Beneath Us the Stars by David Wiltshire Read Free Book Online Page A

round, full of Mary, of the moment he had first set eyes on her, and every second since then, the way she moved, the way she smiled, her hair, everything.
    Somewhere near 2 a.m., just as he lapsed more into unconsciousness than normal sleep, he was suddenly terrified , he couldn’t remember her face. The nightmare continued. The more he tried, the more impossible it was. Then, mercifully, oblivion descended.
    He came to at eleven o’clock, lying for some time on his side looking at the strange room from that angle, utterly confused. For a while he thought he was back home somewhere .
    At last he sat up and saw his uniform jacket draped over a chair. It all came back with a rush, including the awful feeling of not being able to remember how Mary looked, and with that came guilt. He could see her now as though she had been etched into his brain. How could he have forgotten? He must get a photograph – that torment could not be repeated.
    The fact that the mental exhaustion the flight-surgeon had diagnosed was affecting him never dawned on him.
    There was no shower, so he tried the tub. The water was cold, but the quick plunge and brisk rub-down left him tingling with life and excitement at the prospect of seeing her again.
    He remembered, rashly, that he’d said he would take her to the Glenn Miller show, which was in town that night. Guessing it might be difficult to get into, he resolved to ask around.
    Dressed, he came down the stairs to find a lady with a headscarf on using a hand-pushed carpet-cleaner. She looked up and grinned, the cigarette that was stuck to her lower lip wobbling up and down as she said: ‘Oh, hello darling, awake at last.’
    Bill apologized. ‘Sorry, I don’t normally do that.’
    She stopped what she was doing.
    ‘I’m afraid breakfast finished long ago, but I can make you a cup of tea and toast. Or, knowing you Yanks like your coffee, you can have that if you prefer.’
    Bill suppressed a shudder at the thought.
    ‘No, thank you. I’ll get myself something at the American Red Cross Club, I’ve got to go there as it is.’
    He wandered into Cambridge, standing for a while outside her college, trying to imagine her teaching somewhere inside.
    At the Red Cross Club he bought a sandwich and coffee, and had a think about that evening. When he’d finished he took his cup and plate back to the counter. The girls in their crisp blouses and neat skirts, with little forage-caps on theirheads, were a breath of home, speaking in American accents, one from the Midwest, the other from the Deep south.
    He enquired about the Glenn Miller concert and found it was open to all Allied servicemen. The girl from Tennessee gave him a dazzling smile.
    ‘Get there early, Lieutenant – it’s the only way – or you can get a ticket, I believe, if you go to the Guildhall beforehand .’
    ‘Gee, thanks for the information.’
    It was then that he thought about transportation: it would make it easier to get there early if nothing else. But a car was out of the question – gas was strictly rationed.
    But he was a fighter pilot – full of resourcefulness – or supposed to be, wasn’t he? And he loved the thought of doing something for her – something that would impress her.
    Bill checked which was the nearest base. When told he implored the Southern belle: ‘I wonder, could I use your phone, or rather, would you mind calling for me? I need to speak to the adjutant, rather urgently.’
    She gave him a guarded look. ‘We’re not officially allowed to use the phone for personal calls, Lieutenant.’
    Bill frowned. ‘Oh, this is very official. I promise you.’
    She made up her mind and lifted the counter hatch. ‘Come on through – the phone is in the office.’
    He followed her trim figure into a small, obviously newly partitioned area. She picked up the receiver and ran a hand down a wall chart of bases and other facilities and found the number she wanted.
    The finger she used to dial on the rather