Bluebirds
Page 36
‘Two Brown Windsors.’
The haughty waitress set down the plates before them, but for all her superior air and the grandeur of the dining-room, the soup was tepid and tinned.
Later, in their bedroom – a chill and gloomy chamber with dark, heavy furniture and wallpaper like cold porridge – they faced each other shyly.
‘Will I come back later, Winnie?’
‘No, it’s quite all right, Ken.’
They undressed on each side of the double bed, their backs turned considerately to the other. Winnie put on her new flannel nightgown, shivering. The springs creaked and twanged as they got in. Ken pulled the cord to switch out the overhead light and put his arms carefully around her as though she were made of very delicate porcelain.
‘Winnie, oh Winnie . . . how I love you.’
He kissed her gently and held her close, but he could not manage to make love to her. She did her best to help him but without knowing how. After a while he lay back, overcome with a long bout of coughing.
‘I’m so sorry, Winn . . . so sorry. I think I’m just too tired, that’s the trouble. And now this wretched cough . . . I’m so sorry.’
She touched his arm, dismayed at the anguish in his voice. ‘Don’t worry, Ken. I’m tired, too. It’s been a long day. I’d go to sleep if I was you. It’d be the best thing.’
Gradually his breathing became slow and regular and she knew he had fallen asleep beside her. She lay wide awake in the darkness of the unfamiliar hotel room. She was not disappointed at Ken’s failure; in some ways it had been a relief. She was only sorry for his sake because he had sounded so upset. The truth was – and she had faced it at last – that Taffy had been quite right when he’d said that she had never really wanted to marry Ken. Somehow it had just always been expected. Seemed natural. Ken had always been there, for as long as she could remember, and she’d never known any different until she’d gone away. She was fond of him, of course she was. Very fond, or she wouldn’t be here. Couldn’t have gone through with it. She cared very much about his feelings and his happiness and she felt such a terrible, deep pity for him being so ill . . . it wasn’t fair when he was such a good, kind person. Taffy had been right about that too – she was so sorry for him. But she didn’t love Ken – not in the way she now realized that people could love each other. Taffy had given her an inkling of that. Not that she loved Taffy either. She didn’t even like him really, though she’d felt better about him lately – not so scared of him. But he’d taught her a lot more than all those things about ’planes. He’d shown her how you could feel about somebody . . . how it might be. I bet he never kisses you like this. If she’d felt the same way about Taffy that he felt about her and it was him lying here in this bed beside her, she would have remembered this night for the rest of her life.
Winnie blushed with shame in the darkness at even thinking such a thing. Ken was coughing in his sleep and she leaned over to tuck the bedclothes closer about him. Then she lay back and tried to sleep too.
In the morning Ken was feverish and too poorly to go down to breakfast. He lay on the pillows, flushed and miserable.
Winnie felt his forehead anxiously; it was burning hot. ‘P’raps I ought to call a doctor.’
‘No, don’t. Please don’t. It’s only a chill, or somethin’. I’m always getting those. It’s my stupid chest. It picks up everythin’.’ He coughed and closed his eyes. ‘Poor Winn. This isn’t much of a honeymoon.’
She held his hand. ‘Don’t you worry, Ken. Just you lie there and rest.’
He slept for most of the morning, though the hotel staff didn’t seem to like it. She kept guard beside his bed and bravely sent the chambermaid away. By lunch time, when he woke, he said he felt much better, though the flush was still in his cheeks.
‘I only booked the one night but we could stay another, if you’d like to Winnie.’
‘No,’ she said. ‘It costs such a lot and I think we’d better go home. It’d be for the best.’
They caught the bus to Elmbury and when they arrived at the shop Ken’s mother took one look at him and put him straight to bed. Winnie was left downstairs, waiting. She sat by the table in the living-room, twisting the fringed ends of the brown cloth in her fingers, not knowing what else to do.
Mrs Jervis came down the stairs, her tread heavy on each step. Her face was stiff with disapproval. ‘I told you both it was a waste of money going off to that hotel. I knew it would make him ill. But you would have it.’
Winnie stood up. ‘Ken wanted it, Mrs Jervis.’
‘And you should have known better. Talked him out of it. Him in his condition! He’s not up to things like that. He’s not up to anything.’
The implication was clear and Winnie went red.
‘I understand that, Mrs Jervis. And I’ll do everythin’ I can to take care of him.’
‘It’s nursing he needs now and you don’t know much about that, do you? He’s got a high temperature and I’ll have to get the doctor.’ Mrs Jervis moved towards the door and then turned, her hand on the knob to deliver her parting shot. ‘I’d given over my room to you both – moved into Ken’s – but you’d better sleep on the couch down here, so he can get some proper rest.’
She went out, shutting the door behind her. Winnie sat down again and covered her face with her hands.
‘Christmas is coming and Pearl is getting fat.’ Pearl patted her widening hips. ‘Well, fatter. Look at this skirt. I’m bulging out of the bloody thing and I’ve already taken it out as far as it’ll go. I’m going to look a right sight at the ball in this! Where’s my Fairy Godmother to do something about it?’
Anne finished tying her tie. ‘We’ll all be in uniform, so who cares?’
‘I do. It’s all very well for you, love. It suits you. But my prince is never going to come while I have to wear these togs. And how can we waltz divinely in clodhoppers like ours?’
Pearl clumped heavily round the room in her black lace-up shoes.
‘You could try going on tiptoe.’
‘Tiptoe through the tulips, through the tulips . . .’ Pearl went up on her toes, arms extended wide, and pranced her way towards the dormitory door. ‘Come on, ducky, or all the best blokes’ll have been nabbed. It’s OK for you. Your Prince Charming’ll be waiting for you.’
The brassy notes of the station band and the shuffle and drag of hundreds of dancing feet echoed in the cavernous wastes of the hangar, which was decorated overall for Christmas. This year the singer clinging to the microphone was a professional brought down from London – a platinum blond in silver lamé.
‘Not a patch on you, love,’ Pearl remarked. ‘And forty if she’s a day. The hair’s dyed too.’ She cast her eye round. ‘Crikey! Wonders never cease. There goes His Majesty, tripping the light fantastic with one of the cooks.’
They stared in amazement as Group Captain Palmer went past with the fat cook who had been beside Anne in the shelter beaming in his arms.
Pearl whistled. ‘Well, I never. You could knock me down with a feather. That settles it. When it’s the Ladies’ Excuse Me I’m going straight for him. Always thought he was a bit of all right. I like the strong, silent, masterful type.’
Anne was searching the crowd in vain for Michal.
‘Looking for someone?’ Johnnie Somerville blocked her view.
‘As a matter of fact, I am.’
‘Well, come and dance with me while you’re looking. You’ll see better.’ He held out his hand to her. ‘It’s Christmas, Anne. Goodwill to all men.’
‘If she won’t, then I will,’ Pearl informed him.
He turned to her with an easy smile. ‘May I have the pleasure of the next dance with you, then?’
Pearl held out the hem of her WAAF skirt and curtsied as low as its tightness would permit. ‘Thank you kindly, sir.’
‘You’ve changed your tune a bit, haven’t you?’ Anne said as she went with him reluctantly.
He took her in his arms. ‘What tune?’
‘What did I say?’
‘You were extremely rude and loathsomely snobbish.’
‘That was a long time ago, Anne.’
He steered her through the milling, jostling mass smoothly. She had forgotten what a good dancer he was but, naturally, he knew it. To be fair, Pearl was in for a treat in that respect. For a while Anne gave herself up to the pleasure of it.
He manoeuvred her deftly past a near-stationary couple who were causing a log jam. ‘I hear you’ve been seeing a lot of one of the Polish pilots.’
‘Do you?’
‘True or false?’
‘None of your business.’
‘Wolves in wolves clothing, you know.’
‘That’s rich, coming from you! How’s Penny?’
‘Penny?’
‘The blond who was with you at that party – the one where you were smashed.’
‘I’m often smashed at parties. But I remember you refused to dance with me. I was very hurt. Patsy, not Penny. And I’ve no idea how she is. I haven’t seen her since then.’
‘I’m not surprised. Who’s the latest?’
‘Nina.’
‘From Argentina?’
‘No, from Kensington, as a matter of fact. She’s an actress. Walk-on parts at the moment, but I’ve no doubt she’ll go far.’
‘Far away from you, if she’s got any sense.’
He smiled, unperturbed. ‘It’s the season of goodwill, Anne, remember.’
Over his shoulder, she caught sight of Michal standing talking to Stefan in a far corner of the hangar. She could hardly wait for the dance to end so that she could get away.
Palmer relinquished the cook with relief. It felt like dancing with a barrage balloon. She was light on her feet, as fat people often are, but there was too much of her for comfort. And she had scarcely stopped talking throughout the whole dance. Other WAAFS might still quake before him, but the cook had shown no signs of awe or nervousness to be dancing with the Station Commander. He had smiled grimly to himself as he propelled her round and wondered if he had lost his touch and got too soft. Just because the WAAF had done well so far it didn’t mean that discipline should slip one jot.
He danced next with one of the plotters – a tall, rather gawky girl who, in contrast to the cook, hardly uttered a word and kept stumbling clumsily. He had picked her at random from a row of wallflowers and she had seemed horrified to be asked and looked at him in near panic. She seemed to find the whole experience a frightening and unpleasant ordeal.
He had intended from the first to dance with Section Officer Newman but there was no shortage of others who had the same idea. He finally managed to approach her as she finished dancing with Robbie Robinson and caught a look of dry amusement in the squadron leader’s eyes, which he ignored.
To hold her in his arms was a strange irony when they usually encountered each other in confrontation across his desk. Only very rarely had their meetings not been on formal station matters. He sensed that she was ill at ease at the situation, though she did not betray it outwardly – any more than she betrayed it standing in front of the desk. She had learned a lot since that first day when she had blushed and stammered and been close to tears.
To his annoyance, he realized suddenly that it was a Ladies’ Excuse Me dance but reasoned that it was most unlikely that the Station Commander would be interrupted dancing with the senior WAAF officer. He set himself out to be encouragingly relaxed with her, to remove any awkwardness she might feel, but for the life of him he couldn’t think of anything to say except the most banal question.
‘Are you enjoying the evening, Section Officer?’
‘Very much, thank you, sir.’
‘Good to get everyone on the station together like this,’ he said heartily. ‘Makes a proper Christmas spirit. A lot of them must be missing their families at this time.’
‘Yes, sir. I think they appreciate it very much.’
Oh God, he thought, we might as well be in my office. I must sound a boring old buffer to her and she must be wishing she was dancing with one of the young chaps . . . with someone her own age. He consoled himself with the fact that at least he could show some of those how to dance properly – a lot of them didn’t seem to have a clue – and that he’d also shown them that he was still more than capable of flying with the best of them, as well as shooting down Huns. The Distinguished Service Order that had been added to his medals was gratifying, but he wore his two flying crosses with the most pride.
She felt as light as the cook on her feet, but a great deal nicer to hold. His right arm fitted easily about her slim body. Her hand was resting lightly on his shoulder and the other felt small and cool in his. He was diverted to notice that her hair had come unrolled a little. It gave her a kind of vulnerability that pleased him, oddly, and made him wonder how she would look with it all loose . . . how she would be when she was not being a WAAF, saluting and standing to attention and always on duty and on her guard.
He was about to say something else when, to his intense annoyance, a plump, redheaded airwoman tapped him boldly on the shoulder. He thought she had a colossal cheek, even though it was an Excuse Me and smiled with difficulty. She seemed quite unabashed. Section Officer Newman had detached herself much more readily than he cared to see. Rapidly, in fact. He watched her move away and before she had gone very far, a young flying officer had claimed her for a dance.
‘I am so sorry, Anne. The car does not start . . .’ Michal took her hand and kissed it. ‘Stefan helps me to push it and in the end she goes. But I am very late.’
Stefan gave her his wide, gold-toothed beam and bowed. He gestured round the hangar, at the coloured paperchains and streamers.
‘Very interesting. English Christmas.’
She wondered what on earth they both made of it – of the rowdy, irreligious jollity of it all.
‘I expect Christmas is very different in Poland.’
Stefan nodded. ‘With us is evening before Christmas. Not day. So, we think to give big party then – all Poles here. Michal and me, we talk of this. A real Polish Christmas party. And you are honoured guest.’
Later, dancing with Michal, she asked: ‘What was Stefan talking about? Are you really going to give a party, like he said?’
‘Certainly. On the evening of Christmas. Is all now decided and arranged. Is to be in village hall. We Poles are invited to many English parties. Now is our turn to give back hospitality.’
‘With vodka?’
‘Naturally, with vodka. A great lot of vodka. Stefan he is finding this. And wine. And Polish food.’
‘What sort of thing do you eat?’
‘Always questions, Anne.’ He smiled down at her. ‘You will see.’
‘I got him,’ Pearl said, patting cold cream into her face.
Anne buttoned her pyjama jacket, yawning. ‘Got who?’
‘God Almighty. Group Captain Palmer. Told you I was going to make a beeline for him in the Excuse Me. I danced the foxtrot with him. He’s not half bad at it either – almost as good as your Johnnie.’
‘He’s not my Johnnie. What on earth did you talk about?’
‘This and that. Not much of a talker, he ain’t. Matter of fact I think he was a bit pissed off that I butted in when he was dancing with Newman. I think he rather fancies her.’
‘You’re making it up, Pearl. He’s got a heart of stone.’
‘Still waters run deep, even with stones at the bottom. I saw the way he was looking at her. I can tell these things.’
‘But he’s years older than her. And he’s married.’
‘Still the little innocent, aren’t you?’ Pearl sighed. ‘Even after everything. Good luck to him, I say, with that cow of a wife. Wonder what she thinks of him – Newman, I mean.’
‘Couldn’t you tell that, too?’
‘Don’t b
e sarcastic, ducky. She didn’t seem to be looking at him at all, which could be a lucky sign for him.’
‘Surely if she liked him, she’d look at him.’
‘If she liked him, she might. Or even if she disliked him. But if she was falling for him, she might not look at him at all. See what I mean?’
‘No, I don’t. What are you hitting yourself under the chin like that for, Pearl?’
‘So I don’t get a double one.’
Anne climbed into bed. ‘Anyway, I think you imagined the whole thing.’
The village hall had been transformed into a foreign land. Branches of winter greenery decorated the walls and ceiling and dozens of candles burned on the window sills, giving a shimmering light. Long trestle tables had been strewn with golden straw and a miniature Christmas tree, decorated with glass balls and candles, stood in the centre of each one.
Michal watched Anne’s face as she stood in the doorway and stared. ‘You like it?’
‘It’s wonderful! Magic! The WI would never recognize this place.’
‘WI? What is that?’
‘The Women’s Institute. A sort of women’s club. Most villages have one. They meet and make jam and things.’
‘We do not eat jam tonight.’
‘What do we eat then?’
He took her arm. ‘Come and look.’
At the end of the hall, below the small stage, dishes had been laid out on two more long tables. Many dishes, all different.
‘How in heaven’s name did you do all this?’
‘That is our secret.’
She looked curiously along the loaded tables. Nothing was familiar.
‘It’s different from English food.’
He laughed. ‘No fish and chips? No bangers and mash? Nothing like that?’
‘No turkey either. Don’t you have that at Christmas?’
‘You will not find meat here at all. We do not eat meat on this evening because it is a fast.’
‘A fast! With all this lot?’
‘Everything is vegetables, or fish, and so on.’ He took her along the tables, pointing out dishes. ‘Herrings . . . smoked eel . . . another fish, but I do not know the name in English. And this is flaki – a soup of tripe and paprika and other spices.’