Churchill’s Angels (30 page)

‘Great fun, Daisy, but my feet can take no more. Are you ready to go back?’

‘Maggie won’t mind?’

‘Of course not. Wave to her and let’s get out of here.’

Daisy, with or without Matt’s help, passed the initial course and progressed to the second one. She learned nothing there that she had not learned either by trial and error or from working with Adair, and passed again. She had managed to avoid meetings with Matt, and Joan and Maggie were very good at looking out for him.

‘Intruder spotted,’ they would whisper, and guide Daisy in the opposite direction.

‘He’s a nice chap, Daisy, and he’s a corporal. What’s the harm in going to the cinema with him or dancing? You dance really well together,’ said Joan when the three young women were making the most of some free time to enjoy the glorious summer weather.

‘He’s too intense.’

‘Lucky you. You afraid you won’t be able to fight him off?’

Daisy rolled over onto her stomach on the grass. ‘I have … I had … three older brothers; fighting off is not a problem. I just don’t want to be …’

‘Stuck with him,’ volunteered Joan.

‘No, attached to anyone. I’m here to become a fully qualified mechanic. Right now that is the only thing that is important to me. I absolutely love working on an engine with the mechanics. Some of them are terrific.’

Maggie stopped making a daisy chain, leaned forward and set it on Daisy’s head. ‘There, lovely. Anyone take you up yet?’

‘Who, what do you mean, take me up? In a plane you mean?’ They could not know about Adair. Surely not.

‘Of course in a plane. There’s a very tasty pilot, in fact there are several very tasty pilots, who are so grateful for the hard work we WAAFs put into keeping their birds airworthy that, occasionally, just occasionally, they have been known to check the engine out with a passenger on board.’

‘Is that legal?’

‘Legal or allowed? Have absolutely no idea, but the first time one of them asks me …’ she waited, watching their faces, started to laugh and finished, ‘… I’ll say no.’

‘You’re insane. A flight with an air force pilot? I’d say yes and jump in before he could change his mind. What about you, Daisy, would you go up, if one of the pilots asked?’

This was her time to be honest, to tell them that not only had she already had a flight but also several flying lessons. She said nothing but her mind was working ferociously. What if they didn’t believe her? What if they believed her but thought she was boasting?

‘If it takes you that long to decide, Daisy, then I rather think you’re not up for it. Someone in our village once flew to France on holiday. Can you believe it? There wasn’t another topic of conversation for weeks. Holidays by air. Close your eyes and picture yourself flying to, say the Bahamas, and standing at the top of the stairs in the smartest little white costume – because of the glorious weather – and then walking down the steps like—’

‘“The man who broke the bank at Monte Carlo,”’ sang Joan, and they all laughed.

The summer went on and the crops in the Buckinghamshire fields ripened steadily. All the time Daisy and her friends worked and studied and moved, step by step, nearer to the great day when they would become accredited aircraft engineers.

Daisy was known to be one of the best mechanics and several of the pilots were very pleased when she was working on their planes. She went up with two of them but neither offered to let her handle the controls. Yet she felt that each time she went up in a plane, watching the manoeuvres of a competent pilot, was worthwhile.

Tomas flew in once or twice and was able to take her up once.

‘My passenger will be here for two hours, Daisy, and I have permission to practise a manoeuvre – and to take a trainee mechanic up to listen to my engine.’

‘And I’m the mechanic?’ She could scarcely believe it.

‘I can’t hand over to you but if you listen well, you will be learning. Besides that, though, certain people of importance know about you, Daisy. You are being watched. Not all are convinced that a woman can make or even should make a good pilot. Walk very carefully. We are, what is the phrase, sticking the neck out?’

She certainly wanted no one, especially not Adair or Tomas, to be in any trouble over her ambition.

Daisy was so busy that she had no time to check Wednesday’s post until she was on her way to bed. Her heart seemed to flip right over as she saw that there was a note from Adair. She knew his writing and even the type of envelopes he used and, although she longed to open it up and read, she held it to her heart for a long moment.

This is silly, Daisy Petrie. You’re like one of them foolish girls in the films, always mooning around after some fella. Read the letter.

At first the letter disappointed her as there were only three lines.

Daisy

Be at the call box at nine thirty on Thursday evening. Please.

Adair

On Thursday she could scarcely keep her mind on her work. Adair was going to ring her. She would hear his voice. The thought filled her with delight. But then she wondered at the urgency of the note. Why was he calling and why had he not said why in the note? No time to add more? He was going away, that was it. He had been posted to … she had no idea where but somewhere far away, Scotland, perhaps. Would she miss him? Of course she would.

But, as it is, you don’t see him very often, not once since he returned to active duty, she argued with herself. Why would you miss someone you never see anyway? Because you … she stopped. What had she been about to say? But that too was silly, because you cannot love someone – there she had said the word – if you never see him.

‘Petrie,’ yelled a voice in her ear, startling her so that she almost fell off her perch on the Spitfire. ‘The Spitfire engine is not a delicate, fragile machine and can, take my word for it, tolerate a great deal more elbow grease than you’re giving it. Be good enough to start all over again.’

‘Yes, Sergeant, sorry, Sergeant.’

It was not her finest hour.

She resolved to keep her mind engaged on the aircraft engine without bringing any more ire down on her head and so she ruthlessly banished any thoughts of Adair Maxwell until suppertime. With Joan and Maggie she walked up to the canteen.

‘Nearly ran screaming out of the hangar today,’ confessed Joan, and her friends looked at her in some surprise.

‘Why?’

‘The noise. I thought, if one more WAAF starts scraping away with a file, I’ll run them through with the damned thing.’

‘Joan Boyd!’ The others pretended shock.

‘How many damn planes with damn trainees filing away important bits can they get in a hangar? Scrape, scrape, scrape; every scrape rattled my teeth.’

By the time they had calmed Joan and eaten supper it was time for Daisy to walk up to the telephone booth. She managed to appear nonchalant as she tried not to run in her anxiety to reach it. And then she stopped in despair. Someone was already chatting happily and feeding pennies into the machine. She looked at her watch. No one could speak for seven minutes, could they?

Daisy stood and then, thinking that it might be taken as rude to stare at someone making a telephone call, she walked a little away, turned and came back. The booth was still occupied. She looked at her watch. One minute to …

The glass door opened just as the telephone rang. The WAAF turned back to answer it but Daisy called, ‘It’s for me.’

‘Let’s see, shall we?’

Daisy stood, her stomach in a knot, as the girl spoke into the receiver.

‘Daisy?’

‘Yes, thank you.’ She took the rather warm receiver. ‘Hello.’

‘Daisy, my sweet little Daisy, how are you?’

‘I’m fine, but how are you? Is your leg really well?’

‘Fit as a fiddle. We have been … stretched, is perhaps the best word, but I’m coming down to Halton this weekend …’ He stopped as he heard her gasp of joy. ‘Work, I’m afraid, bringing down important cargo, but I will have a few hours on Sunday before I ship it to London. I’m going to try to wangle a lesson for you. Are you available?’

Whatever she had been doing she knew that she would have found some way out of it. Oh, wicked Daisy. ‘I’m free.’

‘Good, got to go, but I’ll get a message to you somehow. We boys in blue look after one another.’

The telephone went dead. She replaced the receiver and waited for a few minutes in case he was able to reconnect but then she went out and the door swung closed behind her. Her ears stayed tuned but the telephone did not ring.

Friday was the longest day in her entire life so far and she filled it with endless study. She would not think that soon she would see him, but would focus on her dream. So Daisy worked. Although all the course leaders knew her as an exemplary student, some were surprised by how dissatisfied she was with her own work, checking and rechecking everything she did.

After each meal she hurried to the airfield to see what planes were in, looking for a visitor, but had no luck. She reneged on plans to see a film with Joan and Maggie, and instead read or wrote letters and in between took little walks in the summer evening air.

Several of the office blocks were occupied, but then they usually were and so that told her nothing. The curtains were drawn on the base commander’s office windows and that unusual fact caused her heart to beat rapidly.

Enough, she told herself as she stood in the scalding shower on Saturday morning. You are cycling to Wendover today.

And she did. In spite of her mind and heart being elsewhere, she did enjoy herself, and Joan and Maggie were as patient as only good friends can be.

Sunday came and, to her surprise, the chaplain handed her a note as he shook hands as his ‘parishioners’ left the small building.

‘No time for lunch. Airfield now.’

She laughed with joy. How cryptic. Surely he did not have to be so secretive. He reminded her of Sam. She gave Maggie her leather shoulder bag, said, ‘Thanks,’ and hurried off.

Adair, in a flying suit, was at the door of a hangar. He moved back inside, she followed him and to her great surprise, he pulled her into his arms and kissed her, an embrace full of pent-up emotion that took all strength from her legs.

He laughed when they came up for air. ‘I should apologise, madam, and you in uniform, but I have wanted to do that for such a long time. I love you, Daisy Petrie.’

She looked up at him, her feelings for him evident to see in her eyes. He kissed her again and this time she responded.

‘Daisy, do you …?’

‘Yes.’

He pulled back first. ‘I can think of nothing better than to stand here all afternoon kissing Daisy Petrie but … wouldn’t you rather have a flying lesson?’ He took her answer for granted and led her into the little office. ‘Pull that on over your clothes,’ he said, pointing to a flying suit that lay across a chair. ‘I’ve been loaned a little bird and you have permission to take a flying lesson.’

Daisy had so many questions. Who owned the ‘bird’? Who had given permission for her lesson? She was so excited that her fingers fumbled with cords and fasteners but at last she was ready.

‘On with the helmet. Everyone should be at lunch, but just in case.’

A minute later two normal-looking flyers walked nonchalantly out of the hangar and across the field to where a twin-engined Oxford stood waiting. This was the RAF’s favourite training plane and there were several on the base. Many times since her arrival Daisy had been filled with almost painful envy as she saw them flying against the blue sky above her.

Once they were both aboard, Adair became very serious. ‘You can see that there is room for three, Daisy, pilot, trainer – I’ll have to be both of them today – and pupil; that’s you. We also use Oxfords for other training, and can find room for a navigator, a bomb-aimer, a camera operator and a radio operator. This little genius is used to train each member of a bomber crew but I’ll tell you all that later. I’ll take her up and then I’ll hand her over to you. All right?’

She nodded, too happy and excited to find her tongue. First an Aeronca, then a Tiger Moth and now – an Oxford. Was this really happening? Could anything be more wonderful than being here, flying like a bird with Adair?

Beside her, Adair laughed. ‘Open your eyes, little Daisy; you are supposed to be watching my every move.’

‘I can’t seem to take it in.’

‘It’s real, Daisy. You, me and a plane. How I’d love to fly you to Paris for your missed lunch. One day, my darling Daisy, when this war is over.’

What a perfect Sunday. She would, she knew, remember every moment, every word spoken, for the rest of her life. Too soon they were descending. Adair reminded Daisy of the propeller pitch lever, a slightly different adjustment to landing as she had known it. This lever had to be moved from ‘course’ to ‘fine’ for landing or otherwise the landing, even for an experienced pilot, could be tricky as the Oxford had a tendency to drift off the straight line.

‘Gently, gently, pull back; that’s it.’

The Oxford landed smoothly and ran along the airstrip until it came to a complete halt.

‘Time to go, little aviator. I’ll try to get back soon.’ He looked at his watch. ‘I’ve cut it rather fine. My cargo may already be in the hangar.’

‘But you did have permission, Adair?’

‘The Oxford belongs to the base commander, Daisy, darling. Does that answer your question?’

‘He gave me permission?’ She could scarcely believe the commander even knew her name.

‘Yes. His daughter flies with the ATA. He’s one of the new brilliant forward-looking minds. Just don’t talk about it yet; there wasn’t a base Oxford available.’

‘How do I thank him?’

‘You don’t, not yet.’

It was rather frightening knowing that such a senior officer knew about the existence of Daisy Petrie. She was doubly determined to be the perfect aircraftswoman, and to make sure he did not regret his generosity. Dear heavens, what if she’d scratched it? Daisy jumped out and ran around to make sure the plane was as perfect as when they had taken her up and, relieved, hurried into the office to take off the flying suit.

A tall, thin man was sitting on the chair where the flying suit had been lying and he stood up as Daisy and Adair entered. ‘Here I am, Squadron Leader; it is good of you to take me to London.’