The Darkest Hour. Barbara Erskine

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       5

      

       August 22nd 1940

      It was Ralph who introduced them properly. He finally persuaded Evie to go with him to the pub.

      ‘Eddie is more like a slave driver than a –’ he was saying as they climbed into his car. He drove an ancient cream three-wheeler Morgan which was his pride and joy. He stopped suddenly mid-sentence and she looked at him quizzically.

      ‘Than a – ?’ she echoed.

      ‘I was going to say boyfriend,’ he said at last.

      ‘Is he my boyfriend?’ she repeated softly. ‘Yes, I suppose he is. I’m sorry. I know you don’t like him.’

      ‘I never said that.’

      ‘You don’t have to.’ She grinned mischievously. ‘Dear Rafie, I can read you like a book. Daddy doesn’t like him either. Not really. And you’re right, he does make me work hard and just occasionally, yes, I do feel a bit put upon, and yes, I would like to go to the pub with my big brother.’

      It had been a hard week. Tangmere had been targeted and it had received several direct hits. Parts of the aerodrome had been reduced to a mass of rubble. Many planes had been lost when the hangars were destroyed. There had been nonstop sorties as the waves of attack came over, but a blessed interval of quiet followed. It had been a baptism of fire for the new squadron at Westhampnett. There had been no night raids here, however, although everyone expected them soon, and a night off for a jar and some female company seemed like a really good idea for the exhausted pilots and ground crew alike.

      Ralph took her to The Unicorn in Eastgate Square, a favourite with the pilots. The pub was noisy and very crowded. It was stuffy and hot inside and the air was thick with cigarette smoke. He bought Evie a drink, then they ducked out through the blackout curtains which hung over the door of the lobby and went to stand on the pavement outside. Within minutes a group of young men in RAF uniform had joined them.

      ‘So, Ralph,’ the voice behind Evie was cheery, the accent Scots, ‘are you going to introduce me to the lady?’

      Evie turned, the half-pint glass in her hand slopping shandy over her shoes.

      ‘Hi, Tony.’ Ralph slapped him on the back. ‘Evie, this is Tony Anderson. One of the boys from Westhampnett. Tony, my sister, Evelyn.’

      ‘Your sister!’ Tony echoed with a huge grin. ‘Wow!’

      Ralph smiled happily.

      Evie scowled. ‘What he means is, we have met before. Flying Officer Anderson ruined one of my pictures.’

      ‘Oh, come off it. It was hardly ruined,’ Tony exclaimed. ‘A wee bit of dust, that’s all.’

      ‘A wee bit of dust, as you called it,’ Evie repeated, repressively, ‘can destroy a picture if the paint is still wet.’

      ‘True.’ Tony nodded thoughtfully with a wink at the bemused Ralph, ‘but you were only doing some quick pencil sketches. I remember most particularly.’

      Evie gaped at him. ‘You noticed?’

      ‘Of course I noticed. To make amends, I will buy you a drink. But that is all,’ he added severely. ‘I will not grovel for the rest of my life.’

      Evie stared after him as he headed towards the door and vanished into the smoky interior of the pub.

      Ralph laughed. ‘So, you two have met before.’

      Evie nodded. ‘But I am not going to let it spoil my evening.’

      ‘Glad to hear it.’ Ralph raised his glass as another group of RAF officers headed their way. ‘Let’s see if we have more success here. Have you met my flight commander?’

      By the time Tony threaded his way back through the crowds with Evie’s glass in his hand she was engaged in animated conversation with Alan Reid. Tony elbowed his way to her side and pushed the glass towards her. ‘Thanks.’ She took it and turned back to Al with a smile.

      ‘Evelyn!’ Tony called out. He had to raise his voice to make himself heard.

      She glanced back at him.

      ‘If I concede that a small amount of dust from the airfield may have sullied your pristine sketches will СКАЧАТЬ