A Future Arrived (39 page)

“Sleep! That's become your preoccupation in life.”

“It's going to become yours in the very near future.”

It was getting noisy in the bar, as a group of army officers began an argument over football, so they took their beers into the lounge and sat in deep leather chairs.

“Do you mind taking a little advice, Colin?”

“From you? Heck, no.”

“You have a lot of virtues, old son, but patience isn't one of them. Neither is restraint. A short fuse, in other words. I'm sure you're a good flier and you won't have any trouble completing the training course. But just remember that for the next three weeks or so you're strictly a probationer. RAF flying instructors are a crusty lot, full of bull and brass and addicted to King's Regulations and the flight manual. Do it the way they tell you to do it—from buttoning up your coveralls to following cockpit procedures to the letter. If you have to bite your tongue a few times, bite it. I don't want to find out that you've been booted out. Your stepfather may be an American citizen, but you have a British passport and just might find yourself digging holes for the army.”

“Advice received and accepted. Now then, where would you like to have dinner?”

“Simpson's. I made reservations. Kate will meet us there at seven.”

“Kate?”

“I thought it would be chummy.”

“ ‘Chummy,' ” he repeated in a flat voice. “Sure.”

Her face was flushed and she looked out of breath when she arrived late at the restaurant. She had been in a taxi accident in Charing Cross Road and had continued on foot. “With
very
long strides. Sorry I'm late.”

“Obviously you weren't hurt,” Derek said.

“No, but I can't say the same for the taxi's radiator.” She combed her hair with her fingers. “I must look an absolute mess.”

“You look lovely,” Colin said, meaning it.

After dinner, they had to hurry down the street to Charing Cross and Derek, waving at them over his shoulder, ran along the platform and caught his train just as it was pulling out.

“Sorry to see him go,” Colin said.

“Yes,” she said. “A sad place, railway stations.”

They walked slowly through the cavernous structure. In front, arriving passengers were lined up waiting for the few available taxis.

“It might be easier to get one at the Savoy,” Colin said.

“Plenty of them in Soho this time of night. Shall we walk? It's not too far, and I know a nice little coffee bar in Gerrard Street.”

“Okay.” He held her hand as they crossed into Charing Cross Road, the traffic signals subdued spots of light, the headlamps on the cars shielded into mere slits. “Life in the blackout. If the war goes on too long people will develop the sensory structure of bats.”

“I wouldn't be at all surprised,” she said with a laugh. “Londoners are half batty as it is!”

Colin continued to hold her hand all the way to Gerrard Street and she made no move to draw it away; did, in fact, give his fingers a little squeeze from time to time as though to emphasize something she was saying. She talked of how much she enjoyed living with her sister, and of how Jennifer was being assigned to the Crown Film Unit to do research for propaganda films. And she talked with a restrained excitement about entering Oxford.

“Be a horrid amount of work, but I don't mind. It's in a field I've always loved. Did you go to college when you went back to America?”

“For a little while, but got bored with it and dropped out. I got a job as a copilot with an air-freight line—a small outfit. We flew flowers mostly, to the eastern markets.”

“That must have been interesting.”

“Yeah, if you weren't allergic to roses.”

Kate hesitated in front of a door. “This is it, I think. Yes … it's upstairs.”

It was a smoky, crowded place that served Turkish coffee in small brass pots and Greek pastry. It was very popular with actors, she said. Vicky had introduced her to the place.

“Didn't she want to be an actress once?”

She nodded. “Just for a lark. She had a walk-on in a Noel Coward play and was perfectly dreadful.”

Colin watched her take tiny sips from her cup and pretended to drink from his own. He didn't like Turkish coffee. It tasted like hot syrup. “Derek said you thought I'd changed.”

“You seemed … oh, reserved. Not that I blame you. The fact is, Colin, I'm the one who's changed. A year and a half makes a big difference. I'll be eighteen next week. Not a girl any longer.” She looked down at the table and turned the cup between her fingers. “I acted foolishly that summer … especially the night in the car.”

He cleared his throat and broke off a piece of baklava. “I certainly didn't act very well, Kate.”

“You did absolutely the right thing under the circumstances. You put the damper on and did your best to get my feet back on the ground. I was just carried away in a mad crush, a biologic urge, and confused that with love. I must have embarrassed you terribly.”

“Not at all … really.”

“We've known each other all our lives and it would be a pity if there were any uncomfortable feelings between us.” She leaned back in her chair. “Good. That's off my chest.”

He gave her his best Groucho Marx leer. “Some chest.”

“That's my Colin,” she said. “It was your wicked little grin that I missed most.”

He walked her to Lower James Street and looked up at the building as she searched her handbag for the key.

“So this is where Jenny lives.”

“Not much from the outside, is it? But it's a truly lovely flat. Full of antiques and things. I'd ask you up, but I'm sure she's asleep by now.”

“When I get back from training.”

“Lots of luck on that.”

“Piece of cake.” She had trouble with the lock and he opened the door for her. “They give you a couple of days' leave when you finish. Maybe we could get together … have dinner and take in a show.”

“I'd love to.”

“Swell.” He pressed her hand. “And happy birthday. I'm sorry I'll miss it.”

“You can give me a birthday kiss if you'd like.”

“I would, Kate. I really would.” He kissed her briefly on the lips. “Take care of yourself.”

“You do the same,” she said softly, then stepped inside and closed the door.

It was a long walk to Regent's Park, but he never gave a thought to hailing a cab. He walked with light steps and a joyous heart—thinking of her.

T
HE VENERABLE
S
ARO
London flying boat winged majestically over Swanage Bay at five thousand feet, Colin keeping her steadily on course despite a vicious cross wind whipping in across the English Channel. Rain behind the wind, black sheets of it blotting out the distant line of the French coast. He fought back the urge to open the throttles on the twin Pegasus engines and scoot merrily for home, but his instructions had been exact—ninety miles per hour on a two-hundred-mile triangular course. He checked the airspeed indicator—ninety on the button—and glanced at his watch: two fifty-seven. Right on time and right on course. The gimlet-eyed flying instructor in the second seat was doing the same—and also glancing out the side window at the approaching squall. “If you goose the old girl up a bit, Ross, we might miss this muck.”

Colin's smile was inner. Not a muscle of his face so much as twitched. Silly bastard, he was thinking. “Chief Flying Instructor Bishop's orders, sir. Keep the ship at nine-oh airspeed.”

“Mr. Bishop did not anticipate a ruddy monsoon, Ross.”

“One can never anticipate anything on a mapped-out patrol, sir. Unless the aircraft is in obvious danger I shall stick to the flight plan … sir.”

The instructor cracked a smile. It was like watching granite split. “Good for you, lad. You'd be surprised how many get a tick on that one.”

Not me,
he mouthed soundlessly as he began a slow descent toward the Solent, the Isle of Wight off to his right, already wreathed with mist.

Rain on the March wind pelted the seaplane base. The moored flying boats rocked in the bay; water sheeted off the Nissen huts and the old brick buildings. Colin, a raincoat wrapped around his white coveralls, sprinted across sloppy ground and into the Operations building. He hung the streaming raincoat on a rack and walked down a corridor to Wing Commander Jessop's office.

The portly little commander of the base rose from his desk, all smiles. “Sit down, Ross … sit down. Care for a sherry to dry out the bones?”

“That would be nice, sir. Thank you.”

“Called you in, Ross, because orders have come through for you while you were in flight. And may I say that the report on your exercise this afternoon was first rate.”

“That's good to know, sir.”

“Not that you could possibly have doubted it, I'm sure. You've done splendidly here the past few weeks. Your pilot officer rings are secure on your sleeves.” He perched on the edge of his desk, feet dangling a long way from the floor. “A new squadron has been formed. Number Thirty-four, based at Thurne Mere in Norfolk. Seven Ross-Patterson Colorados. The boats you helped bring over, no doubt. They should prove useful with all this sudden activity in Norwegian waters. You're to report to it as soon as you're qualified—which is now. Congratulations.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“Did I say as soon as you are qualified? Let me clarify that. You are entitled to three days' leave starting, officially, tomorrow. Report to RAF Thurne Mere first thing Monday morning. However, I won't keep you here unnecessarily. If you can pack up your gear in a hurry you should be able to catch the ferry to Gosport and be in London by nightfall.” He stuck out a small, pudgy hand. “Goodbye and Godspeed.”

G
OSPORT TO
S
OUTHAMPTON
. Train to London. Taxi from Waterloo in swirling rain through blacked-out streets, the driver cursing softly over the
tick tick tick
of the windshield blades.

“My goodness, Mister Colin,” Dodds said in surprise. “You were not expected.” He closed the front door and helped him out of his raincoat. “Lord and Lady Stanmore are in Derbyshire staying with Mr. William. We don't expect them back until Wednesday.”

“Sorry I missed them. I only have a three-day leave … have to be in Norfolk on Monday.”

“That is a shame. May I say, sir, you look splendid in uniform.”

“Thank you, Dodds.”

A maid had brought a ham sandwich and a glass of Guinness to his room while he had been taking a bath, the first really hot soak he had had in weeks. Sitting on the edge of the bed, he wolfed the sandwich and wondered if he should phone Kate now or just roll over on the luxurious bed. Derek had been oh, so right. Sleep was not an abundant commodity in the RAF. The bath and the beer, the softness of sheets and the warmth of blankets made up his mind for him.

“Tomorrow,” he muttered—getting into bed and turning out the light—and was instantly asleep.

The storm had blown over by morning, and the weather report called for a windy but clear weekend. He spent it with Kate, playing the tourist: Kew Gardens, the Tower, Madame Tussauds—the wax image of Hitler being the biggest attraction. There were dinners and the theater.

“The nicest weekend I've ever had,” she said.

Colin, standing by the window and looking down on Lower James Street, smiled and turned away. “Certainly the best I've had. I wish it wasn't Sunday, and Sunday evening at that.”

Jennifer came out of her bedroom in a cocktail dress, the back of it undone. “What time do you have to be at that awful place, Colin?”

“I take the six-fifteen train to Norwich and someone from the base meets me there. God knows where Thurne Mere is. I couldn't find it on the map. A lot of water in Norfolk. It's probably the name of a swamp.”

“Do me up, will you, Kate?” She sat on the couch next to her. “You two are certainly welcome to come along. Jacob would love to see you.”

“Cocktail parties bore me,” Kate said, pulling up the zipper. “Besides, I thought I'd show off my cooking skills. Lamb chops, mashed potatoes, and peas.”

Jennifer smiled to herself as she stood up. “Have a pleasant time. I won't be in before ten thirty.”

Colin straddled a chair in the kitchen and watched Kate as she fixed the meal, smiling at her obvious anxiety as she checked the potatoes and peered for the fourth time at the chops sizzling under the gas broiler.

“Need any help?” he asked. “I know how to boil spuds.”

“They're about done—I think. You can mash them if you'd like. That is, if it's not beneath the dignity of a Royal Air Force officer.”

“Nothing is beneath my dignity where food is concerned.”

Kate had set the table with care, using china, Georgian silver, and crystal wine glasses that Jennifer had brought from Lulworth Manor. The effect was not lost on Colin.