Chapter Twenty-Four

Percy Croft propped his rifle against the table and went to fill up the kettle. Despite his heavy sweater and coat, he was shivering. It had been a cold evening. Though he’d deliberately missed, a part of him had enjoyed putting the wind up them with his near misses. He wiped the back of his free hand across his brow, popped the lid on the kettle, and lit the gas. Dropping a spoonful of tea into the teapot, he took his coat off and hung it behind the kitchen door. He’d just stepped back when the door flew open with such force it crashed back against the tallboy behind it, nearly hitting Verdon in the face.

“Well? Did you get them?” he demanded, pushing the door open a little more carefully.

Unwilling to face his boss yet, Croft kept his back to him whilst willing the kettle to boil. A cup of tea was just what he needed to thaw out his bones. “No,” he replied, turning off the gas and taking the kettle to the table.

Verdon didn’t wait for his servant to finish pouring the boiling water into the pot before he was in his face. “No? Is that all you’ve got to say?” Verdon turned and, throwing his hands into the air, proceeded to stride up and down, though no words left his mouth.

Surprised at how calm he felt, in spite of his boss’s reaction, Croft stirred the teapot and asked, “Care for a cuppa?”

If Croft knew what color puce was, he’d have been amused at the shade his boss’s face went at this innocent suggestion. However, he only just managed to snatch the teapot from the path of Verdon’s sweeping arm.

“A cup of tea? Are you asking me if I want a cup of tea?” he demanded, spittle spraying from his lips, causing Croft to take a step back. This was misread by Moseley’s man as an indication of supplication on the younger man’s part, as Verdon took a step forward and took a handful of Croft’s sweater. “I’m waiting for an explanation!”

Croft bunched his muscles before, with a supreme effort, he forced himself to look down into a pair of cold brown eyes. It helped his own temper that at least when Verdon had spoken he hadn’t spat in his face. Croft was used to dealing with disrespectful people by using acts of extreme violence, but no matter the temptation, until he could see a way out, he’d stay his hand. However, this didn’t mean he would put up with what he was increasingly coming to think of as an extremely obnoxious man trying to push him around. It wasn’t like he was being paid. That thought prompted his hand to come up and prise Verdon’s fingers off his jumper. This done, he turned to put the teapot back on the table.

“It’s quite simple,” Croft began whilst pouring himself a cup. “It’s so dark out there, I could barely see a hand in front of my face.”

“So? Why not just get closer?” Verdon demanded.

Croft picked up a spoon, poured a spot of milk, and stirred before replying, “Because I didn’t want to give them a chance to see me, if I missed.”

“And you did miss!” Verdon felt the need to shout.

Croft decided to remind him they were supposed to be in hiding, and the chip shop and its accommodation supposed to be empty. “Keep your voice down, sir,” he said, casting a quick glance to make certain the blackout curtains were well in place so as not to give him any chance to argue. “We’re supposed to be hiding, remember?”

Verdon opened and closed his mouth once, twice, a third time, knowing his servant was right but undecided as to how to react. He fell back on the age-old response of waving away what had been said as if it were of no consequence and told him nothing he didn’t already know. “Never mind that,” he began, though he had lowered the level of his voice. “I want you to have another go tomorrow night.”

It didn’t take Croft more than a few seconds to make up his mind. He shook his head.

“No?” Verdon said, shaking his head in disbelief. “I’m giving you an order!”

Croft took a seat and wrapped his hands around his cup to warm them up. “No. I won’t do it.”

Verdon pulled out a seat opposite Croft, paused, and then poured himself a cup before settling back, steepling his hands and asking, “Enlighten me. What’s brought on this crisis of conscience?”

To give him some time to get his thoughts in order, Croft took a few sips of his drink, glad of the warmth it helped put back in his bones. It had been a chilly night, and the flat had no heat, not an ideal thing on a February night. “That was in the past.”

“Which isn’t very long ago, only a year or so,” Verdon felt it necessary to point out.

Croft shook his head, as if trying to shake off the memory of the deeds he’d done. “True, but these people are decent. They’re not criminals. They’re doing a good job of work, from what I can tell, so you tell me exactly what this Betty has done to you and let me think about what I’ll do.”

“You’ll think about what you’ll do?” Verdon repeated. Croft could see the effort it took not to shout. “You don’t think what you’ll do, you do what you’re told,” Verdon stated. “That’s the way it’s always been, and that’s the way it will be…and don’t you forget it.”

Croft thought whilst Verdon sat and eyed him. Again he mused that if a way out presented itself, he’d take it. The only thing he could do was bide his time. “Perhaps,” he said, whilst thinking the status quo could change before very much longer. He decided to ask, “Maybe you should tell me what this Betty’s done to you?”

At first, it appeared Verdon would either shake his head or tell him to mind his own business. However, maybe the way Croft had stood up to him made him decide to tell him. He ran a hand through his thinning hair. “Betty Palmer had a twin sister, Eleanor. The bitch was a jewel thief known as Diamond Lil. Rubbish name, though I’ll admit she was very good at what she did. She’s dead now, so forget her, but her sister was her fence. Between the two, one cleaned out my safe, and this Betty fenced all the jewelry I kept there. I’ll bet they got a tidy sum, too.”

“So you want what they got from hawking that stuff?”

Verdon nodded, remembering his cup and taking a sip. “You bet. With my house gone and none of my old friends,” he spat this out in distaste, “willing to help, it’s the only way I’ll get enough money to buy my way out of this country.”

A thought struck Croft. “I take it you’ll be getting two tickets?” He waggled his eyebrows suggestively.

Belatedly, Verdon nodded. Croft noticed the delay, though, and made a mental note not to forget this moment.

“Of course. Don’t worry, I’ll take good care of you,” Verdon added, though his eyes never met Croft’s. “Now, if you’re not going to try and shoot them again…” He waited to see if Croft would change his mind. When he didn’t, Verdon, with obvious reluctance, carried on. “…then at least go and put a letter through Palmer’s letter box. Also, don’t forget to give our guest something to eat.” Without waiting for a reply, Verdon left the room, presumably, Croft thought, to write the missive to be delivered.

Knocking back the remainder of his tea, Croft decided two things. No way was he going to harm either this Betty or any of her friends, as none of them had done anything to deserve death, assuming what he’d just heard had been the truth. Even in the past, he doubted he’d have brought himself to do so. Helping them wouldn’t do his cause any harm. And he definitely needed to find a way out of this mess. To hell with Verdon!

****

Jane threw a piece of chalk at Penny, which bounced off her head but still failed to garner her attention. Shoving away from the door where she’d been leaning, she took a few steps, bent over her friend’s shoulder, and saw her friend had been doodling little Spitfires upon the report she was supposed to be writing. She bent down and said in her ear, “Earth to Penny!”

Glancing up, Penny put down her pen. “Sorry. I was miles away.”

“I noticed.” Jane smiled. She canted her head, the better to look at the report. “Nice doodles. If we need anyone to camouflage our planes, I’ll keep you in mind.”

Penny flipped the page over, a little embarrassed.

“Something on your mind?” Jane asked.

Penny got to her feet and went to switch on the kettle, only to find it empty and their water bottle also lacking. Seeing this, Jane swiftly returned to her office and grabbed her hat and jacket. “Come on. The next taxi isn’t due back for a good half hour, so let’s go and risk one of Mavis’s.”

Penny pulled her own hat and jacket on and followed her boss out of the hut. Neither said a word for the couple of minutes it took them to walk to the mess, and when they entered, they were the only occupants, barring the mess manager herself, who sat at a table reading a newspaper.

“That’d better be the Hamble Gazette,” Jane said, taking a seat next to Mavis, “or Ruth may have a word or two to say to you.”

As usual, Mavis didn’t reply. Instead, she folded up the paper, which was the latest copy of the local newspaper, and got to her feet. “You two ran out of water again?”

“Uncanny,” Jane said with a shake of her head.

Whilst Mavis busied herself, Jane turned to Penny. “Care to share? I know you don’t like the job, but you don’t usually lose focus like that.”

It took a minute for Penny to gather herself. “I know.” She sighed a bit before unbuttoning her jacket. “I’m…confused.”

“About what?”

“About Tom. The walk we had, it felt like we didn’t know each other. I’d made the decision not to even hold his hand, keep things as I’d suggested, you know, as if we were only starting out.”

Jane frowned. “But isn’t that exactly what you wanted?”

“It is!” Penny cried, her head slumping back.

“I’m confused,” Jane muttered before saying, “And, how do you feel?”

“Rubbish! A fake!” Penny replied, letting out a bitter laugh.

“I’m going to say something silly,” Jane ventured. “Have you asked yourself do you love him? Don’t think about it.”

“Yes. No! Yes, I think I do.”

“And does he know this?”

Still with her head back, Penny laughed again. “I’m sure he’s just as confused as me. Especially after the other night.”

“Just talk to him,” Mavis unexpectedly told them, depositing their cups and re-taking her seat. “Men are simple creatures. They need things spelled out to them. The shorter the words, the better.”

Both Jane and Penny sipped from their cups before Penny said, “I can’t deny that logic.”

“Well?” Mavis asked.

Under Jane’s and Mavis’s scrutiny, Penny raised her cup to her lips again, though this time she didn’t drink. Instead, she said, “I’ll come to a conclusion and talk to him.”

Mavis pulled her newspaper back toward her, opening it up once more and finding her page before saying, “Make sure you come to the right conclusion for you, that’s all I’ll say.”

Jane turned to face her mess manager. “Mavis, you keep this up, I’ll make you our station psychologist.”

“Is there a raise in it?” Mavis enquired, not looking up from what she was reading.

“How does a new tea urn sound?”

Without looking up or batting an eyelid, she replied, “Let me think about it,” causing Penny to cough up her last mouthful all over the table. Again without looking up, Mavis handed her a rag which, shaking her head, Penny used to clean up.

Jane flashed a raised eyebrow at her friend, which Penny answered with a nod and then, remembering what Doris had said about their enigmatic mess manager, asked, “Have you heard from your son lately, Mavis?”

This unexpected question caused Mavis to look up sharply. Contrary to the recent conversation, Mavis was usually a lady of few words, and she now reverted to form, though she did look happy to be asked. “Yes, I got a letter a week ago. He’s been promoted to Lance Corporal.”

Jane briefly squeezed one of Mavis’s hands. “Oh, congratulations! You must be so proud.”

Mavis took them by surprise by letting out a laugh which would more accurately be described as a cackle. “Oh, I am. Mind you, I pity his men. He’ll be a holy terror!”

Any answer was cut off by the station alarm blaring out. Immediately, all three women shot to their feet, their chairs shooting backward and falling over.

“What’s going on? Are we under attack?” Mavis cried as they all surged toward the door.

As Penny raced past them toward the flight line hut, Jane stopped long enough to grab hold of Mavis, stopping her from following Penny. Raising her voice to be heard above the wail, Jane told her, “Stay here. We’re not under attack.”

“But what does all this racket mean?” Mavis asked, cutting Jane’s explanation off.

Grim-faced, Jane finished, “It means we’ve a plane coming in that’s in trouble. Do me a favor, Mavis—get a big pot of strong tea ready. I’ve a feeling we’re going to need it.”