Chapter Seven
Shall we dance?


Mac’s finger hovered briefly over his king before tipping it with, quite literally, a sigh of resignation; Amanda’s precocious displays were astonishing, and depressing. At Cambridge her reputation had rested on an ability to enact elaborate practical jokes, not the kind of fearsome intellect Mac had just seen romp across the chessboard. What had changed: was it purely the experience of war, or something even more profound? Perhaps what rankled most for Professor MacDiarmid was that this talent remained undiscovered by the institution to which he had dedicated his life.

“We’re overdue a chat about your future prospects young lady” he said, absently knocking out his pipe on the desk, “Remind me, what were you reading?”

“It really didn’t matter”, Amanda laughed, “university was merely a way of marking time until my majority; to keep me out of too much trouble.” She began setting up the pieces for another game, “The Empire’s seen too many Carstairs remittance men. They’ve caused no end of trouble, don’t you know.”

“She has, however, had her nose stuck in this all week”, chimed Verity, holding up a book for Mac’s inspection. On its tattered dustjacket the title could just be made out - ‘My Best Games of Chess 1924 -1937.’

“My ‘Alekhine’, you minx!” Mac roared, ”There was no need to steal it, you only had to ask.” He affected a hurt air while quietly pleased; the grand-master’s dashing style would appeal to a fighter pilot. Finding out how much of it she had absorbed would, however, have to wait for another day as the non-playing member of their party appeared distinctly bored.

“May I offer you ladies a drink?”, he said, reaching for the whisky bottle.

“You drink too much”, chided Verity, but took the glass he offered all the same. There was no doubt in Mac’s eyes that she had had a beneficial effect on Amanda. The dowdy flying-officer who, a few weeks previously, had hardly ever smiled, blossomed under the older woman’s influence, becoming the attractive young lady she had trained to be.

“It’ll have to be a quick one, I’m afraid”, he said unscrewing the bottle top, “Jess’s victory last night has created a few problems which have to be cleared up”, he poured them each a liberal shot, “and it may not be the triumph we had hoped for.”

“But positive, surely?” Verity took a sip of her drink, “they came looking, and we caught them. Isn’t that what we’re trying to achieve?”

“Hmm”, Amanda’s glass stalled between table and lips, “the way it exploded suggests it was carrying a full bomb load…” She left the unspoken question hang in the air alongside her drink.

“Precisely”, Mac grimaced, “Jess may only have caught a straggler from last night’s raid on London.” Mention of London brought a lengthy pause to the conversation, they all knew people who had already been caught up in the Blitz.

“That would explain why the navigation lights were on”, Amanda added, “they were probably lost.”

“Plus Mike and I have to drive to Monksclere tonight to mollify the station commander over you valkyries roaming the night skies with loaded weapons.”

“Well there’s no fear of that tonight, this rain’s in until morning”, Amanda said, “we’re planning a little celebration for Jess instead.”

“Ask him over”, Verity chipped in, “I’m sure we can show him what sober, responsible ladies we all are.”

“You may have a point”, mused Mac, “and if that doesn’t work we’ll get Jess to charm the pants off him... figuratively speaking of course.”

---

“So you’re the maiden who bowls Dorniers over eh?”

Jess has been cornered by a handlebar moustache of hypnotic bushiness; its owner was also a bottom pincher. Mike had hurriedly plotted an interception course that brought him to Jess’ side before the pinching fingers could make a second pass at their target

“It was an error of judgement Winky that’s all. Pilot-officer Crabtree has been severely reprimanded.” He raised an eyebrow, warning Jess to look suitably contrite.

“Cut a chap some slack”, the wing-commander’s eye twitched in irritation, “that was the funniest thing I’ve said in years. We’re not all film stars you know old boy.”

Damn Mac for his bright ideas. Winky Wilson had turned up at Helton with half Monksclere’s officers tripping after him like girl guides on a charabanc outing. Mike glanced across the room where Pat was fighting another fire, standing firmly on Hannah Rodriguez’s toes: they could do without another sermon tonight on the evils of capitalism. Mac, damn his eyes, was nowhere to be seen.

“The frame looks rotten, and it’s bound to be out of tune.” Amanda gingerly tapped the piano’s keys as if the slightest pressure would precipitate the instrument’s final collapse.

“Sounds fine to me ladies”, Mac grinning put his shoulder to the ancient upright’s side, “shall we?”

It had hardly been the most ladylike of entrances, but the decrepit piano did alter the tone of the evening. One of the Monksclere pilots had sat down at the keyboard, grimaced briefly then began playing; and after Mike suggested that his initial choice of number was inappropriate for mixed company he switched to a selection of popular dance tunes. Furniture was cleared away, rugs rolled back, and the first invitations extended in short order.

“So last night was a wash out then”, Amanda said while doing her best to avoid both of Mac’s left feet.

“Perhaps”, Mac answered, “but I’ve still a few tricks up my sleeve. What’s that look for?”

“Your hand is supposed to be at my waist!”

“Sorry”, he whispered sheepishly, “it’s too easy to forget that you’re not a woman.”

“Well try at least to remember that you’re supposed to be a gentleman”, she hissed.

“Only ‘supposed to be’ my dear.” He was framing a suitably wolfish look for Amanda when he noticed Verity at his shoulder. “I don’t believe it’s an ‘excuse me’”, Mac said half-releasing Amanda, “but if you insist.”

“Oh but I do”, she said sweeping Amanda out of his arms and into her own, “that man’s a rogue for all his donnish ways.”

“Hey! You’re leading”, Amanda protested as they danced away from Mac.

“You didn’t seem to mind a minute ago”, she smiled, “you’re going to miss all this, admit it.”

“Some of it”, Amanda said quietly, “not being short for one, and having friends who aren’t just waiting for me to pull another stupid stunt.”

“And being a girl?”

“Still just another uniform”, her broad smile switched to a look of surprise, “did you just try to dip me?”

---

Jess, who had been pinched, patted and fondled all through the evening, stood with her back to the wall declining drinks and dance invitations from a half dozen of the more persistent Monksclere pilots. Only when squadron-leader Trent broke up their formation could she be persuaded to take to the floor again.

“You’re far too pretty to be a wallflower”, Mike said as they danced. Jess looked up at him, fighting an urge to bat her lashes. This close it was easy to imagine where that wiggle in Pat’s walk came from.

“I’m black and blue”, she said shyly, her cheeks suddenly flushed with colour.

“It can’t be much fun”, he said, steering her effortlessly across the floor, “when the only person you really want at your party isn’t here.” Jess bit her lip, where was this was going? “My office in the lodge is open, there’s a fire in the hearth, and I bet if you go to the front door right now”, he glanced at his wristwatch, “a certain aircraftswoman might happen to be waiting.”

“Oh thank you Sir!”, Jess reached up on her tip toes, and kissed her commanding officer on the cheek, before rushing out at a dizzy pace.

“That was sweet of you”, Pat said from his side.
“There were three or four chaps over there ready to fight over her”, Mike looked at his shoes for an instant, “I don’t suppose you’d care to...”

Pat raised an eyebrow, quietly amused by how bashful he appeared. “Dare we?”, she asked, more than a hint of teasing in her voice.

“Probably not”, he answered, adding more loudly, “shall we step outside? There are a few things we need to discuss for tomorrow.” Hardly anyone noticed them leaving, and only Kate saw Pat’s hand slip into his as they walked out.

“How romantic”, was Pat’s only comment as Mike led her into what had been the Hall’s morning room, but was used solely as a place to dump 641’s kit.

“It’s not the place, it’s the company”, he said, wrapping an arm around her waist. Pat’s playful side had only recently emerged, coy and kittenish, reserved for him alone. Mike drew her close, but Pat stepped still deeper into his embrace, laying her cheek against his chest. Very gently, the two of them swayed to the faintly heard music coming from the other room.

“I’m in a spot of bother”, Mike murmured, “I’ve fallen in love with one of my flight-lieutenants.”

“I hope you’ll be very happy together”, Pat’s heart was beating faster than flak, “it’s dreadful Deirdre isn’t it?”

She raised her eyes to meet his, parting her lips without even knowing. Mike’s hand pressed harder into the small of Pat’s back lifting her onto the very tip of her toes. Instinctively she threw her arms around his neck an instant before their lips met.

---