His Diamond Bride

out again. From Shand he received awe and respect, which disgusted him.

‘Well, at least someone managed to shut the little blighter up,’ Harry Franks observed once. Harry had joined the Air Force on the same day as Mark and they had immediately become friends. ‘You should be proud of that.’

‘He’s not worth it,’ Mark snapped.

‘I agree. But he might have hit the nail on the head. Maybe you really are better off without this girl. You aren’t in love with her, are you?’

‘How the hell do I know?’ Mark roared.

Harry nodded wisely, his expression suggesting that if he’d known things were like that, he wouldn’t have asked.

Mark’s inner fury continued, all the worse because he didn’t understand it himself. Dee had broken the engagement in a way that suggested that he was really dumping her, thus preserving his dignity. So what was there to be angry about? Especially with her?

But he knew that if she were here this minute, he would explain to her exactly why she was wrong about everything, make her admit it and ask his forgiveness for misjudging him. Then he would replace the ring on her finger as a symbol of his victory. It was the only way to deal with awkward women.

‘We belong together,’ he rehearsed. ‘We’ve always known what each other was thinking, and that’s never happened to me with anyone else. I didn’t want it before. I’ve tried to keep my thoughts to myself because I didn’t trust anyone else, but with you I couldn’t do that and I didn’t mind. I even liked it. Do you realise that? You did something for me that…that…and then you abandoned me.’

No, he couldn’t say these things. They sounded pathetic, and at all costs he wasn’t going to be pathetic. But there were other ways of putting it so that she would see reason. If only she was here!

But she wasn’t, and she didn’t contact him.

He even began to jot down his thoughts, to be ready to confront her. But it was a fraught business. He slept at the base, sharing a small dormitory with five others, all ready for action at any moment in the night. It was hard to find privacy and if he heard someone coming he had to stuff his papers into a small cupboard by the bed. Once he did this so hastily that the contents of the overfull cupboard fell out and he found himself confronting a small bear in a frilly dress.

It was the one she’d given him at the fun fair, having bought it for the ludicrously expensive price of one shilling and sixpence.

Dee seemed to be there, teasing him out of the jagged darkness. ‘She’s going to keep an eye on you…and report back to me if you get up to mischief.’ Then her voice changed, became loving, as he remembered it. ‘And look after you.’

‘Are you reporting back to her now?’ he murmured. ‘I wonder what you’ll tell her.’

Then he stopped short, wondering at himself, knowing how it would have looked if any of his comrades had caught him talking to a toy.

But not her. She would have understood. Did she still talk to the Mad Bruin he’d given her? Did she still have it? He found himself hoping that she did. But of course he would never know.

The sound of the door opening made him quickly hide the bear. This was private, between Dee and himself, the one thing that still united them across the miles and the silence. In an obscure way, it was a comfort to a man who’d never admitted to himself that he needed to be comforted.

He hadn’t given the toy a name, but in his mind she became ‘Dee’. Incredibly, there was even a physical resemblance. Not that the little bear had Dee’s features, but she had her expression-wry, teasing, unconvinced, a look that could be summed up as, Oh, yeah? Which was absurd if you thought about it, but he didn’t think about it. He just appreciated it.

He began to keep his little friend with him, unwilling to leave her in the locker where she might be discovered. An inner pocket in his loose flying jacket made a useful hiding place and one day, almost forgetting she was there, he took her onto the plane with him.

It was a fierce and terrible sortie, a bombing raid on an enemy armaments factory in early 1943. Resistance was fierce, with Messerschmitts, the magnificent enemy bombers, attacking from all directions. At one point he would almost have sworn he’d reached his final moment, when the plane heading for him seemed to halt in mid-air before exploding in a ball of fire. He had a searingly precise view of the pilot’s desperate eyes before the other plane dropped out of the sky.

When he landed he sat for a moment, arms folded across his body, feeling the little bump beneath the flying jacket that told him his tiny friend was there. To think that ‘Dee’ had protected him was sheer fanciful madness, and he wasn’t a fanciful man, yet the thought persisted. She had been there, not the woman herself, but her little furry representative. It was crazy. He was a fool, a stupid, naive, delusional idiot. Yet he was also mysteriously comforted.

After that, the bear went with him on every sortie, seeing him through near-misses, escapes and the odd triumph. And it began to seem to Mark that Dee-his own true Dee, the woman who had scorned him-had nevertheless the right to know that she was influencing his life, perhaps even saving it. It was an excuse to write to her, and he badly needed an excuse.

The letter was hard. On light matters he’d always found talking easy-too easy-but now, in the depths of sincerity, he found the words eluding him. He wrote at last:

I meant to send her back to you, but she’s a nice little companion and I’d miss her. Do you still have the Mad Bruin? Do you ever look at him and think of me? I hope so. You were right to break it off. I’m a useless character and I’d be no good for you, but let him remind you of me sometimes; even if it’s only the annoying things, like how unreliable I am, no common sense, the way I make jokes about all the wrong things, don’t turn up when I’m expected, stick my nose in where it’s not wanted, never seem to understand when you want to be left alone. I’m sure you can think of plenty more.

The letter didn’t satisfy him. It didn’t even begin to convey what was in his heart, but he wasn’t even sure what that was. And, even if he had been sure, he didn’t think he could have said it. He put the paper away, to be finished later.

He did return to it several times, always remembering something else that it was vital for her to know. Days passed, then weeks, and somehow it was never sent.

He was afraid and he knew it. The man who faced down death a hundred times was afraid to contact the woman whose reply could damage him more than any Messerschmitt. Afraid! How she would laugh at that. And, after all, she had the right to know that she’d triumphed, just as she had the right to know that she was protecting him. Perhaps he could simply turn up and confront her with it, and watch her face as she learned exactly what she’d done to him. The temptation was so strong that he shut his thoughts off abruptly.

Another sortie was beginning, demanding his attention. He took off in the sunlight, headed out over the sea towards the continent. After that, things became confused. He knew his aircraft was hit and he was aware of himself mechanically piloting back to England and safety, frantically praying that he would arrive before the explosion.

He almost made it. As he came down the flames were beginning to take over. Another few seconds…just a few…just a few…

Then the air was rent by a terrible screaming that he didn’t even recognise as his own. The jaggedness converged on him from all directions, stabbing, burning, terrifying him. Hands were tearing at the plane, pulling him out. He lay on the ground, listening to the shouting around him, waiting for his life to end. It was all over now and the only thing that really hurt was that he would never see Dee again. Then the darkness engulfed him.

But, instead of swallowing him up for ever, it lifted after a while, revealing a mist, with her voice all around him. He couldn’t see her face but her words filled his heart with joy.

‘…Maybe you can hear me, somewhere deep inside you…there’s so much I want you to understand…’

He tried to speak but he could make no sound. Her voice continued whirling through the clouds.

‘I was clumsy before. I loved you so much that I was afraid to let you know… I was so happy when you asked me to marry you… All I saw was that I could be your wife…’

My wife, he thought. You are my wife, now and always. Why can’t I tell you?

‘Come back to me… I love you with all my heart… Just let me care for you.’

Everything in him wanted to say yes, to find her, draw her close. He opened his eyes in desperate hope,