Spitfire Girls (59 page)

‘I'm supposed to be doing an exclusive on the Negro boy, Carnaby,' he responded. ‘So far I've found an empty barracks and not found an army lawyer who apparently has battle fatigue. Who the hell are you, anyway?'

‘These are Flight Captains Delia Seifert, Barbara Newman and Edith Allam,' Buxton announced, smiling.

‘God Almighty,' shouted Eddie, ‘you're the great Edith herself! I didn't recognize you in the uniform. Flight Captains – well, I'll be damned! That's a news story if ever I heard one. Holy shit.'

There was an embarrassed silence as Charlie exchanged pained looks with the two English girls.

Decent as Eddie was, Edith did not want the intrusion of a New York radio station, in search of sensation, at a time when Barbara Newman was spearheading the most
delicate amateur negotiation ever undertaken by a close unit of ATA friends. Originally, Barbara had wanted to use the information Anthony had divulged to her regarding the whereabouts of Sarah Truman to coax his lordship into acknowledging his heroic son. Indeed, the information Anthony had extracted from Kranz on the Isle of Man regarding cells of Resistance workers had already been communicated to Sir Henry Cobb in his search for Annabel, but Barbara wanted Truman to give something in return. Eventually she had had to abandon the scheme because a war demanding a 365-day year from ATA pilots had intervened.

Now, Edith had agreed to accompany Barbara on a visit to Lady Truman, with Anthony and Delia in tow. Edith had begun her own crusade to secure the release of Zuki and Raine from internment, their talents now sorely needed by Bomber Command. Edith knew that amongst British and American military scientists there was great interest in the advanced technological expertise stored inside the brains of German fliers.

Though Raine had had peripheral experience of rocketry in comparison with Anke Reitsch, her exposure to the inner Reich would be useful.

Regarding her familiarity with new kinds of aerial photography, linked to heat rays, she had been interrogated when she first arrived in Britain but the remainder of her knowledge had lain dormant in the stupidity of incarceration. Zuki too was supremely talented and it was believed he could be compelled to work – under tight supervision – for the Allies. Edith doubted either German would betray the Fatherland, but it had become apparent to her in recent
weeks that Kranz and Grunberg had carved deep impressions into their hearts and had turned the pair well away from Nazism …

‘Everywhere I go I meet Yanks,' Eddie said, unable to take his eyes off the highly ranked American aviatrix.

‘It is a form of invasion,' Delia said glumly, ‘but long overdue.'

‘May I interview you two girls?' he pressed cheerfully.

‘We are not allowed to talk to the press,' Delia growled. She did not like this owl-like little man.

‘Maybe after you have seen Errol,' Edith said tactfully, ‘you could come down to Hamble and see what we do. So far in this war ATA has transported nearly 16,000 Spitfires and Seafires alone. Has anybody seen Errol, by the way?'

‘He has gone to entertain some local children,' said Buxton.

‘Do you know this coloured boy?' Eddie asked sharply.

‘They're both Philadelphians,' Barbara said, smiling broadly. ‘End of story.' Retreating, the three women saluted and Charlie Buxton winked, the warm sun baking into the quiet, sandy pathway – far away from bombs and cruel slaughter.

‘I'll be keeping track of you,' Eddie sang as the attractive trio walked briskly down the path towards the Truman estate.

Waiting along the main road was Anthony Seifert. Nervous and hot, he was relieved to see the girls emerging.

‘Where is Errol?' he asked as they approached.

‘He's entertaining kids in the village,' Edith said nonchalantly. She knew she would have to wait until nightfall to see him.

‘This mission ought not to be undertaken without Errol,' Anthony moaned.

‘Perhaps it's a blessing in disguise,' Delia said, as they headed towards the mansion. ‘We want her to be surprised and pleased to meet his lordship's rightful heir, and I could never see why Errol's presence would have helped.'

‘He relaxes her,' Edith said quietly.

‘Don't let's forget this whole production was my idea!' chimed Barbara.

They had reached the long entrance pathway leading up to the house and Edith felt giddy and ill-prepared for the imminent meeting, an event she had been anticipating with fascination and dread for days. Planning the first meeting had involved Valerie Cobb herself, the Head of ATA having allowed Anthony time away from the crucial Halifax transports to accumulate courage for the meeting. Involving herself in the Truman affair had salvaged Valerie from despair; all her girls had been relieved when her seemingly inconsolable grief for Shirley had at last begun to ease as she became embroiled in the layers of the scandal.

‘We should have brought old Aunt Valerie along,' remarked Edith, staring at the neglected structure that once had teemed with servants.

‘She's too busy rehabilitating Friedrich Kranz in secret,' said Delia. ‘At this rate he'll soon be a Commanding Officer.'

All four pilots shared the same thoughts as they walked on: Kranz had risen through the ranks of ATA with staggering speed, Sir Henry having had to cave in on his demand that Valerie be banned from Friedrich's presence after Balfour had recommended that the Austrian be allowed to
manufacture in Britain. It had transpired that Kranz had known for two years the whereabouts of Valerie's sister, but his hatred of Sir Henry had sidelined his goodwill and he had kept the information to himself. Now, he had chosen to reveal the data and a search party had been despatched to Spain. Within a day of his revelations, Kranz was awarded a contract to make aeroplanes in Norfolk, and his elation at the ire of Sir Henry Cobb, when the prototype bomber was named the ‘Valerie', thrilled Kranz so much that he became insanely drunk for the first time in his life.

Valerie the woman, sadly, had decided with steely determination to lock physical involvement with Kranz out of her life for the duration of war, leaving her lover bewildered and deeply frustrated. Both had thrown themselves into their work, Valerie never allowing Friedrich more than two minutes of her time even when his eyes pleaded for the renewed consummation without which he felt he might go mad.

Had Shirley in fact meant more to his mistress than anyone had suspected?

Kranz had asked himself this question on the day the ‘Valerie' aircraft was unveiled in the presence of Commodore d'Erlanger, when the woman after whom the magnificent bomber had been named had not attended. Still, her ATA boys and girls loved their head lady, who had been made an MBE in the New Year Honours …

‘Barbara would do anything for me,' blurted Anthony Seifert as the group of fliers neared the Truman residence.

‘They call it love, I think,' said Edith, grinning.

‘Shut up, you lot,' said Barbara, her voice beginning to shake from the onset of nerves.

Stopping to stare at the mansion that could soon be his own, Anthony fingered the wings on his uniform and lamented the deformity, a scoliosis, that had excluded him from the regular RAF. It was only during the Errol Carnaby trial that Lord Truman's physical handicap had come to light, his wife's alienation a result of his inadequacy. At once Anthony had pitied the man and hated him as well.

‘Time to go in, kids,' murmured Edith. ‘Let's hope that radio guy hasn't followed us.'

They walked slowly but purposefully toward the house where Lady Truman was spending another afternoon in solitude. Waiting for the time when Errol would resume his visits she fought off images of her husband's hideously deformed ghost, a spectre that would not stop crying for the daughter he had lost and the crippled son he could have embraced.

Errol could not deny the overwhelming feelings of envy he had experienced when in the canteen the group of white airmen had recounted tales of heroic skirmishes in gleaming fighter aircraft. One of the men had described the disaster that had befallen an RAF base at which all arriving aircraft, delivered by the ATA, had punctured tyres. Eventually it was discovered that a convoy of dump trucks had deposited a huge covering of dirt over the runway, the load filled with forks, knives and nails. Much speculation led to the conclusion that the lorry drivers were Germans hired from the camps …

RAF men spent an afternoon attempting to sift the metal sabotage from the dirt load, but eventually a giant magnet had to be dragged over the runway …

In the village, teachers were fascinated by the black GI who was a Blake scholar and today Errol had been invited to talk to a small group of children who seemed safe from death in the remote rural setting. Errol had walked a short distance from the base but was ordered back by an agitated Frank Malone, who escorted him to the white canteen. Astonished to be allowed into these hallowed premises, Errol remained standing, but a small group of airmen invited him to sit at their wooden table. Talk of Defiants and of Mustangs distracted him but after an hour he was beside himself at the prospect of disappointing the schoolchildren in the village. He became even more alarmed when Malone entered the canteen and summoned him with a greasy finger.

Outside the compound, Errol and his guardian moved to the rear of the canteen, where a group of boys in civilian clothes hovered amongst potato peelings and other catering detritus. Dreading the possibility of a day's secondment to kitchen duty, Errol scowled at Malone but dared not speak – he knew the combustion point of the ex cop and chose to reserve his passion for a positive activity; perhaps this evening he might be able to see Edith alone at last.

Pushed to the stinking garbage heap that festered on the edge of high grass, Errol was bewildered by the disinterest of the quiet congregation of young men. With Malone keeping a close watch on his every movement, Errol sat down on a small pail and waited for orders.

At nightfall he was allowed to rise from the pail, elated that Malone had disappeared and flattered when the friendly hand of a white cook came to rest on his shoulder.

Had this been a dream?

Another hand, and still another, helped Errol make his way in the twilight and he felt moved by the warmth emanating from the men's touch. Soon he would be with Edith, he told himself. He walked on with the young men clinging, and in their company Errol thought of Jerusalem and as darkness descended he felt at one with Albion.

‘Money has not been able to save the lives of those Jews in the death camps,' Anthony Seifert said harshly.

‘You have none of your own,' said Lady Truman, ‘and I would be hard pressed to believe you want your title without an allowance.'

‘Anthony has enough to live on,' Delia offered, her trousered legs crossed across the edge of the late earl's favourite chair.

Her ladyship had been astonished by the forthright conversation pouring from the mouths of the four pilots. They had described the love affairs of numerous members of the ATA, and suggested morals had changed since the First War. She had objected that morals were nonexistent in flying circles, or so she had heard, but her words petered out as the memory of Errol came flooding into her aging but still restless loins.

‘ATA has sent a party to rescue Sarah, your daughter,' Barbara announced. ‘One of our immoral ladies, Angelique Florian, went out to Spain over a year ago on a similar mission sanctioned by Captain Balfour. She flew off to find her brothers, who I believe knew your daughter very well. Angelique was heavily pregnant at the time, by the way.'

Something about Barbara's tone made Lady Truman laugh.

‘We are a fertile bunch,' Delia remarked, wondering how Alec's Marion was coping with the child and with a ferrying
workload doubled by Delia's absence from her ATA pool. ‘My colleague Marion Harborne had her baby on the day ATA ferried some eight hundred and seventy aircraft in twenty-four hours.'

Voices droned on as Lady Truman continued to debate the issue of Anthony's right to his title, lamenting the absence of her solicitor. Her three female guests had a sharp comprehension of the law and she wanted the ordeal to end. She had begun to like the boy, who reminded her so much of the man she knew Errol Carnaby had set out to murder.

Delia had begun to tire, and she closed her eyes as the others pursued the debate. Marion was now a permanent member of the Seifert household, her unbearable personal tragedy having rocked ATA for months and having jolted Delia's father into a period of alertness and generosity. Half-listening to the voices in the Truman drawing room, Delia reflected that no-one in ATA – not even Noel Slater – had been unaffected by the events of April 1943, when Alec Harborne volunteered to transport Hamilton Slade from Hatfield to the Canadian Hospital at Taplow. On the return journey via Prestwick, where medical supplies were collected, Alec had manoeuvred his Anson through appalling weather conditions, something he had done so miraculously on previous occasions. On this mission, however, his luck expired. Somewhere above the Irish Sea, in low cloud and precipitation that merged into a cold and horrible morass, the Anson plunged into oblivion with Alec and his accomplice, Dame Dazzle, lost to eternity.

Delia would never be able to erase from her memory the sound of Marion's cries when the pregnant woman's
second fright in the space of three days – the crash of two Wellingtons having been her first – was confirmed as truth in the form of a telegram. Marion's sobs had torn into Delia, their poignancy all the more searing because the couple had had such a terrible argument before his last Anson trip. One by one, each member of the Seifert family read and reread Marion's telegram, its coarse and jagged type detailing the valour of her husband's last mission …

‘How on earth could a child have the right sort of upbringing with a pilot for a mother?' Lady Truman demanded of Edith Allam.