‘I’ll phone you in a couple of days, but how will I know where you’re staying?’
‘We’ll stay at the Savoy, won’t we, Georgie? Your man in Berlin said they’ll always make room for people like us.’ Which man in Berlin, I wondered.
George nodded, and handed me an old pre-war Ordnance Survey map with cloth covers, saying, ‘I marked the hills where the plane went in. The nearest houses are at a place named Shieldaig.’
‘Never heard of it, George, but don’t worry, I’ll find a couple of native guides to get us up there and back.’ He frowned momentarily; maybe he thought that I was about to take them up Kilimanjaro on my own. They turned away, and I showed them out, just the way I had Flash Harry. They even wanted to shake the cab driver’s hand before they mounted up. Some people touch too much. Kids play pat-a-cake instead.
I stood in the doorway and watched the taxi float away on a cloud of blue exhaust smoke. Doris turned to look at me through the Humber’s rear window. George didn’t. Elaine came and stood behind me, and leaned her chin on my shoulder. Some people can touch me as often as they like. She said, ‘Why don’t you wipe that lipstick off your face, Charlie?’ After I complied she asked, ‘What have you got yourself into this time?’
‘Don’t know, love, but it’s interesting. I don’t believe a word they say.’
‘Neither do I, but watch her – she’s a man-eater.’
I telephoned the Heathrow office to speak to June, but the dialling felt more like a duty than a pleasure. That worried me. It needn’t have; a different woman answered the telephone. She told me she was the new office junior, and sounded as if she laughed a lot. If ever I picked my own staff, I’d choose one just like her . . .
‘June’s having a week off. I think her boyfriend’s just come out of hospital for a few days.’
‘You mean the one from the loony bin?’
She laughed; I’d guessed she would. ‘That’s cruel.’
‘I know it is. I’m sorry . . . but are we talking about the same man? A soldier just back from North Korea or China?’
‘Yes. I think so. Who are you?’
‘Charlie Bassett. I run Lympne for us, and in a couple of months’ time I’ll run Panshanger. I don’t know what I’ll be doing in between, so if you wanted a date I could probably fit you in.’
She laughed again. ‘Not on your life – she’s warned me about you.’
It was interesting. It meant that June had three men in her life at present: a nice reliable fellah she was engaged to marry, a nutty, homicidal soldier who she also had been engaged to marry once, and me. Being neither reliable, nor a nutcase, I was on the wrong end of that queue. It looked as if Dieter and Carlo had been backing the wrong horse; I’d better break that gently to them.
There was no reply when I called June’s digs, so I phoned her parents’ home. Her mother answered. After the preliminaries she asked, ‘Where are you just back from, Charlie?’
‘Berlin. It was cold and sunny. Berlin weather. How’s June?’
‘She’s fine. She’s out. Can I ask you something?’
‘Of course.’
‘Why don’t you leave her alone, Charlie? You don’t see her for months on end, but whenever she gets her life going again you come back . . . and if she sees you she mopes around for weeks afterwards. You make her unhappy. What are you trying to do?’
I ran the first two choruses of ‘St James Infirmary Blues’ in my head before I answered. It’s always been one of my favourites.
‘I don’t know.’ They sounded like strange lost words, even to me.
‘Then why don’t you leave her alone until you do?’ And she put the phone down on me.
I was still holding the telephone when Elaine walked in. She took it from my hand, and replaced it on its cradle.
‘Who’s just had a surprise then?’ It must have been in my face.
‘Me, I suppose.’
‘Good surprise or bad one?’
‘I don’t know.’ Again they sounded like strange lost words, even to me, but Elaine knew how to handle it.
‘Put your coat on then. Flying’s finished for today, and the pub’s open. Randall’s up there waiting for us.’
‘How do you know? Did he call?’
‘No. I’m psychic.’
A few aircrew and some of the groundies were already there, so we made a party of it and the old thing happened.
I stepped outside after too many pints, wearing my old RAF blue battledress jacket – I don’t know where that had come from. Some dead guys from my past were whooping it up in the car park without me. There was an American named Peter Wynn dancing with Emily, a girl who had worked in the Red Cross Officers’ Club, and the Toff – our mid-upper gunner – was with a pretty woman in WVS uniform. I felt I should know her, but couldn’t retrieve her name. Marty, our bomb aimer, was dancing with a damned great empty bomb casing: he’d done that before. They waved to me as they jitterbugged past. The Russian I told you about was there, swigging from his usual bottle of expensive Tokay. I’d swear the music was the original Glenn Miller outfit.
I didn’t realize that anything was wrong until I opened my eyes. I was still on my feet but my legs felt wobbly. Randall had hold of my arms and was gently shaking me, although gentle is a relative term if we’re talking about Randall. Elaine looked on. Concerned, I’d guess.
It was Randall who said, ‘You were out here shouting, boss. Out here on your own, shouting at nobody. As if you’d gone off your head.’
I muttered, ‘I think I dropped my pipe somewhere.’ Elaine stepped up, and handed it to
