His Diamond Bride (8 page)

The closest he came to revealing his feelings was as they were walking to the bus stop in the late afternoon. Nearby was a church, from which a couple was just emerging. The groom wore an army uniform. Instead of a wedding gown the bride wore a modest functional dress, only the flower on her shoulder suggesting that today was special.

‘Is something the matter?' Mark asked, seeing her frown with concentration.

‘No, I'm just trying to remember where I've seen her before. Ah, yes, she works in the bakery three streets away.'

The bride saw her and waved. Dee waved back.

‘He's probably just home on leave for a few days and they won't have a honeymoon,' she reflected. ‘There are so many of these quick weddings happening now.'

She didn't press it further, leaving it up to Mark whether he seized the point and pressed for a wedding of their own. He was silent for a moment and she crossed her fingers.

‘Too many,' he said at last.

‘What…what did you say?'

‘There are too many of these mad weddings. He'll go away tomorrow and she may never see him again. If she does, he'll be changed, maybe disfigured.'

‘But if she loved him she wouldn't be put off by his disfigurement.'

‘She thinks she wouldn't. They all say that, but they don't know what they're talking about. The other day I met a man
who was a pilot in the last war. His face had been destroyed by fire.'

Through her hand tucked under his arm, Dee felt the faint shudder that went through him.

‘He hadn't seen his wife in years,' Mark continued. ‘He didn't blame her. He said you couldn't expect a woman to endure looking at him day after day.'

‘But he was still the same man inside,' Dee said, almost pleading.

‘But he wasn't. How could he be? How could you face that fire and be the same inside?'

Again there was the shudder, stronger now, and her hand tightened in sympathy. These days she seemed to understand him better with every moment that passed, and she knew that he would die rather than admit to being afraid.

At first there had been no need to fear. Everything was beginning in sunlight and hope as the planes soared up and over Europe to tackle Hitler's invasion. But it soon became clear that the enemy had more powerful planes, and the British losses began to mount up. Mark was unscathed, but some of his friends weren't so lucky.

He hadn't told her, but she knew of two airmen whose bravery had resulted in the award of Victoria Crosses. But they never saw these tributes. They had died in action.

Now she had sensed the things that he could never put into words, and knew that secretly he dreaded fire more than anything else. More than pain. More than death. Fire.

‘Maybe she won't be the same inside, either,' she said. ‘Maybe she'll just be what he needs her to be.'

He gave a sharp, ironic laugh. ‘If he's there at all. Suppose he dies and leaves her with a child to rear alone? Suppose she has no family left, and is really alone with a child she—is that the bus I can see in the distance?'

‘Yes,' she said sadly.

‘Time to go, then. Congratulations again on passing your
exams. I'll be in touch and we'll try to see each other again soon.'

The bus was there. An arm around her shoulder, a quick kiss on the mouth, and he was gone.

She didn't return home at once, but walked the streets as the light faded. Now she had her answer. There would be no early marriage, and perhaps no marriage at all. He'd expressed his refusal as consideration for her, and it sounded sensible enough, except that he didn't love her and needed a good excuse.

But then she remembered the echo from his own past, how he'd started to speak of the woman left alone with a child who she—and then he'd broken off. Who she—what? Couldn't cope with? Didn't love? What would he have said if the bus hadn't appeared at that moment? Would he tell her one day? Or would she be left to wonder all her life?

 

They managed a brief meeting over Christmas, but then time flashed by and it was 1940. As the months passed the prospect grew darker. Neville Chamberlain, a sick man, resigned in May to be replaced as Prime Minister by Winston Churchill.

Dee's new job was demanding. She put in as much overtime as she could, preferring to work to exhaustion rather than have too many hours to brood.

‘Working long hours is praiseworthy, of course,' Mr Royce said, placing a mug of tea in front of her in the canteen. ‘But if you're too exhausted you're useless to the patients.'

Dee opened her eyes and regarded him with a sleepy smile. She respected him greatly but her awe had been softened by liking. He was in his late forties, with hair already greying and a pleasant, gentle manner.

‘I know,' she said, taking the mug thankfully. ‘I'm leaving in a minute.'

‘Do you manage to see much of your fiancé?'

‘Not for a couple of weeks, although I hope he'll manage to visit us soon. The airfield isn't so far away, but of course he's mostly on call. I know I'm one of the lucky ones, because I do get to see him sometimes. The ones I feel sorry for are the women whose men are in the army, stationed in France, because they say Hitler is advancing.'

‘As a matter of fact,' Mr Royce said casually, ‘I can give you some news of Mark. They say he's making a name for himself, a brave and skilful pilot. You should be proud of him.'

‘Thank you for telling me,' Dee said.

She didn't ask how he knew. It was common knowledge in the hospital that he had friends in high places. One rumour even said he had a cousin in the government, although nobody knew for sure. It briefly occurred to Dee to wonder how his knowledge extended as far as this one airfield, but she was too tired to think much of it.

‘Mark's very pleased with himself at the moment,' she said, ‘because when Winston Churchill became Prime Minister he was able to say, “I told you so”.'

‘He actually predicted it?'

‘Not exactly, but he used to say that Churchill was the only one who knew what he was talking about.'

‘That's true. Now, go home and get some sleep.'

At home she found Helen fuming, as she'd done for several weeks. There was a problem with food stocks, as ships bringing food to Britain were sunk by enemy submarines. To make supplies stretch, further ration books had been issued, directing how much could be eaten in a week.

‘Four ounces of bacon,' Helen declared in disgust, ‘two ounces of cheese, three pints of milk. And I have to hand over the ration book and they tear out coupons showing I've had this week's allowance and I can't have any more until I hand over next week's coupons.'

‘It's to make sure everyone gets a fair share, Mum,' Dee
explained. ‘Otherwise, the folk with money would buy up the lot.'

‘That's all very well, but Mark's coming next weekend. How can we feed him properly?'

‘I think he'll understand the problem.'

She was counting the minutes until she would see Mark, but the day before he was due to arrive the telephone rang.

‘I can't come tomorrow,' he said. ‘All leave has been cancelled.'

‘But why?'

‘I don't know, and I couldn't tell you if I did. But something big's happening, take my word.'

That was the first she heard of Dunkirk.

D
UNKIRK:
May 1940, a name and a date that were to become inscribed in history, but in fact few details came out at the time. It was only in hindsight that it was possible to see the story as a whole, how British and French soldiers had been driven back through France until they reached the harbour of Dunkirk, where, over nine days, more than three hundred thousand of them were rescued by a fleet of ships that had crossed the channel from England. Some were Royal Navy destroyers, but many were small vessels, merchant ships, fishing boats, lifeboats, and these were the ones that passed into legend.

Enemy planes bombarded the evacuation, and were fought off by the Royal Air Force.

‘They saved thousands of lives,' Mr Royce told her, ‘but their own losses were terrible, over four hundred planes. Do you have any news of Mark?'

‘Yes, he called me several times to say he was all right. I'm glad I knew that before I heard about those losses. Thank goodness it's over now.'

‘Dee, it's not over, it hasn't begun. Who do you think will be attacked next?'

‘Us,' she said slowly. ‘In this country.'

A few days later she, like many others, sat by the radio, listening to Churchill confirming their worst fears: ‘The battle of France is over. I expect that the Battle of Britain is about
to begin… The whole fury and might of the enemy must very soon be turned on us.'

And the front line of defence would be the Air Force.

By day she threw herself into her work, seeing Mark in every patient, finding her only solace in devoting herself to their care. At night she lay in the darkness, whispering, ‘Come back to me,' and holding the little bear he'd won for her at the fair.

Now their contact was almost nil. When he could manage to telephone, the call would come when she was at work. She would arrive home to hear Helen say, ‘He called. Says everything's fine and he sends his love.'

‘Sends his love.' It was a neutral phrase that anyone might have used, but she treasured it nonetheless.

Mr Royce had been right in his prediction. Three weeks after Dunkirk, the Channel Islands were invaded. Two weeks later, the enemy bombers arrived over England and the Air Force was in action against them, fighting them back so ferociously that Churchill paid a public tribute that went down in history.

‘Never in the field of human conflict,' he said to a packed House of Commons, ‘was so much owed by so many to so few.'

The pilots were the heroes of the hour. Pictures appeared in the press showing young men, leaning casually against their planes, laughing as though danger was just something they took in their stride.

Mostly the pictures were groups, but occasionally one pilot was shown alone. That was how Dee first saw the photograph of Mark, perched on the wing of his Spitfire, relaxed and clearly exhilarated by the life he led.

‘You'd think they hadn't a care in the world,' Matron observed as they studied the papers during a hurried tea break.

‘Why are they all holding up their hands like that?' Dee wondered, looking at a group picture.

‘That's to tell you how many enemy aircraft they've just shot down. Look at him.' She pointed to Mark, who had four fingers on display. ‘You can see he's proud of himself.'

Then she gave a laugh. ‘I wonder if there are any plain middle-aged pilots. If you believe the press, they're all young, handsome and dashing.'

‘Some of them are,' Dee murmured.

Part of her was bursting with pride, although it was undermined by terror for his life. But she knew that this simply made her one of many, and so she was shy of speaking about it.

Even with Mr Royce she was reticent, although he'd now become a trusted confidant. If she'd had thoughts to spare for him, she might have wondered at how often they chanced to meet in the canteen, but she had no thoughts for anyone but Mark.

‘How long is it since you saw him?' Mr. Royce asked one day.

‘Weeks, but of course he can't get leave now.'

‘But didn't you say he was at—?' He named the airfield. ‘Surely there's a café nearby where you could wait for him to get a few minutes off. Let him know you're there, and that you'll wait all day if necessary.'

‘But I have to be here—' she gasped.

‘Leave that to me. You haven't had a day off for too long.'

By good luck, Mark chanced to call that night and she outlined the plan to him.

‘That's wonderful!' he said. ‘There's a little café called The Warren just outside the airfield. Wait for me there.'

Mr Royce was true to his word and for one day she was free to hurry to the airfield and settle down in the café as soon as
it was open. She bought sparingly, knowing that it might be a long wait.

After a while the place began to fill up and the woman behind the counter regarded her with suspicion, even hostility. At last she approached her, glaring.

‘I've got a business to run. I can't afford to have people taking up the chairs and not buying anything. You all seem to think you can use this place as a collection point.'

‘All?'

‘You know what I mean, and don't pretend that you don't.'

Dee did know and was half amused, half angry. ‘Actually, I'm a nurse,' she said, ‘and I'm waiting for my fiancé.'

The woman regarded her for a moment. ‘If you're a nurse, come and take a look at my son. He's ten and very naughty. He cut himself this morning and he won't let anyone look at it.'

After that, things went well. The cut turned out to be minor and easily dressed. Her hostess visibly warmed.

‘My name's Mrs Gorton. You stay here as long as you like, and I'll bring you something.'

She served Dee a lunchtime snack, on the house, and began to chat with her as the café cleared.

‘Sorry about that, but you should see some of them that come in here. I suppose it can't be helped. Get a lot of young men together and the “good time girls” are going to…well…offer them a good time, if you know what I mean.'

‘Yes, I know what you mean,' Dee said.

‘And they do a lot of business, so I'm told. The newspapers don't tell that kind of story. Oh, no, those lads are heroes so they're all virtuous, but the two don't go together, take my word. I could tell you things well, anyway, the girls who flaunt themselves aren't the ones you have to worry about. It's the ones that look respectable, like those two near the door. What time will your fiancé be here?'

‘I don't know. When he can get away. Perhaps never. No—wait—I think that's him.'

She could just see a figure in a leather jacket coming along the street. The next moment she'd leapt to her feet and hurried out to meet him. Laughing joyfully, Mark enfolded her in a bear hug and for a few minutes she forgot everything else.

‘We'll have to go back inside,' he said at last. ‘I can't move far.'

‘I don't care where it is,' she said fervently.

As they entered she saw Mrs Gorton rise and move back to the counter. For a moment her eyes were fixed curiously on Mark and Dee realised she was conveying a warning about the two girls by the window who ‘looked respectable' but clearly weren't.

It was plain what she meant. The girls were regarding Mark, wide-eyed, and in all fairness Dee couldn't blame them. In a short time he'd grown older, heavier, more adult, and a hundred times more attractive. Until now, the boy had lingered in his face, but the experience of confronting death time and again had changed him.

One of the girls seemed about to hail him, then her eyes flickered to Dee and she shrugged and turned away.

Forget it,
Dee wanted to say.
He's mine.

A young man at a corner table rose and headed for the door, passing close by. Dee frowned.

‘Pete?' she queried cautiously.

He stared, then grinned when he'd recovered. ‘Fancy seeing you here!' he exclaimed.

‘You two know each other?' Mark asked.

‘We were at school together,' Dee explained, ‘although Pete was two forms above me. He saved me from bullies once.'

‘Then let me shake your hand,' Mark said, doing so and giving Pete a good-natured grin.

‘What are you doing here?' Dee asked him. ‘Are you an airman?'

‘No, I'm a mechanic,' Pete said. ‘I wanted to fly, but I was useless at it. Not like him.' He indicated Mark. ‘Regular mad devil, that's what they say.'

Mark grinned again, not at all troubled by this assessment.

‘I'll…er…leave you alone, then,' Pete said, suddenly becoming self-conscious.

‘Yes, do, there's a good chap,' Mark agreed, shepherding Dee to a table.

He sat down facing her, his hands holding hers across the table, smiling as he did in her dreams.

‘I can't stay long, so let's make the most of it,' he said. ‘I've missed you.'

‘Has it been very bad?'

He shrugged. ‘They haven't caught me yet and they're not going to.'

‘But there's more to come, isn't there?'

‘I'm afraid so. I worry about you, too. Are you sleeping in that Anderson shelter?'

She made a face. ‘We tried it but it's so uncomfortable. Mum simply refuses to leave the house now, and we can hardly leave her there alone. To hell with Hitler!'

He touched her cheek. ‘That's the spirit.'

Silence fell for a few moments and she had the strange impression that he was uneasy, which was rare with him. Then, as if coming to a sudden resolution, he said, ‘I've got something for you.'

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small box which he opened to reveal a ring.

‘It's about time I gave you an engagement ring. I hope it fits.'

It fitted perfectly. It was tiny and cheap, with a small piece of glass where a diamond should have been. She wouldn't have changed it for the world.

‘Hey, don't cry,' he chided, brushing her cheek. ‘What happened to my sensible Dee?'

‘She doesn't really exist,' she choked. ‘She's just a pretence.'

‘I hope not. I'll rely on her to keep me straight when this is over.'

‘When it's over,' she said longingly. ‘One day—but when?' To her surprise, he sighed and for a moment a bleak look came over his face. It was gone in an instant, but she knew she wasn't mistaken.

‘What is it?' she asked. ‘I thought you were loving it.'

‘Well, some of it.'

‘Being one of “the few”, having your picture in the paper. After that photo appeared in the national press, the local paper used it as well. Now there's a copy hanging up in the church hall with “Our Hero” written underneath.'

‘Please, Dee, you're making me blush.'

‘Nonsense, I know how conceited you really are.'

‘Oh, you do!'

‘Yes, I do,' she said, laughing as she spoke. ‘And you bask in the spotlight. Oh, Mark, what is it?' The bleak look had appeared again. ‘Am I being clumsy? I'm sorry.'

‘No, it's just that…well…it's not like the romantic picture they give you. When you take off, you never know what's going to happen.'

‘Of course not, how stupid of me. It must be scary. Are you—?'

‘Am I scared? Yes, but not in the way you think. If you get shot down it'll all be over soon. I can cope with that. It's when I shoot one of them down that it gets hard.'

His fingers tightened on her hand and she clasped him back, waiting silently.

‘It's all right when they're at a distance,' he went on. ‘But sometimes it happens close up and you can see them, even
hear them scream over the engines as they go down to their deaths.'

‘But otherwise it would be you,' she urged.

‘I know. You tell yourself it's them or you but that doesn't always help. If you see their faces they've become real, and you know you've killed a man.'

‘A man who was trying to kill you,' she said firmly.

‘Yes. It's just a bit of a shock at first. Ah, well, never mind.'

The last words were like a barrier set up suddenly, as though he'd seen where the conversation was leading and didn't want to go there.

‘Mark, please talk to me if you want to—'

‘I talk too much,' he said heartily. ‘I can remember when you used to say so.'

‘That was in another world. If you—'

‘Hey, who's that?'

There was a movement from outside the window and another airman looked in, jerking his head when he saw Mark. ‘We have to get back now,' he said tensely. ‘Take off in an hour.'

‘Goodbye,' Mark said, rising and leaning forward to kiss her.

She had a thousand things to say.
I love you. Take care. Call me when you get back.
But she said none of them, just followed him to the door and stood watching as he walked away. The girls of easy virtue were still there and one of them tried to stop and talk to him, but he shook her off and hurried on.

Mrs Gorton came to stand beside her at the door. ‘Is he your fiancé?' she asked.

‘That's him,' Dee replied, her eyes on Mark's retreating figure.

She wasn't really listening to Mrs Gorton, and so missed the slight curious note in her voice. Nor did she hear the way
she said, ‘Hmm!' or see the pitying look the older woman gave her.

In fact she saw and heard nothing in the outside world. Now her whole universe was taken up by the feel of the ring on her finger, and joy that he'd remembered it in the middle of so much else.

There was another happiness, too. She treasured the moment when he'd come so close to confiding in her about the horrors of his job. That was what she could give him, what would draw them closer. All she needed was time. But time might yet be denied them. As night descended and she pictured him high up, making life and death decisions, she knew a return of terror and fiercely clasped the ring on her left hand.