put him from her mind? He had never shown the slightest interest in her as a woman, and he despised her family. He had done his best to come between Jack and Izzie, and for all she knew he might have succeeded. Why, then, was she constantly comparing every man she met with Raif Carstairs?

  She knocked on the hut door and was let in by Audrey, who burst out laughing. ‘Bloody hell, mate. Stick a pipe in your mouth and you could pass for a snowman. What have you done with the others?’

  Suddenly everything was normal again, or as normal as anything could be in wartime. Miranda gave her eager audience a brief account of the evening, but she was forced to admit that Gilbert Maddern had given her a lift back to camp on his motorbike and this was met with sharp intakes of breath and envious glances.

  ‘You and Mad Dog.’ Gloria looked her up and down. ‘What on earth does a chap like him see in a goody two-shoes like you, Miranda?’

  Everyone laughed and Miranda managed a smile as she tried to rub some life back into her frozen feet. ‘I’m not interested in Gil Maddern,’ she said firmly. ‘You’re welcome to him, Gloria.’

  ‘I could eat him for breakfast,’ Gloria said, reaching for a packet of Kensitas. ‘And lunch and dinner, but I doubt if Mad Dog Maddern would settle for anything less than a section officer.’

  ‘He must have thought you were a challenge, darling.’ Angela threw a rolled-up stocking at Gloria. ‘If you light up once again, Gloria Jones, I’m going to personally throttle you, even if I hang for it.’

  As if in answer to her problem, the corporal’s door opened and Diana Fox took in the scene with a swift glance. ‘Lights out, ladies. No smoking, Jones. This isn’t the public bar at the Rose and Crown.’ She disappeared into her room and closed the door.

  ‘Lucky she didn’t do a roll-call or she’d have realised that Jan and Val are missing,’ Gloria said, stowing her packet of cigarettes in her handbag. ‘I bet the poor sods are walking home in the snow. You’re a jammy devil, Miranda. Only you could get a lift home with Mad Dog Maddern and not realise how bloody lucky you are.’

  ‘Shut up, Gloria, do.’ Angela tossed her other stocking at her. ‘Turn the lights out, Miranda, you’re closest to the switch. Goodnight, girls.’

  It was pitch-dark in the hut when Miranda awakened suddenly with her heart pounding and her senses alert. She raised herself on her elbow, wondering if there was an air raid although she had not heard the warning siren. There was silence except for the steady breathing of those around her and the occasional creak of a bed, and then she heard it again: the rattle of the door handle followed by the groan of the rusting hinges. She sat bolt upright, ready to raise the alarm as the intruders crept into the hut, but as the last remnants of sleep cleared from her brain she remembered that the door had been left unlocked. She leapt out of bed, seizing the first thing that came to hand which happened to be one of her shoes, and raised it above her head ready to strike.

  ‘What the hell are you doing, you silly bitch?’

  Miranda lowered her arm, peering into the gloom. ‘Janice? Is that you?’

  ‘Who did you think it was? The bloody tooth fairy?’ Janice closed the door. ‘Put the light on, Val, I can’t see where I’m going.’

  ‘Wait. I’ve got a torch.’ Miranda felt around in her locker until her fingers closed on the cold metal outer case. She switched it on and caught them in its beam. ‘How did you get back from the dance?’

  ‘One of the local farmers gave us a lift on the milk cart,’ Val said through chattering teeth. ‘I’m absolutely blooming frozen.’

  ‘And you got off with Mad Dog.’ Janice shielded her eyes from the light. ‘Stop pointing that damn thing at me.’

  ‘Sorry.’ Miranda lowered the torch. ‘But I didn’t get off with him. He brought me back to camp, that’s all.’

  ‘Will you girls shut up? Some of us are trying to sleep.’

  ‘Okay, okay, Angela,’ Janice mumbled. ‘Keep your hair on.’ She shuffled up to Miranda, snatching the torch from her hand. ‘I’ll give it back in the morning, and then you can tell us exactly how you managed to catch Gil Maddern’s eye. We’d all like to know.’ She walked off, following the thin trail of light from the torch.

  ‘She’s always had a thing for Mad Dog,’ Val whispered as she hurried past Miranda. ‘Best watch your back for knives, love.’

  Miranda climbed into bed and huddled beneath the rapidly cooling covers. It seemed that everyone had a thing for Gil Maddern except her. She closed her eyes, and it was Raif’s face that haunted her dreams.

  Th
ey had three days without German raids due to adverse weather conditions, but on the fourth day the respite period was over and the operations room was busier than ever. Miranda went about her tasks as usual, but she found herself listening for Mad Dog’s call sign and suddenly what had been routine before had become personal. The girls teased her constantly about their relationship, creating imaginary situations where Gil Maddern was there to sweep little Goody Two-Shoes as she had now been dubbed, off her tiny feet. Miranda laughed and treated it all as a joke, but she was beginning to wish that she had never met the camp heart-throb. She realised that there was a touch of jealousy beneath some of the comments she received, although she could not think why as she had vigorously denied any interest on her part in a man who had a reputation for taking risks.

  After a fortnight the novelty seemed to have worn off, but she had not been invited to accompany Valerie and Janice to the Saturday night hop. As usual, they were full of it next day, telling everyone about their conquests, although Janice had to admit that she had danced mostly with Cyril, and it was Val who had snared one of the officers as a partner. Miranda did not ask if Gil Maddern had been there, although she assumed that he had, and that he had probably found another popsy to chat up. Not that it mattered to her, nor was it any of her business. Becoming emotionally involved with air crew was a form of torture she could well do without.

  She spent the following Saturday night in the priory library, although it was not quite as romantic and peaceful as she had imagined it would be. In fact it was cold, draughty and so spooky that she left early and went to the canteen kitchen to make a cup of cocoa and thaw out her chilled extremities. She went to bed early taking with her a book she had borrowed from the library, although she had to suffer constant interruptions from a new girl called Connie Pearson, who kept up an incessant line of chatter whilst knitting something very ugly in khaki wool.

  Next day was the first Sunday off that Miranda had had in two months and she planned to do as little as possible. The snow had melted but it was still bitterly cold and very wet; not the sort of weather for long country walks and without transport sight-seeing was out of the question. There were no buses to town on a Sunday and very few in the week, and she was missing the hustle and bustle of urban streets. In particular she missed the cinema. She had always loved the movies, especially the musicals featuring Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers. Sitting in a darkened auditorium, watching the silver screen to the sound of rustling cellophane as people dipped into their bags of sweets, was now a fading memory. She made her mind up to spend the day washing her undies and pressing her uniform ready for Monday morning.