completely mad.
Hubert James Bainbridge, tenth earl of Donnington, called out to his daughter as she passed him on the opposite side of the street, but she did not hear him. He’d have sworn she was crying, poor child. It was a terrible world for the young ones to grow up in. Not a lot for them to look forward to.
He watched her disappear round the corner of the street then, shrugging his shoulders, walked on, thinking again of that incredible whispered conversation at company HQ.
Such news, and so completely unbelievable. He would have to telephone around and see if anyone else had any titbits to add to the mystery. Better not tell Kitty, though. Kitty was totally preoccupied with the threatened invasion, and to tell her this would be asking for trouble. And the rumour might not be true, though it had come from Freddie Elton, who didn’t often get it wrong. But Hess, flying here in a Messerschmitt. Hitler’s deputy, no less, baling out over Scotland then surrendering amiably to a farmer and demanding to be taken to the Duke of Hamilton. It was a real kettle of fish and no mistake. The man must be a raving bloody lunatic even to think of coming to this bomb-happy island. Rudolf Hess, eh? Who next but the whole German army?
Carefully he opened the front door of his house, quietly he crossed the hall to the library and closed the door behind him. Then taking off his tunic and loosening his tie, he picked up the telephone.
The elderly admiral sighed and penned his name to yet another scrap of printed paper. It was all he did, these days; signing chits was all he seemed good for. Too old to be in uniform, really, so he supposed he should be grateful for the desk job in a small dark room at Admiralty House. He rose to his feet, genuinely pleased to see the pretty girl who smiled at him from the doorway.
‘Goddy, darling!’ Her kiss was warm. ‘It’s good of you to see me.’
‘Good of you to come, Lucinda.’ He held her at arm’s length. ‘But what on earth have you been up to, eh?’
Her face was tear-stained, her clothes creased and her pale blonde curls dull with dust.
‘It was the air raid, I suppose. Spent last night in the tube and it was, oh, awful getting here.’
‘What’s it like out there? Afraid I didn’t get home last night. Slept here, in the basement. Is it as bad as they say?’
‘It’s unbelievable, Goddy. Everything is at a standstill and so many people in the underground, just sitting there with nowhere to go. I walked here from Bruton Street and it was like a nightmare.’
‘A lot of casualties, I shouldn’t wonder.’
‘Over a thousand, I heard, and heaven knows how many more injured and homeless. What’s happening to us, Goddy?’
‘I don’t know for sure, girlie, but we’ll sort it all out in the end, just see if we don’t. They say the British lose every battle they ever fight, except the last one.’
The last battle. And how far away would that be? But there had been a full moon last night, a bomber’s moon, with all London laid out clearly for the Luftwaffe pilots. And this morning the devastation and burning had been terrible to see. Unexploded bombs everywhere; water for fire hoses almost non-existent; the acrid air thick with smoke and tiny pieces of charred paper swirling on the breeze. Poor, proud old London.
‘It’s wrong of me, but I wish I could be at Lady Mead, Goddy. It must be beautiful now, in Lincolnshire.’
‘Ah, yes.’ He clamped an empty pipe between his teeth. ‘I remember your christening. It was a May day just like now, and warm and sunny. The chapel at Lady Mead was full of flowers, and how you screamed and yelled. Nanny was pleased, I seem to recall. Said you’d cried the devil out of you, and that was good.’
‘Dear Nanny. She’s at Lady Mead, you know. The Air Force was very good. They didn’t throw us out entirely. Pa had all the good stuff stored in the Dower House when we had to leave, and Nanny’s there now, looking after it. She writes every week. But you must be very busy and I came here to ask a favour, a big favour. I hope you don’t mind?’
‘Of course I don’t. Just tell your old godfather, and if I can I’ll help. But what about a cup of tea, eh? My writer is a little wonder. Never seems to run out of rations, bless her. And last night she went to a do at the American Embassy and came back with a packet of chocolate cookies – er – biscuits, no less.’ He thumbed a bell-push on his desk, and a woman in naval uniform opened the door. ‘Leading Wren, this is Lucinda Bainbridge, and she’s in desperate need of a mug of tea. And do we – er – have a biscuit?’
‘Sir, you know we do, though how you got to know about them I can’t imagine.’
‘I want to be a Wren,’ Lucinda whispered when they were alone again. ‘That’s why I came – to ask you to help me. I ought to be doing more than I am. I – I had a terrible row at home this morning. I’ll have to go back and say I’m sorry, but I want to join up, truly I do. And not because of Mama,’ she finished breathlessly. ‘I really want to do something useful.’
‘I’m sure you do, but Kitty mustn’t ever know that I’d had a hand in it.’
‘Are you afraid of her? All right then, I’ll join the Waafs or the ATS. I don’t mind which, but I’ve got to do something, Goddy. Sometimes I feel so ashamed.’
A knock on the door announced the arrival of two white mugs of tea and an anchor-decorated plate on which lay, unbelievably, two large thickly coated chocolate biscuits.
‘Leading Wren, you’re an absolute marvel,’ the Admiral said.
‘Oh no, sir,’ she smiled, eyes bright with mischief. ‘It’s because I’m feeling so pleased about my leave chit.’
‘Your leave chit? Did I sign it?’
‘No sir, not yet. But you’re going to, aren’t you?’
‘Hussy,’ barked the Admiral to her retreating back. ‘She’s a good girl,’ he confided, offering the plate to Lucinda. ‘Her young man was taken prisoner at Dunkirk and not so long ago her father was badly hurt in the Clydeside blitz, but you’d never know it.’
‘There you are, Goddy. That’s what I mean. That’s why you’ve got to help. This war is affecting everybody but me, it seems. You will try to get me in quickly, won’t you? I can’t type or do anything useful that I can think of, but I learn quickly. There’s got to be something.’
‘Want a job here in the Admiralty, do you? Somewhere in London, near Charlie?’
‘Anything will do, though I’d rather go away, if you could manage it.’
‘Hmm. We’ll have to see. I don’t carry a lot of weight now, in spite of all my gold braid. Now a few years ago …’ His mind flew back with ease to the last war and an up-and-coming young officer on a smoke-belching dreadnought at Jutland. Now that had been one hell of a scrap. ‘Still, I’ll do my best for you, girlie.’
He discussed the matter later with his writer.
‘I’m afraid I’m not entirely au fait with the women’s side of things. Do we know anyone in Recruiting, Leading Wren?’
‘Is
