Churchill's Angels Part 24

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 gla.s.s 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. 'h.e.l.lo.'

'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 s.h.i.+p it to London. I'm going to try to w.a.n.gle 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 Sat.u.r.day 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 'paris.h.i.+oners' 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.'

Daisy gasped. She knew that voice. It was, no, it could not possibly be ... She pulled off the helmet but he spoke first.

'I came early to see if your pupil was really my old friend from Dartford. So, Daisy, my dear, you did find something more exciting than lentils and tea leaves.'

'Mr Fischer. It is you. Oh, I'm so happy that you're safe. We were all so worried and no one would tell us anything, and poor Mrs Porter was really upset. I tried to get her to take in Belgian refugees but actually I think she's keeping the house for you.' She stopped, cringing with embarra.s.sment at having, as she thought, let her tongue run away with her.

'Say cheerio, Daisy, darling.' Adair kissed her forehead gently and turned to his pa.s.senger. 'Like you, sir, Daisy is a secret weapon.'

Daisy returned to her billet nursing three wonderful secrets. One, Mr Fischer that is, Dr Fischer was an eminent scientist, engaged in secret work for the Government; two, the base commander himself knew of her dreams of flying and was actively encouraging her; and three, Adair Maxwell loved her. Four. The number was four not three, for Daisy now knew that she loved Adair Maxwell as deeply as it was possible for a woman to love a man. The thought of one day being his wife almost took the breath from her body. She felt so light that she wondered why she did not float over the airbase.

The smell of roast chicken drifted to her from open doors and she remembered that she had had no lunch but she felt that she did not care if she ever ate again.

How long could one live on joy alone?

Next morning, as usual, she was ravenously hungry and laughed at her fancies as she ate an enormous breakfast. Her score in her last written test had been slightly lower than the ones that had preceded it and so she went to cla.s.s with an even deeper ambition.

She wrote to Adair twice but had no reply. This lack of news did not worry her unduly as his days and nights were filled with dramas she could not begin to understand. No more little notes were handed to her by smiling clergymen. No need now for secrecy or fear. She had admitted her love for Adair and knew that he loved her. Life could never get better.

Daisy did, however, receive a letter from Flora.

You'll never believe, Daisy, but we've been bombed again. High-explosive bombs. .h.i.t Kent Road the other night. Families wiped out, of course. The Scala was. .h.i.t too but no one was there, thank the lord. All in all fifteen houses just wiped off the face of the earth. You wouldn't believe the noise. I'll hear it in my head till my dying day and the world looked like it was on fire. Flames shooting up ever so high and your dad out in it. Came home looking like one of them zombie things from the pictures.

Frank's popped in a few times. He's quite happy with a cuppa and a Spam fritter, likes family company, I think. Nice fella. Gets on well with the lads. Letter from Phil, he's OK, thank heaven, and we are glad you are so far away. Never thought I'd hear myself say that.

Love, Mum My mum and dad are fighting in a way too, decided Daisy. The unusually long letter had made her eyes sparkle with tears. Sometimes it felt as if they had to be living in a nightmare, the worst bad dream ever, but waking up each morning only showed, more cruelly than ever, that Britain, including dear old Dartford, was fighting a war.

She became aware of a plane flying overhead and looked up. She could hear the drone of large engines, a sound that could be either frightening or comforting, depending on the plane's nationality, but there was no sight of any aircraft. Already it was far away, although the rumble carried on. All that flew lazily around and around in the blue sky was a large gull.

Now did Adair say that was an effect of the speed of sound or the speed of flight? She made a note to ask him next time they met and went back to her study.

Every one of her cla.s.smates seemed, these days, to be fully focused on working hard and pa.s.sing the examinations. The dancing cla.s.s was cancelled because fewer and fewer devotees turned up. Only permanent staff filled the cinema.

'Wonder where we'll be posted?'

'If we pa.s.s,' mumbled Joan, who worked hard and worried even harder.

'We could be sent anywhere,' said Maggie. 'Northern Ireland or horrible thought Scotland.'

'What's so awful about Scotland?' Daisy thought she would actually like to go to another country.

'It's not Merrie England,' answered Maggie. 'We'd be stuck in the wilderness for ever. Too far for a forty-eight-hour pa.s.s and where could we go for a twenty-four-hour one? The cinema and fish and chips in the nearest town.'

'Sounds lovely, doesn't it, Joan? I can smell the chips already.' Daisy was determined to be cheery.

Soon, very soon, this long gruelling course would be over and she and her friends would be fully trained mechanics. 'Just think, girl, as mechanics we're set up for after the war. An airport, the nearest garage, won't matter, we're qualified,' said Joan.

'After the war, if there is an after the war, I intend to marry a man ...' Maggie stopped and thought, '... a man who makes me laugh.'

'And who's rich and handsome and kind; he'd have to be kind, wouldn't he, Daisy?'

'He'd have to be kind, yes.'

'Like your pilot?' Both Joan and Maggie knew that she had had some lessons and, while happy for her, were quite content to watch from the ground.

'He's kind, or he wouldn't be teaching me to fly.'

Maggie asked a serious question. 'Could you go up alone with the training you've had, Daisy?'

Daisy found herself blus.h.i.+ng. She had no desire to boast, but Joan and Maggie were her friends and deserved the truth. 'I have been up alone. Honestly, it's no harder than driving a van; just have to get it into the air and back down again.'

Joan shuddered. 'Couldn't do it, couldn't. I think pilots are absolutely amazing but these little feet will stay firmly on the ground.'

'Now, Joan, what if I were to say that I know a lovely, slightly older pilot, and if he were to offer to give you a flying lesson ...'

Joan and Maggie looked at each other and then at Daisy. 'We are willing to be swept off our feet, physically as well as metaphorically speaking.' Maggie spoke for both.

'This is silly. Come on, time for bed. We'll be useless in the morning and there's a practical test; need to be alert.'

SIXTEEN.

Daisy had slept badly perhaps the hut was too warm and she woke early. Her eyelids felt as if they had been glued together. Once she had managed to open them, she decided to shower, dress, and go for a brisk walk before breakfast.

No matter the hour, the camp was busy. Civilian and military personnel were walking around, some, like Daisy, barely awake, and others obviously coming off night duty and heading back to their billets.

'Daisy.'

The voice surprised her. She knew it calm, gentle, authoritative but what a surprise to hear it here at Halton. She smiled brightly while having a quick look around to see if anyone on her course was present to see her chatting amiably with a wing commander. And how incredibly strange that she had actually, just the evening before, been about to tell her two friends about him. What could he be doing here?

'Tomas, how lovely to see you. Did you fly down?'

'No, Daisy, I drove. I came especially to see you.' He held out his hand. 'Walk with me, please.'

From having been too hot and uncomfortable she was now ice cold. Something had happened, something so appalling that only Tomas could talk to her about it. 'Tomas, what is it? Is anything wrong?'

'Please, my dear friend, I meant to be here before you rose.'

He took her arm and she was forced almost to run as she hurried along beside him. It was Adair. It had to be. His leg had not set properly had she not said that he had not given it enough time? Yes, that was it. His broken leg had not set and was causing problems. Goodness, every pilot and flight mechanic knew how difficult it was to climb into some of those bombers with two good legs. How much more difficult with only one.

She looked ahead. The Methodist chapel. What on earth was Tomas doing? She started to laugh, a laugh that he recognised as hysterical.

'Come, Daisy, we can talk here.'

She pulled away. 'No Tomas. I'm not Methodist. I'm C of E.' She had nothing against Methodists, and probably Tomas, being Czechoslovakian, did not quite understand, but he did have a firm grasp of her arm.

'We can talk in private here, Daisy. Come, my dear.'

She could fight no longer and collapsed against him, every atom of energy used.

They were inside the small building and he led her into a tiny office that contained little besides two chairs and a small table, obviously used as a desk. For a moment or two there was absolute silence. Neither seemed willing to break it, but Tomas was the bearer of the news and knew what he had to say. He knew too that there was no way to make it easier or kinder.