Beneath Us the Stars (9 page)

She didn’t want to take it. Urgent messages more often than not meant bad news.

But she did.

It took seconds for the message to sink in.

The fog got even thicker at dusk; the train crawled through the deep, dark night, frequently stopping for long intervals. At last, some one and a half hours late it trundled into the dimly lit station and squealed to a halt.

Bill got out, doors slammed. He made his way with a host of dark, dispirited shapes into the damp, freezing booking-hall with its wooden floor and smell of coal-gas.

As he shuffled forward in the crowd for the exit he caught sight of a figure in the corner, sitting on a wooden bench, wrapped in a coat with a high collar.

Mary saw him at the same time. She flew into his arms as he dropped his bag, and they hung on to each other, saying nothing as the crowd bumped and stumbled past. Eventually the number of passengers dwindled until they were alone. At last their lips met.

A piercing whistle and a blast of steam heralded the departure of the train on the way north.

She snuggled into his chest as, still wrapped in each other’s arms, they left the station, walking into the swirling fog as the sound of the engine, it’s smoke exhausting in great chuffs, laboured away unseen into the night. It was so dark it was as if they were the only people in the world.

Mary said: ‘Darling, I can’t believe it.’

‘Neither can I.’ He held on to her tightly. ‘For once the Met people really fouled up.’ He hesitated, then asked: ‘There is no way we can get to the cottage, is there?’

He felt her shake her head.

‘Impossible.’

‘Oh.’ His disappointment was obvious.

She squeezed him. ‘Don’t worry. You can come and stay
in my room.’

Bill was shocked. ‘You mean – at your digs?’

She chuckled. ‘No, you dafty – I couldn’t see Mrs Chick allowing that.’

‘Where, then?’

She grinned unseen in the dark against his chest, and said mischievously: ‘I’ve got us a room.’

Bill stopped in his tracks.

‘Hell, where?’

She kept her face down as she replied: ‘A colleague has a flat she’s not using. Lucky isn’t it?’

She didn’t mention the fact that she’d positively bribed the woman to move out for the night, by volunteering to do her next two nights of fire-watching up on the cold roof of the college.

Anyway, the woman darned well knew why she needed it; apparently she had somebody herself.

The flat was nearer the station than the city centre. It was in a converted Edwardian town house.

Mary led the way into the communal hall with its grand staircase, and opened the first door on the right – the old drawing-room. Everywhere was cold and musty.

The front half was now the high-ceilinged sitting-room. A partition made the rear portion into a bedroom and a small kitchenette.

He dropped his bag and looked around.

‘Where’s the bathroom?’

‘Down the hall – behind the stairs.’

He grimaced. ‘I need to freshen up.’

Mary opened the kitchenette door, looked at the
old-fashioned
gas-cooker and the wooden meat-safe. ‘Do you want anything to eat?’

Bill paused. ‘Hell, I don’t want to put you to any bother, just a snack if there is anything. I was on that darned train for hours.’

‘Right, I’ll see what we’ve got.’

Mary kept her coat on, bending to light the gas-fire in the sitting-room first. It sat in the middle of a massive oak
fireplace
, with brass shell-casings from the Great War standing at either end of the large mantelpiece.

It lit with a ‘plop’ and blazed up the bars, at first without emitting any heat whatsoever. The kitchenette was so cold that she filled the kettle and brought it back to the fireplace. In the hearth was a ring, which she lit, then placed the kettle on it.

The only food she could find was some sorry-looking apples, a couple of potatoes, a jar of home-made jam and a surprisingly large amount of butter in a dish in the meat safe. The bread-bin revealed a half-loaf and some crumpets.

When Bill returned he found her before the fire, coat off, wielding a large fork with a crumpet on its prongs, toasting before the bubbling gas-flames.

He looked down at her, at her slender legs curled close together at her side, her other arm supporting her weight on the floor. Her dress, draped around her lithe body, had ridden up above her knees.

Bill hunkered down, held her chin and gently lifted her mouth to his. When they parted, he took the fork from her other hand and laid it down.

Mary stood up before him, crossed her arms, took hold
of the hem of her dress and pulled it over her head.

He watched as her slim figure, dressed in a white
petticoat
, stretched out above him.

Bill slumped to his knees, and placed his hands on her legs, ran them up, beyond the top of her stockings, on to the smooth skin of her thighs to the lacy edge of her knickers.

He drew them down to her knees, where they fluttered under their own weight to the floor. She stepped quickly out of them as Bill drew her to him, arms wrapped around her bottom, head on her belly whilst she ran her hands through his hair.

They stayed like that for some time before he drew back, gently lifted the hem of her petticoat and lightly kissed the soft skin of her belly, brushing his lips lower, reaching the fine hair that grew there.

Mary’s breathing became ragged. She pulled suddenly away and sank to the floor. Bill dropped his pants and shorts as she put a cushion under her hips and freed her breasts.

She held up her arms and he sank down on her.

Their physical hunger after their separation drove them to a sudden frenzy.

Mary wrapped her arms around his neck and clasped her legs behind his back as he penetrated deeper than ever before, his cold testicles battering at her skin as he rutted like an animal that knew its only hope of mortality in a dangerous world was through this woman.

When it was finished they fell violently apart, Bill
gasping
for air, Mary rolling on to her face, bare bottom exposed, breasts hot against the cold floor.

She had never before felt so alive.

Eventually Bill crawled to her, pulled her on to him and kissed her plastered hair, stroking it gently, tenderly, out of her eyes.

‘I’m sorry.’

She put her finger to his lips,

‘Shush, don’t spoil it. You’re a beast, my beast, and I love you.’

She got around at last to buttering the crumpets and spreading home-made strawberry jam from the WI on the tops. Two mugs of steaming hot tea completed their little supper.

Taking a deep breath Bill told her about the CO’s refusal, and his petition to Wing Headquarters.

Mary sat back on her legs, soles of her feet sticking out behind her, both hands cupping her mug. Anxiously she asked: ‘What happens if they don’t give you permission, Bill?’

He shook his head. ‘We’ll find a way, don’t you worry, and in any case after the war nothing can stop us.’

He paused, realized that that sounded so far away, and added: ‘The move to France means I don’t think it will be long now before it’s all over, but we might not be able to see so much of each other for a while.’ He wished he hadn’t added that, though it needed to be said.

They lapsed into a miserable silence, broken only by the wireless, tuned low to the American Forces service. It was coming from the Granada Theatre in Bedford.

In the winter of 1944 there was, for many servicemen and women, in the music of Glenn Miller and the Band of the
AEF a sort of hope, a glimpse of an ordinary life beyond the war: a magic spell born from the mouths of the golden saxophones and waving trombones, the steady resonance of the double basses, and the soft unstraining voices of the singers; it was timeless magic, and yet so much
of
their time.

After a while she whispered: ‘I’m not a scientist, thank God. There is no conception of love in the physicist’s universe.’

She raised herself and leant over him. Her head was framed in the faint light of the window, her hair hung down to touch his face. ‘What is the point of our creation if this is all there is? Life for me is an interlude in a spiritual existence that was there before and will be after this life on earth. Should anything happen – we’ll never be separated now –
ever
.’

Bill was taken unawares by her sudden seriousness, but then she was, after all, a ‘bluestocking’ as she called it, used no doubt to intellectual debate at the university about such matters.

He pulled her gently down to him and rocked her
soothingly
.

‘No, we won’t, will we. But I’ll be all right darling – trust me. It’s not as bad as you think.’ Could she detect anything in his voice? In truth he wondered how long he could take it, how long he would be
around
to take it.

They slept at last, held in each other’s arms.

Slept, as the sperm and the egg fused, the complete and final ‘union’ of their bodies; slept – while a new life grew in size and strength inside her, whilst thousands died in the
ruins of ancient and once noble cities of Europe.

The Nazi empire was beginning, ever more rapidly, to crumble.

Sleep was still with them when in the warm dark morning bed they made love again, side by side, tenderly, equally, quietly, except for the melodic accompaniment of the springs of the old bed, which left them helpless with
laughter
when the seriousness of the business was done.

The crept like naughty children to the shared bathroom beneath the stairs, the giant wall-mounted copper geyser making noises that frankly scared him to death, made him fearful that an explosion was imminent.

Mary teased him. ‘Don’t you have these in that
wonderful
US of A you are always on about?’

He looked at her in disbelief. ‘You got to be kidding. Looks like something the RAF boys drop over Berlin.’

Laughing and joking, they were sitting together in the bath, washing each other when someone tried the door handle several times.

Frozen, Mary called out: ‘I won’t be long.’

Bill added in an artificially deep voice: ‘Just my back to do.’

They sniggered childish giggles as they heard a woman’s voice say: ‘Well, really,’ and footsteps recede down the passage.

Dried, they donned the dressing-gowns found in the flat – both female. Mary was in a plain yellow towelling, Bill in a fetching pink silk affair with ruffles and feathers.

Creeping along, they were just at their doorway
congratulating
themselves on not being seen when they became aware of an elderly, military-looking gentleman, morning newspaper under his arm, a fierce eye behind his monocle, staring at them. He suddenly roared out: ‘Damn Yankee pervert. Don’t you know there’s a war on?’

It was too much. Roaring with laughter they ran in and closed the door chanting: ‘Don’t you know there’s a war on?’

In the bedroom Mary said, suggestively: ‘The old boy is right – you do look very nice.’

He fluttered his eyes at her.

They made love yet again, a newly liberated Mary on top.

The fog was still about, but visibility was increasing. He called the operations room. All pilots had to be back on base by 2100 hours that evening.

The weather was expected to continue to improve and, with all planes in the squadron returned, offensive action was going to resume next day.

They had lunch in a British Restaurant. Something he’d never heard of, called shepherd’s pie, with semolina as dessert, was being served.

He looked around at the wartime crowds, women in turbans and overalls, workers, clerks, shop-assistants, all queuing at the self-service counter, pushing their trays obediently along, not stopping as dollops of food on plates were pushed out by hairnetted women behind the banging, shouting, supply point. Tea was dispensed from huge metal kettles – whole rows of mugs were filled as the girl
traversed them, pouring without stopping. Sing-along music blared out from loudspeakers.

‘Why on earth did we come here?’ he grumbled.

She grimaced. ‘Best place for a square meal if you want it quickly. We can go to a pub later.’

He did as he was told, sitting in a corner, trying to look as inconspicuous as possible as Mary queued for both of them. Later, in an old Victorian pub with opaque glass windows, which was situated on a corner, they sat opposite each other in a booth. Mary sipped her drink, steeled herself ‘Bill – we need to talk.’

‘Darling, I know.’

For the moment that seemed to silence them both.

At last Bill relented. ‘I’m asking one of the padres and the adjutant to have your address.’ He shot out his hand to cover hers as her face began to crumple.

‘Darling – darling – listen – it could be anything. But you want somebody to tell you what’s happening, don’t you?’

Miserably, fighting back the tears, she nodded. Between sniffs she managed:

‘Of course. I’m being silly. Forgive me.’

Bill frowned, hung his head.

‘Anyway – that’s what I’ll do, and my parents – this is their address.’ He opened his billfold, took out a card and gave it to her. ‘I’m writing to tell them all about you, how we’re going to be married as soon as possible – that I want them to look upon you as family right away.’

In the beginning their parting was almost matter-of-fact, both pretending to the other that everything was just fine.
Bill said not to come to the station, but that was a step too far for Mary.

They walked slowly through an afternoon of gathering gloom, but the fog was nearly all gone. When it came time to say goodbye, they lingered so long, couldn’t bear to part, that he nearly missed the train, had to run for it when the guard’s shrill whistle got through to his senses.

She watched from the ticket-inspector’s gate as he took the footbridge stairs two at a time. The carriages jerked, began to move as his face appeared at a window.

The ticket-inspector, seeing her misery, flicked his head. ‘Come and stand through here.’

‘Thank you.’ She moved on to the platform opposite as Bill dropped the window.

‘Take care,’ she called.

‘I will,’ he answered. ‘
I love you.
’

But before she could respond the ground shook as the great clanking bulk of a freight train going in the opposite direction obscured all view of him.

By the time the fifteen low-loaders, each with a new tank on board, had ground past, the brake van finally hissing away into the night, his train had gone, the track opposite was empty.

Only the last section of it was still in sight as it
disappeared
around a bend, the red tail-light eventually extinguished from view.