The Girls in Blue (17 page)

Janice threw her magazine on the floor and leapt from her bed. She dragged Miranda to her feet. ‘No you don’t, miss. You’re coming with us if Val and me have to carry you there. Now get your glad rags
on
and let Val do something with your hair.’ She tossed her slipper at her friend, who was staring into her compact mirror and plucking her eyebrows. ‘Hey, Val. Can you give this woman a proper hairdo? She can’t go dancing with it scraped back in a bun.’ She tweaked a couple of hairpins from Miranda’s hair and loosened it with her fingers. ‘You’ve got lovely blonde hair. It’s all right looking prim and proper in the ops room but we’re going to have a good time tonight.’

Despite her protests, Miranda’s hair had been washed and persuaded into a shining pageboy style with the aid of curling tongs heated on the top of the stove. She would have been quite happy to put on a cotton blouse and skirt and go as she was, but the girls had other ideas. Val went through Miranda’s locker like someone possessed, tossing the garments on her bed with exclamations of dismay. ‘You can’t wear this. That one would make you look like a schoolgirl, and this one would suit my gran.’ She threw up her hands in despair. ‘Have you got anything, Janice? The kid can’t go to a dance looking like flaming Judy Garland in
The Wizard of Oz
.’

‘No, really,’ Miranda said, deciding that this had gone far enough. ‘Please don’t bother. I’ll wear this.’ She snatched up the white crêpe de Chine with the floral print that Rita still coveted. ‘With my lovely new hairstyle this will be fine.’

Janice angled her head. ‘I suppose so, but you need some mascara.’ She delved in her handbag. ‘Here, use my Rimmel one and a touch of lipstick. It’s fine being a natural blonde, but you’re a bit pale.’

‘Thanks, but it wouldn’t be fair. I know makeup is hard to come by these days.’ Miranda rarely used anything apart from a dash of lipstick, but Rita’s letters had read like a wish list –
Things I would like for my birthday
– followed by a catalogue of virtually unobtainable cosmetics.

Janice thrust them into her hand. ‘Nah! Share and share alike, ducks. Isn’t that right, Val?’

Valerie nodded vigorously. ‘Stop yapping and get on with it, Miranda. We’ve got to get ourselves glammed-up and that takes time.’

Walking a mile in high heels along a narrow country lane in total darkness was not something that Miranda would have chosen as the start of a night out, but Janice and Val tottered along, singing at the tops of their voices. The thin reedy beam of their torches gave just enough light for them to avoid the worst of the potholes, but the ground was already coated with ice and very slippery. In the end there was nothing for it but to link arms and hope that nothing was coming, as it was almost impossible to see oncoming vehicles now that headlamps had to be masked, shedding just a sliver of light onto the road surface. Miranda was worried that by singing so loudly they might drown out the sound of an
approaching
car engine, but she did not want to spoil their mood.

They were cold and breathless when they finally arrived at the hall, but inside it was warm, smoky and very noisy as the pitch of voices rose in competition with the music on the gramophone, which was turned up to full volume. The dance floor was crowded with couples wrapped in each other’s arms moving very little as there was quite a crush. Miranda could see that being an expert in the foxtrot or the quickstep mattered very little when there was barely any space to perform, not that it seemed to be affecting the dancers’ enjoyment. Janice and Val had already shed their outer garments and hung them on a row of wall pegs, and Miranda followed suit. She was beginning to regret her decision to forgo an evening huddled in a leather wing-back chair in the library. The smell of musty books and the draughts whistling though the casement windows seemed like a haven of peace and quiet compared to the hubbub in the church hall.

‘Cooee,’ Janice called, waving her hand to a young man in civvies who was leaning nonchalantly against the tea bar. His face creased into a broad grin and he started towards them, weaving in and out through the gyrating couples. ‘That’s Cyril,’ Janice said coyly. ‘He’s ever such a good dancer, and before you ask, he works for the gas board so he didn’t get called up.’

‘He looks nice,’ Miranda murmured as Cyril drew closer. ‘You kept him quiet, didn’t you?’

‘He’s just a dance partner,’ Janice said airily. ‘I never said it was serious.’ She moved towards Cyril with her arms outstretched. ‘Hello, darling. How’ve you been?’

Valerie patted her long dark hair into place. ‘Do I look all right? I’d go to the ladies’ but I don’t want to miss anything.’

Miranda glanced round the hall. There seemed to be plenty of girls without partners and not very many unattached men. ‘Is it always like this?’

‘Sometimes, but the boys from the aerodrome should be here soon, that’s if they haven’t been scrambled. I forgot to ask Gloria how things were going when I saw her briefly in the mess.’

Miranda edged out of the way as a couple more girls breezed in on a gust of ice-cold air.

‘Let’s have a cuppa, I’m parched, and we won’t look so desperate if we’re doing something.’ Valerie headed for the tea bar, manned by two formidable-looking matrons wearing floral pinafores and felt hats. ‘Two teas, love.’

The woman who served her picked up the large teapot. ‘Haven’t we forgotten something?’

Valerie grinned. ‘Milk and sugar?’

‘Very funny, young lady, but I meant the little word that’s most important.’

‘Please.’

‘That’s better, but there’s no sugar. There is a war
on
, you know.’ The woman filled two cups. ‘That’ll be tuppence, please,’ she said, putting the emphasis on the last word.

Valerie raised an eyebrow. ‘Daylight robbery.’

Miranda took her purse from her bag and extracted two pennies. ‘Thank you,’ she said, placing them in the woman’s hand. ‘I’m sure it’s a lovely cup of tea.’

‘At least someone round here has manners.’ With a scornful glance in Valerie’s direction the woman moved on to serve someone else.

Valerie took a mouthful of tea and pulled a face. ‘Stewed. I knew it would be. They must make it an hour before the doors open.’ She moved away to sit on one of the wooden chairs set out along the wall. ‘Sit down, love. You’re making the place look untidy.’

Miranda took the seat beside her and sipped the lukewarm brew. Val was right, the tea had a metallic taste and was quite bitter, but it was better than nothing and she drank slowly, still wishing that she had stuck to her original plan. If she had followed her own inclinations she could have been ensconced in the oak-panelled library now, reading a book that would take her mind off the wretched war. Instead of which, she was now an official wallflower and it was not a comfortable feeling. She felt even more out of place as she cast a sideways glance at the girls who were waiting patiently for someone to claim them for the next dance. Without exception, they
were
done up to the nines, their faces powdered and rouged, their eyelashes bristling with mascara and their lips painted scarlet. Miranda could not help wondering how they managed to get hold of makeup when it was so scarce in the shops, but she felt suddenly underdressed and dowdy. She decided to wait until Valerie had a partner and then slip away unnoticed.

Someone had changed the record and Janice and Cyril were now jiving quite expertly to Benny Goodman and his orchestra’s rendition of ‘Sing, Sing, Sing (With a Swing)’ and the other couples were attempting it with varying degrees of success.

Valerie put her cup and saucer under her chair. ‘Hurry up and put in an appearance, chaps,’ she murmured, folding her arms and tapping her feet. ‘I don’t want to sit here all evening like a lemon.’

Almost before the words had left her mouth the doors opened and a group of RAF officers entered to warning cries of ‘Remember the blackout and keep that door shut’ from the ladies behind the counter.

Valerie rose to her feet, catching Miranda by the hand. ‘Get up,’ she hissed. ‘I know that chap who came in first. I danced with him a couple of weeks ago. He’s hot stuff.’

Miranda had no option other than to stand up and she craned her neck to get a better look. As always she found herself comparing Val’s hot stuff
to
Raif, who seemed to have set a standard in her head by which to measure the attractiveness of men. ‘Who is he?’

‘That’s Gilbert Maddern. Isn’t he just super?’

Miranda was unimpressed. ‘He looks okay.’

‘Are you blind? He’s absolutely gorgeous and all the girls in hut five would just die for a date with Mad Dog. That’s his call sign and it suits him.’

‘Well, what are you waiting for? Go and ask him for a dance.’

Valerie shook her head. ‘I couldn’t do that. I don’t think even Gloria would go up to a bloke and ask him to dance.’ She stiffened, clutching Miranda’s arm. ‘Oh my God! He’s coming this way. He must have spotted me.’

‘Now’s your chance then,’ Miranda said, giving her a gentle push in his direction.

Valerie opened her mouth to speak but he did not seem to notice her as he approached Miranda with a disarming smile. He held out his hand. ‘Gil Maddern. How do you do?’

She was too surprised to do anything other than respond politely. She shook his hand. ‘Miranda Beddoes. How do you do?’

‘Now that we’ve introduced ourselves, would you care to dance, Miss Beddoes?’

She could feel Val breathing down her neck and she hesitated. ‘I – I mean we were just having a cup of tea,’ she said, casting an imploring look in Val’s direction.

‘Don’t mind me,’ Val said, curving her lips into the semblance of a smile.

‘That’s all right then,’ Gil said, taking Miranda by the hand. ‘Shall we?’

‘He’s a heartbreaker,’ Val whispered in Miranda’s ear. ‘He’s had more girlfriends than I’ve had hot dinners.’

Miranda was quick to hear the note of jealousy in Val’s tone. She could quite believe that Gil Maddern might be a practised flirt, but his smile was infectious and there was a wicked twinkle in his hazel eyes and a lopsided quirk to his lips as though he was about to grin. He was also clasping her hand in a firm grasp that would have made it quite a struggle to pull free. She could feel Valerie’s eyes boring into her but she could hardly refuse his request without offering a good excuse – and she had none. ‘Yes, thank you.’ He was still holding her hand as he led her onto the dance floor, where the pace had slowed considerably as the couples moved slowly to Glenn Miller’s ‘Basin Street Blues’.

‘I haven’t seen you here before,’ Gil said, taking her in his arms. ‘Are you one of the girls from Henlow Priory?’

‘Yes. How did you know that?’

‘You’re obviously not from the village.’

‘How can you tell?’

‘Perhaps I’m psychic.’

He smiled again and she could see why some of the girls were bowled over by him, but his charm
was
a bit too studied for her liking. ‘And perhaps you like to chat up new girls so that you can boast about your conquests.’ She could tell by his startled expression that he had not been expecting this reaction.

‘That’s not true. I’m actually very shy when it comes to women.’

‘Now that is a downright fib,’ she said, laughing.

He whirled her round as the record came to an end. ‘At least I’ve made you laugh. You should do it more often.’

‘There isn’t much to laugh about these days.’ She met his amused gaze with a frown. ‘I spend eight hours a day, sometimes twelve, moving little blocks around a grid and tracking the flight paths of chaps like you. Sometimes we hear them over the tannoy calling Mayday. It’s the most chilling sound you could ever imagine, and even more so when it goes silent. We all hate that.’

He did not release her immediately. ‘When I’m up there, kissing the clouds, I’ll be glad to know that someone is thinking about me, and caring what happens.’

‘Oh, please.’ She broke away with an exasperated sigh. ‘I bet you say that to all the girls.’

‘No. Only the pretty blondes.’

‘That is such a corny chat-up line, Flying Officer Maddern.’

‘Now I’ve offended you. I’m sorry, but it was meant to be a compliment.’

‘It doesn’t matter.’ She glanced over her shoulder, looking for Val and Janice, but they were seated at a table chatting to a couple of the young men who had come in with Gil. There was a lull in the music while someone shuffled through a pile of records and the dancers began to leave the floor in search of refreshments.

‘How about a truly awful cup of tea or a glass of watered down orange squash?’ Gil followed her back to her seat. ‘Or a totally tasteless and rather soggy biscuit? People come from far and wide to sample the food here.’

She shot him a sideways glance. ‘Are you always like this?’

‘Like what, Miss Beddoes?’

‘So – so persistent.’

‘My Latin master told us that his tutor had had to translate a motto into Latin for an American university: Pep without purpose is piffle. That’s always been my motto too.’

‘And your purpose is?’

‘To get to know you better, Miranda.’

‘Now you’re shooting a line,’ she said defensively. ‘I’m not that naïve. I bet you’ve said things like that to every girl at Henlow Priory.’

His lips twitched. ‘Almost all; and it usually works.’

‘Sorry, Mad Dog, not this time.’ She glanced at the clock on the wall above the tea bar. ‘Nine thirty. I’d best be getting back to Henlow.’

His smile faded. ‘Are you that eager to escape from my boring company?’

‘Not at all, but I have to be up early in the morning. Goodnight, it was nice meeting you.’ She walked towards the row of pegs where her garments were now buried beneath a mass of flying jackets. She did not look back, hoping that by now he had got the message that she was not in the mood for a mild flirtation. She had allowed herself to fall for Raif’s charms and she was determined not to make the same mistake with Mad Dog Maddern. She was burrowing beneath the coats trying to find hers, when someone relieved her of their weight.

‘Allow me. I can’t stand by and see you struggle. You could suffocate under that lot.’