The FO pushed her chair back, stood up, and stormed across the room towards the door. ‘That’s the problem, Dudley. You didn’t think at all!’
‘Flight Officer Bingham?’
Claire’s superior stopped in her tracks.
‘Will I be able to sit the French oral exam, and try for the RAF’s Advanced Air Strike Force the next time they’re recruiting?’
The FO spun round. ‘You’ve got balls, Dudley, I’ll give you that.’ She looked at Claire, her face set in a scowl. ‘I don’t know. For now you’re on seventy-two hours sick leave. You’ll also be mentoring new recruits for six weeks.’
Claire opened her mouth to protest.
‘If you persist in interrupting me when I’m speaking, you’ll be mentoring for six months!’ the FO bellowed. ‘Is that clear?’
Claire acknowledged the rebuke with a nod.
‘The answer to your question,’ the FO said, sighing loudly, ‘is yes! And you will still be going on study leave with a French family. You’re damned lucky it has already been arranged. When the doctor signs you off as fit, come and see me.’ The FO looked at Claire with steely eyes. ‘Not a day sooner.’
‘Flight!’
‘Dismissed, Aircraftwoman 2nd Class!’
Claire saluted, turned on her heels and marched out of the office. In the corridor she leant against the wall and held her ribs. She was exhausted and disappointed, and she felt like crying. A stripping-down from Flight Officer Bingham was something everyone dreaded. It could have been worse, she supposed. If the FO wanted to see her when she had recovered, it sounded as if she would get another crack at the French oral exam, and the RAF’s Advanced Air Strike Force. Until then she needed to keep her head down, her nose clean, and hope her ribs healed quickly.
CHAPTER TWO
‘You packed, Ed?’
‘Almost.’ Eddie ticked off clothes items on her fingers. ‘I think I have everything. Oh, not quite,’ she said, grabbing a pair of fully-fashioned silk stockings from the makeshift washing line that stretched across the room from the edge of the window to the corner. ‘Where are you staying?’
‘In a small town called Cullercoats. It’s on the coast about ten miles from the centre of Newcastle. The father of my French family,’ Claire took the briefing notes from her bag and read, “‘Professor Auguste Marron, is a lecturer at King's College. He specialises in European studies, history and languages. He has a sixteen-year-old son called Éric and a ten-year-old daughter, Mélanie.’” She looked down the page. ‘There’s no mention of a wife. Perhaps the professor is divorced, or widowed. Anyway, I am to familiarise myself with their customs, pick up habits that are indigenous to the French way of life, study the map of France – occupied and unoccupied zones. And listen to this, Ed: the FO suggests I learn as much German as possible. She says if my understanding of the language is good enough, it will stand me in good stead.’
‘In good stead for what?’
Claire scanned the rest of the page. ‘She doesn’t say. What about you?’
‘Same as you, but without the German. My French family live in a suburb of Newcastle called Gosforth.’ Eddie sighed.
‘What’s the matter? Living in the city will be just up your street. Think of all the dances you can go to.’
‘I suppose.’ Eddie frowned.
‘So why the long face?’
‘I’m worried about poor George. It’s so unfair. He could lose his job over the accident.’
Claire had seen the ‘poor George’ look before when her friend had fallen for poor Stanley, and a few months earlier for poor Freddie. ‘Are you walking out with George?’
Eddie gave Claire a haughty look. ‘Yes, if you must know. He’s very nice,’ she said, defensively, ‘and loyal. He said he’ll wait for me while I’m away.’
Claire burst into laughter. ‘Anyone would think you were going to the front for six months, instead of to the North East of England for a few weeks.’
Eddie started to laugh, but quickly regained her serious face. ‘I know you don’t think much of George, because he’s a lorry driver…’ Coming from an upper-class family, rank and position were important to Eddie. As the daughter of a groom who was born and brought up in a tied cottage on a country estate, Claire had never considered such things. ‘But he won’t be driving a delivery lorry for much longer. He has joined the Army; The First Armoured Division. He’s waiting for his papers. They could be here any day, which is why I don’t want to leave him.’
‘Unfortunately, Eddie, you don’t have a choice.’ Claire put her arm around her friend’s shoulder. ‘I suggest you pack your twilights. Wearing them will make it easier for you to save yourself for poor George.’ Eddie pretended to be sick. Neither she nor Claire had worn the WAAF-issue long grey woolly bloomers since their first week at Morecambe. ‘Chin up! Absence makes the heart grow fonder.’
‘It does, doesn’t it?’ Eddie said, brightening.
Claire picked up her suitcase. ‘I’ll wait for you outside. Get a move on, or we’ll miss our lift to the station.’
The train journey was uneventful. Eddie spent her time gazing out of the window, looking into the mid-distance and sighing, while Claire brushed up on her French. The train was late getting into Newcastle upon Tyne’s Central Station, so they went straight to the Enquiries Office.
‘Excuse me, I’m Aircraftwoman Claire Dudley, and this is Aircraftwoman Edwina Mountjoy. Has anyone asked for either of us?’
‘Hello?’ Claire and Eddie turned to see a good-looking chap in his early twenties with chestnut-brown hair, tanned skin, and big brown eyes. ‘I am Bernie Le Foy. My father has been detained and asked me to collect, Miss Mountjoy.’
‘I’m Edwina Mountjoy,’ Eddie said, batting her eyes and smiling for the first time since leaving Morecambe.
‘So you must be Miss Dudley?’ Claire
