‘Excuse me?’ Claire called, as a nurse passed the half-closed curtains surrounding the bed she was lying on. ‘Where am I?’
‘The Royal Infirmary, Lancaster.’
‘Lancaster?’
‘You were involved in an accident on the Morecambe road.’
‘Is my friend here? Her name is Edwina Mountjoy. She was in the car with me.’
Before the nurse had time to reply, Eddie shouted, ‘I’m in the cubicle next to you, Dudley.’ A second later she was at Claire’s side.
‘Thank God you’re all right. Help me to sit up, will you? My neck and chest hurt when I move.’
‘Wish I could.’ Eddie lifted her arm to show Claire a white sling. ‘I put my hand out to stop my head from hitting the windscreen. It might be broken. I'm waiting for the dishy doctor to confirm and administer,’ she giggled. ‘Crikey, if it’s broken, I’ll be in plaster for God knows how long. It’ll be au revoir pour le moment, France,’ Eddie said, frowning.
‘I’m sorry, Eddie.’
‘It isn’t your fault, Dudley.’
‘Maybe not, but as you say, it will be goodbye to France until your wrist heals.’
Eddie wrinkled her nose. ‘Well, it was always going to be you who got first bite of the cerise. You came top in the written exam, and you speak better French than I do. I danced my way through Christmas leave.’ Eddie dragged a chair from the head of Claire’s bed and sat down. ‘I expect you spent the holiday swotting.’
‘I did a bit, yes.’
Eddie shrugged. ‘Anyway, your accent is better than mine. I’d be able to blag my way through the interview, but I’d muck up an oral exam.’
‘I’d forgotten about the exam tomorrow.’
‘Today!’
‘What?’
‘Today. The oral exam: It’s today, after the interview.’ Eddie took her wristwatch from her pocket. ‘In four hours, to be precise.’
Breathing heavily, Claire pushed herself up into a sitting position and swung her legs over the side of the bed. ‘I need to get to Morecambe.’
‘The lorry driver’s around somewhere. He said he’d wait to make sure we’re all right.’
‘Wait to see if we’re going to shop him for shoving a WAAF staff car off the road more like. I’ve got to get out of here. You stay and have your arm seen to.’ Claire buttoned her shirt, grabbed her jacket, and struggled into it with Eddie’s help. ‘Goodness, my ribs hurt.’
‘You shouldn’t leave until you’ve seen the doctor.’
‘Tell him I’ll be back this afternoon.’ Claire lifted her arms and put on her hat. ‘Ah! Damn!’
‘How are you going to fake “fit and ready to fight” at the interview when you’re in such pain?’
‘I’ll be fine by the time I get there. I’ve worked too damn hard to miss this interview.’ She looked at her reflection in the window. ‘My hair’s a bloody mess. I’ll do something with it before I go in,’ she said, pushing a rogue strand under her hat. ‘Will you be all right if I go?’
‘Of course.’ Eddie hugged Claire with her good arm.
‘Ouch!’ and ‘Argh!’ they said at the same time, laughing.
‘Don’t make me laugh, it hurts,’ Claire said, leaning on the metal bed frame.
‘Sorry, darling. Give that damn driver what-for from me, will you?’
Claire found the lorry driver slouching against his lorry smoking a cigarette. ‘I think you owe me a lift.’ The driver’s cheeks reddened. ‘Can you take me to WAAF headquarters?’
‘Where is it?’
‘The Clarendon Hotel in Morecambe. I’ve got an interview at nine, but I’ll need to be there by eight, to tidy myself up.’
‘I’ll try,’ he said, straightening.
‘You’ll do more than try,’ Claire snapped. ‘If I’m not at that interview by nine, you’ll be in trouble for shoving the vehicle of one of the WAAF’s top brass off the road.’ The lorry driver threw down his cigarette and stamped it out. ‘Come on then, give me a shove, so I can get into the cab.’ With the driver pushing her from behind, Claire managed to pull herself up and swing onto the passenger seat. ‘Well?’ She looked down at him. ‘What are you waiting for?’
Claire arrived at the office of her superior, Flight Officer Bingham, and reported to her secretary. Before acknowledging Claire with a scowl, she looked at the clock on the wall. It was two minutes to nine. She knocked on the FO’s door and disappeared inside. A couple of seconds later she reappeared. ‘Aircraftwoman 2nd Class Dudley?’ Claire stood to attention. ‘Flight Officer Bingham will see you now.’
Claire saluted and marched into the office. Her ribs felt as if they were in a vice that was being slowly tightened. Pretending to clear her throat, she put her hand up to her mouth and wiped perspiration from her top lip.
‘At ease, Aircraftwoman,’ the FO said, reading Claire’s notes.
Simultaneously, Claire moved her right foot to shoulder width and put her hands behind her back. Instead of placing them palms out, one on top of the other, she clasped them tightly. Her nails, as short as they were, dug into the fleshy backs of her fingers, but she didn’t relax them. The pain in her fingers took her mind off the pain in her chest.
‘For the short time you’ve been here your service record is exemplary. Top of your class in French. Not only do you speak the language, but you read and write it. Ninety-nine percent fluent, it says.’ The FO looked up. Claire nodded once in acknowledgement. ‘Do you have family in France?’
‘No, Flight Officer Bingham.’
‘Was any part of your education in France?’
‘No, Flight.’ If she hadn’t been in so much pain, she’d have laughed. Lowarth was about as far away from France as you could get, in every respect. The FO looked at her and tilted her head. She’s expecting me to elaborate, Claire thought. ‘My language teacher said I have an ear for
