Churchill's Angels Part 3

Think positively, Daisy. After all, what can he say? No or yes. When she drove through the ancient iron gates she felt her heart beating rapidly. And by the time she reached the old stables her hands were sweating. Why? Surely it had nothing to do with the toff, even though he has a nice voice and nice eyes and he's a real, live pilot. No, Daisy a.s.sured herself, I am excited by the machine, the plane.

Anti-climax. The stables were deserted and all the doors and gates closed. There were windows high up on the main stable doors, but they were inaccessible. Daisy looked round but all that remained to show that an aeroplane had once stood on these cobblestones was a patch of engine oil. She bent down, touched it with her fingertips and lifted them to her nose. Now that was a lovely smell, better even than logs. If only ...

Thoroughly cast down, she went to the farmhouse.

'Well, this is a nice surprise. Wasn't expecting anything today, Daisy, since you was here on Sat.u.r.day.'

Daisy pulled out a small box. 'I thought you might like some tinned peaches.'

Nancy looked at her in some surprise and, blus.h.i.+ng, Daisy explained, 'I know you put up berries and apples but thought maybe a peach would make a nice change.'

Nancy nodded in agreement. 'Well, if that isn't right thoughtful of you, Daisy, love, and has nothing to do with a handsome young flyer that was here. My Alf says if he sees another jar of stewed rhubarb he won't be responsible. Me, I never tire of it.'

Daisy looked at her, blushed even more furiously and decided that she had to ask about the plane before she lost her courage. 'Sorry, Nancy. Dad knows I'm up to something; peaches wasn't a great idea for someone with an orchard.'

'We don't grow peaches, love. 'Course I'll take them.'

Daisy sighed and relaxed. 'Where's the plane gone then?' she asked bluntly.

'Plane or pilot, Daisy Petrie? Which one are you really looking for?'

'The plane, of course. I wouldn't recognise Adair whatsit if I was to fall over him. But rationing coming in makes the war real somehow, and I've got to do something ... meaningful.'

'Your mum needs you, Daisy.'

'No, sorry, Nancy, but that's just not true. I'm in the shop because I worked in there Sat.u.r.days and Mum's got it into her head I'm delicate, kidding herself really, probably because I'm smaller than Rose. Everybody's smaller than her. You know I'm good with engines, Nancy, as good as my brothers. I thought I could help with the plane. Can't be all that different from a lorry engine or the van, and I can take them apart and put them together again. I'd be doing something important, more valuable than sitting in a cosy little shop weighing dried peas.'

'Folks've got to be fed, love.'

'Mum and Dad can do that, and if things get tough they can hire someone.' She was surprised by the idea that jumped fully formed into her head. 'For instance, I just bet old Mr Fischer would jump at the chance of earning a few extra bob a week.'

'Happen he would. Now, I'll take these into the larder and make us a cuppa.'

'Wait,' said Daisy, grabbing Nancy's arm. 'I mean, Dad's alone in the shop so I can't stay, but what about the plane?'

'Lad's a pilot, Daisy. He comes here whenever he has a spare weekend to work on it, but he just turns up. He looks after himself, has the odd cuppa with me and Alf in the kitchen, no more. I've no idea where he's based happen Alf does. But if Adair does come back I'll tell him what you said. Best I can do.'

Daisy had to be content with that. She finished the deliveries with ideas and plans spilling around as the b.u.t.terflies had done earlier. He had to come back some weekend to see his beloved plane and Nancy would tell him what Daisy had said. He would be delighted by the offer of help and very soon Daisy Petrie shop a.s.sistant would be doing something that was vital to the war effort.

But weeks pa.s.sed and he did not return.

Grace was absent from the first-aid cla.s.ses at the beginning of February. Daisy did not concern herself too much. Everyone seemed to work longer and longer hours these days and all the extra hours did seem to be affecting Grace. Without much expectation of discovering anything, Daisy went to Megan Paterson's shop.

'Grace missed the cla.s.ses this week, Megan. She's not sick, is she?'

Grace's sister looked nothing like Grace. She was tall and very thin, and her extravagantly styled hair was, to Daisy, the most peculiar unnatural shade of red. Her frock was certainly very modern and Daisy supposed she could possibly be described as sophisticated. To Daisy, however, there was something not quite right in the picture presented. Megan's antagonism to Grace's friends did nothing to help.

'How would I know?' Megan answered Daisy's question. 'I got more to do than look in her room every five minutes, haven't I?'

A picture of the cold, cheerless kitchen and the three pairs of expensive stockings flashed across Daisy's mind. She bristled. 'I'm quite sure you have more to do than look after your sister. You certainly never have before, so why break the habit of a lifetime?'

'Get out, you cheeky little b.i.t.c.h,' snarled Megan, lifting her hand as if to strike.

'You do that, Megan Paterson, and my dad'll be round here in two minutes. If you see Grace, tell her we're worried about her.'

Heart beating unnaturally quickly, Daisy hurried home. She could hear her voice shouting at Megan but could scarcely believe that she had lost control of her emotions so completely. She discussed her concern for Grace with her mother. She left out the bit about being rude to Megan and almost being slapped for it.

'I think it started the day rationing started, the morning all the sprouts were frozen. Haven't seen her much since then but we're all busy and it's been too cold to do much except stay in and listen to the wireless. But now she's missed two cla.s.ses and she loves them. She's so good at first aid, much quicker at it than me. Why hasn't she popped in for a cuppa in weeks, Mum? You don't think she could have died, do you?'

'Lawks a' mercy, Daisy Petrie. 'Course she hasn't gone and died. Megan's a ... well, she's not the best sister in the world but even she would know. Now, my girl, you need to take yourself off dancing with Rose and her friends. She meets lots of nice lads in the factory and at the Palais. Doesn't mean you've promised to marry a chap if you dance with him, love, and you used to enjoy the dancing. Why don't you go with them next Sat.u.r.day, take Grace along too? Be good for her.'

Daisy stood up. 'Can't seem to think about anything but the war, Mum, and I can't take Grace if I can't find her. I'm going to pop round to the theatre, see if I can have a word with Sally. Maybe she's heard something. Seems I've seen hardly anything of her since the theatre company took her in to train and it'd be ever so exciting to see backstage.'

Mother and daughter looked towards the door as they heard the bell and breathed a collective breath of relief as Bernie Jones entered.

'Morning, ladies, you got a b.u.mper crop today: one each, and some nasty ones I'll put over here for Fred.'

They both laughed at this old joke, offered Bernie tea, which he declined, and turned to their letters.

For a few moments the only sound in the room was the tearing open of envelopes.

'It's from Phil, first from 'is s.h.i.+p. Imagine, Daisy, a letter from a s.h.i.+p.'

Daisy said nothing but continued to stare at the page torn from a jotter, on which her letter was written. She read it again and again, turned it over and looked at the blank back as if somehow, somewhere on that empty s.p.a.ce, there was a message that would explain it. Nothing. She turned it over and read it again.

Dear Daisy, I've gone and joined the Women's Land Army. I don't know where I'll be sent but right now I'm here in Kent, but that's just for learning and when I get sent to a permanent farm I'll let you know and Sally, and maybe you'll write to me. We'll have proper tools for digging and such and I'll learn lots and growing our own food is really important. I got a uniform, Daze, and everything from the skin out brand new.

Tell your mum and Sally's mum thank you and sorry to have left like this but I just had to.

Grace P.S. Tell your mum and Sally's I'll write when I get nice paper and if you write to me and please, please do, will you tell me if Sally's an actress yet?

'Are you all right, Daisy? You've gone all funny.' Flora was looking at her daughter, her eyes full of concern. 'It's not bad news, is it?'

'Some friend I am.' Daisy handed her mother the letter.

'Poor Grace. Now, did that trollop of a sister know she was gone when you went over there? Well, just in case she didn't, we won't tell her either, Daze. Let her stew a little do 'er the world of good.'

'Why didn't she put an address on it? She asked me to write and she hasn't put an address. Did she never have anything in her life that was new, Mum? And she paid her share of Sally's costume. Why didn't I help her?'

Flora pulled Daisy into the alcove and sat her down on one of the rickety chairs. 'Pull yourself together, our Daisy, and think. Of course you helped her. She wrote to you, didn't she, not to anybody else? And she had new things; me and your dad and Sally's mum and dad, we gave her something new every Christmas, even if I made it myself. I want you to put on your outside clothes and go over to the picture house and tell the Brewers because they're worried too. Grace will write when she's ready, when she's got used to her new life.'

'She was happy in her little garden, Mum.'

'Then think of the fun she'll have in a blooming great field. In the meantime, there's work needs doing here so you can pop round the Brewers when the shop closes. Days are getting longer and so you can run down to the theatre if Sally's not at home.'

Daisy gave in gracefully. 'All right. What needs doing?'

'Be a good girl and fetch in a carton of the Bonn's digestive biscuits. They're a good seller and there's only one or two packets left. And I think there's a roll of nice, yellow Lancaster cloth somewhere in there. Your dad was just after saying the shelves need a bit of brightening along of our spirits.'

Those two jobs, plus attending to customers who always came into the shop late in the afternoon in the hope that something perishable had been marked down, kept Daisy busy. Two boys in particular worried her. The older one tried always to seem tough but Daisy felt it was all a pose. When she could, she slipped something extra into their bag, earning a look of scorn from the older boy and a dazzling smile from the younger one.

As soon as her father had locked the shop door she hung up her ap.r.o.n, rushed upstairs to wash, and changed her shop overall for a smart lightly fitted blue wool skirt and a round-necked striped blue and white short-sleeved woollen jumper.

'I won't be late back,' she called to her parents, and hurried out.

She was prepared to find the house in darkness as Sally's parents were usually in the picture house. She was therefore delighted to see a light on in the Brewers' front room.

Sally herself, looking as if she was dressed for a special meeting, opened the door and was equally thrilled to see her friend. 'How terrif, Daisy. Mum and Dad are at work but I have lines to learn. We'll have a cuppa and you can hear them for me. It'll be like old times. Remember doing our homework together in primary school?'

Daisy nodded. 'Yes, Sally, and I'll be thrilled to listen to your lines, but I've got a letter here I need to show you.'

'Sounds scary, Daisy. Who's it from?' She was leading the way into the kitchen. 'Sit down and tell me.'

Daisy handed the letter to Sally.

Sally stood quietly beside the table and read the letter. Daisy was not surprised when Sally, the great dramatic star of stage and screen, started to cry. 'Oh, Daisy, poor, poor Grace. She must have been so miserable and we didn't notice.'

Sally, a much loved and, to be honest, somewhat indulged only child, was not given much to introspection. She had accepted some responsibility for Grace because the twins had accepted her, and they always did things together, but she had not really thought about what it must be like to live, an unwelcome guest, in a home without love.

Daisy, a member of a large loving family whose creed could have been 'we are responsible for those less well off than ourselves' knew what Sally was feeling and gave her a quick hug.

'You're right, we didn't realise how miserable she was, but we did know her life wasn't happy. How could it be living with that horrible, selfish sister? And, look, she loves our mums and dads too, probably. So, cheer up, we can't have been too bad. Next time we hear from her we'll write back to tell her she's always welcome with us.'

'We can't,' said Sally, pointing dramatically at the letter, 'unless she tells us her address.'

'Don't go looking for trouble,' Daisy quoted her father. 'It finds us easy enough.'

'I have to go,' she said some time later, after the girls had gone over and over the problem. 'She'll write again and she'll write her address, but we have to be patient and wait till she's ready. Now you go and learn your lines and we'll all come and see the play. We're all looking forward to it.'

A few days later, the Dartford Chronicle spread out in front of her, Daisy was totally involved in a report of German aggression all over Europe when she heard the melodic ping of the shop bell. She looked up. A tall fair-haired young man in air force uniform was standing looking at her with a puzzled expression on his face.

Cigarettes, Daisy decided, and stood up with a friendly smile. 'Can I help you?'

'Yes, if you really know how to take an engine apart, clean it, and put it together again.'

'Well, if you don't scrub up well.' The words came tumbling out of her mouth before she could stop them, and Daisy wanted to bite her tongue at this evidence of her lack of sophistication. She just knew that no one had ever spoken to him like that before. Girls from his cla.s.s weren't rude.

To her surprise he laughed. 'So my grandmother used to say.' He held out his hand. 'Adair Maxwell.'

Daisy took his hand and the most pleasurable jolt went through her whole body. Why, why, why had she not put on the dark blue real linen dress with the pale blue Peter Pan collar that Mum had found in the market? She blushed furiously but obviously the jolt, or whatever it was, had not been felt by the young man in front of her, and so she managed to stutter, 'Daisy Petrie.'

'Who was born with a hammer in her hand, or was it a spanner?'

Had it been one of her brothers or one of the hordes of boys and young men who had been in and out of her home all her life, Daisy would have known how to answer. She would not have been left standing, as she thought, like a raving idiot while a real live pilot stood before her.

He put her out of her misery. 'I have a twelve-hour pa.s.s, drove to the farm, and Alf pa.s.sed on your extremely generous offer.'

She looked at him. Was this some kind of joke? How was she supposed to respond? 'You're welcome, I'm sure' or, 'Think nothing of it'? Again she said nothing.

'Miss Petrie,' he began, and then he laughed. 'Your eyes shot open like one of those toys what do they call them automatons. I'll start again. Miss Petrie, Daisy, I am extremely grateful for your offer of a.s.sistance with ... my plane. Thank you very much.'

Daisy, who was now staring at the floor, said, 'You're welcome.'

Adair looked at his watch. 'Nine hours and twenty-three minutes left, twenty-two, twenty-one.'

'Stop laughing at me.'

'Oh, my dear Miss Petrie, I'm not laughing at you, but it's very difficult to talk to someone who finds the floor so fascinating. Did you mean it? Will you come out with me and have a look at her? d.a.m.n, you've done your automaton again and lovely eyes they are too.'

A strange feeling travelled right down Daisy's spine. She should have worn her new frock. He said she had lovely eyes. Sally had lovely eyes; everyone said so. She gained control of herself. 'Right now? You want me to come and see the plane right this minute?'

'Yes, please, my car's outside.' He looked again at his watch.

'I'll have to find my dad.'

He was startled. 'You're perfectly safe with me, Miss Petrie.'

'Maybe, Mr Adair Maxwell,' said Daisy, and this time she was laughing, 'but somebody's got to mind the shop.'

THREE.

I'm helping a pilot friend maintain his aircraft ...

I am doing war work, as it happens. I'm working on an Aeronca. You don't know the Aeronca? American, of course, and practically the aircraft that started the entire craze for owning a plane.

Adair had to drop Daisy at the end of the back-street as he was already in grave danger of returning late to base, an unpardonable offence in the military. She walked slowly down the dark length of the street, feeling the euphoria of the afternoon seeping away, desperately trying to recapture some of it; trying out ways in which she might astound friends and family, and especially her brothers, by telling them about the experience. None of her carefully prepared little remarks would work with her brothers, of course. They would just laugh at her.

She got the fright of her life when she collided with a rather solid form.

'Look where you're going, young Daisy. You almost had me on my backside. What are you doing out by yourself at this time of night in the freezing cold?'

'Sorry, Mr Griffiths. I was ...' She stopped. 'I was working on an aircraft' would not be believed, and besides, might it not be possible that Adair would prefer that the fewer people who knew of the aeroplane's existence, the better? 'I've been out with a friend. I'm on my way home. Dad'll be looking out for me.'

Mr Griffiths, their local ARP warden, turned and looked up at the black shape that was the Petrie flat. 'They better not be showing any lights, my girl. You get on home and tell your young man to see you to your door in future.'

'Yes, Mr Griffiths,' said Daisy again.

'Your young man.' Heavens. Mr Griffiths actually thought Daisy Petrie had a young man. She laughed. Adair Maxwell was not a 'young man'. He was much more important than that. He was a pilot.

She carried on to the shop, feeling her way carefully. Not only was it impossible to see any distance at all because of the blackout and the starless sky, but the ground under her feet was very treacherous. She was relieved to put her key into the keyhole and happier still when she slipped inside. Immediately there was the glow of a m.u.f.fled light from the top of the stairs. Her sister stood there with a candle.