Wartime Family by Lizzie Lane Read Free Book Online Page B

abstained and was therefore always starving by the time she got back to Lavenham. Margot would have saved her something from the mess, which she’d guzzle down before falling into bed.
    The last base they were visiting today had an air of expectancy about it. Twilight was fading into night and the moon was rising over the tin roofs of the nissen huts. In the diminishing light, she could see people moving in the control tower, black figures silhouetted against the silvery sky. The blackout was total, and there was not even a Christmas tree light to see by.
    A roar of engines had heralded the take off of bombers some minutes earlier. She wasn’t quite sure why Guy Hunter didn’t fly. Some wing commanders liked to keep their hand in, but he seemed more interested in writing copious notes, as though he were researching or planning something for the future. Quite possible, she supposed. Someone had to do it.
    She got out to stretch her legs, paid a visit to the women’s lavatories and had a quick word and a puff of a cigarette with a member of the ground crew.
    ‘I wonder who’ll get it tonight,’ she said to him between grateful puffs.
    ‘You mean besides us?’
    ‘Most definitely.’
    He pointed. ‘Look at it. That’s a bomber’s moon. We’ll give the enemy a bit of a pasting alright, but our boys had better watch it. The targets on the ground will be well lit up, but on the other hand, so will they.’
    Lizzie put out her cigarette. ‘I’d better be going.’
    ‘You driving for that chap Hunter?’ He made a clicking sound through the side of his mouth, as though he greatly approved. ‘A real war hero. DFC, DSO and bar and God knows what else. Brought his plane in on one engine and didn’t get out until his crew had. Carried one of them out on his back. Heck of a bloke. Canadian, ain’t he?’
    ‘So I understand.’
    ‘You gotta watch these colonials, mind. They do like the girls.’ He winked. ‘I bet a pretty girl like you knows that already, yes?’
    ‘No.’
    A clock chimed on a far distant steeple, its sound easily heard over the flat East Anglian fields.
    Lizzie glanced at her watch. ‘Oh, shucks!’
    After thanking her companion for the cigarette, she walked briskly back to the car. At no time did she break into a run. Hunter brought out the stubborn in her, doubly so now she was convinced he didn’t fancy her. She’d gleaned something of his character. She intended getting back to the car before he did. The wing commander was a stickler for time and expected her to be standing there by the passenger door, waiting for him.
    Tonight she was late. She prayed he’d been held up.
    My prayers fell on deaf ears
, she thought as she rounded the corner of a brick building. She saw a dark figure walking towards the car. He was bound to get there before she did. ‘Oh, crumbs,’ she groaned. A ticking-off was likely; some withdrawing of privileges, perhaps of leave.
    Please, not leave!
Her groan of frustration turned to teeth-grinding despair.
    She badly wanted to get back to Bristol and see how her mother was faring. Living with Daw must be a nightmare.
    Hunter was standing next to the car looking for her. She slowed and clenched her jaw. The nerve of the man; he was waiting for her to open the door for him.
Open the door yourself, you hopeless colonial!
she thought, but as usual the comment remained locked inside her head.
    Maintaining an air of defiance, she opened the door.
    ‘Lavenham,’ he barked, sliding into the back seat.
    He didn’t look at her, but immediately got out his notebook and began scribbling.
    What was in that notebook? What was he writing down?
    She started the engine and headed back to Lavenham and Ainsley Hall.
    On the way back to his billet, it was his habit to stop in Lavenham High Street. Every night was the same: park the car and wait for him. She’d watch him stride over the cobbles. He’d pause here and there, perhaps to admire one of the old, timber-framed houses, some