The note from Lionel lay open on Angela’s dressing table as she chose her silvery-grey silk dress for their first evening together since June.
‘Dearest Angela,’ it began. ‘Write down this date in your diary: Saturday, the 25th of September. My ship is in dock for repairs. I’ve been granted shore leave for twenty-four hours and will come and pick you up as soon as ever I can. Where shall we go? Shall I take you dancing or would you prefer to find a quiet spot to sit and catch up? It’s entirely up to you. The main thing is that we’ll spend a few precious hours together. I can hardly wait, my darling. Until then – with love and kisses, Lionel.’
Grey silk – close-fitting with a gored skirt and a halter neck. Black patent shoes. A corsage of pink silk roses.
After she’d received Lionel’s note on the previous Wednesday, Angela had scribbled a hasty reply – ‘What a lovely surprise – too exciting – missing you dreadfully – all love, Angie xx’. Their reunion had been bound to happen eventually so she might as well settle her mind to the visit.
‘Better here or here?’ she asked Bobbie as she moved the corsage to various positions along the neckline of her gown.
‘High on the shoulder,’ was Bobbie’s advice.
‘This lipstick or this?’
‘The coral pink.’ Angela had shared her news about Lionel a few moments earlier, when Bobbie had walked into her room to find her in petticoat and stockings, wondering what to wear. ‘Where will he take you?’ she asked enviously.
‘To the Mount Hotel in Highcliff, overlooking the harbour. But the arrangement is that he’ll pick me up here. I’m to meet him downstairs in the bar at half past seven.’ A glance at her watch told Angela that she had a mere twenty minutes to get dressed. ‘Now, darling, if you don’t mind …’
Bobbie felt herself being whisked out into the corridor, almost bumping into Jean who was dressed in a pale blue twin-set and her dark blue skirt, with a double string of cultured pearls around her neck. Flustered apologies were exchanged and it became obvious that both girls were heading in the same direction: down the damaged main staircase and into the lounge bar overlooking the front terrace.
‘The days are closing in already,’ Bobbie commented, casting a glance through a long, low window, still taped up after the German attack. ‘Autumn is really setting in.’
‘“Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness”.’ Struggling for something to say in response, Jean threw in the tired quotation.
‘Shelley?’ Bobbie hazarded a guess.
‘Keats.’
‘I was close!’ Laughing off her mistake, Bobbie noticed Douglas catch Jean’s attention so she headed on alone to the bar where she broke up a cosy gathering of Cameron, Teddy and Hilary. ‘Guess who’s due here any minute to meet Angela. Lovely Lionel; that’s who.’
Hilary and Cameron greeted the news enthusiastically while Teddy asked Bobbie what she would like to drink.
‘Orange juice if there is any,’ she replied.
‘Staying away from the Dubonnet tonight, eh?’
‘Yes; after Wednesday I’ve signed the pledge,’ she declared, one eye on the door so that she was the first to spot Lionel enter through the main door in his navy blue mess jacket, white waistcoat and trousers. ‘Wait there; I’ll be back,’ she told Teddy before sprinting across the room to greet the new arrival.
Lionel wasn’t prepared for the whirlwind that was Bobbie Fraser. In fact, he was feeling nervous about the evening ahead, tugging at the hem of his jacket and clearing his throat, glancing behind him at his MG sports car parked outside the door. ‘Steady on,’ he told Bobbie as she took both hands and tugged him towards the bar. ‘I’m a little early. Oughtn’t I to wait here in the hall for Angie to appear?’
‘Oh, don’t worry – she’s still trying on frocks, you know what she’s like. Hilary and Cameron are here in the bar. And you look as if you could do with some Dutch courage.’
So they went in together, Lionel in the dress uniform of a Royal Navy captain and Bobbie in a swirl of emerald-green chiffon, to warm handshakes and a barrage of questions as to where Lionel’s ship was docked and demands for a detailed account of his latest naval adventures.
‘It’s good to see your ugly face again,’ Cameron told him with a friendly nudge. ‘How long has it been?’
‘Too long,’ Hilary broke in, relaxing for once and falling into their old familiar way. ‘Knowing Angela, she won’t be down for ages yet, Lionel. So what’ll you have to drink – your usual Scotch?’
Amid the buzz of conversation Teddy approached Bobbie with her glass of orange cordial. ‘Why the glad rags?’ he asked, admiring her tiny waist and bare shoulders while trying to steer her clear of the crowd.
‘This old thing!’ she teased, adjusting her straps. ‘No particular reason.’
‘You look nice anyway.’ Now that Teddy had succeeded in cornering Bobbie, he was scarcely paying her any attention. From what he could pick up from overheard snatches, it seemed that the Royal Navy visitor belonged to Angela. He was a substantially built chap whose white waistcoat and starched white shirt emphasized his healthy tan but whose nicotine-stained fingers showed a heavy smoking habit – one of the inevitable side effects of being a Navy man. His thick brown hair and bushy eyebrows made him seem less refined than his old school chums, Hilary and Cameron, and on the whole Teddy thought that the naval man looked and sounded unremarkable. If it ever came to a contest for Angela’s favours between this steady-as-you-go sea captain and himself, Teddy was pretty sure who would come out on top.
‘Teddy?’ Bobbie tugged at his sleeve.
‘Hmm?’ Here came Angela now, swanning down the stairs in a slim, silver evening dress, in full war paint. Her dark hair was swept up and she glided into the room.
‘I said, I’m organizing a soirée to celebrate my birthday next month so please keep the evening of the fifth free.’
‘I will, provided Herr Hitler lets us,’ Teddy said with a smile. ‘Unless I’m already winging my way across the pond to teach the Yanks how to fly, that is.’
Bobbie caught Hilary’s stern glance and smiled uneasily at him. Across the room, sitting together in a window seat, Jean and Douglas seemed sealed in their own world of earnest and no doubt clever conversation, while at that moment Lionel turned to see Angela make her entrance and was instantly oblivious to everyone else there. What must it be like, Bobbie wondered, to be as enraptured as Lionel Cawthorn obviously was? So blind, some might say.
‘Now, how about a real drink?’ Teddy prompted, taking the glass of cordial from Bobbie without waiting for a reply.
In the women’s billet at Rixley, Mary packed her suitcase. She looked back over the day’s events with a flutter of excitement mixed with strong apprehension, remembering how, at midday, she’d chosen her moment to knock on the office door next to the control tower then entered to find Flight Lieutenant Cameron Ainslie sitting at his desk, up to his eyes in paperwork as usual. This had been her plan: to catch him alone, with no other officer around.
‘Yes?’ he’d enquired in his abrupt way, a pencil tucked behind his ear and with a distracted air. But when he’d seen that it was Mary hovering nervously by the door, he’d taken off his glasses, closed the buff-coloured file that he’d been working on and encouraged her to take a seat. ‘Now, what can I do for you?’
‘Sir, I’d like an application form for the pilots’ conversion course, please.’ The carefully rehearsed sentence had emerged stiffly and she’d resisted the urge to flee from the room.
Cameron’s eyes had widened for a moment.
He’s about to send me packing. Mary had been convinced that her request would be turned down point-blank.
‘Yes; very good.’ Rapidly overcoming his surprise, he’d stood up and pulled open the appropriate drawer in the steel filing cabinet behind him. ‘Good idea, Mary.’ He’d dispensed with formalities as he handed her the form and given her an encouraging smile. ‘I’m sure you’ll get on very well.’
‘If they decide to accept me.’ Taking the paperwork from him, she’d scraped back her chair and stood up.
‘No, no; stay here and fill it in,’ Cameron had suggested, handing her his fountain pen and making it clear that he would leave her in peace to get on with it. ‘Might as well, eh? There’s a blotting pad there, under that pile of papers. I’ll be back in five minutes,’ he’d said as he’d departed. ‘I’ll vouch for you, by the way,’ he’d added as though delivering an afterthought.
When he’d returned, he’d taken the completed form from her. ‘I’ve been on the blower to an associate of Commander Gower and put in a good word for you,’ he’d informed her.
‘Already?’ With Cameron’s backing, things were obviously moving much faster than Mary had anticipated. The pace of events had unsettled her but she’d tried not to let it show.
‘Yes. I emphasized how efficient you’ve always been as a driver and how calm you are in an emergency. They’re obviously keen to have you – that goes without saying.’
Lost for words, she’d taken a deep breath to compose herself.
Typical Mary – silent and hard to read. Cameron had watched her struggle to take things in. Recalling how touchy she could be, he’d steered away from any comment that might sound condescending and stuck with the practical instead. ‘It’ll mean a couple of weeks down in Thame, learning the ropes – aircraft and engine theory in the classroom to start with. But it shouldn’t be long before an instructor takes you up in a dual-control Corsair or the old Gypsy Moth and before you know it you’ll be flying solo.’
He’d made it sound straightforward – something that Mary could actually achieve. ‘Thank you, sir.’ She’d breathed the words of gratitude. ‘I mean it; thank you very much.’
‘No need for the sir; we’re off duty.’ He’d smiled briefly and held the door open for her. She’d left the office, her cheeks burning and her head in a whirl – even more so when half an hour later, she’d encountered Stan sitting with Jean in the canteen.
‘So, you finally plucked up courage,’ he’d said as she’d sat next to him and watched him tuck into bully beef and mash. ‘Congratulations, Mary; you’re on your way.’
‘How did you find out?’ Instinctively she’d batted away Stan’s warm words.
‘A little bird told me,’ Stan had said with a wink over the hiss of the tea urn and the rattle of cutlery.
‘What does he mean, “you’re on your way”?’ Jean had asked. ‘What have I missed?’
‘Mary here has only gone and applied for the pilot conversion course and been accepted,’ he informed her. ‘What do you make of that?’
Jean had studied Mary’s flushed cheeks. ‘I think that’s a marvellous idea,’ she’d said calmly. ‘Don’t worry; you’ll sail through with flying colours.’
‘Do you think so?’ Mary had a sneaking admiration for Jean and valued her opinion. ‘Am I cut out to be a pilot, though? That’s what I wonder.’
Jean had smiled warmly. ‘It’s natural to be nervous. But yes, I’d say you’re exactly what they’re looking for. And good for you for plucking up the courage – I know what it takes to fill in that form.’
Mary had nodded then let out a loud sigh. ‘It’s thanks to Stan. He gave me the kick I needed.’
‘You’re welcome.’ Pleased that Mary had seen fit to confide in Jean, Stan’s smile was broad. ‘And here’s another bit of news: Flight Lieutenant Ainslie has ordered me to drive you to Highcliff first thing tomorrow morning, to put you on the train to Thame. They’ll bring in another driver pronto to fill your shoes, but we know there’s no shortage of volunteers in that department.’
So I didn’t dream it, Mary had thought. I really am signed up for the course!
‘Early to bed for you tonight,’ Stan had advised as Jean had cleared his empty plate and carried it with hers to the trolley stacked with dirty crockery. ‘We’ll have to be up with the lark to get to Highcliff by seven.’
Which was why now, as dusk fell and rain swept across the airfield, Mary was folding her civvy clothes – two skirts, three blouses, one maroon woollen dress, a pair of court shoes, two sets of underclothes – and leaving her washbag and hairbrush handy on top of her bedside locker for an early start. The room was silent except for the hiss of the paraffin stove at the far end of the hut and the erratic gusting of raindrops against the dark window panes. It was to be Mary’s last Saturday night at Rixley for a while at least and she felt an unexpected twinge of regret. Despite the new world of opportunities opening up before her, there was no doubt in her mind that she would miss the familiar faces – Stan, Gordon, Harry, Jean and the rest – and the safety of her old routine.
Lionel had whisked Angela off in his sports car and Teddy had unaccountably vanished when Hilary approached Bobbie at the bar. ‘Good to see Lionel again, albeit briefly,’ he remarked as he perched on the stool next to hers.
Bobbie was on edge, wondering where on earth Teddy had sloped off to. ‘Yes, lovely Lionel. I’ve only met him twice before but I took to him from the off.’ She swilled her drink around her glass then took a small sip.
‘He’s a good chap; decent through and through,’ Hilary agreed. Despite his off-duty rig of fawn and brown knitted cardigan teamed with twill slacks and polished brogues, his abrupt military air remained. ‘We go back a long way, Lionel and I.’
‘So I gather.’ Angela had told Bobbie vivid stories about what the small gang of Oxford graduates –Angela’s brother Hugh plus Cameron, Hilary and Lionel – used to get up to in the London clubs a couple of years earlier. ‘I hear it was great fun. The good old days, eh?’
Hilary downed the last of his drink. ‘Yes, but a word of advice – don’t believe everything Angela tells you. She has a tendency to exaggerate.’
‘So the rumours are false – you didn’t go from theatre to dance hall every night then off to a club to drink into the wee small hours?’
‘Not every night.’
‘Just once in a while, eh? I still say it must have been fun.’
‘Yes, it was.’ Hilary had approached Bobbie with a more serious purpose. ‘Which brings me to a matter concerning you and Teddy Simpson.’
Bobbie was startled by the apparent switch in direction. ‘What on earth do you mean?’ she asked defensively.
‘First of all, Bobbie, I’m sorry about your overnight stay in Harkness earlier this week.’
‘Why are you sorry?’ she enquired with assumed nonchalance. ‘It’s not the first time that I’ve been stranded and I’m sure it won’t be the last.’
Hilary’s mouth twitched in irritation. ‘I hear that the only bed and breakfast available proved unsatisfactory.’ He raised his hand to stop her from interrupting. ‘It’s all written down in the report that Teddy lodged with Douglas; the lack of a separate room and so on.’
Bobbie blinked then shook her head violently. ‘Teddy and I didn’t have to share … I took the bedroom and he slept in the living room. I hope he made that clear.’
‘I’m pleased to hear it. Still, it was unfortunate that you two were thrown together in that way.’ Rapping his empty glass down on the bar, Hilary forged on. ‘Obviously, from a professional point of view, it’s preferable for male and female personnel to observe a certain distance.’
‘Who says so?’ Bobbie’s heart lurched.
‘I do. At least until they’ve had the time to form a proper acquaintance,’ her commanding officer insisted. ‘It’s early days – Teddy Simpson has only just got here.’
‘Listen to me, Hilary: nothing improper happened at Harkness.’ She spoke with heavy emphasis on the word ‘improper’.
‘I’m not suggesting that it did.’
‘Yes, you are; that’s exactly what you’re suggesting. And while we’re on the subject, let me point out that it would be none of your business even if it had.’ Bobbie’s heart continued to thump as she put her glass on the bar and slid down from her stool. ‘It’s not against the law, so far as I know.’
‘Quite. But it’s my job to maintain discipline in this ferry pool and in my view it’s best not to risk muddying the waters with the ups and downs of personal relationships.’ Though Hilary had failed to anticipate Bobbie’s irate reaction to his well-meaning advice, he knew that it was too late to backtrack. ‘Please don’t take offence. All I’m saying is that a girl needs to know a good deal more about a chap before she jumps in with both feet.’
‘And I thank you for your advice.’ Bobbie fought back tears of embarrassment and fury. For the first time in her life her morals had been called into question and she was left with a very unpleasant feeling in the pit of her stomach. ‘Now if you don’t mind, Hilary, I’ll say goodnight.’
He watched her flounce away in a cloud of bright green chiffon, nose in the air and looking straight ahead.
Cameron sidled up to him, pipe in hand. ‘What’s got into our wee Scottish lassie tonight?’ He assumed, rightly, that Hilary had been heavy-handed over some minor matter of discipline – after all, subtlety had never been his strong suit.
‘Lord knows,’ Hilary said with a shrug. He hadn’t had to deal with women pilots until he’d been posted to Rixley and the truth was he was a little out of his depth. He’d been warned in advance that women didn’t always like taking orders and privately suspected that aviation would never be their field of expertise. But he didn’t expect them to fly off the handle the way Bobbie had just done. ‘Never mind, old thing; she’ll get over it,’ he told a puzzled Cameron. ‘It’s my round. What can I get you?’
‘I’m sorry; this place isn’t up to much.’ Lionel glanced around the Lounge Bar of the Mount Hotel. It was a stuffy room with faded wallpaper and shapeless armchairs with worn chintz covers. A dingy oil painting of a sailing ship adorned the chimney breast and the only other occupant of the room was an elderly man in tweeds who smoked a pipe in his fireside chair.
‘Never mind – beggars can’t be choosers.’ Determined to make the best of things, Angela chose a corner as far away from the old man as possible. ‘My goodness; that’s quite a cough,’ she whispered as the pipe smoker’s chest rattled and he spat into the grate.
‘We could try somewhere else?’ Lionel suggested.
‘No, darling – not before we’ve raised a glass or two.’ She settled into one of the armchairs, legs elegantly crossed.
‘You’re sure?’ He hovered next to her chair, reflecting that he’d imagined a better place than this for their reunion. But the only alternative to the Mount had been one of the poky harbour-side pubs filled with rowdy fishermen and their sharp-tongued wives.
‘Quite sure. Sit down, darling; do.’ Angela leaned forward to pat the seat of the chair opposite. ‘Look, here comes someone to take our order.’
A woman with crimped grey hair, wearing a mustard-coloured dress that gave her complexion a sallow tinge, listened to their requests then went away without speaking. She quickly returned with their drinks on a stained wooden tray and deposited them on a low table, again without saying a word. The man by the fire continued to cough and spit.
Lionel’s grimace made Angela laugh. ‘Please don’t worry; I’m perfectly happy here and I’m all ears, waiting to hear the low-down – the top-secret things they won’t allow you to write in your letters. Whose ships have you been sinking and what heroic tales do you have to tell?’
Same old Angela, Lionel thought, making light of the most awful events. He understood that this was how she got through: by refusing to think too deeply or seriously. ‘Lately we’ve been in the Aegean. My ship sailed from Malta earlier this month. We ran into trouble off Corfu; hence we’re currently in dry dock awaiting repairs.’ He stopped short of relating any more details and sat uncomfortably with his drink.
‘Why so cagey? No, of course; you’re not allowed even to speak about it. It’s all hush-hush. I quite understand.’ She smiled at him to hide her disappointment at how the evening was going, though the distance between them yawned as wide and deep as the Grand Canyon. ‘What news of the family?’ she prompted cheerily.
‘Father’s still hard at it in the War Office, working with Montgomery on God knows what fresh tactics for North Africa. Mother is well and living quietly in the house in Dorset. What about yours?’
‘Still at the mill with slaves,’ Angela quipped. ‘Father can’t keep up with the never-ending orders for worsted for army uniforms. He’s put the women in the spinning and weaving sheds on overtime and keeps the looms running seven days a week but it’s impossible to keep up with the demand. The men have mostly been conscripted, of course.’
The pleasantries continued for several more minutes, exasperating Angela and puzzling Lionel. Neither seemed able to break through the polite veneer until she stood up suddenly and suggested a walk in the hotel grounds.
‘But it’s raining,’ he objected. ‘You’ll get wet.’
‘I don’t mind; I’m wearing a decent winter coat. Come along; let’s get a breath of fresh air.’ She led the way, turning up her fur collar then pausing in the front entrance to test for raindrops. ‘See, it’s easing off.’
So they stepped outside into a damp mist that rolled in off the sea, deciding to leave the hotel grounds and venture a short way along a cliff path to the sound of waves crashing on to the rocks below.
‘It’s single file, I’m afraid.’ Angela picked her way carefully while Lionel followed. She felt the wind raise the hem of her skirt and blow her hair in all directions. Straight ahead, the dark outline of a ruined church loomed. ‘It’s blowing a gale. What do you say we seek shelter for a while?’
Again Lionel followed without saying anything. Angela had always been full of surprises. It was one of the aspects of her character that had first fascinated him: the way she would take it into her head to leave a smoky club on the Strand to roam the broad streets and end up paddling in the fountain in Trafalgar Square, not minding if she attracted comments from strangers. There was one time when she’d dared him and her brother Hugh to climb one of the plinths and sit astride the lion to sing ‘Rule Britannia’, which they’d done to her great delight. Such light-hearted fun had suited the times. But now, with the world turned upside down, it seemed out of kilter with the prevailing mood. As they approached the churchyard in the thick darkness, Lionel took out his cigarette case and quietly lit up.
‘There, that’s better.’ She found a sheltered spot out of the wind. ‘Smell the salt in the air. Isn’t it glorious? On second thoughts, you’ve probably had enough of the old briny to last a lifetime.’
‘Angela.’ He drew smoke deep into his lungs.
‘What is it, darling?’ It was chillier than expected so she wrapped her coat more closely across her chest, feeling the cold smoothness of its satin lining.
‘We must talk,’ Lionel insisted. ‘It’s been so long since we had the opportunity.’
‘I know; ages and ages.’ She could scarcely see his features but his tone of voice told her that he was building up to the serious topic that she’d been doing her best to avoid.
‘About our future,’ he continued doggedly. ‘I’d like to know one way or the other where we’re going with all this.’
‘Oh.’ She sighed, leaning back against a rough stone arch. ‘Why must we be going anywhere? Why can’t we forget about tomorrow and live in the moment – now especially?’
‘Because of the war?’
‘Yes. None of us knows if there’ll even be a tomorrow. Take me, for instance. I’m up in my Spit at ten thousand feet, never knowing what I’ll find – a sudden thunderstorm or Jerry coming at me out of nowhere and me unarmed, with only a simple compass and a stopwatch to get me out of trouble. And there’s you on your captain’s bridge, watching out for the next torpedo or squadron of Heinkels flying at you out of nowhere. You see?’
Her face was a pale disc against the stone, her dark eyes wider than ever. Lionel leaned in and kissed her. ‘That’s why,’ he murmured as he drew back. ‘If there isn’t to be a tomorrow, well, at least let me know if you feel for me what I feel for you. That would be something to be going on with.’
Angela felt her heartbeat quicken. They’d been in this situation several times before: Lionel seeking the reassurance of a formal engagement, her feeling the pressure of making a commitment. Previously she’d been able to fudge it by returning his kisses in a light-hearted way, saying that she was truly fond of him and didn’t want their relationship to end. Which was true. But she’d wanted them to go on in an open-ended way, sharing good times, not looking too far ahead. They were still young, after all.
‘Well?’
‘I’m fond of you,’ she whispered.
‘But do you love me? Will you marry me?’
The cold mist surrounded them, the sea roared. Danger crowded in on them from all sides, and with this feeling of life running out of control Angela drew Lionel close. What answer should she give? Should she say the words he longed to hear?