‘Angela, wake up!’ Bobbie knocked hard on the door. ‘Can you hear me?’
‘What is it?’ Angela crawled out of bed and struggled into her dressing gown. ‘Bobbie; is that you? I look dreadful – can you give me five minutes?’
‘No, Angela – I need to speak to you now.’
Angela staggered to the door. ‘What’s happened? Has Teddy been bothering you again?’
‘No; Lionel’s here.’ Bobbie was all of a dither. ‘He’s downstairs. Come quickly.’
Angela grasped the edge of the door. ‘Lionel?’ she echoed.
‘Yes. He’s on shore leave – in the library, waiting for you.’ Bobbie had been making her way down to breakfast and had bumped into Lionel in the entrance hall.
‘Tell him I can’t see him,’ Angela gasped. Her hand flew up to smooth her hair. ‘Why is he here? Didn’t he get my letter?’
‘I have no idea.’ Bobbie only knew what she’d already told Angela. ‘I asked him to wait in the library where it’s quiet. You can’t send the poor man away without seeing him. Shall I run back down and tell him to wait while you get dressed?’
Angela groaned then nodded. ‘I’ll be five minutes.’
As Bobbie delivered the message, Angela flung on some clothes and ran a comb through her hair. Lionel; here at the Grange! Of all the things she might have expected from her day of rest – ironing, mending, hiking or writing letters – her ex-fiancé’s arrival was nowhere on the list. Fully dressed, she ran to the bathroom and splashed water on her face, patted it dry with a towel then checked her reflection in the mirror. Ghastly!
Outside in the corridor she ran into Jean.
‘Lionel is downstairs,’ Jean began.
‘I know!’ Angela wailed. The sooner this encounter was over the better. So she ran full tilt down the stairs and into the library.
Lionel stood in uniform with his back to the empty fire grate, hands clasped behind him. His thick brown hair had been flattened by his cap, which lay on the window sill with his gloves and scarf. Despite his tanned skin, he looked drawn and anxious.
‘Darling!’ Angela began. ‘Why didn’t you warn me?’
‘Hello, Angela.’ He took an eager step towards her then read her dismayed expression and stopped. ‘It’s early; I hope you don’t mind.’
‘No, of course not.’ Good manners took over. ‘Can I get you something to eat; some tea at least?’
‘No, thank you.’ He patted his jacket pocket. ‘I got your letter.’
Angela stayed by the door. An avalanche of emotions threatened to overwhelm her. ‘I’m most awfully sorry if you’re upset.’
‘I was at first,’ Lionel conceded. ‘It came as quite a shock.’
‘I know and I am desperately sorry.’ The truth was that a face-to-face break-up was different; it was much more complicated and difficult than simply writing a letter. For a moment Angela resented the intrusion. ‘Are you sure I can’t get you some tea?’
‘Forget about the tea,’ he said brusquely. ‘I haven’t got long – I have to be back in Hull by midday.’
‘I see. Well, sit down at least.’ Angela drew up two chairs by the window. ‘Where’s your car?’
‘Hilary told me to drive in the back way. The car’s parked in the stable yard.’
‘Good; there may still be unexploded bombs out front.’
‘I told him I’d come to see you.’ Lionel sat awkwardly on the edge of his seat.
‘Really?’ Angela’s hackles rose. ‘And what advice did our mutual friend offer?’
‘I didn’t ask him for any. This is between you and me.’ Since Lionel had received Angela’s letter he’d rehearsed a dozen times what he wanted to say – where to begin and how to go on, how he wanted the conversation to end. But in the event the prepared lines fled and he was left tongue-tied. So he sat and frowned, gazing out through the window at Burton Wood and waiting for Angela to speak.
‘I was right, wasn’t I? Pa left me with no alternative.’
‘Right to carry on flying for the ATA or right to break off with me?’
‘Both.’ Crossing her legs, she tapped the arms of her chair and let a silence develop.
‘Correct on the first count, wrong on the second.’ Lionel averted his gaze and waited in silence for her reaction.
Angela gave a short, exasperated sigh. ‘I did try to explain. How could we have gone on under the circumstances? I’m poor as a church mouse now – I have to make my own way in life.’
‘I thought you said you’d prefer that.’
‘I do. I’d far rather stand on my own two feet than rely on Pa’s allowance.’
‘Yes, I see.’ Lionel mirrored Angela’s actions by crossing his legs and tapping both armrests. ‘I’m sad on your mother’s behalf, however.’
She nodded in acknowledgement. ‘But Ma has a choice too, if only she would see it.’
‘She hasn’t been educated to think like that,’ he pointed out. ‘She was brought up in an age where a wife was expected to accept her lot – like my own mother when the worst befell her. Come now; don’t look so surprised.’
Angela’s mouth fell open as she envisaged the house in Dorset and Lionel’s seemingly contented, refined and delicate mother surrounded by her books and watercolour paints like a character from a novel by E. M. Forster. What exactly did Lionel mean?
‘Mother made the best of things, even after she’d learned the name and circumstances of the woman with whom Father was carrying on,’ Lionel went on calmly. ‘Of course, she withdrew from London. It would have been too humiliating to have stayed.’
‘I’m sorry; I wasn’t aware.’
‘Quite.’ Lionel stood up suddenly and took his silver cigarette case from his pocket. ‘A lot goes on that isn’t spoken about. I’ve learned from Mother to keep my emotions well hidden, which means that I’m afraid I come across as rather a stuffed shirt.’
‘No, I never thought that.’ Angela followed him across the room.
Tapping the end of a cigarette against the case, he regarded her through narrowed eyes. ‘What did you think of me – steady, reliable Lionel but not very exciting?’
‘Reliable; yes, and a true friend.’
‘But boring.’
‘No,’ Angela insisted. ‘You were always kind and generous. And I’m not, you see. I’m a superficial girl except when I’m flying a plane and doing my job; that’s the only part of my life that I take seriously. Otherwise it’s been one long party.’
Lionel flicked his lighter into action and shook his head.
‘Yes,’ she argued. ‘I love nothing better than to go out and have fun. You’ve seen how I’ve been over the years: the dresses, the make-up, the music. And deep down you must know that these are not the best qualities to look for in a wife. Believe me, darling, you’re much better off—’
‘Angela, don’t.’ Putting the lighter away then inhaling deeply, he stopped her with another shake of his head. ‘I don’t care how many parties you attend or how much money you have or haven’t got. It’s irrelevant to me. All I care about is that your father has been cruel to you and has hurt you desperately but you haven’t let him crush your spirit; instead, you’ve fought free of him. It’s made me love you more than ever, if that were humanly possible.’
Taking a sharp breath, she turned away. ‘Lionel, you’re not being practical.’
‘What’s practicality got to do with how I feel?’
‘How you feel?’ She looked puzzled, as if the depth of Lionel’s emotions wasn’t something that she’d taken into account. ‘Listen, you may hurt for a little while but it will soon wear off—’
He stepped in front of her. ‘Damn it, woman; what are you saying – that I’m as shallow as you claim to be? That love can be washed away without a trace, like words written in sand when the waves come in? It’s just not true.’
‘With time,’ she insisted. ‘You will forget about me; honestly you will.’
‘I don’t want to forget about you. Would I have come here if I did? It cost me a lot, you know. And I’m not here to grovel. If you tell me to my face that it really is over between us, then I will go away and you won’t hear from me again. But I won’t ever forget you.’
‘Give me that cigarette, would you, darling?’ Angela accepted it with a deep frown. Lionel’s words had thrown her off balance and she needed time to recover. ‘Never mind my father; what about yours? Shouldn’t he mind dreadfully if we were to continue?’
‘To hell with my father. It’s my life, not his.’
‘Fine words don’t pay the bills,’ Angela muttered through a cloud of smoke. But the sand shifted beneath her feet; everything she’d thought of as certain was sliding from under her. ‘I was sure I’d done the right thing,’ she murmured.
‘To throw away our chance of happiness?’ Lionel raised his eyebrows and spoke with a touch of sarcasm. ‘How can that be right?’
‘It seemed so when I wrote the letter.’
‘But now?’
‘I’m not so sure.’ In fact, she was not certain at all; not when she looked closely at Lionel’s face and saw passion burn in his brown eyes and heard it in his voice. What she’d judged to be his steadiness had suddenly become unshakeable strength and his presence exerted an unexpected power over her.
‘And if I tell you that I still love you?’ he asked quietly.
‘Then I believe you.’
‘That I will always love you?’ Lionel didn’t move towards her but stayed on the spot, watching her closely.
Angela nodded once and was about to speak.
‘No, don’t say anything.’ Lionel advanced and took away her half-smoked cigarette then stubbed it out in the fire grate. Then he stroked strands of hair from her cheek with the back of his hand. ‘Not until you’ve had time to work out whether or not my visit changes things.’
‘It does,’ she acknowledged in a whisper.
‘Hush; I know it’s taken you by surprise. And I may not have succeeded in winning you back; I am prepared for that.’
Angela inclined her head towards his hand then held it there, against her cheek. ‘Thank you.’
‘For what?’ His full heart almost burst. He simply wanted to hold her and help her to believe in herself.
‘For coming here. For being kind and true.’
He bent his head to kiss her softly on her cheek. ‘Write to me, once you’ve had time to think.’
‘Give me one week.’
‘A week,’ he agreed. Taking up his hat and gloves, Lionel backed towards the door. ‘I’ll wait to hear.’
Then he was gone and there was the sound of his footsteps crossing the hall, of Douglas saying a surprised hello, of their voices fading as they walked out on to the front terrace together, exchanging news.
Up at 2,000 feet, behind the controls of her Spit, Bobbie breathed easily. On the ground she would still jump at her own shadow, dreading a chance meeting with Teddy and anxious to avoid the curious glances of everyone around her. During the weekend just past she’d even had to steel herself to accept the sympathy of Angela, Mary and Jean without breaking down, their kind words and actions serving as reminders of the awful event that she longed to wipe from her brain.
So she’d kept to herself and had arrived at the ferry pool early this Monday morning; had been first in line to accept her chit then had dashed off to collect her parachute pack, helmet and goggles before a queue could form.
Bobbie discovered that her job for the day was to deliver a brand-new Spit to a ferry pool in the Scottish Borders; it was her favourite route and one she knew by heart.
‘Atta girl!’ Stan had said in his friendly way as she’d climbed into the cockpit on Runway 3. ‘You’ll enjoy this one.’ He’d removed the chocks and given her the thumbs-up then waved her off with a grin – for all the world as if she were the carefree Bobbie of old.
She’d waved back and now, heading north at 300 miles per hour, she had a clear sky ahead and untamed moors below and she was that girl again. She had space and speed; complete control.
Bobbie sat in the tiny cockpit looking down on the world. She observed the coast to the east and beyond that the glittering sea, where a small convoy of ships were dark oblongs trailing their thin wakes through the brown water. The coastline was sharply indented and marked by a rim of white waves. Onwards, upwards; she flew the precious new Spit to its destination.
With soaring spirits she lived in the glorious moment until, out of the blue, a fellow pilot flew up from behind. The P-51 Mustang came level with her on her port side, its wings almost touching the Spit’s. Gripping the stick with a sickening feeling of certainty and dread, Bobbie glanced sideways.
Teddy waved at her from his cockpit then banked his plane steeply. She held her breath. He came at her again from behind; this time to starboard. He grinned and waved again, banked away and increased his speed, challenging her to keep up.
Hold a steady course, don’t increase the revs; ignore him.
Directly ahead of her, he flipped the Mustang into a spectacular backward roll, inviting Bobbie to join in and not to be a spoilsport, behaving as if they were performers in a flying circus, not part of the war effort at all.
Bobbie refused to react. Let him play the fool. Don’t be intimidated. She watched the trail of vapour from the Mustang disperse and waited tensely for Teddy’s next move.
He turned then came straight at her in a blatant game of dare, sunlight reflecting off his wings and fuselage. Who would give way first?
I know your game! Bobbie held her nerve. You don’t scare me!
Teddy flew level and straight, threatening a head-on crash until at the last, terrifying moment he thrust the stick forward to drop out of sight.
Bobbie gasped and flew on.
Below her, Teddy sat grinning at the controls of the Mustang. He was taken aback by Bobbie’s nerve but he wasn’t done with her yet; not until he’d forced a reaction out of her. He’d planned this little game before take-off, as soon as he’d noticed Bobbie’s name and number on the destination chart behind Gillian’s desk and found out that he too was heading north. A cocky game of dare would provide an unwelcome reminder of the balance of power between him and Bobbie; Teddy would easily prove himself the stronger of the two, both on the ground and in the air. ‘Just in case she gets a different idea into her head,’ he said out loud as he gained altitude and approached the Spit from behind.
You mean to break me but I won’t let you! Gritting her teeth, Bobbie glanced over her shoulder. As the Mustang approached at high speed she saw Teddy for what he really was: a bragging playground bully who relied on lying and cheating to make his way to the top. With a supreme effort of will she held her course.
Teddy flew up on the port side as close as he dared. He pointed at her then at his own chest before tilting his head back and miming the action of drinking from a glass. You and me; tomorrow night? he mouthed with a confident grin.
Bobbie didn’t stoop to reply. She resisted the strong temptation to use the Spit’s manoeuvrability to outfly him. Sit tight. Don’t play him at his own game.
He flew closer still, attempting to force her to veer to starboard. If Bobbie’s foot on the rudder pedal faltered even for a moment, their wing tips would touch, sending one or both planes off course and out of control. But her nerve didn’t fail as she stared straight ahead.
Give way, damn it! Teddy thought. They were approaching the Scottish border and his destination was directly west, into Cumberland. He didn’t have enough petrol to fly further north. The smile slowly vanished.
The Spit responded to every touch and Bobbie continued to hold her course. She saw that Teddy’s expression had hardened and she sensed anger in his movements. I’m stronger, I’m better than you! A new realization coursed through Bobbie’s veins as Teddy’s plane fell away and she carried on flying north, straight and true.
‘Fly safely,’ Cameron said to Mary as she collected her chit.
‘I always do,’ she assured him. She’d learned that she was to take a damaged Corsair to Wolverhampton then meet up there with Angela and Jean before all three pilots were driven back to Rixley by Olive.
Cameron stood two steps below her on the stairs. ‘I know you do,’ he said fondly.
From the top step of the painted concrete stairs Horace called down to Agnes about her day’s activities. ‘What did you get?’
‘A Mosquito, worse luck.’
‘Where to?’ Horace barged past Cameron and Mary to join Agnes.
‘All the way to Thame,’ she informed him. ‘What about you?’
‘Same as you, but in a Maggie.’
Horace and Agnes began discussing the peculiarities of the two old workhorses as they strode off towards their runway.
Cameron spoke softly to Mary. ‘I’ll hope to see you later.’ His on-duty manner was on the point of breaking down and it was only the appearance of Hilary at the bottom of the stairs that prevented him from embracing Mary before she left.
‘Yes, sir,’ she said with a bright smile. They both waded minute by minute through the agonies of counting the days leading to Cameron’s departure, each trying to put on a brave face for the other’s benefit.
‘Get a move on, Third Officer Holland,’ Hilary said sharply as he mounted the stairs and squeezed past.
‘It was my fault.’ Cameron offered his apologies. ‘I held her up.’
Hilary grunted then disappeared into the ops room while Cameron winked reassuringly at Mary who ran off to find her aircraft, hard on the heels of Jean and Angela. The three pilots exchanged cheerful waves as they climbed into their cockpits then waited for chocks away.
Before long they were airborne and flying in loose formation towards the Midlands factory – south-west over coalfields and steelworks, over vast, pot-bellied cooling towers that churned out smoke and steam and on towards their shared destination. They landed safely on adjacent runways and were soon surrounded by the usual gang of eager, smiling ground crews to whom they handed over their aircraft.
‘Blimey!’ A corporal mechanic examined Mary’s damaged Corsair, putting his finger straight through a hastily patched area in the belly of the fuselage. ‘It’s a wonder you made it here in one piece.’
Meanwhile, another mechanic quickly examined Angela’s papers. ‘This Hurricane came all the way from a Maintenance Unit in Aberdeen, it says here. It needs a new propeller shaft, by all accounts.’
‘Don’t ask me,’ Angela replied airily as she went to join Mary. ‘I just fly the thing.’
The girls took off their helmets and unzipped their flying suits as they waited for Jean at the end of the runway.
‘Can you see our car?’ Jean greeted them then led the way into the nearby office where they would officially sign off. Like Mary and Angela, she was keen to set off for home as soon as possible.
‘No, there’s no sign as yet of the lovely Olive.’ Angela looked out of the window at a scene of high activity. Two planes flew out as a third flew in while Tillies and pickups criss-crossed the airfield. Ground crew clustered around the latest arrivals, ready with chocks and toolkits.
‘Your driver telephoned to say she’s been held up,’ a girl behind a desk informed them with thinly disguised satisfaction. These racy women pilots had a tendency to look down their noses at ordinary mortals so she felt it did them no harm to have to twiddle their thumbs once in a while. ‘She said she had no idea how long she’ll be.’
‘The canteen’s open,’ a more obliging male clerk informed Mary, Jean and Angela.
So they signed their papers then made their way to a low, flat-roofed concrete building where tea and food were served. Settled at a table close to a window overlooking the main gate from where they could keep an eye out for Olive, talk soon turned towards affairs of the heart.
‘Mary Holland, you’re a sly one.’ Angela adopted her usual teasing tone as she flipped open her brand-new powder compact (courtesy of the ground defence boys at Highcliff) and used the small round mirror to refresh her lipstick.
Mary rose to the bait. ‘What do you mean?’ she asked with a guarded expression.
‘I mean you and Cameron, of course. Oh, come along; don’t try to deny it. It’s as plain as the nose on my face that he follows you around the Grange like a little puppy dog.’
‘Tell her to mind her own bloody business,’ Jean told Mary with unusual animation as she aimed a kick at Angela’s shins.
‘Mind your own bloody business,’ Mary said with an embarrassed grin.
‘Ouch, Jean; that hurt,’ Angela complained. ‘Anyway, Cameron is my business,’ she said primly. ‘He’s been like a big brother to me over the years. And before either of you says anything, I deny all charges.’
Jean was also in the mood to tease. ‘Really? I’m willing to bet that there was a time when you viewed Flight Lieutenant Ainslie with more than sisterly interest.’
‘Not guilty,’ Angela insisted. ‘Yes; Cameron fits the suitor bill – tall, fair and handsome, so to speak. But I practically grew up with the dear boy. Hugh and he used to press-gang me into playing cricket with them. I was always the wicket-keeper, worst luck.’
‘So I’m safe,’ Mary said wryly.
‘You’d have been safe anyway.’ Angela had moved on from lipstick to powder puff, with which she briskly dabbed her nose and cheeks. ‘Cameron is smitten with you, darling. You’re much more his type than I am – silent and enigmatic, with hidden depths like the adorable Greta Garbo. You remember – “I vant to be alone!”’
‘Tell her to shut up,’ Jean urged again.
‘No, I don’t mind,’ Mary admitted. ‘It’s a relief to have it out in the open, especially since Cameron has to leave Rixley soon. After that I’ll be on tenterhooks, watching out for the postman, waiting to hear from him. He’s been posted to the RAF base at Aireby,’ she explained to a puzzled Angela and Jean.
‘Oh, you poor thing!’ they chorused as one.
‘Life is cruel for star-crossed lovers.’ Angela sighed. ‘Romeo, Romeo, wherefore art thou …?’
‘Shut up, Angela. But Aireby is close by,’ Jean commiserated with Mary. ‘And while we’re at it with the confessions, I have some news of my own.’
‘Do tell.’ Angela’s deep-blue eyes sparkled. ‘No; let me consult my crystal ball.’ Her hands hovered over the small metal teapot on the table in front of them. ‘The mist is clearing; Jean, I see you walking arm in arm with a distinguished older man. He’s in uniform. You’re deeply in love. His name begins with a … “D”. Yes; Douglas Thornton is his name!’
Jean took Angela’s joshing with good grace. ‘It’s perfectly true; Douglas and I are engaged.’
‘No!’ Mary leaned across the table and grasped Jean’s wrist. ‘You two will tie the knot?’
‘I was right,’ Angela crowed. ‘He went down on bended knee without consulting yours truly?’
‘Actually, it was me,’ Jean said, loud and clear. ‘I was the one who proposed.’
‘Congratulations.’ Mary beamed at Jean as Angela gave a delighted squeal. ‘He said yes? Of course he did; you’re engaged. That’s marvellous.’
Jean recalled how fast her heart had raced as she’d knelt beside Douglas in the library at the Grange. We should get married as soon as possible. What do you think?
He’d gazed down at her for a long time. ‘Are you sure?’ he’d said at last.
‘Never more certain,’ she’d murmured. She’d held her breath and he’d taken her hand in his. His whispered words had fallen like a blessing on her head.
‘Yes, we’ll be married. Name the day.’
Soon after Christmas – in the register office in Northgate. They would find two witnesses and do it without fuss on the first Saturday in January. There would be a wedding ring and a short civil ceremony. All would be perfect.
‘How did you manage to keep that under your hat?’ Angela demanded.
‘It only happened last Thursday.’
‘Today’s Monday – that’s four whole days!’ Angela was almost speechless with excitement.
‘You know me.’ Jean basked in a quiet, golden glow of happiness. ‘I’m not one to make a fuss. And Douglas is the same. We want to get married quietly. In any case, Angela, you have no room to talk; you’ve been playing your cards close to your chest.’
‘What does she mean?’ Mary demanded.
‘I expect Jean is talking about Lionel’s visit.’ Angela assumed a careless air that fooled no one.
‘Aha!’ Mary pounced on the opportunity to turn the tables. ‘How did he pull that off? Did he get shore leave? Where did he take you? Come along, Angela, I’m all ears.’
‘Really, I’d rather not talk about it.’ Angela pretended that she was busy looking out of the window for Olive. ‘Some other time, perhaps.’
‘No, you can’t fob us off that easily,’ Mary insisted. ‘Has Lionel bought your engagement ring? Is that why he came?’
Angela settled back into her seat. ‘There is no engagement,’ she said in a dull voice. ‘There; now you know.’
Jean and Mary stared quizzically at her. ‘Oh dear; that’s a shame,’ Jean murmured.
‘I’m really sorry.’ Mary supposed that it was Lionel who had broken it off – hence the reason for his visit.
‘Don’t be, darling.’ Angela made as if to pull her packet of cigarettes out of her pocket then thought better of it. ‘I wrote Lionel a letter soon after Pa disinherited me, doing the decent thing by releasing him and so forth. Bobbie knows the full story. It was a weight off my mind, to tell you the truth.’
‘But …?’ From Angela’s tone and unusually thoughtful expression, Jean sensed that there was more to come.
‘But Lionel, bless his heart, refused to see things my way. He came all the way to the Grange to tell me that he still loves me.’
‘Oh, poor Lionel.’ Though she didn’t know the man, Mary’s heart went out to Angela’s rejected fiancé. ‘All for nothing.’
‘Who said it was for nothing?’ Angela tapped the table nervously. Beneath the newly applied make-up her face looked careworn. There were dark circles under her eyes and a knotted frown creased her usually smooth forehead. ‘I did listen to what Lionel had to say.’
‘And?’ Jean prompted.
‘I promised I would think it over.’
‘And?’ This time it was Mary who pressed for more information.
Angela shrugged. ‘I don’t know.’
‘What do you mean, you don’t know?’ To Mary it seemed obvious; either Angela still loved Lionel or she didn’t.
‘It’s complicated.’ Angela sighed. ‘How can it work between us now that I have no money, no station in life? Lionel’s family is filthy rich, you see.’
‘So?’ Mary raised her eyebrows and glanced at Jean, who remained silent.
‘His father won’t allow me to drag his son into the gutter – not without a fight.’
‘Oh, for goodness sake!’ Mary couldn’t help herself. Slapping the table with both palms, she rose to her feet with an indignant snort. ‘That would be the end, wouldn’t it – for you and Lionel to land up in the so-called gutter? Somehow I can’t see that happening; can you, Jean?’ Really and truly, Angela was talking a load of rubbish. ‘Try getting a job as a weaver or a spinner in one of the mills I used to work in, being paid a pittance and getting laid off when the orders stop coming in – then you’d know what you were talking about.’
‘You’re right, Mary; I’m awfully sorry.’ A sudden, acute awareness of her family’s textile empire pushed Angela into a profuse apology.
Jean looked from the privileged mill-owner’s daughter to the erstwhile wool carder. ‘Oddly enough, you are both in the same boat,’ she pointed out with calm logic. ‘It turns out you’re both in love with men who are much wealthier than you and in your minds you regard it as a problem.’
Mary nodded. ‘That’s true. I thought in the beginning that I wasn’t good enough for Cameron, that I didn’t belong in his world.’ Now, however, Mary had only to be with him for a few seconds, to listen to his voice and feel his soft touch, to know that their love was real and enduring. ‘It’s different now, though.’
‘Naturally, darling,’ Angela said wearily. ‘Anyone with eyes to see knows that you’re the best thing that’s happened to Cameron in a very long time.’
‘Exactly.’ Jean pursued her argument, aware that at any moment Olive might arrive and put an end to the conversation. ‘These obstacles are inside our own heads; take the difference in ages between me and Douglas as another example.’
‘Talking of whom …’ Angela was reminded of the file that had lain on Douglas’s desk and she was glad to change the subject. She rushed ahead without thinking. ‘Jean, has Douglas mentioned to you that Teddy may be about to be hauled before a military court?’
There was a stunned silence. ‘You’re not serious?’ Mary asked.
‘Hand on heart,’ Angela swore. ‘I’ve seen the file. I understand there’s at least one witness – a man called Wynne or Flynn.’ Oh dear; she’d promised Hilary she would keep schtum and now here she was, putting her clod-hopping, great big foot in it.
‘Douglas hinted at it but I wouldn’t expect him to break confidentiality,’ Jean said primly after she’d gathered her thoughts.
‘What’s Teddy done now?’ Mary wanted to know. ‘Is it to do with Bobbie?’
Angela backtracked frantically. ‘Please forget it; I ought not to have said anything.’
‘But you did,’ Mary persisted. ‘If it’s not what Teddy did to Bobbie, then why is he in trouble?’
‘I don’t know – truly, I don’t.’ Angela reached for her cigarettes and this time she went ahead, lighting up then inhaling deeply as she thought things through. ‘Perhaps I should try to winkle it out of him.’
‘Are you sure?’ Not for the first time, Jean cast doubt over Angela’s tactics. ‘If Teddy really is in line for a court martial, oughtn’t we just to sit back and let events take their course?’
‘Jean’s right,’ Mary agreed, after weighing up the pros and cons. ‘Let’s concentrate on looking after Bobbie and leave Teddy to his fate.’
Angela ground her partially smoked cigarette into the ashtray. ‘Absolutely not,’ she decreed. ‘For a start, he refuses to leave Bobbie alone. Haven’t you noticed how he torments her with gifts and insinuations to throw us off the scent? I for one refuse to let him carry on punishing her in that way.’
‘There’s something else to take into account,’ Jean pointed out. The more she thought it through, the more clearly she saw that the risk Angela proposed to take was too high. ‘It’ll come to an end soon enough; Teddy has already announced that he’s leaving Rixley.’
‘For a promotion,’ Mary added.
‘Promotion, my foot!’ Angela exclaimed. ‘That’s another lie – to hide the fact that he’s going up before the beak. If necessary Teddy intends to go out in a blaze of false glory.’
‘You may be right,’ Jean admitted. ‘But either way Bobbie will be rid of him.’
‘But without getting the justice she deserves.’ It remained crystal clear to Angela that Teddy must be made to pay. ‘Bobbie would have to live with that fact for the rest of her life.’
‘Yes, I see that.’ Mary poured the last of the tea and milk into her cup. ‘But if Teddy is as dangerous as we think then you need to be very careful.’
‘I will be,’ Angela promised. ‘As I’ve said before, it’s a question of playing a role, of getting him to trust me.’
Jean gasped as she gained a clear grasp of Angela’s goal. ‘Are you saying that you intend to make Teddy confess?’
Without answering, Angela reached for her helmet and parachute pack. ‘Here comes Olive,’ she announced airily as a black car swept through the main gate with their driver at the wheel.
‘Angela!’ Jean stood in her way. ‘Why would Teddy do that? He has far too much to lose.’
‘Jean’s right.’ Mary added her opinion. ‘You’ll never manage it.’
‘Oh ye of little faith!’ Angela retorted as she slipped past Jean then hurried outside. ‘Just watch me. If there’s one thing I’m good at besides flying the latest Spit, it’s twisting an unsuspecting admirer around my little finger.’