‘Yes, boss?’
‘I hoped that you and June were going to make a go of it this time. You light up every time you see her – did you know that?’
‘I hoped so too. The boys adore her. Unfortunately I’m at the wrong end of a queue as far as she’s concerned – there’s the bloke she started dating when I was in Egypt, and now they’ve let her Glorious Gloucester out of the loony bin.’ That was unworthy of me, and I immediately regretted it. We both frowned. ‘Anyway, I telephoned her parents’ house a couple of days ago, and her mother asked me to leave June alone. She said I made her unhappy . . . it made me think.’
‘Well, don’t think for too long. Women are like kettles.’
‘Come again?’
‘You can’t do much with either once they’ve gone off the boil.’
The move to Panshanger was well under way and Elaine had told me to lose myself.
‘You’ll only get in the way, Charlie. Leave it to me, Randall and the ground staff, chiefy. We’re moving everything up in the Yorks before they re-deploy to Berlin.’
‘What do you mean I’ll only get in the way? I’m the boss down here.’
‘So?’
‘I’m supposed to be giving the orders.’
‘Whatever gave you that idea, dear?’ And she roared off into peals of musical laughter. After a few seconds I was laughing myself. I’d wanted an excuse to drive up to London and fly formation with the Handels anyway.
It was cold and bright; a nice morning to stretch out my new car. I’d sold my old open Singer to Randall, so that I could buy the Sunbeam Alpine that Evelyn Valentine had tired of. I told you: what goes around comes around. It was a lovely pale blue thoroughbred with a column shift, a mile of bonnet in front of you, and a mile of tail behind you. I’ve told you about Eve; she with whom both James and I had taken a walk in the park. I’d skipped into the bar to find her and Maggs chatting away like old friends: I cannot understand women sometimes. When she said she wanted to get rid of the Sunbeam we did a deal there and then, and I’d paid her three hundred quid for it.
I folded the hood away, and howled down to Brighton before turning north: I wanted to open her up along the A23, then slip across and see what she’d do over the Hog’s Back. The answer was damn near a ton, and that was good enough for me. Maybe I’d challenge Flash Harry to a race down to the Ace of Spades Café some day – the kids had started to do that on motorbikes.
I did something brave: I booked into Green’s, the hotel that we always used to use in the war. By we, I mean the bomber crew I’d flown with – Tuesday’s children. I had been unable to set a foot over the doorstep for years after the war ended: it had been a ‘bomber’ hotel, one of several in the city. I’d only been back a half-dozen times since then, and when I did the ghosts never failed to come crowding round.
After I’d booked in I called the Handels in the Savoy. Doris answered the telephone.
‘Where are you, Charlie?’
‘Green’s. We used to use it in the war – not too far from you.’
‘Why don’cha book in here? George will pick up the tab.’
‘No, thanks. Do you two want to meet up today, or are you busy?’
‘We found a great pub called Ye Olde Cheshire Cheese. That’s olde with an e. See ya there in an hour.’ I suddenly had the idea that there was something excessively Yankee about her pronunciation, and it made me uneasy.
‘Fine.’
No one told me at first that there are two Cheshire Cheeses in that part of London, and I spent half an hour in the wrong bar before the barman asked me if I was waiting for someone.
‘Happens all the time,’ he told me. ‘Sometimes we get one of their customers, an’ sometimes they get ours. Even stevens.’ I found Doris less than five minutes’ walk away.
She didn’t chide me for being late. She just demanded, ‘An’ where the hell have you been? Guys have hit on me three times since I sat down.’
I signalled the barman for a pint.
‘Only three? I’d have thought you might have done better than that.’ She opened her mouth for a riposte, but then paused . . . and smiled. ‘Where’s George?’ I asked her.
‘Stateside. He had to rush back for a business brief.’
I thought I’d take a chance.
‘Tell me something, Doris, did you always sound like Calamity Jane, or is it something you caught?’ Pause. When she smiled again it was almost sheepish.
‘Too much, huh?’
‘Too much,’ I confirmed.
‘I can do Olive Oyl instead if youse likes.’ Her voice had suddenly slid into Popeye country.
‘Grace Kelly?’
‘Much easier.’
‘Are you an actress, Doris?’
She pulled out a cigarette, and I lit it for her. She must have been a bit desperate because I guessed the purpose of the manoeuvre was to show me her chest moving, and stop my pendulum. After she blew out the first plume of smoke she replied, ‘Tell me a woman who isn’t, Charlie.’
‘Stop trying,’ I told her. ‘I like you well enough just as it is. Can we get some food here? I’m starving.’
I suppose a plate of cheese sandwiches was all I could have hoped for. It wasn’t even Cheshire cheese. She’d had a half-pint in front of her when I’d walked in, but as soon as I sat down began to match me in pints – I’ve met several women who did that, and liked them all. Eventually she asked me, ‘Have you got a date for us, Charlie?’
‘No, not yet. I’ve an old pal in the Ordnance Survey – they’re the map makers – just
