Bluebirds (12 page)

He'd come into the Orderly Room one day to collect something and had stood staring at her so hard that she'd felt herself going red. She'd kept busy with some forms and hoped he'd go away but when she looked up again he was still there, and still staring.

‘Where've you sprung from?' he'd asked. ‘I've never seen you before.'

She'd gone on with her work. ‘I've just started in here.'

‘Well, don't you go away again,' he'd said. ‘Because I'll be back.'

After that he was always appearing in the Orderly Room on some flimsy excuse. He'd hang around talking to her, even though she did her best to ignore him. He was small and dark and spoke with a sing-song Welsh accent that she sometimes found hard to understand. They called him Taffy, of course, but she'd no idea what his real name was. He'd soon discovered hers, though. And before
long he'd asked her to go to the pictures with him. She'd refused.

‘Why not?'

‘I'm engaged.'

‘What's that got to do with it? I'm only asking you to come to the flicks.'

He'd gone on and on asking, and she'd gone on and on refusing. His greenish-grey eyes followed her all the time.

‘You may as well give in, Winnie. I shan't give up.'

Once he'd been waiting for her outside. He'd fallen into step beside her.

‘Where're you off to in such a hurry then, Winnie?'

‘Back to the Mess.'

‘Is that all? I thought you were going to put a fire out or something.'

He'd caught hold of her arm to slow her down but she'd shaken herself free and had run ahead to catch up with two other WAAFS. Safe with them, she'd glanced back quickly to see him still standing there, staring after her.

Winnie pulled the blankets almost over her head. She must stop worrying about Taffy Jones. Stop thinking about him at all. Tomorrow she'd finish the letter and post it to Ken.

‘I'm awfully busy, Speedy.'

‘You can't be busy all the time. Even WAAFS have time off for good behaviour. And you've been behaving jolly well. How about tomorrow? Or the next day? Or next week, if you insist on keeping me waiting?'

Speedy Dutton was sitting on the corner of Felicity's desk. He was wearing a red, white and blue check scarf round his neck and twirled his battered cap round and round on his forefinger. It was one of his frequent visits to her office since they had met at the squadron party. He would breeze in with George his brindle bull terrier in tow. He smiled at her now and the bull terrier wagged his tail. They both looked at her encouragingly. Expectantly.

‘Tomorrow evening, then?'

‘Well . . .' She sighed.

The cap stopped. ‘That's settled then. Isn't it, George? She's seen sense at last.'

He collected her in a bright red MG sports car which bore signs of wear and tear. There was a large dent in one wing and the front bumper was tied on with string.

‘Bit of a bone-shaker, the old girl, but she'll get us there and back, never fear. Stand by for take off. Contact! Chocks away!'

They roared out of the main gates and through the village. Felicity grabbed the door handle as they swung round a corner. The wind was blowing through a hole in the hood and there was another blast of freezing air somewhere near her right foot. Speedy whistled happily in the dark and spun the wheel again.

‘Don't worry. I know this road like the back of my hand.'

‘Do you fly as recklessly as you drive?'

‘Rather! Terrific show-offs, us fighter chaps, as you've no doubt discovered.'

‘I had noticed – yes.'

As he had promised, he took her to the Old Ship. The pub was down on the harbour front of a small sailing village about fifteen miles away. As she clambered out of the car she smelled the salt and seaweed and could make out the tilted shapes of boats in the moonlight, lying on the low tide mud below.

Inside the pub there were blackened beams and a huge log fire. And Speedy's cosy little corners.

He raised his beer mug to her. ‘To your excellent health, Company Assistant Newman. And your blue eyes. Has anyone ever told you how beautiful they are?'

‘As a matter of fact, they have. And I didn't take any notice of them either.'

He grinned. ‘You haven't told me yet what someone like you is doing in the Women's Watsit. Why on earth did you join it?'

‘Actually, I didn't join the WAAF. I joined the ATS. The WAAF didn't even exist then. I'd just come down and I was at a bit of a loose end so –'

‘Come down?'

‘From Cambridge.'

He whistled. ‘I say, pretty impressive! What were you doing there?'

‘Reading English.'

‘Thank God it wasn't Greek. I'd feel no end of a dunce. I once met a girl at a party who could speak Ancient Greek fluently. Kept spouting it at me. Jolly off-putting. She was a pretty girl, too. Look, I still don't see why you went and joined the ATS in the first place.'

She sipped some sherry. ‘Well, it seemed obvious there was going to be a war sooner or later, and there was nothing else I had in mind to do . . .'

‘So you went and donned the khaki? I bet you looked good in that too. Then what happened?'

‘After a bit some of us were attached to the RAF and it sort of grew from there. We weren't even full time at first. We just drilled once a week and went to lectures, and I learned to drive a lorry. I got my commission just before war broke out.'

‘Good for you.'

‘Not really. It was just a fluke. There weren't many of us and I suppose they were pretty keen to find officers. They asked me the oddest things at my Commission Board – like what would I do if I was shipwrecked on a desert island?'

‘Rum sort of question for the Air Force – not as though you were joining the Navy. What did you say?'

‘I said I'd build a raft and sail away. Something like that. Actually, I wouldn't have a clue how to do any such thing.'

‘No point in telling them that.' He beamed at her. ‘None of their business.'

‘Why did
you
join the RAF?'

‘I nearly didn't. The old man wanted me to join the Navy. He was very keen on that.'

‘Is he in it?'

‘The old man? No, he's a sawbones. GP in Southampton. We live there and we've always had boats and done a fair bit of sailing. I think he thought I'd have a head start, knowing port from starboard.'

‘So, why didn't you?'

‘Decided I'd have a shot at flying for a change. It's something I'd always wanted to do. Besides, there's nothing like it for impressing the girls, you know. They think you're no end of a fine fellow if you've got these.' He tapped the wings on his chest.

‘Really?'

‘Really. Drink that up and have the other half. Then we'll have a slap-up dinner.'

He ordered a bottle of wine with their meal and kept topping up her glass. She put her hand over it.

‘You're not trying to get me tipsy, I hope, Flying Officer Dutton?'

‘Certainly not, Company Assistant Newman. Nothing was further from my thoughts. Shocking bad form! Just a drop more?'

‘All right. Just a drop.'

He tipped up the bottle with a flourish. ‘Let us have wine and women, mirth and laughter, sermons and soda water the day after. No disrespect to your old man, of course.'

‘I didn't know poetry was your line, Speedy.'

‘I wouldn't say that. The only poem I can recite all the way through is
Tiger, Tiger Burning Bright
. The thing is, Snodgrass, our English wallah at school was very partial to the stuff. Had a quote for every occasion.'

‘
Snodgrass
? I don't believe he was really called that.'

‘Cross my heart, it's true. Cuthbert Snodgrass was his name. Terrific sense of humour, as a matter of fact. Looked as dry as an old stick, but he'd come
out with some killing things. Who said that about wine and women, by the way? Jolly sensible, whoever it was.'

‘Byron said it. It's from
Don Juan
.'

‘Ah, that explains it. Both those bods knew a thing or two, didn't they?'

They left the pub at closing time and walked along the quayside, guided by the light of the moon and the stars. There were boatsheds and some buildings at the end of the quay.

‘Sailing Club,' Speedy told her. ‘Not a bad place, actually. I came here a lot last summer and crewed for old Whitters. He's got his own tub, lucky blighter. When this show's over I've decided I'm going to earn a fortune charming housewives into buying encyclopedias and then I'm going to buy a thirty footer and sail round the world.'

‘A tall ship and a star to steer her by?'

‘I say, Snodders would have approved of you no end. He was frightfully keen on Masefield. Rousing stuff, he used to say. Good thumping verse. Mind you, you'd need more than one star to steer by . . . I've always wondered about that. Plenty of them out tonight, though, twinkling away up there.'

Felicity looked up into the velvet sky. ‘The night has a thousand eyes . . .'

‘That's
just
what Snodgrass would have said.'

They stood looking out over the darkness of the harbour. The tide was coming in now, creeping silently across the mud and rocking the anchored boats. Moonlight glittered on the deep water channel beyond.

After a moment Felicity said: ‘It's so peaceful here. It's hard to believe that there's a war on.'

‘It's on all right. The Jerry U-boats are out there stooging around.'

‘But nothing's happening here – that's what makes it so hard to believe . . . no more sirens, no bombs – none of the things everybody thought would happen.'

‘Badger reckons they're just waiting for winter to finish. Jolly sensible, really. They have rotten weather over there, you know. You wait, come the spring and they'll be ready for the off.'

‘Off where?'

‘Search me. Wherever Adolf gets it in his head to go next, I suppose.'

Felicity shivered. He put an arm round her shoulders.

‘Cold?'

‘A bit. And a goose just walked over my grave.'

‘You don't want to let it do that. I never do. Say boo! and it'll go away.'

She moved firmly out of the circle of his arm. ‘It's time we were getting back.'

‘Must we?'

‘Yes, we
must
.'

In the blackness inside the car, he turned to her. ‘Do you know, I've never been out with anyone like you.'

‘Is that one of your lines?'

‘Certainly not. I mean it. I've never met a girl like you . . . clever as well as beautiful, an officer – all that sort of thing. You'll come out again, won't you? There's another wizard little place I know of –'

She said seriously: ‘I really don't think it's a good idea, Speedy.'

‘Why not? It's a splendid idea. And I swear I'll behave like an officer and a gentleman.'

‘I'm not sure you'd keep your promise.'

He said with mock injury: ‘You're speaking of my honour, Company Assistant Newman.'

‘Actually, I'm speaking of
my
honour, Flying Officer Dutton. You have a terrible reputation on the station, you know.'

‘I know,' he said modestly.

‘So, you can see that it's not a good idea at all.'

‘Tell you what, we'll take a chaperone.'

‘A chaperone?'

‘George! He'll be just the ticket. Problem solved.'

Felicity opened her mouth to say that it was by no means solved, but he had turned back to start the engine and it roared deafeningly into life. As well as other holes in various parts of the MG, there appeared to be a large one in the silencer. With sublime disregard for any sleeping village inhabitants, or for the feebleness of the shielded headlights, Speedy accelerated noisily away from the harbour. Felicity clutched at the door handle as they veered round a bend and decided to save her breath.

The three-piece band in the Sergeants' Mess was playing a tango with a syncopated thudding that made the floor vibrate. The WAAFS hovered near the door, watching the handful of couples dancing. Gloria did some sinuous, sliding steps up and down, and Pearl, doused in
Evening in Paris
, kept on smoothing the skirt of her shiny green frock over her hips. There had been a struggle previously in the hut to zip her into it. Anne, wearing the long-sleeved, grey woollen dress she had had at St Mary's for school concerts, looked round for Jimmy Shaw among the knots of RAF blue. Vera tugged at her sleeve.

‘I've never been to a dance before, Anne. What're we s-s'posed to do?' Her face was taut with anxiety. ‘I c-can't dance. I've never learned.'

‘Don't worry. Probably, none of them can either.'

Vera wrinkled her nose. ‘This place stinks of beer.'

There was no sign of Jimmy and before long Anne was swept onto the floor by a dapper little sergeant with glassy, Brylcreemed hair. He was a good two inches shorter than her and light as a feather on his feet. He spun her this way and that, tango-ing expertly round the room and finishing with a grand flourish that had her bent backwards across his arm. His name was Stan and he'd learned to dance by going regularly to the Hammersmith Palais, he told her, when she complimented him.

‘You're not so bad yourself, sweetheart. Fancy another turn?'

After Stan she danced with several other sergeants. They
quick-stepped and fox-trotted, rumba-ed and waltzed to the thudding beat of the band. The haze of cigarette smoke thickened, powerfully laced with beer fumes and wafts of cheap scent. Anne was dragged onto the floor to do the Palais Glide, the Hokey Cokey, a Paul Jones and an Excuse Me. In the middle of this dance, Jimmy Shaw tapped her partner on the shoulder to claim her.

‘I'm awfully sorry . . . I couldn't get here sooner. There was a bit of a flap on and the CO wanted to see us . . .'