Beauty Chorus, The (22 page)

Evie glanced up at him. ‘Promise?’

He kissed her. ‘Promise.’

They talked through the night, Evie curled up in the soft, creaking old bed, and Jack nearby on the sofa. They shared their hopes and dreams, everything they longed to see and
do when the war was over.

‘I can’t wait for you to meet my folks. They’ll love you,’ he said sleepily. ‘Mom always wanted a daughter, and none of my brothers have married yet.’

Evie propped her head on her hand. ‘How many do you have again?’

‘Three. I’m the youngest.’

‘It’s funny, isn’t it? We’ll both be twenty-one this year.’

‘I’m still older than you.’

‘Just.’

Jack reached out to her, their fingertips touched. ‘I’m going to build us a house, Evie. There’s a patch of land I’ve had my eye on my whole life. I’m going to give
you and our kids—’

‘Steady on!’ Evie smiled. ‘We’re not even married yet.’

‘I want girls just as cute as you.’

‘Cute? You really don’t know me well yet. They’ll be monstrous little tomboys if they’re anything like me.’

‘We’ll be so happy, Evie. It’s going to be the best adventure of our lives. After this damn war is over, we’re going to travel, see the world together.’ He yawned,
let her hand fall. ‘All I want is to take you home.’ As Jack’s words washed over her in the darkness, she must have fallen asleep, because when she woke at dawn, he was lying on
his side breathing peacefully.

Evie propped herself up on her arm, watching him sleep. She tried to imagine waking up next to him every morning for the rest of her life, and smiled. Images of a white clapboard house came to
her mind. She pictured herself sitting beside Jack on a swing seat on the porch, watching a troop of children running wild and free across green fields, running home. Evie thought of Jack’s
parents, his warm, gentle mother, how his eyes filled with love when he spoke of her. It was everything she had ever wanted – a family, a home of her own.

Jack’s eyes flickered gently beneath their lids as he slept. Evie didn’t want to miss a moment, she didn’t want the dawn to come. She wished they could stay together like this
forever.

‘No,’ he murmured in his sleep. His face contorted, fists clenched. ‘Hell,’ he thrashed out.

‘Hey,’ she said softly. She slipped out of bed and padded over. She touched his face. ‘Jack, wake up. It’s only a dream. Jack …’

His eyes blinked open sleepily, but he was breathing hard. As he came round, he turned to her. ‘Hi, beautiful.’ He brushed her cheek with his fingertips. ‘I’m sorry, did
I wake you?’

‘No, I was awake. You were dreaming,’ she murmured sleepily, as she curled up on the floor beside him, laid her head against his chest.

‘I was flying,’ he said, his voice low and broken. ‘Damn Jerries all over the place.’ He stroked her hair.

‘It was only a dream.’

Jack straightened her cap for her, his eyes dancing as he saluted. He offered her his arm, and they walked in companionable silence to the base.

‘No luck with this one, Jack,’ Taff called out to them. Tools lay scattered around the fuselage of the Magister. ‘Your Spit is all ready to go though.’

‘Thanks, Taff,’ Jack said. He turned to Evie. ‘Thing is with a Hurricane you know where you are, its strength is all inside. With my little Spitty, her skin’s all part of
the strength. I thought it might have to go back to Vickers but I trust Taff.’ Jack looked around. The base was quiet, only ground crew milling about. ‘Why don’t you get yourself
a coffee while I get changed?’

She waited in the mess, watching an endless stream of aircraft taking off and landing. Jack reappeared in his flight suit with two other men and a pretty brunette WAAF.
‘Guys, this is Evie Chase, my girl,’ he said proudly. ‘Listen, we’ve got to go up and do some manoeuvres. Have you ever been in a Spitfire?’

‘A Spitfire?’ Evie’s eyes widened. ‘No, but I’d love to …’ She thought for a moment. ‘But how? They’re single-seaters and I can’t fly
one myself yet.’

‘Come on.’ Jack took her hand. ‘I’m going to slip you in my pocket.’ He led her to the hangar where the blue-nosed Spitfire was waiting for him, and checked the
coast was clear. Jack clambered into the cockpit and beckoned for her to join him.

Evie ran her hand across the sensuous curve of the wing. ‘You’re mad! I’m not flying in this with you.’ She glanced over to see the young WAAF squeezing into the plane
next door with Jack’s friend. The cockpit was tight, barely shoulder width. ‘Is it safe?’

‘Sure. You’re only little, and I’ve seen guys do this before.’

Evie shook her head. ‘No, you’re officially bonkers. I’m going to sit this one out, chaps.’

Jack signalled to Taff. ‘Miss Chase doesn’t fancy taking her chances with me this morning. Would you mind giving her a ride up to the bridge? I’m planning a little fly past for
her.’ Evie looked at him curiously as he fastened his helmet. ‘Listen, I’m going to make you a little bet. If this is the best damn Spitfire flying you’ve ever seen, you are
going to say yes to me. Deal?’

Evie heard the power surge through the plane. It made the hairs stand up on the back of her neck. As Jack began to move forward, she yelled, ‘Deal!’

It was a gin-clear day, blue skies stretching out to sea. The three men put the planes through their paces, skimming above the water. They turned, headed along the estuary.
Taff pulled up in a pub car park overlooking the river, and Evie clambered off the motorbike.

‘Oh … I know what he’s going to do,’ Taff said, watching the aircraft swoop low over the water.

‘What?’ Evie looked at the Severn Railway Bridge just ahead. ‘No! He wouldn’t!’

‘I heard so many pilots have done this there’s a policeman permanently stationed in the beer garden up here taking down numbers,’ Taff shouted above the noise of their engines.
‘Let’s hope for their sakes he’s not on duty so early.’

Evie’s eyes widened as the planes got closer to the bridge. ‘They’ll never make it!’

‘Well, they say there’s thirty feet less clearance at high tide,’ Taff teased her. ‘Do you reckon they’ll get lucky?’

The three Spitfires came abreast, and Jack looked from left to right as each pilot gave the thumbs up. They descended low over the water.

‘They’re crazy!’ Evie shouted, breathless with fear and excitement. The planes sped closer, each pilot choosing his span.

From his cockpit Jack peered down at the riverside, checking Evie was there. ‘I’m crazy for you, Evie,’ he yelled. He didn’t care that she couldn’t possibly hear
him. ‘Marry me!’

‘Surely they’re not going to!’ she exclaimed to Taff as they dropped even lower.

Jack levelled his wings as the piers of the bridge drew closer. ‘Marry me!’

‘No!’ she said under her breath. ‘They’ll never make it, Taff.’

Jack let out a whoop of pure joy, and the Spitfires skimmed under the bridge at 300 mph, wingtips almost touching the spans as the incredulous faces of passengers on the London train looked down
from the bridge above.

When they landed, Evie and Taff were waiting for them. Jack’s friend checked there were no senior officers around, and his girl jumped out onto the runway.

‘That was incredible!’ She laughed, loosening her hair. ‘You should have come!’ she said to Evie. ‘You don’t know what you missed.’

Jack’s plane taxied over and he leapt out. ‘Well? What do you think?’

‘Yes,’ Evie said.

‘Yes?’

She wrapped her arms around him, kissed him full on the lips. ‘I’m saying yes.’

Jack’s face creased into a delighted smile, and he pulled the ring box from his pocket. He went down on one knee, and offered the sapphire to her. As she smiled and he slipped the ring
onto her finger, a cheer went up in the hangar.

Taff walked over, wiping his hands on an oily rag. ‘Congratulations,’ he said. ‘Well, Miss, looks like you’re all set for takeoff. Just as well, your pool’s been on
the line.’

‘Really?’ She couldn’t hide her disappointment.

‘Hey,’ Jack kissed her forehead. ‘A few weeks, that’s all. I’m going to be up at White Waltham every chance I get from now on.’

20

Stella stretched out on the threadbare Persian rug, the coal fire warming her toes. A Chopin nocturne played softly on the gramophone as the wind rattled the sash windows, and
the spring rain fell outside.

‘Here we are,’ Michael said as he carried over a stack of books. He sat beside her on the floor and flicked through the pages. ‘This is what I was talking about. Look how
Turner builds the washes and glazes.’ He placed a reproduction of a luminous watercolour in front of Stella.

‘It’s beautiful,’ she said as she swirled her paintbrush in the jam jar of water at her side. Paints and sketchbooks lay scattered around them. ‘I don’t think
I’ll ever really master it.’

‘Of course you will.’ He turned to her, smiling.

Stella reached for her watercolour block, stroked the soft brush across the paper, soaking it with water. She chose a finer brush, circled the tip in a rosy block of pigment. ‘I’m so
glad I bumped into you this afternoon. I was at a bit of a loose end.’

‘Where were you going?’ Michael watched as she began to build up the colours of a sunset in transparent layers. ‘You were soaked to the skin.’

‘I just felt like walking.’ Stella hesitated, her brush poised over the paper. ‘Don’t you ever feel like that?’

‘All the time.’ He looked up at her. ‘Sometimes I get so fed up, stuck here listening to parishioners’ problems—’

Stella blinked, looked away. ‘It must be awfully tiresome.’ She was glad she hadn’t bothered him with how she had been feeling.

‘Not really.’ Michael laid his arm back against the old leather Chesterfield sofa, traced the smooth indentation of a button with his finger. ‘I enjoy helping people. I just
wish I could do more. I’m thinking of signing up.’

‘No.’ She turned quickly to him. ‘You can’t …’ Stella bit her lip.

‘I wouldn’t fight, of course,’ he said. ‘You know how I feel about that. But as a chaplain, perhaps I could really do some good.’

Stella hated the thought of him anywhere near the front line. ‘I think you’re being a great help to people right where you are. So many families have been torn apart by this damn
war.’

‘Have you heard from yours?’

‘Sorry?’

‘Your parents – I wondered if you had heard from them?’

Stella shook her head. ‘Not for a while. I had a letter from Mother.’

‘How did they take it, when you decided to join the ATA?’

She hesitated. ‘I didn’t tell them,’ she said quietly as she swirled her brush in the water.

Michael’s eyes widened. ‘You didn’t tell them?’

‘No. After Richard …’ She twisted the gold band on her ring finger. ‘I booked a passage for me and David, and just left.’

‘They must have been worried sick.’ Michael saw her hand was shaking and took it gently in his. ‘Stella, what happened?’

She blinked, looked towards the fire. ‘Do you know what Mother said, in her letter? “Have you lost your senses?” Sometimes, I think … maybe I have.’ She tried to
laugh it off, but Michael’s face was full of concern as she turned to him.

‘It will get easier,’ he said. ‘I’ve seen so many young women who have lost their husbands. Grief can take months, years to work its course. It’s perfectly normal
to feel very blue, very angry.’

‘Angry?’ Stella thought for a moment. ‘I haven’t felt angry, not at all. I don’t feel …’ She struggled to put into words the relentless darkness she
carried with her. ‘I can’t imagine feeling normal ever again.’

‘You will,’ he said kindly. ‘You’ll start again.’

‘Who would even look at me? I’m such a frightful mess, and I’ve a young baby.’

Michael glanced down at his hand, holding hers. ‘You are—’ He was interrupted by a knock on the door. ‘Come in.’

‘Brought your tea, Mr Forsyth,’ the housekeeper said as she bustled in. She laid a tray on the coffee table, the cups clattering. Her mouth twisted as she looked at Stella.
‘There’s no cake, I’m afraid, but I put an extra bag in the pot as you have company.’

‘Thank you, Mrs Biggs.’

‘Would you like me to tidy up in here now, sir, or would I be disturbing you?’

Stella sensed the woman’s disapproval, and she stood, smoothing down her skirt. She turned away from her, pretended to scan the books on the shelves.

‘No, that’s perfectly alright,’ Michael said. ‘If you’ve done the other rooms you can finish for today. I left your money under the tea caddy.’

‘Thank you, Mr Forsyth.’ She patted her hair, her gaze directed towards where Stella stood looking at a painting on the wall.

‘No, thank
you
, Mrs Biggs,’ he said pointedly. The housekeeper left, muttering under her breath. As the door closed, Michael laughed. ‘You must excuse my
housekeeper,’ he said to Stella. ‘She’s remarkable. Sometimes she has entire conversations with herself. She’s a good cleaner, but she’d take over my whole life if she
had the chance.’ He poured a cup of tea and carried it over to Stella. ‘She doesn’t like it when I have company.’

She took the cup from him. ‘Thank you.’ As he stood close to her, Stella caught the clean, citrus scent of eau de cologne. ‘Do you entertain many young women then?’ She
turned to look at the painting again.

‘Only beautiful pilots who need rescuing from rainstorms.’

The heat rose in her cheeks. ‘This is lovely. Is it a Spencer?’

‘Yes.’

‘I recognise his work from the book you lent me.’

‘Did you enjoy it?’

‘Very much. I’ve been meaning to give it back to you at church.’

‘You know you can drop in anytime, don’t you?’ Michael smiled as she turned to him. ‘I’m always here if you would like to talk. It really does help.’

Stella hesitated. She wanted so desperately to tell him everything.

‘That’s what I’m here for,’ he went on. ‘That’s my job.’

Sometimes I get so fed up, stuck here listening to parishioners’ problems.
Stella glanced at the window as she thought of his words. Bright sunlight broke through the slate grey
clouds, sparkled on the fresh leaves shifting in the breeze. ‘Of course it is, and you’re very good at it. I feel so much better.’