Bluebirds (44 page)

‘And where would I go?'

‘A hotel, perhaps?'

‘I couldn't possibly afford that.'

‘A boarding house, then.'

‘Full of awful people.'

‘It can't be right for you to stay here. It isn't safe.'

Her mother turned the knitting and began another row. ‘I've no intention of letting the Germans drive me out of my own home, Virginia. The Government should stop them roaming about the skies all night. All those guns seem to do is to keep us awake. Can't the Royal Air Force
do
something?'

‘I think it's difficult for the fighters to see the bombers in the dark.'

‘Well, the German bombers seem to find
their
way around, all right. It's all very well for the Air Force, out in the countryside, but we civilians appear to be the main target these days. There'll be another raid tonight, you'll see.'

‘We can sleep in the shelter.'

‘I
never
go in there. It's extremely damp and it means sharing it with that woman from upstairs. That uniform doesn't seem to fit you very well, Virginia. And it looks poor quality material. Rather cheap and nasty. You never say anything in your letters about this important work you're supposed to be doing.'

‘We're not meant to tell anyone about it.'

‘How ridiculous! Your own mother! You're only a clerk, aren't you?'

‘A special sort of clerk, really.'

‘Well, it seems absurd to make such a secret of it. It can't be anything that important.'

Supper was dry, grey liver and tinned peas. Virginia listened patiently to a catalogue of complaints about food shortages, about shopkeepers who kept things under the counter, about long queues for everything and about the ATS girls billeted opposite who had no consideration for anybody.

The air raid siren began its rising and falling wail soon after they had gone to bed. Virginia went into her mother's room, but she flatly refused to go out to the Anderson shelter in the back garden. She went back to bed and lay listening uneasily to the drone of German bombers. The anti-aircraft batteries had started up and she could hear the thunderous crack of their guns and the muffled, distant explosion of their shells. Presently the heavy crump of bombs began. Sleep was impossible. She got up again, put on her dressing-gown and slippers, and pulled aside the curtains and the black-out blind.

Because the house was on a hill she could see clearly eastwards across towards the centre of London. The black mass of the city was dotted with incendiary bomb fires. Searchlights crossed and re-crossed the night sky, groping for the bombers. Their long white beams petered out in misty, cotton-wool like swabs that swept endlessly to and fro. Below, the battery guns winked and flashed, patterning the sky with small starbursts of red. An
exploding bomb sent up tongues of yellow and red and another, landing closer, produced a sudden flare of brilliant light that was probably a burning gas main. It illuminated the tall chimneys of Battersea Power Station as clearly as day. Two more explosions, coming closer still, sent her hurrying again into the next door bedroom.

‘Are you asleep, Mother?'

‘How could I be, with all this noise going on?'

‘Would you like a cup of tea?'

She made the tea and carried it through on a tray. Her mother was sitting up in bed, her lamp switched on. She had put on her bedjacket and was straightening it fussily round her shoulders.

‘Just because there's an air raid on, Virginia, it's no reason to forget to put a cloth on the tray. We must keep up standards.'

She held her cup and saucer up before her in bed and sipped delicately at the tea. Virginia sat on a chair, balancing her saucer on her lap. She listened to the crump of exploding bombs, trying to gauge their distance, and to the angry crack-crack of the Ack-Ack guns. Somewhere, among it all, she caught a sound she recognized well – the whining, shallow dive of a bomber starting its bombing run. Her mother went on sipping at her tea as though nothing were happening.

She tried to speak calmly. ‘I'm going to have a look at the cupboard under the stairs in the morning, Mother. I'm sure we could turn it into a sort of shelter for you.'

‘It's very poky and full of rubbish.'

‘I'll clear it out for you. It would be much safer than being here. I noticed that the staircase at number twenty-three was still standing.'

‘I have already told you that I intend to stay in my own bed –'

Ears pricked, like a dog, for danger, Virginia heard the warning swishing sound overhead, but before she could say anything, or move, the bomb landed with an explosion that rocked the house on its foundations
and must have been only a street away. Pictures and ornaments danced and rattled, the lamplight flickered and plaster fell like snow from the ceiling. She had a momentary glimpse of her mother, teacup frozen halfway to her lips, white dust filming her hair and the sleeves of the pink bedjacket, before there was another terrifying, ear-splitting explosion that seemed to take hold of the house and shake it violently. The light went out. She leaped to her feet and the saucer slid to the floor with a tinkling sound of breaking china.

In the darkness her mother said sharply: ‘Really, Virginia, how could you be so careless? That was my best tea set. And you can't get replacements now.'

It was several hours before the steady note of the All Clear sounded, along with the frantic jangling of fire engine bells. Virginia peered out of her bedroom window again. The sky was an unearthly ochre colour and the dull crimson glow in the east was not the dawn coming up but London burning. She closed the blackout blind, unable to bear the sight.

‘Speedy, you really shouldn't be sitting on my desk.'

‘That's no way to treat a weary hero, Titania.'

‘Well, as you have some leave now, you'll have time for a rest. Your parents will be so glad to see you. And so proud of your DFC.'

He squinted down at the ribbon on his tunic. ‘Actually, they're giving them out like sweeties now – just to keep us happy.'

‘I don't believe that. And I think it's wonderful.'

‘Thank you, Titania, for those kind words.' Speedy twirled his cap round on his forefinger. ‘After this short intermission the powers that be have dictated yet another move for our gallant little band of brothers.'

‘Where are they sending you?'

‘Bonnie Scotland. That's why I called in en route to the parents. It'll be hoots awa' in no time at all and nairy a chance then of popping over to see you. The idea is that
we put the old boots up for a bit. Rest on our ill-gotten laurels. Not much to do up there in the Frozen North, so I'm told. George is looking forward to chasing a few rabbits, though, aren't you, George?'

The bullterrier, sitting by the office door, panted happily.

‘I'm just thankful that you'll be out of it for a while.'

‘To tell the truth, so am I.' Speedy's cap came to a stop and he considered it carefully, head on one side, as it dangled from his finger. It appeared to be falling to pieces. ‘Old Whitters bought it the other day. Don't suppose you heard.'

‘Oh, Speedy,
no
. . .' Not Whitters with his toothy grin and tall stories. Not Whitters, so full of life, so amiable, so eager, so nice . . . But she knew better than to say any of this aloud, or to ask how it had happened.

Speedy was still studying his cap. ‘Yes . . . bad show, isn't it? Silly blighter should've hung on a bit longer, then he could've come up to Scotland with the rest of us. I'm popping in to see his Grandmama, as a matter of fact. The old girl's bound to be a bit chokker. Favourite grandson and all that. Good sort, old Whitters.'

‘I'm so sorry, Speedy.'

He let the cap drop into his lap. ‘Oh, well. Can't be helped. 'Tis fate that flings the dice . . . I wonder who said that.'

Felicity shook her head helplessly. ‘I've no idea.'

‘Nor've I. Must've been one of Snodders'. Dumbo's out of it, too, by the way. His kite went up in flames and he had to jump out of the window pdq. Trouble is it got stuck at first. I went to see him in hospital yesterday. They're moving him to some special burns place. Shouldn't think he'll be doing the Highland Fling just yet.'

Poor Dumbo, she thought. She had seen a badly burned pilot on the station. Poor Dumbo.

‘Moses? Sinbad?'

‘Not so dusty. Looking forward to a spot of extra shut-eye. But stay, who cometh hither?'

George had pricked up his ears and lumbered stiffly to his feet. There was the sound of heavy footsteps in the corridor outside, a brisk knock on the door, and Sergeant Beaty strode into the office. The bullterrier moved forward, his teeth bared in a snarl. Speedy clicked his fingers.

‘It's all right, old chap, you can let her pass. She's friend, not foe.'

The dog moved aside reluctantly, still showing his teeth. Speedy put on his cap and slid off the corner of the desk.

‘Come on, George, we must continue valiantly on our way.' He touched the cap in a casual salute towards Felicity. ‘Fare thee well, Section Officer Newman! And if forever, still forever, fare thee well. The Bard, I believe.'

‘Byron, actually,' she said.

‘Him again? What a fellow for words!'

He smiled at her from the door, and pulled a dreadful face at the WAAF sergeant's back as he closed it.

Felicity held out her hand for the papers, ignoring the bristling indignation on the other side of the desk.

‘Where are we going to exactly, Michal?'

He took his eyes from the empty road ahead to glance at her. ‘Is place called Hambledean, in Hampshire. The New Forest you call it. Is little village, I think.'

‘To a hotel?' The words sounded unbelievably daring to her ears.

He turned the wheel of the Wolseley. ‘No, not hotel. Something better. A little house. Cottage, you say. Is belonging to the family of a pilot I know. He tells me to use this place any time, because I have nowhere to go. He has given key and drawn map. There is no-one there. We shall be alone.' He glanced at her again. ‘You want I go back, Anne? You change your mind?'

‘No, of course not.'

‘You are sure?'

‘Quite sure.'

‘You look nervous . . . very worried.'

‘No, I'm not. Not at all.'

She sat rigidly in the passenger seat beside him. She
was
nervous, there was no use in denying it to herself. But it was a sort of nervous excitement, rather than fear, unless she counted the fear of making a complete mess of things, of being dismally inadequate. The trouble was she had no idea what to expect, or what was expected of her. Not a clue how to behave, or what to say or do. And he must be used to women who knew all those things very well. He'd obviously been around, as Pearl had remarked sagely. He probably expected her to be sitting here nonchalantly, if not elegantly, giving him occasional little significant smiles or smouldering looks, not chewing her nails and staring out of the window.

‘Don't do it, duckie,' Pearl had warned her. ‘You're not the sort. You'll regret it.'

‘Nothing may happen.'

‘Give me patience! He's asked you to go away on leave with him – just the two of you! He's not planning to sit and hold your hand, I can tell you that. Even if he was English he'd be thinking of a bit more than that. As he's a Pole, God knows what he's got in mind . . .'

They stopped at a roadside pub and she sat watching him as he went over to the bar. She saw how the barmaid smiled at him as he ordered their drinks and how a middle-aged civilian drinking there turned to talk to him. He is special, she thought, anyone can see that. His looks and his bearing set him apart. And he is from another world than my world. She watched him speaking to the civilian, his dark head bent politely towards him, and her stomach fluttered again. I can't believe it, she thought. I can't believe that tonight I am going to get into a bed with that man who is standing over there and that he is going to do this thing to me – whatever it is exactly . . . He is going to become my lover. That word sounded unbelievably daring, too. Incredibly sinful and worldly. She chewed at a torn fingernail. This time tomorrow I shall know
what
It
is like. And, actually, I'm scared stiff. I'm not sure I want to find out.

He came back to the table, carrying brimming mugs.

‘You are sure you like beer, Anne?'

‘Oh, yes, thanks. I always drink it now. I've got used to it.' She smiled at him brightly.

He raised his mug to her. ‘
Na Zdrowie!
'

‘Cheers!'

She spilled some as she lifted her half pint with a slightly shaking hand.

‘Stefan, you know, he puts gin with his beer. He says is tasting much better.'

‘What a funny thing to do.'

‘For myself, gin is tasting like medicine. Whisky like paraffin.'

‘I quite like gin,' she said. ‘Actually.'

‘You like a cigarette?'

He held out the silver case she had noticed before – heavy, engraved – something saved from his past. She wondered what sort of background he came from. What his family was like. He had never spoken of them.

She coughed a little as he lit her cigarette. ‘What was that man at the bar saying to you?'

He flicked the lighter and bent to his own. ‘Oh, he sees Poland on my uniform and he asks me about this. He says nice things. A very nice man. Very sympathetic.'

As he raised his head again, she met his eyes – that mesmeric un-English light blue-grey that she had never seen before. Bedroom eyes, Pearl had called them. She thought unsteadily: I love him so much, that's the trouble. I'm mad about him. Nothing else seems to matter. I don't care what other people say or think. I don't give a damn if what I'm doing is immoral or wrong. And I don't even care much about losing my virginity. Underneath being scared stiff, I'm so happy, and I want him to make love to me more than I've ever wanted anything in my whole life . . .