Biggin Hill, but it was difficult to see the faces clearly because of so much smoke. And as many of them were in uniform it was even harder to differentiate between them. She suddenly thought of Foxy and hoped to God he wouldn’t be here or suddenly turn up.
The floor was already crowded with couples dancing to the small orchestra playing ‘Crazy Rhythm’ and Raine found herself tapping her foot to the infectious beat. She glanced at Suzanne, who was staring at the small stage, eyes half closed, mesmerised. Suzanne looked delightful in her new dress, Raine thought. Her sister had made it out of a length of bright flowered cotton that one of Maman’s housewives had given her, saying she didn’t have any spare saucepans but hoped the material would help the war effort.
Suzanne had altered one of Maman’s gowns for Raine – a bright red silky affair with a short full skirt that flew above Raine’s knees when she’d twirled in the mirror and a halterneck top. What a marvel her sister was with a sewing machine.
‘I’ll get a drink for us at the bar,’ Raine said, ‘if you can find a table.’
Even though she was tall, and wearing her eye-catching red dress, Raine could not catch the barman’s eye. Men who should have been behind her somehow edged their way in front and were served. Chewing her lip in frustration she finally elbowed her way forward and stood directly in front of one of the bartenders, then opened her mouth to give her order. Ignoring her, he nodded to the tall man who had suddenly appeared on her right. Raine sucked in a breath of irritation. What was so special about him?
She gave him a sideways glance. He was in RAF uniform, as were many of the other men – three or four years older than her, she decided. His fair hair was swept back from his forehead to show the world what a very good-looking bloke he was. He knew it, too, she thought scornfully, by the cocksure way he’d managed to get served before her. He had no manners. He jolly well knew she was at the bar before him.
As though he felt her staring, he turned to her. His eyes, the green of a blade of grass, held hers. And then he smiled. She gave a start. She’d seen that smile before. It lit up his face. But where? At this moment he was regarding her with open admiration, but it did nothing to thwart her temper.
‘Excuse me, but I’ve been standing here for ten minutes.’ She flashed him an angry look. ‘But I realise I must be invisible.’
‘Oh, no,’ he chuckled. ‘Believe me, you are extremely visible – particularly in that vampire’s dress.’
‘In that case, I’d like to put my order in before you,’ she snapped.
‘Be my guest.’
He shifted no more than an inch or two, supposedly giving her the impression he was letting her go in front. She noticed his wings and the two bars on the cuffs of his tunic. He was a pilot – and an officer. He wouldn’t have had any trouble joining up. The RAF would have welcomed him with open arms. And because she was a woman she was not only denied getting into the ATA to do something worthwhile for the war effort through lack of solo air miles, but it was also as though this cocky pilot was rubbing her nose in it at the same time.
Common sense finally came to the rescue and aware that the bartender was enjoying the little scene, she said in as cool a tone as she could muster, ‘Two lemonades, please.’
‘Coming right up,’ the barman said, and she saw a wink pass between the two of them.
They were laughing at her! In a split second she’d turned on her heel, but the pilot was too fast. He grabbed her arm.
‘Hey, what’s the matter? You’ve made your point. You’re being served now.’
She shook his arm off. ‘The trouble with you men in uniform,’ she began, her voice trembling with anger, ‘is that you all think you’re God’s gift. All I asked was for good manners, which I would’ve thought they’d have taught you in the RAF, even if your parents didn’t, which doesn’t mean sharing a joke at my expense with the bartender just because I made a point, as you call it.’
She stopped abruptly to take a breath, inwardly seething.
‘I’m sorry,’ he said, looking like a contrite schoolboy who didn’t really mean it. ‘I admit, it was rude of me. Come on back and I’ll buy those drinks. Who are you with, anyway – a boyfriend who drinks lemonade?’
‘You can’t help the sarcasm, can you?’ she said scathingly. ‘If you must know, the other one’s for my sister.’
‘Ah, a sister. And is she as bad-tempered as you?’
How dare he!
And then he threw back his head and laughed. ‘Sorry, I’m teasing you. Honest. Name’s Alec … Alec Marshall.’ He stuck out his hand. ‘What’s yours?’
Marshall? She hadn’t forgotten that name. He was one of the six pilots who’d brought in the new Hurricanes that time. The one who’d smiled at her. Who’d begun walking towards her … until one of his mates had called him away. So his name was Alec. She needed to get away before he recognised her.
‘I must get back to my sister,’ she said, disregarding his outstretched hand.
‘She’ll be disappointed if you go back to her without her drink.’
Ignoring him, she quickly made her way over to the other side of the room, near the orchestra. Suzanne was bound to have grabbed somewhere close to the musicians so she could watch them playing.
‘I was beginning to wonder where you were,’ Suzanne said as Raine sat down at the table for four, across from a couple who couldn’t keep their hands off one another.
Raine jerked her head towards them and rolled her eyes. Suzanne giggled.
‘You didn’t bring any drinks. Was the queue at the bar too long?’
‘I got waylaid,’ Raine said.
‘By me!’ A man’s shadow fell over the table.
Oh, no. Raine parted her lips and blew out an exaggerated sigh. He’d followed her. And he was carrying a tray holding three drinks.
‘May I join you?’
‘There’s no spare chair,’ Raine said in an icy tone.
‘Sorry, I didn’t catch that.’ Alec Marshall hunkered down by her chair, his face close to hers. ‘The band’s a bit loud.’
She knew he’d heard her. Not drawing back an inch, she said slowly and clearly, a few decibels louder, ‘There’s no chair.’
‘Take this one,’ an older woman from the table nearest called. She nudged an empty chair towards their table.
The pilot thanked her charmingly and squeezed in between the two girls.
He turned to look at Suzanne. ‘I think you must be the lady’s sister,’ he said, ‘though I haven’t yet had the pleasure of knowing her name even though I’ve told her mine. I’m Alec Marshall.’
‘That’s easy,’ Suzanne said immediately, ignoring Raine’s glare. ‘This is Lorraine, my sister, but she goes by the name of Raine. And I’m
