Beauty Chorus, The (18 page)

‘You’ll get used to it.’ White Waltham was closing up for the night, and they were the last aircraft in. Jim offered her a cigarette as they walked towards the offices.

Stella shook her head. ‘No thanks. Any news about Amy?’

Jim paused, his lighter flaring in the half light. ‘I don’t think we’ll ever really know what happened,’ he said quietly. He held the door open for Stella as they walked
in. ‘It’s funny. Sometimes I get the feeling she’s still around.’

‘You don’t strike me as the superstitious type.’

‘Most pilots are. Spend enough time in the air and your mind starts to play tricks on you.’

Stella laughed. ‘You should talk to Evie. She’s convinced she’s got a guardian angel.’

‘Lucky girl. Pilots have always believed in cockpit gremlins. Sometimes they fiddle around with your gauges, sometimes the good ones blow a hole in the cloud cover to get you safely
home.’

‘Stella!’ Megan raced over to them. ‘Did you hear? Evie got her wings,’ she said as Jim walked away.

‘Good for her.’ Stella handed her signed chits in to the office.

‘I’m that nervous. What if I don’t get mine? I couldn’t bear it if you and Evie are flying and I’m not. My test’s in the morning, and I’ve got so much
to learn tonight. Evie says she’ll help me, mind, but she’s going out with Teddy and she won’t be back till late …’

Stella tuned out Megan’s voice as they walked towards the mess. Every bone in her body ached. All she wanted now was a searingly hot bath, and sleep.

‘Oh, I almost forgot.’ Megan pulled an airmail letter from her pocket. ‘This came for you this morning. It’s from Singapore.’

Stella stared wordlessly at the envelope in her hand. She recognised her mother’s handwriting.

‘Aren’t you going to open it?’ Megan said. ‘The stamps are lovely. Can I have them to send to my da? You know, he’s got a lovely collection he has, stamps from all
over the world.’

‘How on earth would I know that?’ Stella stuffed the envelope into the pocket of her Sidcot suit.

Megan bit her lip. ‘Don’t be like that, Stella, I only meant—’

‘For God’s sake will you stop going on at me? Chat, chat, chat,’ Stella mimed, her fingers snapping like a jaw. ‘Don’t you ever stop talking?’ She dumped her
parachute by the door to the Ladies, and pushed her way in.

Alone in the cloakroom, Stella unzipped her flying jacket and let it fall to the floor. She ran a steaming basin of water, leaning against the edge. While it filled, she raised
her head wearily, and wiped away the condensation on the mirror. Her skin was pale, and her eyes were sunken with dark rings beneath them
. I hardly recognise myself
, she thought.

She remembered lying on the cool lawn outside her parents’ house the night she met Richard, gazing up at the endless velvet black tropical sky with him. Her hand was tanned against the
white cotton sleeve of her dress as she pointed out the constellations. There were voices on the veranda, the sounds of a party in full swing. She knew her mother would be watching her like a hawk,
but she didn’t care. The handsome Squadron Leader had asked her to dance – her! – when there were so many pretty girls he could have chosen. They had danced all night. She had
jasmine in her hair, and as they lay beside the pool, stars sparkled on the water, paper lanterns swayed gently in the breeze. He hadn’t kissed her that night, though she had wanted him
to.

She looked down at the rippling water, turned the tap off. Stella could hear people leaving for the night outside, the sounds of doors slamming, engines fading away across the airfield. In the
silence, the tap dripped rhythmically, echoing around the empty cloakroom. Stella ran her fingers through her hair, and wondered what her mother would think of the short, platinum bob.
Mummy
always loved my long hair
, she thought.
So did Richard.
As she looked at herself, she remembered the night she had taken the shears from her sewing table and hacked her hair off, her
waist-length golden curls tumbling onto the white tiled floor. The buzz of the cicadas in the long grass beyond her bedroom window had seemed to intensify; her skin had been slick with sweat.

Stella’s gaze fell to the floor. The muddy tiles beneath her boots made her anxious. She thought of her little house, how clean it had been when she left. How many sleepless nights had she
spent polishing and tidying, patting cushions that did not need plumping into shape? She felt far from home, utterly alone. Stella fought to control herself, to suppress the anguish that tightened
at her throat like a hand. She rolled up her sleeves, plunged her hands into the hot water and held them there. As the chill began to leave them, she raised her hands to her face, wiped her lips,
tried to rub some colour into her cheeks.

What does Michael see when he looks at me?
She thought. She wondered if she could trust him. Perhaps she could talk to him, confide in him. She tried to imagine telling him everything.
How could she explain this bleak feeling to someone as happy-go-lucky as him? Sometimes she felt as if she were at the end of a dark tunnel, utterly alone, the emptiness pressing in on her. It took
all her strength just to get up in the morning and face another day, not to give in to the crushing loneliness.
I don’t want to spoil it. He’s the first person who has made me feel
normal in a long time.
As she thought of their conversations about painting, their jokes about their shared experiences of childhood, she smiled. They were like bright moments in the
relentless, dark days. With him, she felt like her old self. Her friendship with Michael gave her hope.

Talking to him about Singapore helped her feel less homesick. As she scrubbed her hands, she thought of all she missed. She remembered the maid podding beans on the steps of the house, tossing
empty shells to the earth, a gecko scuttling away. She longed for the searing colour of the place, for the bustle of Arab Street, where she had bought iridescent silks for their bedroom and muslin
for nursery drapes. Her mouth was parched. What she wouldn’t give for a gin and tonic – ice chinking, lemon, bubbles fizzing. She remembered her honeymoon night then, the chatter of the
mynah birds in Raffles and the crunch of peanut shells underfoot in the hotel bar, how they had imagined Somerset Maugham holding court in the corner as she laughed and chatted with Richard. She
remembered walking hand in hand with him through the shaded colonnades to their room, the cerise orchids of her bouquet vivid against the white silk of her dress.

Her hands were still cold, and her feet felt like ice. She sat on the bench and dried her fingers, rubbing them again and again until her skin was completely clean and bright pink. Stella closed
her eyes, the towel falling to her lap. She tried to summon the energy to move, but she could have slept where she sat. She remembered how, when David’s whooping cough had looked as if it was
turning into pneumonia, and he had been rushed to the Mission Hospital, she had looked at the neat rows of beds with their clean white sheets and wished she could curl up beside him. She had wished
that someone would take care of her too. She had wished that she could sleep.

‘Sweet dreams, sunny Jim,’ she had said as she kissed her sleeping baby one last time, breathing in the scent of him. That was what Richard said to him every night as they tucked him
in. Sweet dreams, sunny Jim. She closed her eyes tight, fighting the tears, the longing to hold him to her.
He’s better off without me
, she told herself.
He’ll be safer
there.

Stella felt the envelope in her pocket crinkle as she shifted, resting her head against the wall. Reluctantly, she pulled it out, and slit it open with her thumbnail.

‘Stella,’ the letter began.
No ‘Dear Stella’, or ‘Darling’
, she thought. ‘We are very worried about you. Richard’s parents sent a telegram
to let us know that David is safe. What on earth do you think you are doing? Have you lost your senses? Richard says …’

The cloakroom door opened, and Megan poked her head around. Stella stuffed the letter in her pocket.

‘I’m going,’ Megan said in a small voice. ‘Bill Harben’s giving me a lift.’

As she looked at the hurt expression in Megan’s eyes, Stella felt like she had kicked a puppy. ‘As long as he hasn’t got that ruddy cheetah in the car, I’ll come with
you.’ Stella forced herself to her feet, and put her arm around her friend. ‘Sorry.’

‘I didn’t mean to—’

‘Let’s get home.’ Stella picked up her leather jacket and slung it over her shoulder. ‘Is Evie really going on a date with Teddy?’

‘I know! She must be bonkers.’

Bonkers. Maybe I am
, Stella thought. As they walked out across the airfield to Harben’s car, her mother’s words looped unnervingly around her mind.
Have you lost your
senses?

17

Evie paused at the top of the stairs, her fingertips resting on the brass banister as she gazed across the nightclub. Through the haze of smoke, she caught Teddy’s eye.
He was seated alone at a table for two near the dance floor, a pool of rosy light spilling from the red-shaded lamp beside him. As he stood and adjusted his bow tie, Evie walked down the plush red
carpeted steps, a jazz melody and the scent of hot bodies, cheap perfume and stale cigarettes rising to meet her.

‘Here we go,’ she said under her breath. She had regretted taking Teddy up on his offer the moment she had cooled off on the drive home, but she was determined to go through with the
date. The heels of her satin evening shoes tapped on the parquet as she walked towards him.

‘Miss Chase.’ Teddy took her arm as he pulled back the chair for her. His eyes were bright and hopeful. ‘Evie.’

‘Thank you, Teddy,’ she said, perching on the edge of her seat, her back ramrod straight.

He settled comfortably on the chair opposite, crossed his leg towards her. Evie inched away. ‘It’s quite jolly tonight,’ she said, gazing out across the shadowy figures on the
dance floor.

‘Rather more intimate than the Riviera.’ Teddy clicked his fingers towards the white-jacketed waiter. ‘Of course, not what you’re used to I imagine?’

Evie pursed her lips as he beckoned impatiently at the waiter. She wished people would stop making assumptions about her. It wasn’t as if she spent every night at the
400. This was a rare night out these days, and she was determined to enjoy herself. She looked at Teddy, and tried to ignore the overbearing way he was talking to the waiter.
Maybe he’s
nervous
, she thought. Leo had always told her you can find something good in anyone you meet. She decided to give Teddy a chance. He’d certainly made an effort – his evening shirt
was immaculate, and it looked as if he’d had a haircut.
In this light, he’s almost handsome.
She thought about the conversation with Stella she’d had that evening.

‘Teddy? Good looking? If you like that kind of thing,’ Stella had said to her as she was getting ready. ‘Not my cup of tea.’

‘Mine neither, really.’ Evie frowned as she checked her reflection in the mirror.

Stella glanced up from the magazine she was flicking through on Evie’s bed. ‘So why on earth are you going out with him?’

‘Looks aren’t everything. Anyway, it’s complicated.’ Evie rifled through her jewellery box. ‘It might be fun. Teddy’s perfectly charming, and I haven’t
been out dancing for ages.’ She clipped a diamanté cuff around the long black velvet sleeve of her dress. ‘There. What do you think?’

‘It’s a bit …’ Stella hesitated. ‘Well, you’re very welcome to borrow the frock, but it’s rather funereal for you.’

‘Don’t want to give Teddy too much encouragement, do I?’ Evie winked at her as she walked to the door.

‘I doubt he’ll need any,’ Stella murmured as she returned to her magazine.

‘Finally!’ Teddy barked. ‘It would be quicker if I fetched the menus myself.’

Evie was jolted back to the moment.

‘Will you be dining with us tonight, sir?’ The waiter offered Evie a menu.

‘I’m really not very—’ she began.

‘Yes.’ Teddy waved the menus away. ‘The lamb is excellent,’ he said to Evie. ‘We’ll have the lamb. Make sure it’s well done.’

Evie bit her lip and reached for her cigarettes.
Not a good start
, she thought.

‘A bottle of champagne perhaps?’ the waiter ventured. His eyes were stony as he smiled at Teddy.

‘Champagne? On a first date?’ He laughed a little too hard. ‘I don’t think so. Bally rip-off, I’ve seen your prices. And it’s an early start in the
morning.’ Teddy glanced at Evie. ‘Unless …’

Evie noticed his hand had unconsciously slipped to his wallet. ‘I’d love a glass actually.’

‘Would you like to see the list, sir? Just to check the—’

‘No, that’s perfectly alright.’ Evie smiled at the waiter. ‘The house champagne will be fine.’

‘And I’d like another beer.’ Teddy glared after him as he walked away. ‘Don’t know where they get these chaps. Still, don’t suppose they can find the staff
with all the decent men away fighting,’ he said loudly.

Evie glanced at the empty pint glass on the table. She wondered how many beers he had already had before she arrived. ‘So, Teddy,’ she said. ‘Tell me about yourself.’

He leant towards her. ‘What would you like to know?’

‘Well, what do you like to do when you’re not working?’ Evie turned away, pretending to look at the dancing couples. She was finding the conversation hard work. ‘I love
to dance, do you?’

‘I would ask you,’ he said, ‘but I’m not much cop with this old thing.’ He tapped his leg.

‘How did your accident happen? Were you in combat?’

Teddy fiddled with his cutlery. ‘Don’t really like to discuss it, if you don’t mind.’

‘Of course.’ Evie thought of her conversation with Beau about the stress pilots endured in dogfights. ‘I quite understand. It was insensitive of me.’ She patted
Teddy’s hand, pulling hers away just as he reached for her. ‘Oh good, our drinks,’ she said brightly as the waiter placed a flute of champagne beside her. ‘Thank you.’
She raised her glass to Teddy. ‘Cheers.’

‘Bottoms up.’ He drank quickly, and the glass was half empty by the time he put it down. ‘Congratulations—’ He broke off to belch, covering his mouth with the back
of his hand. ‘Excuse me. Better out than in, as Mother says.’