Someone Special (46 page)

Everyone knew about Dan because Nell had to keep using his name. She brought him into every available conversation and sometimes saw the other girls exchanging indulgent glances; isn’t it sweet how she loves him, their glances said. Don’t you wish you were in love?

‘Oh, has he got leave too? I’ll send your Mum a few little extras, then,’ Mrs Earnshaw said, as though it was a totally new idea which had just occurred to her. ‘That’ll be nice for you, love, to share your leave with your young man.’

Nell murmured agreement but as a matter of fact she was doing nothing of the sort. As far as she knew, Dan didn’t have leave, but she intended to tell her mother a whopper and say she only had four days off. Then she would bid the family farewell and set off for Lincoln. Once there, she would see Dan, if only for half an hour, and then make her way back to the Withies. She had not told Dan she was going to try to see him, let alone that she would be in Lincoln for two days. She intended to explain when she arrived and leave to him the decision as to whether or not she should stay. The thought that he might suggest she stayed
with
him made her heart beat faster, but she was not expecting it. Men weren’t like women, they didn’t fall in love when they were seven years old and stay that way until they were fully grown and beyond. She would have to win Dan all over again, she knew that.

Nell was not a conceited girl, but after a year of living away from home and being courted by several eager young men, she knew herself to be reasonably attractive to the opposite sex. She did not count Snip, but there were others: farmers’ sons home on leave,
sailors back while their ships went for refits, and the ever-present Air Force. Dan was, of course, handsomer, nicer and more desirable than any of these; he had liked her once, who could say that he did not still, in a corner of his heart, have a soft spot for her?

So Nell, walking briskly up the muddy lane with Earny’s sheepdog, Patch, at her heels, could see no reason why her break in Lincolnshire should not be a success.

‘It isn’t fair, Huntie, it really is most
un
fair. She has all the fun! She doesn’t do lessons any more, she waltzes off to Aldershot each day to play with cars and engines … she comes home filthy quite often, absolutely filthy … and what happens to me?’ Margaret paused dramatically, posing, conscious of the part she was playing even in her temper, for it was definitely temper, Miss Huntley thought, which had brightened her eyes and tightened her lips this morning. ‘Why,
nothing
happens to me, because I’m the youngest! And now she’s driving that beautiful big Red Cross van, and I’m supposed to sit in the schoolroom and study French verbs.’

‘Yes, that’s right, just like every other child of fourteen,’ Miss Huntley said cheerfully. ‘So sit down and get on with it, Margaret. You’ll do all the things that Elizabeth does when you’re her age.’

The schoolroom at Windsor had been abandoned because it was a beautiful day, so Miss Huntley and the younger Princess were sitting out on the side lawn, Margaret with her verbs to learn, Miss Huntley with some knitting. Margaret pushed her book to one side and lay down full length on the grass, then rolled over on her back and eyed her governess thoughtfully.

‘Huntie, what’s going to happen to Elizabeth?’

‘What do you mean, happen? All the usual things. She’ll go to dances, and open fêtes and help Mummy
and Papa – that is, she will when the war ends. Until then she’ll learn engine maintenance and drive Army vehicles and do all the other things that ordinary girls of her age …’

‘Oh, I know all that, especially the bit about girls of her age. No, I meant what will happen with Philip, Huntie, with Philip. She’s in love with him, you know, and he’s in love with her. They want to get married, and I want to be bridesmaid – now that would be fun, wouldn’t it? I’d really enjoy that.’

‘You shouldn’t talk like that, dear; Elizabeth isn’t just an ordinary girl who can please herself over such matters. One day she’s going to be Queen and …’

‘Oh, one day, one day! Besides, just now you said she was an ordinary girl. Look, Lilibet and Philip write every day and they spent a lot of time together when he was last home on leave. She thinks he’s ever so lovely – he is, isn’t he, Huntie? – and he’s a proper Prince, even if he is a bit Greek. And anyway, how can he be Greek when his surname’s Mountbatten, the same as Uncle Dickie’s?’

‘I think he took the name Mountbatten. Anyway, none of this has anything to do with you or with me, Margaret Rose. Let’s talk about something else, shall we? How soon do you think the war will end? Things seem to be going rather well for us, if it weren’t for those beastly V-1 rockets I think we could claim to be almost home and dry, wouldn’t you?’

The V-1s were the only things, Huntie thought, which actually frightened her two charges. It was nerve-racking, watching them buzzing ahead and feeling the rush of terror that the engine might cut out and that the creature – it seemed too horribly capable of making its own decisions to think of it as just a bomb – might land right where you were. But neither Elizabeth nor her younger sister ever showed the fear Huntie knew they felt.

Margaret smiled and sat up. ‘Yes, I’m sure you’re
right. We all hate those buzz bombs; Lilibet said they’re calling them doodlebugs at Aldershot. Huntie, is it time for luncheon yet? I always seem to be hungry these days.’

‘That’s because you’re a growing girl,’ Miss Huntley said sententiously. ‘I believe it’s time we went indoors. Bring your verb book, dear.’ It was not until they had entered the castle and were making their way to the schoolroom and lunch that it occurred to Miss Huntley that, one way and another, Margaret had not done a single verb that morning.

The little monkey – she had made up her mind not to work and she had held Miss Huntley’s attention very neatly. Now, running ahead of the governess, Margaret looked back, mouth curved into her sweet smile, eyes sparkling.

‘Did I do it, Huntie? Is that what you’re thinking?’

Miss Huntley, following at a sedate pace, had to laugh.

Anna got leave early in August, but she didn’t feel much inclined to go home to Goldenstone and Constance. They spoke on the telephone, they exchanged polite and interesting letters, but Anna did not want to get home and begin to realise that her mother, entertaining the troops, was doing for them what she should be doing only for JJ.

JJ was at sea and Anna had talked to other men who were in the Navy. She knew that JJ’s life afloat would be both hard and dangerous, and she pitied him, despite herself, because her mother was unlikely to be faithful to him now. Of course, the fact that he could not commit adultery while at sea did not mean that he would not start an affair the moment he set foot on dry land, but for the moment he was concentrating on winning the war and not on persuading someone to sleep with him. And though Anna knew she was being unfair, she could not accept her mother’s infidelity while her father was, perforce, being whiter than white. And in her heart, a
man’s carryings-on, though reprehensible, were not as bad as a woman’s. It’s because a woman could have a baby, my mother could have a baby, Anna told herself. And could not help giggling at the thought of Constance, not at all maternal, having to explain a little black baby to her friends.

All in all, it seemed better to take herself off to Lincolnshire, to spend a few days with a fellow-WAAF who had recently been moved up to RAF Waddington as a wireless operator. And to see Dan. She had telephoned him. He wasn’t at Waddington but at Scampton, which was quite near, and when she said she would be staying in Lincoln, at a friend’s house, and visiting other friends at Waddington, he had said at once that they must meet.

‘Good of you to phone, Anna,’ he had said. ‘Phone me again as soon as you arrive, then we can make a date.’

A date with Dan! It would be heaven to see him again, Anna decided, absolute heaven. And if he took her out for a meal, or to the cinema … she gave a delicious shudder at the thought. Dan liked her, she knew he did. He had been very attentive since that time when he had kissed her beneath the willow tree. Perhaps attentive was the wrong word, but he had been kind and had sometimes sought her out.

He had not kissed her again though. Which was a pity, because she had expected him to, had waited hopefully for the moment when he would take her in his arms. They had met less than a year ago at a party, bumping into each other by accident in the corridor, and Anna had smiled up at him, sure that this time … But he had not kissed her. He had stopped to talk, had congratulated her on what he called ‘growing up so prettily’, and had moved on, going back into the main room to rejoin his friends. But she had been little more than a child then, it would be different now, wouldn’t it? They were both grown-up,
she was an aircraft woman first class, she drove important RAF officials around, she navigated all over the country and had driven through London at the height of the rush hour (not that it compared, of course, with pre-war rush hours, but still) and she would shortly be promoted; her wing officer had told her so, had said, furthermore, that she deserved it.

Dan flew Hurricanes, which was a responsible, grown-up kind of thing to do. She wished he flew Spitfires because they were the best, Jamie said, but to be any sort of pilot was important. He was a flight lieutenant, which meant he’d moved up a bit in his squadron, but she would have loved him had he been a driver or a mechanic, she would have loved him had he cleaned latrines or cooked spuds in the cookhouse; her love wasn’t dependent on externals. She loved Dan the boy as well as Dan the man. All that was necessary for her complete happiness was that he should love her too.

After all her anticipation, Nell didn’t see Dan during her leave. Or rather, she saw him but he didn’t see her.

She was in Lincoln, having decided to have a look around the city before ringing Scampton to speak to Dan. To tell the truth, now that the moment had arrived she found she was very nervous and any excuse to put off the evil moment was reason enough. So she wandered up the road which led from the railway station to the city, eyeing the shops, the busy people, the ancient buildings. She was intrigued to find a river, tamed to be sure but still a river, running right through the streets, so that you were always conscious of it. She found a sort of inland harbour and quay where there was shipping, bustle, people. And boats. She saw that you could hire a rowing boat, and thought wistfully that it would be fun to hire a boat if Dan were with her. It would be wizard to sit in the stern while Dan rowed, and smile and talk and watch
him watching her, waiting for the moment when they might tie up somewhere quiet and … and get to know each other better.

She had walked most of the way round the inland harbour, and discovered that it was called Brayford Pool and that you could indeed hire a rowing boat for a small sum from the bent and wizened little man sitting on an empty fish barrel in the sunshine, smoking a pipe which looked – and smelt – even older than he was. But the clock confirmed that she had best get back into the city and find a telephone and somewhere to spend the night. She walked through the streets and climbed a bridge where she half-remembered seeing a telephone box. At the crest of the bridge she looked down and a rowing boat was coming along, a young man in Air Force blue rowing, a girl, also in Air Force blue, reclining in the stern.

One look was enough; it was Dan. Now and then he rested on his oars and leaned forward and spoke earnestly to the young woman whose smooth, blonde head was all Nell could see of her. Just as they were about to pass out of sight, two things happened: the girl spoke, leaning forward; Dan leaned forward too, putting out a hand to stroke the side of her face, speaking …

The intensity of Nell’s stare, she thought afterwards, was probably what made Dan look up, but she turned away from the bridge so quickly that she hoped he had not seen her. She ran, then, back towards the station; she had come up here on a fool’s errand. Dan clearly had a girlfriend, a beautiful girl with wonderful golden hair, a girl who was in the same service as he was, who could understand his hopes and fears. And anyway, why on earth would Dan want her? She was such an ordinary person when all was said and done. Oh, she was a landgirl now, but that was only until the war ended. When peace broke out she’d just be a fairground girl again, shouting
the hoopla or the shooting gallery, helping her mother with Phillips, whittling pegs in the winter or crocheting lace. She was a traveller, a gipsy, as good as, though God help you if a showman heard you call him that! She had nothing that could appeal to Dan, nothing whatever.

She returned to the station and caught the first train out of Lincoln. She cried at first, but then she ran out of tears and simply sat, small and silent, in the corner of the carriage and told herself that it didn’t matter, she’d had a crush on Dan, that was all. She would pull herself together and try to make something of her life, instead of just living from day to day.

Perhaps I ought to settle for Snip, she thought drearily as the train chugged through the increasing darkness. He does like me; oh, but liking isn’t enough, it isn’t, it isn’t! Love is so special, and I do so want it for myself!

Hot August sunshine and the smell of the river. Swans, sailing like great dignified barges and ducks bustling, babbling, upending themselves in the clear waters of the river. The banks gliding past, Dan bending to his oars, talking, explaining, laughing.

I am so happy, Anna told herself dramatically, that if I died right now, this very instant, I’d not complain. Most people don’t have any happiness as intense as this, ever – I’ve been happy for the whole of a sunny afternoon.

‘We’ll have a meal at the Saracen’s Head, in the city,’ Dan was saying as he rowed past buildings, among streets. ‘Then we’ll walk up to the cathedral, it’s a beautiful building, everyone who comes to Lincoln has to see the cathedral and the Lincoln Imp, of course. It’s most awfully steep, but you won’t mind that. Where did you say you were staying?’

‘I booked a room in a boarding house in Lindum Hill,’ Anna said. ‘It’s quite a small house, but clean,
and the landlady seemed very nice. But I could always cancel it, if you wanted me to.’