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

ancient-looking black phone was well manicured. It finally found the last hole and the disc whirred back.
    When she spoke Bill could well imagine her accent was even more noticeable at the other end of the line.
    ‘Hi there, this is the Red Cross Club in Cambridge. Can I have the adjutant’s office please. Thank you.’
    She placed her hand over the speaker. ‘Who shall I say is calling?’
    Bill had been thinking furiously, and had come up with the one person that fitted the situation.
    ‘General Myers.’
    She nearly dropped the phone, began hissing ‘I can’t—’
    He could hear a voice bark at the other end. Caught out she spluttered:
    ‘I … have General Myers for you, sir.’
    She shot the phone out to him as though it was red-hot.
    Bill took it, made his voice more authoritative and deeper.
    ‘Myers here.’ He knew the general to be on leave in the States. ‘I’m in Cambridge, staying at the…’ He put his hand over the receiver, spoke to her. ‘What’s the best hotel in town?’
    Reluctantly she shrugged. ‘The University Arms, I suppose.’ He repeated it into the phone.
    ‘I need a vehicle for tonight. I’m attending a group conference and my transportation has gone belly-up.’
    She listened as he made a few grunting replies, then: ‘I’m much obliged, Major. I’ll see that your helpfulness does not go unnoticed. Eighteen thirty hours. That would be fine.Thank you.’
    Grinning, he lowered the phone.
    She had one fine eyebrow raised, arms crossed, fingers tapping her blouse.
    ‘Lieutenant, I don’t know what you’re up to, but don’t involve me in future – right ?’
    ‘Right.’
    But there was softness in those Southern eyes.
    Satisfied with himself he wandered out into the town and found the Guildhall. To his relief he got three tickets.
    Bicycles were everywhere, hundreds of students in short gowns were cycling all over the place, mingling with working men in cloth caps carrying haversacks, and women in headscarves, with big wicker baskets hooked to their handlebars over the front wheel. The air was full of the sound of tinkling warning bells, and once he stepped out unthinkingly into the road and was bumped quite badly by a speeding bike, the man shouting something that Bill could only guess was a rebuke as to his not knowing which side of the road civilized people travelled on.
    He spent an hour looking into beautiful Victorian shop-windows , all polished glass and wooden framed, with white canvas sun-blinds drawn down over the sidewalks. But after nearly five years of war, there was very little on display that could actually be bought.
    There were a lot of GIs around, some in clusters, others with girls on their arms. The RAF were present, and some servicemen of other nationalities, all wandering aimlessly.
    Eventually he found a path that took him down by the river. He sat on a bench, enjoying the weak sun on his face.
    He was thinking about what might happen at the end of his leave, how they would manage, when a young voice said: ‘Got any gum, chum?’
    Startled, he turned to find a boy in short grey trousers and long socks, a blazer with a badge on the breast pocket, and wearing a peaked school cap on his head. He had a satchel on his back.
    Bill smiled.
    ‘Shouldn’t you be at school?’
    The boy grinned, ‘Got a free period, just on my way home.’
    Bill fished in his pocket and pulled out a fresh pack. ‘Here you go, son.’
    The boy’s face lit up, exposing teeth full of gaps as he caught the packet.
    ‘Gee, thanks, that’s great.’
    Almost immediately three more boys, all in short trousers, came from nowhere. What was it with the English, putting their kids in short trousers in winter?
    He waved them away.
    ‘Hey, that’s all I’ve got this time.’
    It was true, he wasn’t a big gum fancier, but like many, he always slipped a strip into his mouth before flying at altitude to combat the dry mouth caused by the oxygen.
    He turned back to the boy.
    ‘You live