Éric glanced at the door. ‘My father would be furious if he knew I was asking you to put your life in danger when you are… I mean, if you are ever in France.’ Claire smiled. Éric had worked out that she hoped to go to his country. It wouldn’t have been difficult.
Mélanie tested her almost every day. She asked questions about France and the different zones, regions and borders. She changed her accent, impersonating her father and brother, as well as Prime Minister Pétain and a dozen celebrities that Claire had never heard of. And while they walked along the seashore, or drank coffee in the Beach Café, Éric told her about the people he knew and the place where he was brought up, which Claire used to invent her French family. With discussions on politics, French history, and the Professor teaching her how to read maps, Claire’s stay with the Marron family was busy and productive. She had read French novels, listened to French music and eaten French food, when rationing allowed. For two weeks she had enjoyed everything French. She had even started to think in French. It was a happy time. She wasn’t looking forward to leaving.
On her last morning, the Marron family sat down to a special breakfast of French coffee, buttered croissants, crusty bread and soft creamy Brie. ‘Will you write to me, Claire?’ Éric asked. ‘When you return to the WAAF, I mean.’
The request took Claire by surprise. ‘Yes, I shall write to you,’ she said, smiling at Mélanie, so she didn’t feel left out. ‘But don’t expect me to write for a while, or often. I shall be busy when I get back.’
When they had finished eating they all piled into the Professor’s car and set off for Newcastle. Éric and Mélanie got out at their respective schools and Professor Marron took Claire on to Newcastle Central. Her train was in the station when they arrived, so there wasn’t time for a long goodbye. Kissing him on both cheeks, which was the French custom, Claire thanked Professor Marron for his hospitality and set off across the platform. As the attendant blew his whistle, Claire spotted Eddie leaning out of the window, waving. A second later Eddie flung open the door and Claire jumped in.
Arriving at the house in Morecambe where she and Eddie shared a room, Claire found several letters. One was from her sister, Bess. She read it and squealed. ‘Tom’s alive, Eddie!’ she shouted. Crying and laughing at the same time, she shouted again, ‘My big brother is alive. He got out of Dunkirk in one piece. Bess said he telephoned her from a hospital in Kent. He said he’d been ill, but was better, and was going up to Foxden to recuperate.’ Tears spilled onto Claire’s cheeks.
Eddie put her arms round her. ‘Come on, Dudley, no blubbing. Your brother’s home and safe.’ Eddie looked at her wristwatch. ‘I’m starved. Let’s go to the NAAFI and have tea.’
‘And afterwards we’ll put on our glad rags and go to the pub in town. I feel like a gin and orange.’
‘Atta girl. Can I borrow your white belt?’
CHAPTER THREE
Eddie leapt from her bed. ‘Well?’
‘RAF Coltishall.’
‘Me too.’ The two friends danced around hugging each other.
‘Bomber and fighter squadrons are stationed there. We’ll see some action, Ed.’
‘What? With all the scrummy pilots?’
‘No! With the aerodrome being on the east coast. Oh, I give up!’
‘Only joking, Dudley old thing. Come on, let’s go to the flicks.’
‘I think not!’ someone barked from the door. Claire and Eddie stood to attention as a corporal marched into the bedroom of their billet. ‘Get your kit together. You leave for RAF Coltishall in the morning at 0:600 hours.’ She looked at Eddie. ‘I suggest you get your beauty sleep, ACW Mountjoy. They’re still building the WAAF’s quarters at Coltishall; you’ll need all your strength for cleaning them. Goodnight!’
‘Miserable old besom.’ Eddie flopped onto her bed and let her shoulders sag.
‘Come on, Ed, let’s pack. We’ll go to the pictures next week, in Coltishall.’
Too excited to sleep the night before, and up early to be at the administration building at six, Claire and Eddie dozed as the train from Morecambe to Norwich chugged its way south to Peterborough, before going east to Norwich, where they changed to a local train that took them the last eight miles to Coltishall.
Outside the station, Eddie dropped her kitbag, sat on it, and with her face turned to the sun, closed her eyes. Claire put her bag down and sat beside her. After three-quarters of an hour – and not a sign of transport to take them to the RAF base – Claire suggested they walk. ‘The train was late getting in. I bet we’ve missed our lift.’ Getting to her feet, she picked up her kitbag and hauled it onto her shoulder.
Eddie opened her eyes. ‘We’re sitting in view of the bus stop, Dudley. So, since we don’t know which way to walk, I suggest we hang on for…’ she looked at her watch, ‘fifteen minutes. There’s bound to be a bus on, or around, the hour – and it’s bound to go to the aerodrome. If not, I’ll ask the station master how we get there.’ She closed her eyes again. Claire put her bag down and sat on it again. ‘These damned bags are so heavy we probably wouldn’t get very far walking anyway.’ Eddie sighed.
Still agonising over whether they should walk or wait for a bus, Claire spotted an open-topped sports car drive into the station car park and pull up in front of the bus stop. The driver, a tall good-looking chap of about thirty, got out of the car, walked jauntily round to the passenger door, and opened it. Claire nudged Eddie. She tutted and opened her eyes. A beautiful blonde who could easily have been looking out from the cover of Vogue magazine swung her long slim legs out of the car. Wearing the sheerest of stockings, a blue silk dress and jacket, navy high heels and matching handbag, she offered one white-gloved hand to the man, while holding onto a white pillbox hat with the other. Helping her out of the car, the man slammed the door and slipped his arm round her waist. Oblivious to a couple of WAAFs scrambling to their feet, the couple strolled into the station.
‘Bet you five bob he’s RAF.’
‘I think you’re right, Ed. He’s got the swagger.’
‘When he comes out I’m going to ask him if he knows which buses go to Coltishall.’
‘Bet he doesn’t. By the look of that sports car he’s probably never taken a bus.’
Eddie smiled wryly. ‘Tactics, Dudley. I was thinking more along the lines of him taking pity on us and giving us a lift. We haven’t seen a ruddy bus in an hour. They might have stopped running.’
Claire put her hand up and shaded her eyes. ‘I’d rather ask the ticket clerk than ask him. If he is RAF, he’ll be an officer--’
‘Shush, he’s coming.’
‘How do you know it’s him?’
‘He’s got a distinctive walk. Listen.’
As the man stepped out of the station’s dark entrance into the Norfolk sunshine, Claire and Eddie saluted. He took a step back. They had clearly taken him by surprise, but he recovered quickly, returning the salute with a rakish smile. Eddie’s mouth fell open. Claire looked at her, expecting her to speak, but she was just staring at him. ‘Excuse me, sir,’ Claire said. His eyes twinkled and Claire felt herself blush. She stood as tall as she was able and began again. ‘Excuse me, sir, my friend and I were expected at RAF Coltishall this morning. We were told an RAF vehicle would collect us, but there must have been a hold up because we’ve been here an hour and no vehicle, other than yours, has stopped at the station, not even a bus.’ She felt flustered and knew she was waffling.
‘What my friend is trying to say,’ Eddie said, having at last found her tongue, ‘is do you know if this is the right bus stop for RAF Coltishall, and if it is, do you know the times of the buses that go there?’
The chap looked around the car park and back at Eddie. ‘It appears there is only one bus stop. As for buses going to Coltishall, I haven’t a clue. But there’s a bus coming,’ he said, looking in the direction of the road. The girls followed his gaze. ‘You could ask the driver. Ooops! I’d better move the old jalopy from the bus stop.’ He ambled ove
r to his car, saluted, swung himself onto the driver’s seat and sped off.
‘Scrump-tious!’ Eddie said under her breath as she returned the salute.
‘Too cocky in my opinion,’ Claire said, before running over to the bus. ‘Do you go to RAF Coltishall?’
‘Yes, but we’ve got to wait for the ten-past train to come in,’ the clippie said, pushing past them. ‘Just going to refresh my lipstick,’ she winked.
Eddie stepped onto the bus, threw her kitbag and gas mask into the luggage compartment and took a seat. Claire did the same. ‘Oh well, we’re one step nearer. Shouldn’t be long now,’ she said, joining Eddie. Looking out of the window, Claire saw the small red sports car heading towards them. ‘What on earth…? Look Ed, the RAF officer has come back.’
‘Well?’ he shouted from the driving seat. ‘Do you want a lift to Coltishall or not?’
Like a pair of giggling schoolgirls, Claire and Eddie pushed and shoved each other, took their belongings, and left the bus. By the time they got to the car the officer had opened the boot and was back behind the wheel. They hauled their bags in and ran to the passenger door.
‘Oh dear,’ Eddie said, ‘it’s a two-seater.’ She looked at Claire. ‘Shall we toss for it?’
‘No need,’ the officer said, pushing the passenger seat forward. ‘Clever, isn’t it? I can’t do it with mine, I need the leg room, but now there’s space for one in the back, if you don’t mind sitting sideways.’
Eddie stood to the side, grinning. ‘I’ll sit in the back then, shall I?’ Claire said, pointedly. The officer didn’t get out of the car to open the door for her, so she opened it herself and clambered in. Eddie demurely slipped into the passenger seat and closed the door. With his unlit pipe in his mouth, the man put the car into gear and it roared off.
Holding onto her cap with one hand and clinging onto the back of Eddie’s seat with the other, all Claire could see from her half-sitting, half-lying position was sky. The car raced through the Norfolk countryside at such speed that every time she attempted to sit up she was thrown backwards. She closed her eyes and squealed each time the car flew round a bend, and shook her head when Eddie turned to speak to her. She couldn’t hear anything above the roar of the engine. When they arrived at the aerodrome, Claire was white-knuckled and windswept.
‘Out you get, ladies. This is the administration block, where you report for duty,’ the chap said. ‘I’d tidy yourselves up before you go in, if I was you.’
‘Yes, sir. Thank you, sir,’ they said in unison. Eddie opened the passenger door and, as the blonde woman had done at the station, swung her legs out, leaving Claire to climb over the seat. Pulling her skirt down so the chap didn’t see her blackouts, Claire almost fell out of the car. Her instinct was to thank him for the lift, but she was so embarrassed by her ungainly exit she ran to Eddie, who was standing by the car’s boot with the kitbags.
‘What did you have to do to get a ride in old Dogsbody’s car?’ a passing WAAF asked as the car sped away.
‘Whose car?’
The WAAF looked at Claire as if she had arrived from another planet, instead of the railway station. ‘That was Acting Squadron Leader Bader. He’s a fighter ace. Didn’t you know?’
‘No,’ Claire said, ‘neither of us knew, did we Ed?’
Eddie shook her head. ‘How kind of him to give us a lift.'
The WAAF guffawed. ‘He wouldn’t have been kind, if you hadn’t been pretty. Come on, I’ll take you in and get you registered, and then I’ll show you where to go for lunch. If you come back here afterwards, I’ll take you to your quarters.’
‘This was on the hall table when I came in,’ Eddie said, as Claire joined her in the billet. ‘It’s addressed to you. I bet it’s the results of your French oral exam.’ Eddie pressed a buff envelope into Claire’s hand and followed her upstairs to their bedroom. ‘Well? Aren’t you going to open it?’
‘Give me time to get through the door.’ After taking off her coat and hanging it up, Claire ran her forefinger along the flap of the envelope and took out a sheet of white paper.
‘Come on, Dudley, don’t keep me in suspense,’ Eddie said. ‘Have you passed?’
‘Yes.’ Claire fell onto the bed and exhaled loudly, making a raspberry sound as air reverberated between her lips. ‘That’s a relief.’
‘What percent?’
‘Does it matter?’ Eddie snatched the letter out of Claire’s hand. ‘Give it back, Ed.’
Eddie sat on the bed beside her. ‘You don’t mind, do you?’
‘Would it make any difference if I did?’
‘I knew it. You clever old thing, Dudley.’
‘Flight Officer Manders said I’d be promoted to Aircraftwoman First Class if I passed.’
‘And about beggaring time,’ Eddie said. ‘Come on, let’s celebrate. We’ll go to the dance at the mess hall. There’s a local band on tonight that play jazzy tunes. It’ll be fun.
‘I don’t know, Ed, I’m tired.’
‘Be tired tomorrow. Tonight we’re celebrating.’
‘If you say so. With all the bloody air raids here, I wouldn’t get any sleep anyway.’
‘Good decision, ACW – soon to be First Class – Dudley. You must mark the occasion, you lucky blighter. Not that you don’t deserve it,’ Eddie chatted on. Claire dropped onto the bed and closed her eyes. ‘And, starting now, we have forty-eight hours of glorious leave. You can sleep all day tomorrow if you want, but you are not sleeping now,’ Eddie said, pulling Claire up into a sitting position. ‘We’ll put on our best frocks... Can I borrow your white belt again?’ Opening Claire’s cupboard, Eddie took out the belt. ‘It’ll look top-hole with my pink and white floral. What are you going to wear? I know, the blue,’ she said, before Claire could answer. ‘The skirt on your blue dress was made for dancing,’ she said, twirling round. ‘Oh,’ Eddie stopped suddenly. ‘I almost forgot. A squadron of Canadians arrived today – and they’re all scrumptious.’
Claire laughed. ‘How do you know they’re all scrumptious?’
‘I went up the tower with one of the girls from meteorology. We watched them land, but don’t change the subject! You are coming to the dance, aren’t you? Dudley, don’t be a bore...’
‘All right! Yes!’
Eddie hooted and clapped. ‘That’s settled then. And the best of it is we don’t have to get up early in the morning. I’m going to dance and dance,’ she said, waltzing out of the room.
Eddie was right, the dance was fun. The band played jazzy tunes, as Eddie called them, and there was no shortage of good-looking RAF and RCAF airmen to dance with. Claire danced so much she thought her feet would drop off. At ten o’clock she’d had enough and decided to leave. She scanned the room and spotted Eddie dancing with a Canadian pilot. She caught her friend’s eye and pointed to the door. Eddie waved over the airman’s shoulder as he buried his head in her neck. Claire waved back. Tomorrow, Claire thought, Eddie will be talking about ‘poor Chuck’ or ‘poor Cliff’. Laughing, she pushed her way through crowds of smooching dancers to the cloakroom. She gave the young WAAF on duty her ticket and, goodness knows how, she found Claire’s coat among the dozens of coats hanging up in the small room. After putting it on, Claire made her way to the exit. She had enjoyed the dance, but her mind was on her exam results. A pass meant the RAF Advance Strike Force was now within her grasp.
As Claire reached for the handle of the mess door, it flew open, knocking her off her feet. An RAF pilot ran to her aid, while a couple of handy-looking lads went to the door. ‘Are you hurt, Miss?’
‘No, I’m fine,’ Claire said, as the pilot helped her up.
‘Hey, English,’ the Canadian airman who had barged through the door shouted to Claire, ‘are you falling for me? All the girls do, English, all the girls do,’ he said, staggering towards her.
‘Move on, Airman, the lady doesn’t want you slobbering over her.’
‘Who the hell do you think you’re talking to, buddy?’
&nb
sp; ‘I’m talking to you, and I’m not your buddy. I’ll ask you again, politely, move out of the way and let the lady pass, or--’
‘Or what, Big Shot?’ The Canadian airman took a swing at the RAF pilot. The pilot ducked the blow and the Canadian’s fist connected with Claire’s nose, sending her stumbling backwards into the arms of a Canadian captain who had come to see what the fuss was about.
‘What the hell is going on here?’ the RCAF captain bellowed, pushing Claire to her feet.
‘Hey, you!’ he shouted to his fellow countryman, ‘the party’s over.’ He jabbed a finger at the RAF pilot. ‘For you too. And you--’ he said, turning to Claire. ‘Get out, before I put you out.’ Claire opened her mouth to tell him what she thought of his bullying, but he ignored her. ‘Get our men out of here and sober them up,’ he shouted to the Canadian officer who had arrived with him. ‘And you,’ he said into the ear of the airman who had insulted Claire, ‘are a disgrace to the RCAF uniform. Take him to the guard house,’ he shouted, pushing the airmen towards the door. ‘Are you still here?’ he said to the RAF pilot.
‘It wasn’t his fault!’ Claire protested. ‘He helped me when the drunk knocked me to the ground.’
The Canadian captain turned from the RAF pilot to Claire. She saw his eyes settle on her nose, and he looked for a moment as if he was going to apologise for the behaviour of one of his men. Instead he said, ‘I have no jurisdiction where RAF girlfriends are concerned, but if you know what’s good for you, you’ll stay out of my way!’ Marching towards the door he shouted, ‘Let’s get out of here.’
Tears of anger filled Claire’s eyes. She ran after the captain and pulled on his arm. He turned aggressively, but seeing the look of horror on Claire’s face he put up his hands. ‘I’m sorry, I thought you were one of the guys. What do you want?’
‘To ask you not to report the incident.’ The frown on the Canadian captain’s forehead deepened and his blue-grey eyes flashed with annoyance, but Claire carried on. ‘You said you have no jurisdiction here, but you can still write it up.’ Her heart pounded in her chest, but she was damned if she was going to let the RCAF captain intimidate her. ‘I have a very important interview coming up. A black mark against my character would mean I won’t be considered for the job I’ve been working towards since I joined the WAAF. I’ve been training for months, almost a year, so--’
China Blue (The Dudley Sisters Saga Book 3) Page 3