Chapter Thirty-Five

“Boss, is your phone off the hook?” the voice asking the question of Tom came at the same time his office door opened.

Newly promoted to Flight Sergeant, Stan Atkins was one of the few people Tom would allow to burst into his office without knocking. That list didn’t include the Station Commander.

Quickly, Tom flattened the picture he’d been looking at, his favorite of Penny. She’d had it taken only a couple of months ago and sent it to him, hoping to cheer him up. Her heart had been in the right place, he’d remembered, only she hadn’t thought about it, really—she was sitting on the wing of a Spitfire. The photo was beautiful, but every time he looked at it, it just made him miss flying all the more. Even now, the damn headaches he’d been suffering from since being wounded hadn’t gone, and he was still grounded. Every time he looked at the photo, the pain seemed to double.

Hoping his navigator hadn’t seen his action, though doubting it, Tom knitted his hands together. “How can I help you, Stan?”

“Firstly, why are you working so late?”

Tom didn’t meet his friend’s eyes. “I didn’t want to go back to my billet.”

“You’ve got another message,” Stan told Tom, letting the comment go and laying a piece of paper before his friend.

Tom sighed and looked up with tired eyes. “I don’t want it.”

Stan sat down, uninvited, and took up the untouched paper. “Can I speak freely?”

After all they’d been through together, it showed how annoyed Stan was with his normal pilot and friend that he felt the need to ask. “Always, you know that,” Tom replied.

“Then let me say, Tom, boss, you’re being an ass!” Tom raised his eyebrows, but Stan didn’t give him a chance to interrupt. “You’ve got a beautiful, smart, brave wife, and putting aside the question of what on earth she sees in you…”

Tom snorted, but his lips twitched in amusement.

“…you’re going to lose her if you go on like this.”

“You know what happened?” Tom told him.

Stan rubbed his head. “I don’t think I could forget,” he muttered, recalling the night Tom got back from Southampton and spent the night in Stan’s room, the pair of them talking and arguing over a bottle or two of whiskey.

“I don’t want to talk to her,” Tom reiterated.

“Yes, you bloody well do,” Stan argued back. “You’re just too ruddy pigheaded to admit it.”

“She lost the baby,” Tom stated, pulling open his bottom desk drawer and taking out a bottle of brandy and two glasses. Pouring two shots, he passed one to Stan, who left it untouched whilst Tom knocked his back and immediately refilled his glass.

“How was that her fault?” Stan countered. “It’s not like she asked to get shot down, is it.”

“She can’t have any more children!” Tom told him, his voice shaking and his picture a painting of misery.

Stan frowned, reached forward, and making certain he’d closed the door so no one could see him, threw back his drink before asking, “You heard the doctor say that? In exactly those words?”

Tom opened and closed his mouth, before casting his gaze around his office, as if the answer would appear in the walls. “Yes—I mean, I’m certain he—I think he said that,” he finished off, looking totally confused.

“Then why are you being such an ass? All she wants to do is speak to you. That’s it. Read it,” Stan demanded, pushing the note back to Tom and waiting until he looked back up. “You see? No demands. She’s not even calling you an idiot and, sorry to say so, that’s the least you deserve.”

Tom narrowed his eyes. “She hasn’t put you up to this?”

“Calling you an idiot? No. I have spoken to her, and Doris, and Ruth, and at least one other of her friends since you got back, and I know I’m not the only one who’s had that pleasure. Once you get this mess sorted out, I think you’ll owe a few drinks to quite a number of others as well. I’m the only other who knows the complete story, or what you’ve told me, anyway, but you’re not coming out of this very well, boss. Quite a few people around here know what Penny does and have a great respect for her and her friends. I will advise you not to accept a cup of tea from Sharon, for instance. I’ve heard her muttering about putting various, shall we say, nasty things in your next cup.”

“That good, eh?”

“Bring in a thermos.”

Tom opened his top drawer and took out a bunch of notes he’d put away for reading at some point. He scanned through them, and by the time he’d finished, he wore a big frown. They shared another shot of brandy before Tom leaned back in his chair to think, leaving Stan investigating his fingernails.

After Stan thought his boss had thought long enough, he coughed and said, “Well? You going to call her back?”

“I don’t think the doctor did actually say she couldn’t have any more children, you know.”

Stan cleared his throat and then asked, “Do you mind my saying something?”

“As if I could stop you,” Tom replied, showing a small part of his long-buried humor.

“Say Penny couldn’t have children…”

Tom opened his mouth to interrupt, but his friend didn’t give him a chance.

“After all this mess is over, you know there’ll be plenty of orphans deserving of a good home. I’m certain the two of you would be able to give them exactly that.”

If Tom had been about to blow his top when Stan began to speak, when he’d finished, he was swallowing back his emotions so he could speak. “Since when did you become so enlightened?”

Stan began to blush and had to clear his own throat before answering. “Since I realized how clever Sharon is.”

“And how pretty?”

“And how pretty,” Stan agreed.

Tom glanced through the various notes before, holding them tightly in his hands, he looked across at his friend. “Do you really think she’ll speak to me?”

Stan picked up the telephone receiver and passed it across. “Give her a call and find out.”

****

“You’re positive it was Betty?” Jane asked.

Lawrence shook his head. “No, half sure, at best.” Then, seeing the exasperated look Jane and everyone else around the table was giving him, he added, “Look, I wasn’t on the lookout for Betty. I had no idea she was missing when I saw the taxi. The only reason I even looked was because taxis are so rare around here. Are you even sure she’s been kidnapped? Couldn’t she just have gone for a walk?”

Doris got up and opened the kitchen door wide. “Without telling one of us? Plus, her coat, hat, and gloves are still there.” She pointed at the hall table and the coat rack. “In case you hadn’t noticed, it’s perishing out there.”

“Hmm, good point,” the policeman allowed, though he also added, “but there’s still no proof she’s been kidnapped.”

“He’s got a point,” Walter unwisely stated.

Doris opened her mouth, undoubtedly to tell her fiancé off, but she never got the chance as just at that moment the front door burst open, ushering in a very pale Penny being held up by Celia on one side and Nurse Grace Baxter on the other.

“What the hell?” Mary cried, rushing past Doris to give the pair a hand. She pushed the lounge door open with her foot. “What were you two doing outside? I thought you were both on the sofa!” Once she’d made certain a clearly exhausted Penny was tucked up on the sofa again, Mary asked, “Can someone put a couple of bricks in the stove? We need to get both of these idiots warmed up quick.”

“I’m on it,” Ruth replied and immediately ordered Walter to give her a hand in the kitchen.

By the time Doris helped her to take a tray of tea into the lounge, they found Grace had persuaded Penny, not that she was in any condition to object, to let her look at her wound.

Looking up, Grace pursed her lips. “Looks like life’s just as boring for you bunch as ever.”

Jane took a seat opposite them, and Grace, being a good judge of people, didn’t miss either the cast on her forearm or the concerned look she cast over Penny.

“Let me guess. This was a double deal.”

“We had an argument with a Nazi bomber and a British fighter.”

Grace raised her eyebrows in surprise. “At the same time? That’s got to be some sort of record.”

“We haven’t checked yet,” Mary supplied, passing around the tea.

Grace indicated Mary should put hers on the floor beside her foot. “Thanks. Now, what do we have here?”

“What the hell were you two doing?” Mary demanded, hand planted on one hip, cup of tea in the other. “You could have frozen to death!”

“Hardly,” Celia snorted, and immediately quailed under Mary’s fierce gaze.

“I’ll talk to you later, young lady,” Mary promised her.

“We were only trying to help,” Penny said wincing under Grace’s prodding fingers. “You weren’t exactly keeping your voices down, you know.”

“So you both decided to go outside and search for probable nonexistent clues?” Lawrence said.

“Who said we came up empty-handed?” Penny demanded her eyes tight.

This got Lawrence’s attention, “Go on.”

“Celia’s got it.”

“Celia,” Lawrence addressed the girl.

“Right,” Grace stated, reaching down and picking up her tea before turning to the room. “I’m going to pop around morning and evening. I want to make certain Penny, here, stays clear of infection and”—she tapped Penny on her knee until she opened her eyes—“you are to stay inside for the next two weeks. No arguments!” She very nearly yelled those last two words, as Penny opened her mouth to object. “We have to keep that as clean as the cleanest thing you’ve ever come across, if you don’t want to get an infection. Believe me, you don’t want that.”

Penny was obviously listening to every word. “Yes, right, I’ll be good.”

“That’s what I wanted to hear.” Grace smiled. “Now,” she said, putting down her empty cup on the side table, “I’d better be getting home. I was only taking a walk along the riverbank when you two interrupted my evening. I’ll be along tomorrow to give you a penicillin injection at some time.”

“What’s penicillin?” Celia asked, concerned for her sister.

“It’s a new drug we’ve only just got at the hospital. It’s designed to fight infection. Works wonders, I’ve been told. Right.” She smoothed her skirt and looked around. Only then did she notice everyone was looking at her. “Sorry, did I interrupt something?”

“It’s okay,” Ruth said, coming back into the lounge before going over and handing Penny and Celia each a hot brick wrapped in a towel. “Our fault entirely. We keep forgetting you’re deaf.” Ruth noticed the nurse’s head swivel to Lawrence and back to her. “It’s all right. He won’t say a thing.” Ruth looked her nephew right in the eye. “Will he.”

Lawrence waited until Grace was looking directly at him before telling her, correctly surmising the girl could lip read, “I promise.”

“Oh, I should ask. Penny, did you get an injection at the hospital?” Grace turned back around to ask.

Penny thought before slowly shaking her head. “I’m sorry, I don’t remember. I suppose they could have given me one whilst I was out of it.”

Grace, however, was looking around the room, a frown forming as she realized someone was missing. “Where’s Betty?”

Everyone looked at everyone else. Finally Jane took it upon herself to tell the young nurse they’d all come to like and trust the previous year, when Betty had been stabbed, “She’s gone missing.”

It took a minute for Grace to process what she’d been told. “Missing? What? How? When?” she asked in staccato fashion.

Lawrence went to stand before her, telling her in a no-nonsense manner, “Missing. I know you’re concerned, but you must leave the police to handle this. Understood?”

The expression upon Grace’s face clearly showed she was far from happy about this, but also, she knew nothing she could do there and then could help or make a difference. Instead, she fell back on what she’d been doing with Penny. “Tell you what,” Grace told her. “I’ll phone them in the morning and find out.” With a last concerned glance around the room, Grace said her goodbyes and left, Walter seeing her out.

“Celia?” Lawrence reminded Penny’s sister.

Someone knocked at the door before Celia could react, and Walter answered it.

“ ‘Please’ wouldn’t go amiss,” she muttered, nevertheless handing over a handkerchief from her skirt pocket.

Lawrence held it up carefully at the edges between finger and thumbs. Turning it around, he noticed three monogrammed letters in a corner. “G. C. P.,” he read.

“George Cecil Palmer,” answered a new voice.