She drove through the evening with her foot down hard on the accelerator pedal, wanting to reach Edgware Road while she could still make out landmarks, as he ranted on about how the generals knew nothing about rockets or aeroplanes.
“They demanded to know why the RAF couldn’t invent some method whereby the rockets would hit woods or a meadow instead of a populated area,” he told her, incensed. “But not a pasture, mind you. No, the explosion might disturb the cows!”
It was half past seven when they finally reached the turn to Hendon. By the time she dropped him off, went to Edgware, and talked the ambulance post out of the stretchers, it would almost certainly be dark.
“And you can imagine what wonderful sorts of suggestions they came up with,” Stephen said. “One of the generals suggested we use nets, and another—a hundred if he was a day; I shouldn’t be surprised to find he’d led the Charge of the Light Brigade—asked why we couldn’t toss a rope round the rocket’s nose, like roping a mare, and lead it back to France. A brilliant suggestion. Why on earth didn’t I think of that?
“Sorry,” he apologized. “I didn’t mean to inflict my rantings on you, even though we are destined to spend the rest of our lives together. I don’t suppose you gave any thought to where we should be married while I was in with that lot of fools, did you?”
“Yes,” she said. “I decided we shouldn’t, that wartime attachments are a bad idea. Particularly if you’re going to be lassoing flying bombs.”
“Well, then, I’ll simply have to think of something better. And in the meantime, I’ll take you to tea and—” He seemed suddenly to take in their surroundings.
“We’re not out of London already, are we? I intended to take you to tea at the Savoy for being so patient. Where are we exactly?”
“Home.” She pulled up to the airfield gate.
“Wait,” he said as she brought the Daimler to a stop. “You can’t go yet.” He reached to take her hand.
She avoided letting him by reaching past him for the transport form at the same time. “Have you a pen?” she asked innocently. “Oh, never mind, I have one.”
He tried again. “You can’t go yet. We’ve only just met.”
“You forget, we met before,” she said, filling up the transport form. “You really do need to keep your pickup lines straight, Flight Officer Lang.”
“So I do,” he said ruefully. “But just because I’ve failed in the romance department doesn’t mean you should starve. You’ve already gone all day without food, thanks to me. Look, there’s a nice little pub only a few miles from here.”
She shook her head. “I must go to Edgware for those stretchers, remember?”
“I’ll go with you. I’ll help you load your stretchers, then we’ll have dinner and work out where it was we’ve met before.”
That was the last thing she needed. “No, I must get back. My commanding officer’s extremely strict.” She handed him the form to sign. “Sorry,” she said, and smiled at him. “It’s fate.”
“All right. You win, Isolde.” He signed the form, climbed out of the Daimler, and then leaned back in. “But keep in mind this is only round one. I have all sorts of techniques I haven’t tried yet, which I promise you, you will not be able to resist—though I’m forced to admit you have better defenses than any girl I’ve ever met.
Perhaps we should use you to stop the V-1s. You could turn them away with a flick of your hand or a well-timed word—”
He stopped and looked blindly at her, as if he’d suddenly remembered something.
Please don’t let it be where we met, she thought. “I really must be going,” she said quickly.
“What?”
“The stretchers.”
“Oh. Right,” he said, coming back from wherever he’d been. “Adieu, Isolde, but don’t think you’ve seen the last of me. It’s our destiny to meet again very soon.
Very soon. It wouldn’t surprise me if I needed a driver again tomorrow.”
“I’m on duty tomorrow, and you’re lassoing V-1s, remember?”
“Quite right,” he said, and got that odd, looking-straight-through-her gaze again. She took the opportunity to say goodbye, pull the door shut, and drive off quickly.
“One can’t escape one’s destiny by driving away from it!” he called after her. “We were meant to be together, Isolde. It’s fate.”
I’ll have to make certain I’m on duty or away from the post for the next few days, she thought, turning toward Edgware. After which he’ll forget all about attempting to remember where he met me and begin calling some other girl Isolde.
She should have found a way to escape from him sooner. By the time she located Edgware’s ambulance post and managed to talk them out of one lone stretcher, it was not only dark but past eight o’clock. She was in unfamiliar territory, her shuttered headlamps gave almost no light at all, and if she got lost and took the wrong road, she’d be blown up.
But she also couldn’t creep along. Dulwich had had three V-1s tonight. They’d need every ambulance, and the route she’d mapped out was only good till twelve, and with the blackout, she’d have no way to look at the map. I must be home by midnight, she thought, leaning forward, both hands on the wheel, peering at the tiny area of road her headlamps illuminated. Just like Cinderella.
area of road her headlamps illuminated. Just like Cinderella.
There wasn’t enough light to see signposts by, even if there were any, which there weren’t. The threat of invasion’s long since over, she thought, annoyed. There’s no reason for them not to have put the signposts back
