Spitfire Girls (47 page)

‘What on earth have you got there?' she asked, reaching for the cutting.

‘Blood Libels are alive and well in Norfolk. Have a read.' Alec sat back and rested his head against the plaster.

Shirley quickly became engrossed in the piece, her hand tightly gripping the paper. ‘Where did you find this?' she asked.

‘Sam Hardwick's old lady collects newspaper cuttings. Keep it.'

Shirley folded the clipping. ‘How is Marion?' she asked.

Alec's expression changed instantly, his cheerful bounci-ness now smothered by a frown:

‘We thought she was to have a wee baby but it was something else.'

‘Something else! Why haven't any of us heard about this? She's been trooping back and forth on Hurricanes and Masters every bloody day, Alec. She never said there was anything wrong.'

‘Her dizzy spells and all that – did she never mention them?'

‘Never, Alec.'

‘It was her female system – she had a horrendous session with a quack doctor – he did cure it, though.'

Shirley felt a wave of anger rising inside. ‘Does that mean – no babies for you?'

‘Most likely, lass.' He looked at the chess group, who had begun chattering over cups of coffee. Shirley's voice broke in:

‘Never mind – that new CO at Weston Longville says our job is going to be doubly taxing this coming year.'

‘What new CO?' Alec asked sharply.

‘Charlie Buxton – in fact he's the first airman in the family. They've all been adventurers and clergymen through the centuries.'

‘We've all been adventurers in the Harborne line, and I'm no CO as yet.'

‘Your day will come.' Shirley knew Alec had resented the promotions being heaped upon other men. Though he had run his own business and his own life against unspeakable odds before the war, his flamboyant personality had never pleased the brass since the outbreak of world conflict and even Valerie had found him hard to take at times.

‘So what does the illustrious Commander Buxton say?' he asked.

‘He made a special point of coming down to tell the girls based at Hamble and Hatfield that our ranks would swell.'

‘You must miss ground engineering,' Alec commented quietly.

‘That's my other news. The RAF has come around full circle and appointed me its first full-time woman Ground Engineer.'

‘Well, I'm dashed – this is historic.' Alec put his arm around Shirley and she did not have enough time to shy away. He kissed her on her temple and her thick hair felt delicious next to his rough skin.

‘Give my love to Marion!' she spluttered, pulling away from him and jumping up from the wall bench.

‘We haven't finished talking,' he said.

‘I have.'

‘We all love you, Shirley, and we're proud of your achievements.'

She was watching her colleagues at play. They had taken no notice of the pair's meeting.

‘None of it means anything without Val,' she mumbled.

‘What does your mum think?' asked Alec.

Shirley turned to face him. ‘Valerie is my life!' she shouted.

The others looked up.

‘Calm down,' murmured Alec, his hand close enough to hers to take it in his own.

‘I've not seen her for three months, Alec.'

‘I've not seen my wife for three nights – that's dangerous, lass.'

‘Be serious,' she pleaded, standing over him, her hand still in his. She was perspiring and the wetness of her palm seemed to flow into Alec's cool skin like pain departing a dying body. ‘Who can I talk to? My mother thinks I'm sick, and the world around me says so as well.'

‘It's not incurable, Shirley.' He held her hand tightly and she felt her focus swim. ‘Let go of me, Harborne!'

Alec released her and she felt her equilibrium return.

‘This article would interest Stella,' she said, unfolding the newsprint and motioning to the chess players. Stella was amongst them, and Alec smiled as she approached.

‘Hello, ballerina,' he sang, rising from the bench.

‘My God – Alec Harborne being chivalrous!' Stella exulted. Her tiny figure was clad in the newest winter uniform and the dark ATA blue was startling next to her rosy cheeks.

‘He's brought me this piece from the newspaper,' Shirley said. ‘It's all about the Blood Libel. This chap says here he is directly descended from one of the Jews converted in the twelfth century in Norwich. If I were him, I wouldn't be waving a flag about it.'

‘Why? Are you afraid Hitler is going to make it here after all?' Stella demanded.

‘I can't imagine why this man would want the whole world to know that his ancestors were Jewish.'

‘Are you ashamed?' Alec asked, sitting on the bench.

‘Not at all,' Shirley responded, ‘but as soon as people know this one particular fact about someone, they start treating you differently.'

‘Right!' exclaimed Alec. ‘Now I shall treat you differently by taking you off into an office I happen to know is unoccupied, and ravishing you mercilessly.'

‘Three nights away from Marion and all he can talk about is his libido,' Shirley said.

‘His what?' Stella asked, looking up from the newspaper article.

‘It is a new word for romance – I read it in a medical journal.'

‘You are peculiar, Bryce,' Stella said, tapping her with the cutting. ‘May I send this to Grunberg?'

‘You know where he is?' they both shouted in unison.

‘I've only just heard from him,' she replied.

‘Where?' Alec demanded, suddenly alert.

‘They've put him in an Internment Camp. I ‘d written to him months ago, care of Cambridge U, but heard nothing. Now he appears – out of the blue, florid handwriting and all – full of news and names and anecdotes. It sounds more fun than this place.'

There was a commotion in the main reception area, and all three pilots did an about-face.

‘Bottoms up!' shouted Sean Vine, escorting a group of men into the common room. Bobbing alongside the crowd, which included Bill Howes, Noel and Sam, and Hamilton Slade, was little Cal.

‘That's what I'm here for,' boomed Alec, grabbing Cal and lifting him off the ground.

‘This is Cal March's last day with ATA,' Bill said, placing a bottle of black-market vintage champagne on the chess table, where Delia had lingered.

‘He's going off to an undisclosed location, to be groomed for an Air Defence Cadet Corps that's due to start up in February,' Bill continued.

‘Where do you get all this top-secret gen, Yank?' shouted Noel, who was not smiling.

Bill cast him a withering glare and pressed on:

‘Cal has in fact been sworn to secrecy about the exact details of his attachment to the new squad, but we all wish him well. During the first year of ATA we boys and girls of all ages, and of all nationalities, have ferried thousands of
aircraft around this country for delivery to the RAF. Now you are about to become one of us. Fly safely, boy.' Bill opened the champagne and with the bang of the cork an air of levity engulfed White Waltham as another punishing ATA workday, overshadowed by appalling weather, came to an end.

Cal was surrounded by ebullient colleagues but his thoughts were hovering some distance above the din, as he suffered the absence of Jo Howes on this crucial day. Because Jo was still at Upavon she would not see him again before he was taken away from ATA. He had not had time to send a message to Upavon and, even if he had, Cal wondered if news of his sudden departure might not have ruined her chances of passing the course.

‘I'll tell Jo you said goodbye,' one of the girls was whispering.

Cal emerged from his torment to see Stella Teague standing beside him. ‘You're all so kind,' he said, not knowing where to put his spindly arms. Champagne was being thrust at him and he grasped the glass by its neck.

‘It's not a chicken,' Noel said, taking the boy's hand and manoeuvring his fingers up the crystal. Cal felt a curious tingling down his spine as Noel's eyes met his momentarily and he could sense himself reddening.

‘Where did all this posh crockery come from, then?' asked Alec.

‘We raided the local manor and raped the women,' Sean shouted.

‘Does that mean we are so undesirable that you need to seek satisfaction elsewhere?' piped Delia.

Laughter filled the room but Cal could not rid his mind of Jo, and Shirley fought a temptation to scream:

Why was Valerie not here?

How could people be frivolous when the greatest woman of their generation was under armed guard for loving a man?

Shirley looked at Cal, whose emaciated physique mirrored the condition of her soul. She wanted to protect him from love, and from obsessions, be they aeroplanes, comics or American girls. Watching him daydream while the others revelled, she decided she would take the leave days to which she was entitled and try to renew her own faltering will to live.

Did Cal have such a will to live? she asked herself.

But perhaps he had not lived long enough to want more.

Champagne glasses were chinking and Shirley left the building to run out into the dark and scream into the night.

Emerging from the mews in which the strange little doctor had his private practice, Angelique walked gingerly along the elaborate cast-iron railings of Harley Street. She had spent two days in London and was enjoying the looks attracted by her still shapely figure inside the superbly tailored uniform. A thin layer of ice now coated the pavement and the searing cold was making Angelique weaken. She had wanted to walk to Whitehall to hear Balfour speak but her resolve was evaporating. Taxis were rare, and when one eventually trundled down the slippery street her attire dazzled the driver at once and she was on her way to the House.

When the taxi drew up into Parliament Square the driver hesitated:

‘Free ride, miss, if you'll tell me I'm not hallucinating.'

‘I'm not Hedy Lamarr, if that's what you thought.'

‘No. It's the wings, miss.'

Angelique stepped back, nearly losing her footing on the treacherous glaze as she looked down at the emblems on her uniform.

‘My wings are ATA,' she said, smiling. ‘Air Transport Auxiliary.'

‘You're a WAAF then?'

She resisted losing her temper. ‘There's nothing wrong with WAAFs, but
I
am a
pilot
.'

‘Get off – you're having me on.' The fixed grin the driver had kept up throughout their ride was fading.

Angelique rummaged in her bag and drew out a diary. ‘A Wellington from Brooklands to St Athan, and, my God, another chit for a Beaufort out of bloody Chobham, and – would you believe it? – a Spit to Lichfield. Why can't I have a Hurricane this week?'

‘You're a bloomin' actress, you are,' he said, switching off his motor.

‘Indeed I was – until I became a full-time pilot for the war effort, my man.'

‘What was that you was reading from?'

‘Just a diary I keep – I listen to the other girls talking.'

‘There's more of you?' he spluttered, his eyes bulging.

‘Good Lord, yes. In fact, I am responsible for
Are you pregnant?
being written into the RAF medical as a routine question.' Angelique was freezing alive, but with the relentless determination that had made her an actress, she persevered.

‘Listen to me,' she said. ‘Three days ago I got out of a Hind, and because my tummy was bulging more than I wanted it to, the male CO shouted, “What is that woman doing flying an aircraft pregnant? Did no-one notice at her Medical?” I replied, “Nobody ever asked!” and from that moment on,
Are you pregnant?
was written in to the RAF rule book for examining doctors.'

‘You mean they ask blokes?'

‘They ask blokes.'

He had started up his engine, and before Angelique could replace the diary and fish out her money he had zoomed off. She chuckled to herself at the memory of recent events, which now seemed so remote in the harrowing bustle of blitzed London.

‘You shouldn't be revealing classified RAF information to men on the street.'

Angelique swung around, and if she had been kissed by the King she could not have felt a greater wave of excitement than at the sight she now beheld:

‘Dear God – Valerie!' she screeched, throwing her arms about the tall, striking woman.

‘You didn't see me,' Valerie said, kissing her on the cheek.

‘What have they done with your uniform?' Angelique asked, looking her Commanding Officer up and down.

‘Something wrong with this?' Valerie stepped back, opening her coat to reveal an exquisitely cut dress fit for a duchess. ‘What are you doing in London? You should be helping to fend off Hitler.'

‘Yesterday I saw Balfour, and today the doctor. I thought I would pop in to hear Harold address the House.'

‘What did the doctor say?'

‘I'm healthy enough. What about you? Do we get you back? Are you free?' Angelique felt faint from her sense of astonishment and joy. Until now, she had never realized how much Valerie's presence had affected each girl.

‘No. And I could be stashed away in mothballs with my uniforms for the duration of the war, if anyone were to see me here.'

‘What the hell is going on, Valerie? Can you not walk the streets of your own country?'

‘Apparently not – at least for the time being. Anyway – I saw you from that window over there and just had to steal away. Why did your taxi linger?'

‘He thought I was an eccentric dressing up as a man.'

‘Did I hear you telling him about being pregnant?'

‘I suppose I shouldn't have – what do you expect from an actress with a big mouth? Valerie – did you know Amy and Jim are divorced but he drops in on her?'

‘That's what I mean – loose talk loses reputations, let alone wars.'