Bluebirds (53 page)

He gave her a hug and smiled down at her. ‘Hallo, Assistant Section Officer.'

‘Hallo, yourself, Lieutenant.' She hugged him back.

‘Congrats on the commission. Jolly well done.' He tweaked the soft crown of her new cap. ‘That uniform's awfully smart. You look terrific in it.'

‘Thanks.'

‘Let's go and celebrate with a drink at the Ritz.'

As they walked down Piccadilly he squeezed her arm. ‘Well, how does it feel – being an officer?'

‘I haven't had much time to find out. The best thing so far is wearing comfortable shoes. I went and bought these myself and they're bliss. They actually
fit
.'

He laughed. ‘You'll find there are other advantages.'

‘Like not having to clean my own buttons and shoes? That'd be the next best thing.'

‘What was the Officers' School like?'

‘The place itself was jolly nice. They've taken over a big country house near Gerrards Cross – not far from home. The course was pretty deadly, though. Endless boring lectures on organization and admin. And on and on about King's Regs, Air Force Law, office procedure, hygiene, pay and allowances, etiquette . . . all that sort of rubbish. Everyone taking masses of notes and swotting away and being frightfully goody-goody. Some old bat from the Directorate came down to spout at us about duty and
leadership, and how to inspire devotion in your followers. According to her discipline is “the cheerful obedience to orders recognized as reasonable”. The trouble is I still don't think half of them
are
reasonable.'

‘Same old Anne.'

‘Well, I managed to pass all the tests and exams in the end. Quite a lot of them didn't.'

‘Good for you.'

‘You should have seen me taking drill . . . yelling at the squad like a RAF sergeant! We all had to take turns at it. That part was quite fun, actually. Drill is the bedrock of all training. Did you know that?'

‘It rings a faint bell.'

An RAF sergeant coming along the pavement towards them, saluted them briskly. Anne returning the salute with Kit, almost giggled at the strangeness of it. They crossed Piccadilly and went under the arcade into the Ritz. In spite of the sandbags, the firebuckets, the blackout, the rationing and the presence of so many service uniforms, the hotel had somehow kept up the pretence that there was no such thing as a war on. Inside, its gilded splendour was undimmed. Teacups still tinkled in the Palm Court and a dowager in a long gown and ropes of pearls raised her lorgnettes at them.

Kit ordered champagne recklessly and when it came, lifted his glass to her. ‘To you, twin. Congratulations.'

He had done that out on the terrace on the night of their eighteenth birthday dance two years ago. The toast then had been to them both . . . 
and to the future . . . whatever it may bring.
She remembered his words very well. She had feared that future and, as it had turned out, with good reason. She lifted her own glass.

‘To
us
, Kit. You and me.'

She looked at him carefully as she drank. Outwardly he was like his old self. The arm didn't appear to be troubling him any more, and he was smiling easily at her. But she knew him too well to be deceived. He had not really got over Villiers' death. That dead look still lay
somewhere at the back of his eyes. We've both suffered now, she thought. Both of us have changed. I have too. I pretend to be the same old Anne, as he says, but inside I'm not at all. And I never will be again.

Kit leaned forward to light her cigarette. ‘So, you're spending all your leave here in London?'

‘Lucy Strickland asked me to stay. Her parents have a super place in Chester Square. You remember her, don't you? She was in my house at St Mary's and her brother Alex was at Eton. She used to come to the Fourth.'

‘I think so. Rather a jolly sort of girl. Lots of fair hair and teeth. Piano legs.'

‘That's her.'

‘The parents were a bit disappointed you didn't go home, old bean.'

‘I know. But I couldn't, Kit. I just couldn't face it.'

‘Because of Michal?'

For a moment she couldn't answer. Just to hear his name spoken aloud again brought back all her grief and misery. It caught at her throat and she had to fight back tears.

Kit said gently: ‘I was really sorry about him, twin. It was rotten, bloody luck.'

She swallowed hard. ‘I didn't go home because I didn't want to see them – not yet. If it hadn't been for them Michal and I would have been married. We'd've had some sort of life together, however short. I would have had his name . . . perhaps his baby. Instead, there's
nothing.
I can't forgive them for that. I was a fool to listen to them when they wanted us to wait. I'll always regret it.'

‘I can imagine how you feel. But I dare say they meant it for the best – or what they saw as the best thing for you.'

She said fiercely: ‘It wasn't that. They were against my marrying Michal because he was Polish. Especially Mummy. You know what she's like, Kit. Her idea of the perfect husband for me has always been some blue-blooded English moron. She hoped like anything
that Michal would be killed. I
know
she did. She's jolly glad it happened . . .'

Her voice had risen and an army major sitting near turned his head to stare. Kit touched her arm. ‘Steady on, old thing. Don't work yourself up into a lather. I never met Michal, but I wish I had. He must have been a pretty good sort of bloke.'

She blew her nose. ‘He was. He was wonderful. The Poles gave him a medal after he was killed, you know – their Cross of Valour. I just wish he could have had it when he was alive.'

‘I know. That seems to happen rather a lot these days.'

‘There'll never be anyone else like him for me, Kit.'

‘Not like him – no. But someone else who's different, perhaps. One day.' He looked at her gravely. ‘We both have something we bitterly regret. The only difference between us is that what happened to you wasn't your fault.'

‘Oh, Kit, you're not still blaming yourself over Villiers?'

‘I shall blame myself to the end of my days. But I've come to terms with the fact that, at heart, I'm a coward. I've faced it. I just live in hope that one day I shall get the chance to make amends in some way. To atone for my cowardice.'

‘But you
mustn't
think like that. It's all wrong. You couldn't help what happened. The Germans killed him.
They
were to blame, not you.'

He gave her a brief smile. ‘Let me be the judge of that, twin. And drink up your champagne.'

She watched him anxiously as they talked of other things; he made no further reference to Villiers and she dared not bring up the subject again. He seemed to chat on easily.

‘I was hoping they'd send us to Crete but now we've been kicked out of there, it'll probably be North Africa. We don't seem to be doing exactly brilliantly there either. Rommel's having it all his own sweet way. Anything to get
away from another English winter . . .' He looked across Anne's shoulder. ‘Good lord, there's Isobel Bingham. She used to be Atkinson's girlfriend, you know, but it looks like she's with some RAF type now.'

Anne turned her head. ‘That's Johnnie Somerville.'

‘You know him?'

‘I suppose you could say that. I met him at Colston. He's with one of the auxiliary squadrons – fearfully rich, snobby lot. At least they all used to be but a lot of the original ones have got killed. He's a bit of a pain. Frightfully pleased with himself.'

‘The name's vaguely familiar.'

‘He was at Eton, about five years ahead of you. Remember I asked you about him once? He won all those cups . . . Wet Bob and held the long jump record, or something.'

‘Of course!
That
Somerville. Hallo, he seems to have spotted you. They're coming over.'

Isobel Bingham was dressed in pale blue taffeta and her hair was carefully curled. She had a sweet, eager smile.

There was no avoiding the introductions and the hand-shakes, and Anne was further dismayed to hear Kit suggesting that they all join forces. It was too late to kick him; Johnnie was already holding a chair for Isobel who sat down, arranging her taffeta skirts carefully and smiling sweetly round.

‘We're celebrating Anne's commission,' Kit said, oblivious of her glowering lack of enthusiasm.

Johnnie smiled at her. ‘I'd noticed. Congratulations. I always said you were wasted.'

‘I'm thinking of joining the WAAF myself,' Isobel said brightly. ‘It all sounds rather fun.'

It was bad enough that they had intruded on her drink with Kit, but even worse when Johnnie later proposed that they all had dinner together.

Isobel clasped her hands eagerly. ‘Oh, yes, do let's go round to Quags. Hutch is singing there and he's absolutely super!'

Anne wondered sourly what Sergeant Beaty would have made of her as a recruit. She tried to catch Kit's eye, but he seemed perfectly happy with the idea and there was nothing to do but go along with it. She would have much preferred to spend the evening alone with him. Tomorrow he was going home for the rest of his leave and after that he might be posted overseas. It could be months and months before they saw each other again.

It was still broad daylight when they walked down St James's to Jermyn Street and along Bury Street to Quaglinos. The warm summer's evening should have lifted her spirits but she felt depressed and out-of-sorts now – reminded of Michal and worried for Kit.

Kit, on the other hand, seemed to be enjoying himself. She watched him later dancing with Isobel as though he hadn't a care in the world. Would he really blame himself for Villiers' death to the end of his days? What had he meant exactly by making amends? By atoning for his cowardice? What sort of nightmare of guilt and suffering was still tormenting him beneath the surface?

‘Dance?' Johnnie said, stubbing out his cigarette.

‘If you insist.'

‘I always have to, where you're concerned.'

She went reluctantly onto the small dance floor, and put her hand in his. He looked down at her.

‘This isn't the place to say it, Anne, but I heard about Racyñski and I'm extremely sorry.'

‘Thanks, but I'd sooner not talk about it.'

‘Then we won't.' He was silent for a moment. ‘What do you think of Isobel?'

‘Much too sweet for you. Not your usual type, is she?'

‘Well, I got a bit tired of actresses and mannequins. They're only really interested in themselves.'

‘That must be a bore if there are two of you like that.'

He smiled. ‘Isobel makes a pleasant change. She never argues or sulks, and she thinks I'm absolutely terrific.'

‘I can see why you like her then. Does she always smile like that?'

‘Always at me, and invariably at everybody else too. She's a very nice girl. Our mothers are old friends and I've known her since she was in nappies.'

‘I shouldn't make that a public announcement or she might stop smiling. She's probably perfect for you. You ought to please both your mothers and marry her.'

‘I'll bear it in mind.'

‘I think it's in hers.'

He laughed. ‘I like your twin. I can see a strong resemblance. You're very close, aren't you?'

‘Yes, but we don't get a chance to see much of each other at the moment. We just happened to have some leave at the same time and arranged to meet up in London. It was lucky.'

‘How long are you staying in London?'

‘I've got another six days.'

‘Good. I'm here for two more, so you'll be able to have dinner with me.'

‘Why on earth should I want to do that?'

‘Because I'll take you somewhere very nice and you'll have a very good dinner. You can still get one in London, if you know where to go. You could even have steak tartare, if you like.'

She grinned. ‘No, thanks. A cooked steak wouldn't be bad, though. Thick and juicy, with lots of fried potatoes.'

‘I guarantee it.'

‘Hmm. What would Isobel say?'

‘Isobel won't know.'

‘It would only be for the sake of the food. That's all I ever seem to think about these days.'

‘I didn't imagine it would be for any other reason. Where are you staying?'

‘In Chester Square. With an old schoolfriend, Lucy Strickland.'

‘I know the Stricklands well. I'll pick you up around seven tomorrow evening.'

Later on, Hutch sang at the piano. As she listened to him, Anne was glad of the dimmed cabaret lighting. The words, half-spoken, half-sung in his intimate, confiding way, went straight to her heart. The tears that were never very far away since Michal had been killed, welled up again and spilled over. She gulped and fumbled for her handkerchief, but couldn't find it in either tunic pocket. Then, through the blur, she saw a man's white silk one held out under her nose. Johnnie had quietly passed her his own.

Anne and Kit left the restaurant before the other two, who were still dancing. There was no moon or stars to help light the city for either the Germans or the inhabitants and it was pitch black outside.

Kit took hold of her arm. ‘I'll try and get you a taxi. I'm kipping down at Atkinson's and it's easy walking distance from here. If the worst comes to the worst you can come there with me.'

He shouted into the impenetrable darkness of Bury Street. Further along, they could hear others yelling for taxis too. It was like some kind of party game – a variation on blind man's buff.

Miraculously, the twin pinpoints of a taxi's headlights slid to a stop beside the whitened kerb. Kit felt for the door.

‘In you get. I'll go home and see the parents in the morning. I'll give them your love and say you're fine.'