Kit opened the door to the carriage house and rolled the motorcycle out into the morning light. It was a chilly morning, but the weather ministry promised sunshine and warmer temperatures. At least that was the forecast. Kit’s morning included a test flight of a Wellington bomber then returning a Lancaster to the factory near London. She hadn’t been in London in weeks and hoped she could find the time for a quiet lunch and maybe a bit of shopping. She didn’t need anything, but a few hours away from the airfield would be nice. She checked the gas tank on the motorcycle then turned on the key. Just as she was about to step down on the kick starter, Emily placed a hand on her arm.
“Good morning,” Emily said softly. She was dressed in a tweed skirt and a form-fitting sweater. Kit loved the way the sweater hugged her body, so much so her foot fell off the starter. She quickly caught her balance, pretending she had to look at something on the side of the engine.
“Good morning. Are you going to work dressed like that?” Kit asked, looking her up and down.
“No. I’m off today.”
“That explains why no ugly jumpsuit.”
“They aren’t very flattering, are they?” Emily said, tugging at the hem of her sweater.
“I like that outfit. You look very nice,” Kit said, trying to divert her eyes from Emily’s well-formed breasts, but they kept returning as if searching for the imprint of her nipples through the sweater.
“Thank you. I didn’t want to keep you. I just wanted to tell you how much I appreciate your help yesterday. If you hadn’t known how to get in the car, I would have had to break the window or something.”
“My pleasure. And thanks for the cookies. What are you going to do with your day off?”
“I’m not sure. I thought about taking the train into London for the day. Have tea at Fortnum and Mason. Or lunch someplace. There is a little place near Victoria Station, the Chelsea. It’s small, but the food is wonderful. I haven’t eaten there in months and months. Perhaps I’ll go there.”
“So you’re going all the way to London just to have lunch?”
“Sure. It’s going to be a lovely day for an outing.” Emily scanned the cloudless sky. “Where are you going today? Prestwick? Ringway? Dublin?”
“Actually, I am taking a bomber to a factory near Brixton. The bomb racks need replacing.”
“Brixton? That’s right outside London.” Kit nodded.
“Are you flying back immediately?” Emily asked.
“Not necessarily. I think I’ll have a few hours to kill,” Kit said, her mind already planning how she could meet Emily for lunch without sounding pushy. “When are you catching the train to London?”
“If I take the nine-twenty train, I could be in Victorian Station by eleven or eleven fifteen.” Emily checked her watch. “The Brixton Station is on the same line, just a few stops away. Perhaps you’d like to meet me at the Chelsea for lunch.”
“Okay,” Kit said immediately.
“When you come out of Victoria Station, turn right then left at the next corner. You can’t miss it. It’s in the middle of the next block.”
“I’ll look forward to it,” Kit said, nervously checking her watch. She was already late, but she hated to pull herself away.
“Shall we say twelve thirty, just to be on the safe side?”
Kit nodded and depressed the kick starter.
“If something happens, if I get another assignment, how will I let you know?” Kit asked above the engine.
“You won’t need to. If you don’t show up, I won’t wait. I’ll know you had something else to do.” Emily waved as Kit roared away.
Kit could just imagine the conversation between Emily and Lillian.
“Where are you off to, looking so cheerful?” Lillian would ask.
“I’m going to London for lunch,” Emily would answer, rushing up the stairs.
“With anyone special?”
“Kit.”
“Kit? Lieutenant Anderson? The American you hate?” Lillian would laugh at her then frown curiously at how strange it must sound, their newfound friendship after so rocky a start.
Kit waited nervously for the MAC unit to have the Wellington ready for the test flight. She circled the airfield, checking the repairs, then set the bomber down and rolled to a stop. She was out of the cockpit before the waiting ground crew could help with the door. There was no time for a leisurely joy ride around the base or pleasant conversation with the crew. She hurried over to the command office, ready to check out the Lancaster and head south for Brixton. Lovie, Red and Andrea were crossing the field on their way to deliver Hurricanes. They waved, expecting Kit to stop and chat, but she merely returned the wave and continued toward the bomber waiting at the end of the runway. She climbed in and nervously went through her pre-flight check, her fingers fumbling with the switches. She had trouble remembering the sequence to start the four engines, something she had done a hundred times before, but today she had to look at the cheat sheet taped to the side of the cockpit.
“Pull the chocks, Mike,” she yelled out the window. “I’m ready. Let’s go.”
“Hold your horses, Lieutenant,” he said. “I’m doing it. What’s your hurry?”
The instant he was clear and waved his arm, she pushed the throttle forward and released the brake. Like popping the clutch in a car, the bomber lurched forward, plowing divots as it began to roll. Kit could barely wait for the airplane to reach ninety knots so she could pull back on the yoke and lift off. She retracted the undercarriage and climbed out, increasing to one hundred forty knots. She banked hard to the left, finding a course south to Brixton and lunch with Emily. But before she could straighten her wings, she saw a red flare explode over the airfield. It could be one of any number of things. Smoke from the engines on takeoff she couldn’t see, route or destination change, incoming German aircraft in her flight path, change of assignment—anything. But whatever it was, it would eat up time, time she needed to get to Victoria Station by noon. She could keep her heading, arguing she didn’t see the flare, but she wasn’t that kind of pilot, or that kind of officer. She heaved a disgusted sigh and turned back for a landing. As she rolled to a stop she slid the window open and stuck her head out.
“What’s up?” she yelled, keeping two of the engines at idle.
The mechanic waved his hand across his throat for her to kill the engines.
“Command wants you to take some parts back to Brixton,” he said. “Wheel bearings and struts.”
Kit closed her eyes and rested her forehead against the window disgustedly.
“How long?” she asked, almost afraid to hear the answer.
“It won’t take long. Go have a cup of tea while you wait.”
“I don’t want a cup of tea. I want to get the hell off the ground.” She slammed the window shut and climbed out. It took over an hour for five men to load a dozen crates of parts. Kit paced nervously, watching the aggravatingly slow process. She knew if she complained about their progress they would take even longer. Finally, the cargo door closed and she was cleared for takeoff. It came none too soon for her rising blood pressure. Now she would have to make up an hour somewhere along the way. By the time she banked away from the airfield and headed south, the wind was directly in her face, pushing against the airplane and adding to her frustration. When she reached the airstrip next to the factory she had to wait her turn to land. It was nearly twelve when she finally signed out of the office. She dumped her parachute and flight bag in the corner of the flight operations office and trotted toward the underground station. She raced down the stairs onto the platform and waited nervously for the next train. Checking her watch every few seconds didn’t help.
“Come on, come on. Let’s go,” she said, pacing up and down. The other passengers waiting patiently for a ride into London stared at her curiously. She studied the schedule posted on a pole then checked her watch again.
“Does this train run on time?” she asked an elderly woman.
“Sometimes. Sometimes it doesn’t.”
“That’s just great. I’m never going to make it in time.”
“You should learn to take life more slowly, miss,” the woman said. “It will do you no good to rush around, fretting over a late train. Whatever it is will wait.”
“Lord, I hope so,” she said, leaning out over the tracks, looking for signs of the oncoming train.
“I believe it is coming,” a gray-haired man said, standing up and walking to the edge of the platform, his umbrella hung over his arm and his hat sitting squarely on his head.
Kit hadn’t heard anything, but sure enough, the man was right. Within a moment she could hear the rattle of the wheels on the rails and a blast of the train whistle. She waited for the doors to open and the other passengers to step on before rushing in the car and grabbing a strap. The train left the station with a jerk and rumbled toward London central. Kit tried to will it not to stop at each and every station, but it did anyway. Finally, it pulled into Victoria Station. She bolted out of the subway and fought her way through the thick crowd to the front entrance. Right then left at the corner. That was what Emily had said. But it was already after one, and Kit felt tears welling up in her eyes. If she was late, Emily had explained she wouldn’t wait. As fruitless as it seemed, Kit hurried around the corner and down the block. Like many of the shops and businesses, stacks of sandbags lined the front windows, and wooden planks covered the glass door of the cafe. The hand-painted board hanging over the door was the only sign marking the entrance to the Chelsea. She hesitated outside, wiping away the tears that clung to her eyelashes. She hated to open the door. Emily wasn’t going to be there. Kit knew it. She was an hour late. It wasn’t her fault, but Emily must have assumed she didn’t care about meeting her and left. Nothing could be further from the truth. Kit hadn’t looked forward to anything as much in years. Emily Mills may not be a lesbian, but the pure devotion Kit felt growing for her was enough to make every encounter something wonderful, even if it was nothing more than a smile and a wave across the airfield. Meeting Emily was safe. As far as Emily knew, they were just friends. And friends were what Kit preferred. No commitment. No heartache. That’s what she told herself. The girlfriends she had loved and lost back home were enough to turn Kit off to serious relationships. They were past mistakes Kit had no intention of repeating. Emily would be just a casual acquaintance, one who would never know Kit’s sexual desires or preferences. Kit’s only problem was convincing her heart that was best for everyone.
Kit opened the door and stepped inside. A few dim light fixtures lit the dozen or so tables, most of them occupied with middle-aged women, uniformed soldiers or businessmen in neatly pressed suits. Kit did a quick scan of the room, squinting as her eyes became accustomed to the dim light.
“Can I help you, miss?” a woman asked, coming through the kitchen door. “We’ve got a lovely table in the back.”
“I was supposed to meet someone,” Kit said, rescanning the room as her heart sank. “I don’t think she’s here.”
“What does she look like, love?”
“Reddish-brown hair to her shoulders. Big brown eyes. Nice figure,” Kit said, letting her heart answer.
“I meant how old and how tall.” The woman frowned suspiciously at her.
“Oh, she’s twenty-eight and about five feet four.” Kit held her hand up to the bridge of her nose to show how tall Emily was.
“Sorry, love. That describes a lot of women.”
“She has a camel colored coat,” Kit added, although she didn’t know if Emily planned on wearing it today. The woman chuckled. Kit glanced around the room again. Several of the women were in camel colored coats.
“Have a look around, ducks. If you decide to have a bite to eat, let me know,” the woman said then returned to her chores.
Kit gave a last careful look around then resigned herself to the fact Emily wasn’t there. Kit couldn’t blame her. How could she be expected to wait an hour for someone who may or may not show up? Kit strolled the street dejectedly, cursing herself and the cargo she had to haul to Brixton. She rounded the corner and headed back to Victoria Station. As she did, she could see someone at the end of the street running toward her. It was Emily, her hair flying and her coat open.
“Kit!” she shouted, waving at her.
Kit immediately brightened. She waved back and hurried up the street toward her.
“I’m so sorry,” Emily said, hugging Kit warmly. “My train was stopped twice for a search. I thought I’d never get here.”
“I was late myself.” Kit was so happy to see her she could hardly breathe. “I just got here.”
“I was afraid you’d leave.” Emily hooked her arm through Kit’s and escorted her up the sidewalk. “Have you had lunch?”
“Not yet. You?”
“No. I was waiting for you.” Emily squeezed Kit’s arm. “But I’m famished.”
“Did you want to go to the Chelsea?” Kit asked, pointing back over her shoulder.
“Not unless you do. I have another place in mind. I thought of it on the way in on the train. Do you like fish and chips?”
“Sure,” Kit said, unable to resist placing her hand over Emily’s as it clung to her arm.
“Good. I have the perfect place.” They hurried along the sidewalk, smiling and chatting contentedly.
Kit was sure the perfect place for fish and chips was some high-class bistro with linen tablecloths and stemmed goblets. To her surprise, Emily led the way to a food stand where freshly cooked fish and crispy potato slices were sold in paper wrapped cones.
“What’ll it be, miss?” a man asked as he stood at the window, resettling his paper hat on his head. He smelled like fish. But so did the entire street.
Emily held up two fingers. He went right to work rolling a sheet of newspaper into a cone then filling it with chips and fish filets. When he was done, he folded the top down neatly and handed it to Emily then made another for Kit. Kit pulled a handful of coins from her pocket and held them out for Emily to count. She handed the money to the man then opened the top of the cone, administering a generous sprinkle from a bottle on the counter.
“What’s that?” Kit asked, watching intently.
“Malt vinegar,” she said, opening Kit’s cone and giving hers a sprinkle as well. “If you eat fish and chips, you have to have vinegar on it.”
“I do, huh?” Kit said, looking in the top of her cone at what she had to eat.
Emily pulled a chip from her package and took a bite, sighing deeply.
“It’s wonderful,” she cooed, taking a bite of fish.
Kit took a small taste of the fish, not sure if she liked it or not. To her surprise, it was just as Emily described it, wonderful.
“Hey, I like it,” she said, taking a larger bite.
“I told you.” Emily bumped her playfully. “I bet you thought I only ate roast beef and Yorkshire pudding, didn’t you?”
“Well,” Kit stammered, enjoying a large chunk of fish. “I wasn’t expecting you to find a place like this.”
“My grandmother told me about it. She eats here sometimes when she’s in London.”
“Lillian?” Kit asked, amazed.
Emily nodded, dropping a chip into her upturned mouth.
“Although she doesn’t use vinegar. She eats her fish and chips straight. You don’t understand the love affair we British have for this. It’s almost as strong as you Americans’ love of hot dogs. With the Germans sinking our fishing fleet as fast as we rebuild them, this might be the next thing to be rationed.” With that, she took another bite of fish, closed her eyes and savored the flavor for a long moment before swallowing. Kit watched her, smiling at the way she enjoyed her food like a child with a chocolate bar.
In no time at all, they were picking the last crumbs from the bottom of the cones.
“Did you like it?” Emily asked, tossing her paper in a barrel. She pulled a handkerchief from her purse and wiped her fingers then dabbed the corners of her mouth.
“Yes, I did. I loved it.” She pressed her paper in the barrel and brushed off her hands. “Am I British now that I’ve had fish and chips?”
“Almost.” Emily smiled. “You have to learn some other things first.”
“Like what?” Kit asked as they strolled down the street.
“A cup of tea is a cuppa. What I drive at the motor pool isn’t a truck. It’s a lorry. At least the big ones are. And if someone asks where someplace is, you say straight away up and point. Can you remember?”
“I don’t know. That seems like a lot to remember,” Kit mused. “I have learned some expressions though.”
“Like what?” Emily said, again locking her arm through Kit’s.
“The bathroom is the loo. The trunk of the car is the boot and the hood over the engine is the bonnet. And when you are talking to someone you call them love.”
“Very good. You are learning a lot.”
“Yes, love,” Kit said, laughing at her.
“Yes, love,” Emily repeated, leaning into her playfully.
They had no sooner rounded a corner than the clear blue sky and peaceful afternoon was cut by the slow roll of the air raid siren growing into a sharp scream. Before they could react, the street was a buzz of people running out of buildings toward air raid shelters and others running inside to collect family members.
“Where do we go?” Emily said as passing pedestrians brushed by them.
Kit searched the sky. Three squadrons of fighters were roaring east over the river.
“I saw a sign for a shelter on the corner. It’s probably the tube station,” Kit said, quickening their pace down the sidewalk. “Come on. Let’s go there.”
She took Emily’s hand and pulled her through the crowd as residents funneled down three flights of steps to the underground station. Its long halls and tiled walls were rapidly filling with people establishing parcels of space for themselves and their families. As old hands at living out an air raid in a shelter, Londoners came prepared to stay the night or at least until the all-clear was sounded. Most had bedrolls and hampers of food. Others had small camp stoves to cook their dinner and heat water for tea or washing. Children carried their own blanket or knapsack of provisions. An old man in a tattered overcoat and weathered hat unfolded a chair and hung his umbrella over the back before sitting down. Two women still wearing their aprons were carrying what they were preparing for dinner, ready to adapt as best they could. Camp stools, crates, old suitcases, even overturned soup pots were carried into the underground for chairs. There was no panic. After months of sirens disrupting their lives at all hours of the day and night, they accepted this nuisance with steeled reserve. Their eyes showed a nervous fear for what they might return to, but there was no panic.
“Let’s go down that way.” Kit pointed toward the end of a line of squatters. As they weaved their way along the platform, stepping over belongings and outstretched legs, Kit and Emily noticed an obnoxious smell floating through the air like an odious fog. It was a mixture of urine, body odor, cigarette smoke, partially cooked food and moth balls. Emily held her handkerchief to her nose as she followed Kit, holding on to the tail of her jacket. Kit looked back, her eyes watering and her forehead wrinkled at the smell.
“Are you all right?” Kit asked, noticing Emily’s slightly green cast.
“Frightfully strong, isn’t it?” Emily said, choking back a gag.
“Yes,” Kit said, clinching her jaw to keep from retching. “Maybe it will be better down at the end.” It wasn’t. In fact the smell seemed to follow them, hanging over their heads like a putrefied cloud.
“I don’t know if I can do this,” Emily said, trying to hide her face against Kit’s shoulder. “If I stay here, I’m going to be sick.”
“Me too,” Kit said. She took Emily’s hand and headed back through the crowd to the stairs up to the street. Once at the top of the steps, they both took deep breaths, coughing and gagging away the stench. “How do people stand that smell?”
“Either they have no choice, or perhaps they just get used to it.”
The air raid siren had stopped wailing. The sound of antiaircraft guns could be heard in the distance, sending round after round into the late afternoon sky over London, rattling windows. Kit and Emily huddled in a doorway, deciding what to do.
“Where shall we go?” Emily asked, clutching Kit’s arm.
Kit wrapped an arm around her shoulder. Just then an explosion shook the building across the street, showering shards of glass into the street. Emily screamed and ducked as a section of wall crumbled into a pile of bricks and timbers. A cloud of dust settled around them. Kit pushed Emily back into the doorway as far as they could go, blocking her with her own body. Another louder explosion in the next block sent Emily to her knees, screaming in terror. Kit knelt at her side, holding her in her arms as blast after blast rumbled overhead. Emily buried her face in the embrace, afraid to look up.
“I’m sorry I made you leave the air raid shelter,” Emily cried. “It’s all my fault.”
“No, it isn’t. I couldn’t stay down there in that cesspool either.” Kit raised Emily’s chin and smiled at her. “I’m right here and I’ll take care of you.”
“I want you to go back down there. I’ll be all right,” Emily said, trying to be brave.
“I’m not going anywhere without you.” Kit took Emily by the hand and led her along the sidewalk, darting in and out of doorways at the slightest rumble of danger. An ambulance sped down the street, its siren screaming, followed by a fire truck. Kit pulled Emily down a narrow alley just as the whistle of a bomb ended with a rattling explosion. They scrambled down a flight of stairs that led to a basement door. The staircase was lined with sandbags, blocking the door at the bottom and making a small but cozy bomb shelter.
“I think we’re safe down here,” Kit said, pushing Emily into the back.
“I wish the bombs would stop,” Emily cried, crouching in the corner.
“It’s a daylight bombing attack, so they have specific targets. They’re after the airplane factories or munitions plants. They shouldn’t be targeting downtown London,” Kit said, peering up through the clouds of smoke drifting across the skyline. “Have you been in an air raid before?”
Emily nodded.
“It was terrible. The bombs were falling everywhere. It was so loud, and there was fire all around us.” Tears filled Emily’s eyes as she huddled in the corner of their makeshift bomb shelter, a terrified look on her face Kit had never seen before. “I was so frightened. I was on the train. They made us get off, but there was no place to go. We hid under a trellis until it was over. A few of the passengers were injured from flying debris. It took two days for me to get home. The tracks were hit, and I had to wait for them to be repaired.” She covered her head with her hands and began to weep. “I don’t know if I can go through this again.”
Kit knelt next to her and gently pulled her hands away from her face.
“Nothing is going to happen to you, Emily. Believe me, I won’t let it.”
“Aren’t you afraid?” Emily asked, looking up into Kit’s eyes.
“Yes, I little,” Kit whispered. “But we’re here together.” She wrapped her arms around Emily and pulled her close. “We’ll take care of each other.” Kit kissed Emily’s forehead. “Hang on to me.”
Emily folded her arms around Kit, her face nestled against her chest. Each time an explosion rumbled in the distance, Emily hugged Kit a little tighter. Kit stroked Emily’s hair softly, trying to soothe her. After several minutes of silence, a blast shook the building above them, showering dust into the alley. It was a small explosion, but enough to make Emily jump.
“Don’t be afraid,” Kit said, brushing the dust from Emily’s face. “I think that was an anti-aircraft shell falling to the ground.”
“I can’t stay here. I have to get out of this alley and out of London.” Emily tried to pull away, but Kit held tight to her, keeping her from running up the stairs.
“You can’t go out there, Emily. It isn’t safe, not yet. It’ll be over soon.”
“I can’t help it. Let me go, please. I don’t want to be trapped here,” Emily screamed, fighting Kit to get free.
“Emily, stop it. You can’t go out there. Look. We have a wall of sandbags all around us. Iron railing over the top of us. We are safe. Look at me,” Kit said, pushing Emily against the sandbags and holding her there. She took Emily’s face in her hands and stared deep into her frightened eyes. “I will protect you. I want you here with me.” With that, Kit pressed her lips against Emily’s, kissing her full on the mouth. Emily hadn’t closed her eyes. She stared wide-eyed at Kit, seemingly stunned at what had happened and too surprised to speak.
“Emily,” Kit whispered, stammering for an apology.
Emily didn’t draw away. Instead she slowly closed her eyes and turned her lips up to Kit expectantly. Kit kissed her again, slowly and sweetly, lingering over the taste and touch of her. Emily melted into her embrace as if they had done it a thousand times before. She may never have kissed a woman before, but Kit could tell she wasn’t intimidated by the taboo.
Kit couldn’t stop. She laced her fingers through Emily’s hair, grabbing handfuls of the silken softness as she devoured her mouth. She pressed herself against Emily, their breasts and hips locked together as completely as their lips. With the distant rumbling all around them, they continued to explore the other’s mouth with hot, passionate tongues. In the back of Kit’s mind, she knew better than to start something she couldn’t finish, but Emily had been an attraction, a distraction, every day since they first met. Her lips were unlike anything Kit had ever experienced, and she couldn’t give them up.
“Emily,” Kit gasped, holding her in her arms and closing her eyes. “We shouldn’t be doing this. I didn’t mean to kiss you. Please forgive me. We’re just friends, and this is wrong.”
“Why did you kiss me?” Emily whispered.
“I don’t know. Maybe I was just scared. The bombs were exploding all around us. You were crying. I think I was trying to protect you.” Kit looked down at Emily. “You have to believe me. I didn’t plan to do it. It just happened. Can you forgive me?”
“You there. What are you doing?” a woman shouted from a second story window across the alley. “That’s private property. I’ll call the constable on you two if you don’t get away from there. Mr. Haggis doesn’t like people hanging round his basement, you hear me?” She glared down at them, shaking a menacing hand in their direction.
“The bombing has stopped,” Kit said, taking Emily by the hand and leading her up the stairs and out of their shelter. “We’re leaving,” she said up at the woman. Kit was relieved the woman had interrupted them. She didn’t have to face Emily’s questions about why she kissed her.
“Where are we going?” Emily asked.
“If we could get to Brixton, I’m sure the factory has something ready to go back to Alderbrook. That is, if they haven’t been bombed.”
“What if all they have is a single seated plane, like a Spitfire?”
“If it is, then you’ll sit on my lap,” Kit said, wrapping an arm around her as the sound of fire engines screamed in the distance. “I’m not leaving you here in London.”
“The trains and underground don’t run during air raids,” Emily said, seemingly glad to have Kit’s arm around her guiding her down the street. “If there was any damage to the tracks, it might be a day or two before they are running again.”
“Would you be up to doing a little hitching?” Kit asked.
“Hitching? What is that?”
“Hitchhiking.” Kit held out her thumb to demonstrate. “If we could get across the river, I think we could catch a ride with someone going south. Are you up to it?”
Emily immediately turned them around and headed in the other direction without losing step.
“The Thames is this way,” she said, holding on to Kit’s hand. They wound through the streets and crossed the river at Vauxhall Bridge then headed south on Lambeth Road.
“Look at that,” Kit gasped, looking back across the river. London was aglow with orange flares.
“I hate to look at it,” Emily said, looking then quickly diverting her eyes. “So many people lose their lives and their homes each time this happens.”
Kit gave a last look then hurried them along.
“I want to get to Brixton before it’s dark,” Kit said.
They didn’t see any traffic for blocks. They were both about to give up on hitching a ride when a rickety old truck came chugging around the corner. The racks in the back of the truck were covered with pots and pans, odd car parts, sections of metal fencing and anything of value, regardless of how little the worth.
“Hello, love,” the woman driver said, screeching to a stop. She grinned broadly at them. Her hair was trying desperately to escape the tie that held it out of her face. She wore a man’s shirt that was several sizes too large and a pair of trousers secured with a belt, also several sizes too large. Her nails were as dirty as her face. “Need a lift?”
“Are you going anywhere near Brixton?” Kit asked hopefully, stepping back at the smell the woman emitted.
“I can get you as far as Clapham,” she said. “Will that help?”
“That’ll be fine,” Kit said.
“Get in.” She motioned for them to climb in the cab next to her. “I haven’t got time to stand ’round and chat.” She ground the shifter through the gears, searching for first. Kit and Emily climbed in the cab. Fortunately it had open sides with no windows to trap the woman’s foul smell.
“Thank you for the lift,” Emily said, sitting in the middle but leaning toward Kit.
“Shouldn’t you two be in a shelter someplace?” the woman said as she released the clutch. The truck lurched forward, nearly stalling. She cursed and rummaged through the gears again. “Bloody truck is going to be the death of me yet.”
Emily put her hand on the woman’s and helped guide the shifter into first gear.
“Sometimes double clutching helps,” Emily said politely, discreetly wiping her hand on the side of her coat.
“Thanks. Where are you headed?”
Kit knew better than to confess where an airplane factory was located.
“We’ve got relatives in Brixton. We’re worried about our aunt,” Kit explained.
“Yes, she’s a bit old and refuses to use her shelter,” Emily added, trying to sound convincing.
“Aunt, eh?” The woman found second gear and popped the clutch, jerking them back in the seat. “I thought maybe you were on your way to the factory on Willis Road,” she said, raising her eyebrows at Kit. “That’s a pilot’s jacket you’ve got on, isn’t it?”
Kit just stared at her, refusing to answer.
“I guess I can take you as far as Willis Road. I wouldn’t want anything to happen to your poor old auntie, not with the bombing and all.” She bumped Emily’s arm then winked.
The woman swerved around corners and cut through side streets until Kit and Emily had no idea where they were. The farther they traveled, the narrower and darker the streets became.
“Are you sure this is the right way to Brixton?” Kit asked, looking for anything familiar.
“You can’t drive on the main roads, love. They’ve got them blocked to everything but emergency vehicles. There was a building collapse this morning and a fire over on Dover. The constables stopped me earlier. They wanted me truck to haul debris, but I told them to go straight to the devil. I have to make a living, don’t I? I’m Sam,” she said, offering her hand to Emily. “What’s yours, love?”
“I’m Emily. This is Kit.” Emily shook her hand carefully.
“Hello, Kit,” Sam said, reaching over to shake her hand. “Me mum named me Samantha, but Sam is easier. Fits me better.” She winked again. “Where are you from, Kit? You don’t sound British.”
“United States. Kansas.”
“Kansas? Where’s that? Is it near New York? I saw a flick last week. It had Barbara Stanwyck in it, and she was eating dinner in a posh restaurant in New York City. You should have seen what she was eating. Steak, French champagne, fresh strawberries, real cream in her coffee. I bet she had eggs and bacon for breakfast. And jam on her toast.” Sam sighed. “I haven’t had an egg in six months.”
Kit didn’t want to tell her the movie was probably made in California on a sound stage and the food was only props.
“Kansas is in the middle of the United States,” Kit said, assuming that would be enough to satisfy her curiosity.
“Where are you from, Emily?” Sam asked, grinding through another gear.
“Alderbrook.”
“Are the shortages as bad up there as here in London?”
“Meat is pretty scarce. So are eggs and milk.”
“I hope this war ends soon. I’m tired of potatoes.” Sam skidded around the corner and came to a stop. “There it is. Willis Road.” She pointed at the long brown brick building across the street. “I hope your auntie wasn’t hurt in the bombing,” she said, smiling over at Kit.
“Thank you, Sam,” she said, reaching over Emily and shaking her hand warmly. “Our aunt will appreciate your help.” Kit climbed out and dug in her pocket for some change.
“Yes, thank you, Sam. You were very kind,” Emily added, sliding out.
“I’d like to pay you for the ride,” Kit said, searching through the coins in her hand.
“No, thanks, love. Me pleasure.” Sam touched her forehead as if she were tipping her hat then smiled broadly. “Have a nice day.” She popped the clutch and lurched forward. Kit and Emily could hear her cursing as she rolled down the street, grinding through the gears. They watched until she rounded the corner and disappeared, the sound of her shifting still audible in the distance.
“Let’s go check in and see if they have anything for me,” Kit said, leading the way across the street and through the gate. They showed their IDs to the guards, having to pass through two fences to get to the ATA office. Kit was cleared to return to Alderbrook with a recently repaired light bomber. It was scheduled for the airfield at Luton, but Kit convinced them once they got it to Alderbrook, a transfer could be arranged. They crossed to the flight operations office at the end of the runway on the far side of the factory. The air raid in London had put the factory into a frenzy of activity, sending as many airplanes out of the city as possible to avoid being targets on the ground. The flight commander was happy to have Kit deliver the bomber, leaving one less airplane in harm’s way. The airplane was immediately fueled for their flight. There was no time for delays. In a matter of minutes, she was cleared for takeoff. Kit helped Emily get situated in the copilot’s seat then hurried through her pre-flight checklist before being given the signal to start the engines.
“Here we go,” Kit said, releasing the brakes. They rolled down the runway, increasing speed for liftoff. She eased back on the yoke, and the airplane gracefully rose into the sky. She retracted the undercarriage and adjusted the flaps.
“Which way are we going?” Emily asked, her eyes wide with amazement and her hands clutched around the seat belt straps.
“Southwest. We can’t go north over London. I don’t want to cross any German’s path. They are probably heading northeast for home and almost out of fuel, but I’m not taking any chances. We’ll go southwest then west and loop around to the north. It’ll take longer, but we’ve seen all the German planes we need to see for a while.” She smiled over at Emily, hoping to reassure her.
The last flickers of daylight were casting long shoulders over the runway at Alderbrook as Kit circled for her final approach. A yellow flare told her she would have to wait for the returning combat fighters to land, many of them probably low on fuel.
“We’ll be down in a few minutes,” Kit said, making a wide circle over the field. She pointed at the incoming squadron of Spitfires. Emily nodded and kept her eyes out the window. Nothing had been said about the kiss since they left the alley. Kit was just as happy not to bring it up. From Emily’s silent but pensive stare, Kit could tell she was wrestling with what they had done.
Finally Kit was cleared for landing. She came in low and soft, setting down and rolling to a stop just as darkness fell over the airfield. She cut the engines and leaned back in the seat, slowly turning to Emily. Their eyes met in soft yet frightened communication. Kit could see a confused look in Emily’s eyes. As much as she wanted to protect Emily from what people would say and think about her, she also knew she couldn’t stop what she felt for her. To apologize and promise it would never happen again seemed at odds with her heart.
“We need to talk,” Emily said quietly.
“Emily, I’m so sorry,” Kit whispered. “Did I scare the hell out of you?”
“Open up, Lieutenant,” one of the mechanics shouted, pounding on the bottom hatch. “You’ve landed right enough.” He pounded again.
Kit released the lock and dropped the pilot’s hatch.
“We didn’t expect to see you back this evening,” he said, helping them as they lowered themselves out the bottom door.
“Air raid in London,” Kit said, stepping aside and waiting for Emily to ease herself down. “They needed to get as many planes out as they could.”
“We heard about it. The factory at Alstead took a wallop. Lost over forty planes and a warehouse full of engine parts.” He shook his head in disgust then repositioned his cap on his head. The ground crew wasted no time in rolling the bomber to the hangar so it could be fitted with armaments and a radio.
“Lieutenant,” Andrea called from the hangar door. Lovie and Red followed her, waving at Kit and Emily.
“Hi, girls,” Kit said, greeting them with a wide grin, hoping to mask any telltale emotion between her and Emily.
“I was so scared when I heard you flew into Brixton. Did you see the bombing in London?” Lovie said, rushing up to them, looking as worried as an old mother hen.
“What was it like, a daylight bombing raid?” Andrea asked, wrinkling her forehead.
“Loud,” Emily said. “And scary.”
“Where did you go? Down in a tube station?” Andrea asked.
“The one we went to was disgusting,” Kit said. “It smelled terrible.”
“It was worse than terrible,” Emily added then shuddered.
“It was so bad we didn’t stay.”
Andrea, Lovie and Red listened intently while Emily and Kit explained the sorry conditions in the air raid shelter and what they saw when they climbed back up to street level. Kit also noticed Red’s invasive stare. It was subtle, but she couldn’t keep her eyes off the two of them as if watching for some small hidden communication between Kit and Emily.
“Where did you go to ride out the bombing? You didn’t just stand on the sidewalk, did you?” Lovie asked.
“In an alley,” Emily said.
“We found a staircase fortified with iron bars and sandbags,” Kit added. “It was small, but at least it didn’t smell.”
“Cramped quarters, eh?” Red said, a glint in her eye.
Kit saw it and instantly read her meaning.
“Not that cramped,” she said, tossing a stern look at Red.
“We had a lift in a junk trunk,” Emily said, laughing as she looked over at Kit. “It rattled and rumbled along the street so you could hardly hear yourself think.”
While Emily described Sam and their odyssey through the side streets of Brixton, Red smiled coyly at Kit. Kit lowered her gaze, unable to stop the blush that covered her face. She wasn’t easily embarrassed, but Red had found her Achilles heel. Red seemed to know something was going on between Kit and Emily. She may not have known exactly what, but Kit saw she was twinkling at the possibilities.
“I have to check in with flight operations,” Kit interrupted. She hated to leave without talking to Emily about what she knew was on her mind, but Kit knew they wouldn’t get any privacy so long as the girls were there. And Red’s insinuating chuckle didn’t help.
“I should go as well,” Emily said. “If Grandmother heard about the bombing on the radio, she’ll be worried. I best go ease her mind that I’m all right.”
“Tell Lillian hello for me,” Kit said, offering one last look in Emily’s direction then crossing to the office.
It was after nine when Kit pulled the motorcycle up to the carriage house and rolled it inside. She looked up at Emily’s bedroom window, but it was dark. For a moment she considered knocking on the side door and offering Emily another apology but thought better of it. Perhaps tomorrow, she decided. She walked down to the cottage, muttering to herself over what she had done. Her body was tired, but she knew it would be hours before she could turn off her mind and sleep. She undressed, washed and turned out the light. Once the cottage was dark, she opened the blackout curtains and peered out the window toward the big house. She couldn’t see it, but she could imagine Emily snuggled in her bed. Kit slipped into bed and pulled the comforter up around her shoulders. She liked the feel of the soft duvet cover against her naked skin. But it was the thought of Emily’s skin that kept her awake well past midnight.