Beauty Chorus, The (41 page)

‘Why didn’t you let me know you were coming?’

‘I didn’t know myself. I only had a few hours between flights.’

‘You mean you have to go?’ She stepped back.

‘I’ll come again as soon as I can. This is just a bonus. At least I’ve seen you, and we had a good ride.’ He ran his hand over the smooth, firm flank of the horse.

‘That makes one of us.’

‘Don’t sulk. I hear you flew your first Spit today. How was it?’

Evie leant back against the manger. ‘It was incredible. I said to Stella it was better than sex.’

Beau leant in to her, trapping her with his arms. ‘Really? And how would you know?’ He kissed her, nudged her legs open with his knee, pulled her to him hard and insistent.

‘Do you have to go?’ she asked breathlessly.

‘I do, I’m late already. You always were distracting.’

Evie bit her lip. ‘I don’t want to rush this, do you?’

He shook his head as he pulled on his shirt. ‘I promise, I’ll be back soon.’ He kissed her one last time, crushing her lips beneath his.

She leant against the door of the stable, watching him disappear into the darkness. It was a full moon, and the stars carpeted the heavens. ‘Where do you go, Beau? Where do you go?’
she murmured as she raised her eyes to the clear sky.

44

Evie landed the Lysander Mk III at Tangmere, and as the ground crew waved her in she taxied to a halt near the hangar. While the engine stilled, she took some deep breaths and
released her Sutton harness.

‘Have a good flight, Miss?’ the engineer asked as he jumped up into the cockpit.

‘Yes thank you, but I’m glad to be here. These black Lizzies give me the spooks. What are they for anyway?’

‘Can’t say I know, Miss. They go out at night, must be something hush-hush.’ He tapped the side of his nose.

After gathering up her maps and flight bag, Evie slung her parachute over her shoulder and strolled into the Watch Office. ‘Hello,’ she said, ‘are you the
Duty Pilot?’ A harassed, pale man looked up from a stack of paperwork, his pipe clenched between his teeth.

‘For my sins. Would you like your chit signed?’

‘Yes please.’

‘Are you the pilot picking up a Spitfire for No. 6 Pool?’

‘Yes.’ Evie glanced at her papers. ‘I’ve got a Spit to Ratcliffe and an Airspeed Courier back to No. 1. Do you think I have time for a cup of tea?’

‘I’d get a move on if I was you.’ He handed back her slip of paper. ‘Sir Lindsay is very hospitable. If you get there in time for lunch I don’t doubt he’ll
ask you in for a bite to eat.’

Evie was parched. She stopped off in the mess for a glass of water, and as she walked in, a dog bounded over to her.

‘Ace? Is that you?’ She went down on one knee to fuss him. ‘Where’s your master?’

‘Are you looking for Beau?’ One of the officers looked up.

‘Yes, is he here?’

‘Afraid not. I’m dog-sitting for him. We were expecting him back hours ago but still no sign of him.’

A chill ran through Evie. She hadn’t heard from Beau for weeks, and had no idea about the work he was doing. When the officer saw the expression on her face, he sauntered over.

‘I shouldn’t worry,’ he said kindly. ‘He is one of the finest pilots I’ve flown with.’ He offered Evie his hand as she stood and shifted the weight of her
parachute. ‘Are you with the ATA?’

‘Yes I am.’

‘One of the Spitfire girls,’ he said, smiling. ‘Can I give Beau a message when he shows his face?’

‘Would you mind telling him Evie sends her regards?’

‘Not at all. How do you find the old Spits?’

‘Tremendous fun. I haven’t had one for a while. The last one had to go for repairs at Vickers in Castle Bromwich, so I’m looking forward to today.’

‘Well, there’s nothing wrong with the kite out there as far as I know.’

The tannoy crackled into life: ‘Spitfire ready for Second Officer Chase’.

‘I must go,’ she said. ‘Good to meet you.’

‘Oh, I say, your pocket is undone.’

Evie looked down to see her silver compact sticking out of the top pocket of her Sidcot suit.

‘I’d keep an eye on that. We had one of your girls deliver a Spit the other day and the whole bally cockpit was full of powder. Turns out she’d tried a few aerobatics on the way over and her compact slipped out, went shooting round the canopy.
Lovely girl, she looked just like a clown when she stepped out.’

As Evie waited for take-off, the slipstream from the Spitfire’s exhausts flattened the grass on the airfield, rivulets of moisture coursing down the wing.
‘Remember, girls’
, Pauline’s words came back to her,
‘neatness and precision, safety and punctuality. No stunts or gallantry.’

‘We’ll see about that,’ Evie said under her breath as she thundered up the runway. The Spitfire was doing 200 mph by the time Evie cleared the hedge, and she put it into a
steep climb, the cowling blanking out the horizon.

She exhaled as the plane soared into the clear skies. It was an azure blue photo-reconnaissance Spitfire, and as she looked out of the canopy the sheen of the wings against the sky thrilled her.
It was hard to tell where the sky began and the plane ended. The roar of the engine reverberated around her heart, and as she steered the plane onto course, her blood sang.

You can’t do a damn thing to help Beau
, she told herself
. There’s no point worrying. Buck up.
As she levelled out, the Merlin engine thrummed. To distract herself from
thinking about him, she began to sing ‘Blue Skies’ at the top of her voice as she tooled along.

Evie’s Spitfire roared across the open skies towards Leicestershire. She checked her maps for balloon barrages and gun placements, then as she relaxed a familiar feeling of unreality
settled on her. The warm sun through the canopy and the white-noise rush of the air lulled her into a state of calmness. ‘No dawdling in the sky,’ she mimicked the flight
instructor’s voice. ‘Keep a good speed.’ She checked her instruments and bearings occasionally, in a contented daze. Suddenly, glancing in her rear-view mirror, she spotted
something dark not far behind. Her heart raced. It was following her.

‘Oh God,’ she whispered. All the stories about the Luftwaffe targeting the ATA came back to her. Her mouth went dry. ‘Right, you bastard,’ she said. ‘Let’s
see if you can keep up with this …’

Evie threw the plane into a steep climb. She looked behind her. Was it a Messerschmidt? She screwed up her eyes trying to make it out.
Whatever the hell it is, it’s on my tail.
First she tried to outrun the other plane, but it kept up with her every move. She accidentally put the Spit into a high-speed stall. With a half flick, she kicked it out of the spin. She did a
loop-the-loop, zooming along upside down for as long as she could bear it. Still it followed.
‘No aerobatics …’ Sorry, Pauline
, she thought. Evie began to taste real fear.
‘Come on, guardian angel,’ she said under her breath as she righted herself, powering closer to No. 6 Pool. She craned around to get a better look at the aircraft following her. It was
still exactly the same distance away, close behind her. ‘What the …?’ Evie squinted.

As she realised what had happened, she began to laugh. She reached back and wiped a speck of dirt from inside the canopy.
You stooge
, she thought.
Fancy mistaking a spot of mud for a
Messerschmidt. This isn’t one I’ll be shooting a line about.

As she entered the Ratcliffe circuit, she checked her instruments.
Right
, she said to herself, trying to calm her racing heart.
Slow up, propeller in fine pitch, over the fence at 70
… There, perfect three-pointer.
Within a few hundred feet she rolled to a stop, and taxied over to the waiting crew.

Evie threw back the canopy and pulled off her helmet.

‘Nice landing, Miss,’ the Duty Pilot said as she handed him her chit.

‘Thank you. There’s your new toy. Careful how you handle her.’ Evie took her slip of paper. ‘You might want to get the erks to clean the canopy.’

Evie lit a cigarette as she walked out onto the airfield.

‘I say.’ A smartly dressed man in tweeds waved at her. ‘Super landing.’ He shook her hand. ‘I’m Lindsay Everard. Do you fancy a spot of lunch before your next
flight? Your VIP passengers aren’t quite ready.’

‘Who am I taking?’

He tapped the side of his nose. ‘Wait and see my dear.’

45

Ratcliffe Hall was a hive of activity, and the genial atmosphere felt to Evie more like a pre-war aeronautical club than a ferry pool. ATA and RAF pilots sat together at a long
table for lunch with the Everard family. Evie found a spare seat next to some American pilots.

‘What’s all this?’ she asked, looking at the pumpkins in the centre of the table and the paintings of skeletons and bats hanging from the walls.

‘Halloween, ma’am,’ the young pilot said. ‘We’re having a little party tonight, shame you can’t stay.’

‘Gosh, I’ve never heard of it.’

‘It’s big back in the States,’ he said as he handed her a plate with a generous slice of game pie. ‘Sir Lindsay and his family are really neat, they’ve made us feel
right at home. They’re even fattening up a turkey for Thanksgiving.’

Evie glanced up the table to where Sir Lindsay sat. There were a couple of empty spaces at his side and she guessed they must be for her VIP passengers.

‘This seems like a good pool,’ she said.

‘It’s a blast.’ He laughed. ‘One of your guys from White Waltham was down here the other day. Stewart? Nice guy. We had Lady Astor and George Bernard Shaw for dinner that
night too.’ He helped himself to a spoonful of mashed potatoes. ‘Yeah, they’re a nice family. We help out around the place too. A few of us have been picking apples and pears,
helping store them for the winter …’

The butler, Smart, opened the door as the young pilot talked on, and Evie looked up. A senior RAF officer strode in and joined Sir Lindsay at the head of the table. As he turned to usher the
final guest to the table, her mouth fell open.

‘That’s not …’ Her eyes widened as a portly man with thinning grey hair settled down next to Sir Lindsay and tucked into his pie.

‘Sure looks like Churchill, don’t it?’ the young pilot said. ‘Who knows. He’s got plenty of doubles around the place.’

‘I know, but that’s uncanny.’ Evie finished her pie. ‘We’ve got at chap at White Waltham, Norman Shelley. He’s an actor, and he’s always dashing off to
do Churchill’s broadcasts for him. Honestly, when he puts on that voice, you wouldn’t know the difference.’

As the lunch party broke up, Evie shook Sir Lindsay’s hand. ‘Thank you very much. That was delicious.’

‘Good show. You must come again.’ He glanced over to the RAF officer, who nodded. ‘Looks like your passengers are ready now, Miss Chase. Hope you have an uneventful
journey.’

‘One of the girls, I see,’ Churchill said to the RAF official. His voice was unmistakable. ‘Hope we’re in for a smooth flight.’

As Evie piloted the Airspeed Courier back to White Waltham, she tried not to swivel her head around to get a better look at her passengers.
It can’t be him, can
it?
she thought.

The light was beginning to fade and the weather was closing in by the time she spotted familiar scenery beneath her. Just as she was beginning to relax, she caught sight of something on her
starboard side. She glanced up. The RAF officer had spotted it too, but Churchill was deep in thought with his eyes closed. Evie’s stomach lurched as the distinctive silver spiral of a tracer
bullet shot past them. She craned her neck and looked up. ‘Damn, a Messerschmidt, and it’s tracking us,’ she whispered. It was so close she could see the dark cross on the
fuselage and the swastika on the tail.

That’s no speck on the canopy this time. Think, Evie, think
, she told herself calmly.
There’s no way I can outrun or outmanoeuvre him in this old thing.
She took a deep
breath as another tracer whizzed past.
What’s he doing all the way over here? Hopefully he’s low on fuel and won’t hang around too long
. She looked up. There was a thick
bank of cloud above.
It’s our only chance.
She swallowed hard and pulled the Courier up into a steep climb. As she glanced behind, the Me110 was following.

They entered the clouds, candyfloss wisps flying past the cockpit window.

‘You may want to strap yourselves in, gentlemen,’ she said to her passengers. As they flew into dense cloud, the plane shuddered and the world went white. Evie checked her
instruments and maps and calculated their position.

The RAF officer leant forward. ‘Is everything alright?’

‘Yes sir, I know we’re not supposed to fly in cloud, but I think it’s our best chance, don’t you?’

‘Do you have an instrument rating?’

‘Yes, sir.’
Well, as good as
, she thought.

‘Jolly good. Carry on.’ He leant back in his seat and looked at Churchill, who still had his eyes closed.

Please, God, let this work
, Evie thought as she levelled out in the cloud. As she calmed down and the familiar sense of having someone flying at her side came upon her, she recalled
Beau’s words from the afternoon on the beach:
‘Straighten up. Pilots almost never fly straight into cloud. Remember the last spot on the map and your height, add a bit, turn 180
degrees and descend slowly.’
She started to turn around, praying she wouldn’t come face to face with the Me110. As she descended, she remembered Beau’s final words on the
subject:
‘Think. Everything will be telling you that it’s wrong, that your instruments are off, but trust the facts, not your instinct.’

She guided the Airspeed Courier out of the cloud, and exhaled with relief as she spotted Shottesbrooke Church below her. There was no sign of the German plane. ‘Thank you,’ she
whispered. Evie entered the circuit, and landed the plane safely just as dusk was falling.

Churchill stepped out onto the runway. ‘Thank you, Miss Chase, an excellent landing.’ He shook her hand and was escorted to the waiting car.

The RAF official paused to pull on his gloves. ‘Good bit of flying there, my dear. He almost had us. I couldn’t have done better myself.’