Amy (16 page)

At almost four o’clock she walked down Piccadilly towards the Ritz. This would be only the second time she had ever been there. Her father had brought her to tea to celebrate when she qualified. She stopped outside the Royal Academy, wondering again what she was walking into. Nothing, probably. Johnny’s last letter had been friendly, that was all. It had been filled with his enthusiasm about flying:
It is wonderful
, he wrote.
It’s the most terrific thing I’ve ever done. I’ve finished my basic training and got my wings so I’ll be getting a posting to a squadron soon
.

A posting? Doing what? Shooting down German observation balloons? Being shot at over the German trenches? Air battles with German airmen? Danger, all the time.

Now that she was about to see him again she knew precisely what she was going to do and what she was going to say. ‘It’s so nice to see you, Johnny, looking so well. I’m so glad you’re enjoying the flying. I do hope your father is well. No, I don’t think we should meet again.’ She half thought of turning away, of telephoning a message to him at the Ritz to say she wasn’t able to come after all. But that would be extremely ill-mannered and wouldn’t achieve what she wanted.

She crossed the road and walked on and went into the hotel. She paused just inside the door. The foyer was busy, beautifully dressed women and a scattering of male uniforms. She was glad that she hadn’t worn her own uniform; she would have stood out like a sore thumb. She walked on inside, but she couldn’t see him. Perhaps, she thought with some relief, he hasn’t been able to come.

‘Hello, Amy.’

He was standing beside her, looking down at her, smiling. She felt a momentary shock. In all her memories and imaginings of him she was standing over him; he was lying down in the filthy straw, or his bed in the hospital or sitting in a wheelchair. She drew in her breath. She
realized
that she had never seen him standing upright before. He was as tall as his father, at least, and broad in the shoulder. She had almost forgotten how blue his eyes were, how bright. He was wearing his new uniform, the close-fitting jacket, jodhpurs and boots of the Royal Flying Corps, and the wings gleamed on his breast. As he looked down at her she felt that same moving, disturbing, pleasurable contraction of her body, that same urge to touch him. Did he know, she wondered? Did anything show on her face?

‘Johnny,’ she said. Her mouth seemed to have gone suddenly dry and her brain bereft of words.

He held out his hand. ‘It’s good to see you, Amy. Thank you so much for coming. You look very well.’

‘So do you.’ She took his hand, now firm and strong. ‘I hadn’t
realized
– you aren’t even using a stick.’

‘Totally back to normal,’ he said. ‘Thanks to you and a talented lady surgeon.’

She smiled. ‘I’m glad we managed to change your mind about that.’

‘Absolutely,’ he said. ‘I’ve booked for tea. Shall we go in?’

They were shown to their table. As they walked by women looked up from their tea and smiled at him. The older women gave him proud, maternal glances and some of the younger women blushed faintly and looked away. A young boy whispered loudly, ‘Look Mother, look. He’s a pilot. I’m going to be a pilot when I grow up.’ Amy was amused. He seemed to be making quite a stir.

The waiter held out her chair for her and she sat down. ‘Tea, madam?’ the waiter asked.

‘Yes, Assam for me please.’

‘And me,’ Johnny said. ‘I don’t care for the China stuff. Tastes like cheap perfume.’

She smiled and looked away from him around the room. She thought it highly unlikely that he had ever smelt cheap perfume. The women were taking their tea, chatting, appearing to be unconcerned about anything.

‘A bit different from France, isn’t it?’ he said.

She looked back at him. ‘I feel as if I’ve been away for years. In a way I was surprised to see it all looking the same. I know it isn’t the same – the shortages and all the people with armbands, and you know what they have lost – but London seems the same, everyone doing the same things.’

‘That’s the British way,’ he said, smiling. ‘Stiff upper lip.’

She thought of the people streaming out of Paris, and of the many brave souls who had stayed. ‘I wonder what it would be like if the Germans were twenty miles from London and no sea and navy to protect us.’

‘We’d beat them, of course.’ He sounded surprised at her question. ‘Whatever they did we’d beat them.’

The waiter brought their tea and tiny sandwiches and cakes on a stand.

‘So you’ve got your wings,’ she said.

He touched his badge briefly. ‘It’s terrific, Amy. I can’t tell you what it’s like, being up there. It’s as if you’ve left the world behind you; all the nasty bits anyway. It’s so clean and clear. And you can see England spread out below you, so green, or shining white, where it’s been snowing. You can see what you’re fighting for.’ He laughed. ‘I’ll have to be careful or I might turn into a poet and get a bad reputation.’

‘It sounds wonderful,’ she said.

‘It is. Perhaps I’ll be able to take you up one day and show you.’

One day, she thought? What about her resolution to tell him that they mustn’t meet again? It seemed to be retreating out of reach.

‘Have you just come home for leave,’ he said, ‘or are you staying?’

‘Just leave. My father has been ill but he’s much better now. I shall be going back soon.’

‘So shall I, when I get my posting to a squadron. I’ll probably go to Maubeuge first, then it might be anywhere.’ He ate another two
sandwiches
. ‘Are you not eating, Amy?’

‘I had lunch,’ she said. ‘I’m not very hungry.’

He ate a cake. ‘I seem to be hungry all the time.’

She laughed. ‘You’re a growing boy.’

His look changed from amusement to an intense study of her face. He was suddenly serious, his words measured. ‘I’m not a boy, Amy.’

She flushed a little. ‘No, of course not.’ She drank her tea so that she didn’t have to look at him.

‘When exactly are you going back?’ he said.

‘I’ve booked a passage for next Friday – a week’s time.’

‘Good. We’ve got some time then. What shall we do?’

She looked at him, surprised. She wasn’t sure what she had expected, but not this direct approach, not this automatic assumption that she was going to see him again.

He saw her hesitation. ‘Times have changed, Amy. We’ve got to take what we can until the war is over. We won’t have much chance of doing nice things once we go back.’

She thought suddenly of Dan, of his quiet pleasure just to have dinner with her and Helen. Times had certainly changed, contracted, every minute of life important. There was an urgent sense that if you didn’t do it now, whatever it was, you may never do it at all. Conventions had changed too. She had noticed many young men and women out together in the streets and restaurants, unchaperoned.

‘I shall have to spend most of my time with my father,’ she said, ‘but perhaps we could meet – perhaps have lunch?’

‘I’ll be in touch,’ he said.

They left the hotel and he insisted on coming with her to the station and hailed a cab. He bought a penny platform ticket and waited with her until the train came in. She watched out of the window until they
rounded a bend and she couldn’t see him any more. She leant her head back against the seat and closed her eyes. So much for not seeing him again. It had been a foolish thought anyway. She couldn’t possibly have meant it; she was just deceiving herself.

Her father was waiting for her in the sitting-room when she got home. ‘You haven’t got much shopping,’ he said. ‘I thought you would be laden with parcels.’

‘I don’t need much,’ she said. ‘Not clothes or hats. We wear our uniform all the time.’ She sat down on the sofa.

He was looking at her expectantly, as if he knew exactly where she had been. She knew perfectly well that he was waiting for her to tell him what was in her letter. She was going to have to tell him anyway if she was going to see Johnny again.

‘The letter was from a lieutenant I looked after in France,’ she said. ‘A grateful patient. He’s better now and he’s joined the Flying Corps.’ Her father was smiling broadly. ‘He said he would like to see me so I thought I might have lunch with him one day.’

‘Yes, do,’ he said. She didn’t respond and he sat beside her. ‘Did you see him today, dear? Is this young man special to you, Amy?’

She sighed and then smiled ruefully. ‘I can’t hide anything from you, can I? I don’t know, Father. There are so many difficulties now. He doesn’t know that I’m a doctor or anything about what happened. I haven’t told anyone, not even Helen. And there’s this terrible war, the danger. Everything is so uncertain.’

‘Amy,’ he said, ‘I have always been so proud of you, you know that. But I have often wondered whether there wasn’t something missing from your life.’

‘I know what you’re going to say,’ she said.

‘Marriage, Amy. Someone to love you and take care of you and perhaps one day the blessing of children.’

‘I don’t need anyone to take care of me….’ she began.

‘I’m talking about someone to share your life with,’ he said. ‘I’m talking about love, Amy. To love someone and for them to love you back. Someone to rely on and help you through all the difficulties that can come along. It adds so much to your life.’

‘Surely it’s not the time, Father,’ she said. ‘What’s the point of letting yourself love someone when you know’ – she paused for a moment, distressed – ‘when you know they might very well die.’

‘I lost your mother, Amy,’ he said, ‘but I still have that; I still have her love. I wouldn’t have missed it for the world.’

‘I’ve never needed it,’ she said. ‘I’ve found my career to be enough, everything I ever wanted. It’s been all absorbing. I’ve never needed anything else.’

He smiled and patted her hand. ‘When you do need it, you’ll know,’ he said. ‘Loving someone like that is a positive, living thing. It could even make you a better doctor, more understanding, more deeply aware of your patients’ feelings. Don’t be afraid of it, dear. Love is never wasted.’

She put her head on his shoulder and burst into tears, crying at last for so many things that were lost.

On Sunday a telegram arrived:
Wednesday? Will collect you from home at ten-thirty. Wrap up very warm. Johnny
. She telegraphed back:
Yes, Amy
.

‘Do you mind, Father?’ she asked. ‘Seeing that I’m leaving on Friday?’

‘I’m delighted,’ he said, smiling.

‘Father,’ she said, ‘stop matchmaking. He’s just a friend, a grateful patient.’

‘Of course, dear,’ he said, but he was still smiling.

Over dinner she said, ‘Father, you do remember that he will call you Mr Osborne, don’t you?’

He sighed. ‘I’d forgotten about that. I wish we didn’t have to have all this subterfuge. Can’t you just tell him?’

She shook her head. ‘No, dear, certainly not yet. And you mustn’t say anything. Please.’

He patted her hand. ‘Of course not, Amy, if you don’t want me to.’

What does he mean by wrap up warm? She was going through her clothes again. She had a thick skirt, stockings and boots, a thick coat, scarf and gloves. Perhaps he was thinking of a long walk. She wished he had been a bit more explicit.

She was ready at a quarter past ten. The doorbell rang. Mrs Jones went to open it and Amy followed her into the hall. Johnny was muffled up in a greatcoat and scarf. He unwound the scarf and grinned at her.

‘Ready?’

‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Where are we going?’

‘It’s a surprise.’

Amy’s father came into the hall. ‘Father,’ she said. ‘This is Lieutenant Maddox.’ They shook hands. ‘How do you do, sir,’ Johnny said.

‘Where are you off to,’ her father asked, ‘all bundled up like that?’

‘It’s a surprise,’ he said. ‘But I’ll take good care of her.’

‘Did you come in a cab?’ her father said.

‘No, sir. I have a car outside, a two-seater AC.’

Her father smiled. ‘No wonder you need to wrap up.’

‘It’s a lovely day,’ Johnny said. ‘A bit cold, but the sun is shining.’

Johnny helped her into the car and they set off. He had put up the hood but it was still draughty and cold. ‘We’re going to a little place called Beddington,’ he said. ‘Not too far away; near Croydon.’

‘And what is so special about Beddington?’ she asked.

‘You’ll see when we get there.’

They drove through the countryside in bright, cold sunshine, the trees bare of leaves and patches of snow here and there. She looked around her. Even in winter England was beautiful, orderly and
peaceful
; no trenches, no guns, no noise. The drive was a delight, well worth wrapping up for. She had no idea why they were going to Beddington. As far as she could recall she had never heard of it.

They turned into what looked to Amy to be a long empty field and they bumped across the grass. At the far end of the field stood an
aeroplane
. A young man in uniform was walking around it, examining it, touching it here and there, kicking at the tyres.

‘It’s an Avro,’ Johnny said. ‘Isn’t it great? It’s a two-seater trainer. And there’s Jim.’ They drove down the field.

She turned to him, astonished and excited. ‘An aeroplane! And who’s Jim?’

He grinned. ‘A very good friend of mine. He’s borrowed it for an hour or two.’ He parked the car and helped her out and they walked towards the plane.

Jim came to meet them. He grinned. ‘Here you are,’ he said. ‘I’ve done an external check and she’s running like a bird. No more than an hour, Johnny. I’ve got to get it back or they’ll start looking for me.’ He smiled at Amy. ‘Have a good time.’

She stared at Johnny, her mouth open.

‘I want to show you,’ he said. ‘I want to show you how splendid it
is. Will you come?’

‘Yes,’ she said, her eyes shining. ‘Oh, yes.’

Jim handed her a close-fitting helmet. ‘Put this on instead of your hat.’

They helped her into the front cockpit, showing her where to put her feet so as not to damage the fabric of the plane, and then Johnny climbed into the rear.

Jim pulled away the chocks. The engine started, roaring in her ears. They began to race over the grass, bumping a little; then there were no more bumps, just a serene smoothness, the earth falling away. She
realized
that she was holding her breath and let it out in a sigh of pleasure and excitement. The cold wind blew into her face, or the little of it that was exposed after she had wrapped her scarf around it, up to her eyes, following Johnny’s instructions.