Where Bluebells Chime

‘I’m sure you will.’ His wife always got her own way; always had, ever since he could remember. But she was so open and charming in all she did that she got away with it every time. It was one of the things he loved about her. ‘And I’m sorry, darling, but I promised I’d look in on Father – make sure he’s settled in at Denniston. Are you coming?’

‘Not tonight, if you don’t mind. I’ll maybe take Mother over tomorrow. And don’t worry about him, Nathan. He’ll be fine with Anna and Tatty. It wasn’t good for him being all alone in that place. Best thing They ever did was commandeering Pendenys.

‘You’ll have to try to find out who’s taking it over, and what they intend using it for. Alice told me Tom saw a convoy of army lorries this afternoon that seemed to be heading in that direction. They aren’t wasting any time, are they? Give my love to Uncle Edward, won’t you?’ She rose to her feet, clasping her arms around his neck, drawing him close to kiss him. ‘And don’t be away too long,’ she murmured throatily as he left her.

Agnes Clitherow rose stiffly to her feet, the last of her possessions packed carefully into tea chests and clearly labelled for when the carrier collected them. She had delayed her departure for Scotland until after the wedding, which would give her the opportunity to say goodbye to her friends; less sad, too, since everyone would be in a happy frame of mind.

Yet leaving would not be easy. Saying goodbye to her ladyship and Miss Julia would be near-heartbreaking and need all of that self-control she had learned over the years as housekeeper to the gentry. Nor would she relish saying goodbye to Sir Andrew on Saturday morning when his leave was over. Such a fine young man Drew had grown into. Sir Giles would have been so proud of him.

Agnes Clitherow blinked away her tears, blowing her nose loudly. Packed carefully away was a silver-framed photograph of Drew she would treasure always; a memento of a fine young man who would come safely through this war, she knew it, and marry and have sons for Rowangarth. Oh please, God, he must!

Flight Sergeant Timothy Thomson was waiting outside the Plaza dance hall in Creesby when the Holdenby bus stopped outside.

‘Tim!’ Tatiana’s cheeks flushed hotly. ‘I said to meet me inside!’

‘Oh, aye? So you think I’m mean, do you? Meet my girl inside so I don’t have to pay her in?’

‘I didn’t think that at all!’ She took a step away from him because she knew he was going to kiss her and it simply wouldn’t do – not when someone from Holdenby might just be walking past. It was one of the awkward things about being a Sutton. So many people knew her. ‘But I’m glad you could make it. Were you on ops. last night?’

‘Aye, but it was only a milk run. Counts as an op. for all that. One more off my tour.’

‘Your – tour?’

‘Thirty bombing operations in a tour. Not a lot of aircrews make it to a full tour, but those that do are taken off flying for a while.’

‘And how many have you done, Tim?’

‘Last night was the eleventh, so it’s fingers crossed for the next two. Crews seem to think that once they’re over the thirteenth there’s a good chance of making it. The first op., the thirteenth and the very last of the tour are the dicey ones. But the others have gone in and we’re standing here blethering.’

They were wasting time when he needed so desperately to have her in his arms, to dance close so he could feel her breath soft on his cheek, smell the clean, sweet scent of her hair. And damned fool him, too, when he’d vowed never to get entangled with girls; to love them and leave them. Get the war over first, then concentrate on a decent degree. But now there was Tatiana and all he could do was think about her all day, then fall asleep hoping to dream about her all night. Soft in the head, he was.

‘What’s a milk run?’ Tatiana asked when the first dance was over.

‘It’s an easy op. hen – easy as delivering milk. We didn’t carry a bomb-load last night. Our lot did a diversionary run to draw their fighters away from the Dutch coast. That way, our main bomber force had a better chance of making it to the target – somewhere in the Ruhr, I think they went. You try to attract the German fighters, then climb like mad, out of their way …’

‘Hmm. And 109s can’t climb all that high, can they, and they can’t stay airborne for very long; not like our Spits and Hurries.’

‘So how come you know so much about Messerschmitts then?’ He tweaked her nose playfully.

‘Because I take a magazine called the Spotter. It’s all about planes, gives silhouettes, too – both ours and theirs so you can recognize them in the air. I’m getting quite good at it.’

‘There’s more to you, lassie, than meets the eye!’ He rose as a waltz was announced. He liked waltzing with her. The steps were slower, so he needed to hold her closer.

‘Tim?’ Tatiana moved her head so her lips were close to his ear. ‘When we met tonight, you said you weren’t so mean that you couldn’t pay for your girl to go into the dance.’

‘Aye, well – some Sassenachs think us Scots are mean.’

‘I didn’t mean that. You called me your girl. Am I your girl, Tim?’

Her eyes met his. Such big, brown, beseeching eyes.

‘If you want to be.’

‘That isn’t what I asked.’

‘Okay.’ He lowered his voice to a whisper. ‘Since you ask, Tatiana, you bowled me right over the minute I saw you. I haven’t been able to get you out of my mind since – so what have you to say to that?’

She smiled, her eyes not leaving his. They were moving more slowly now; dancing on a sixpenny piece, she supposed. And all at once they were the only people in the world.

‘Remember the night we met, Tim?’

‘Every bit of it. Which particular minute are we talking about?’

‘The one when I spoke to you in Russian.’

‘I mind fine. You said you thought I was a good dancer, didn’t you?’

‘No, darling. What I really said was, “I think I am falling in love with you.”’

‘I see. So that makes two of us.’ He said it very matter-of-factly. ‘What are we going to do about it?’

‘I don’t know. I don’t have much of a choice. I’m only eighteen, remember.’

‘No chance of marrying me, then?’

‘Not without Mother’s permission and she’d never give it.’ Her eyes pricked with tears.

‘Then it’s a pity you aren’t Scottish. You’d be considered to have sense enough to marry at eighteen there.’

‘I would? Is your law different, then?’ Her heart began to thump uncomfortably.

‘That part of it is.’

‘But I’m English.’

‘Then you’d need to live in Scotland for three weeks – become domiciled. You’d qualify then.’

The music stopped and the floor cleared, leaving just the two of them standing there, though it didn’t matter because weren’t they the only two people in the world, anyway, and in love?

‘Then when you’ve flown your thirty raids, will you ask me to marry you, Tim?’

‘I will, sweetheart.’

‘And I shall say yes …’

They smiled into each other’s eyes, then he took her hand and led her from the floor.

‘Well!’ Daisy gasped. ‘Did you see Tim and Tatty? Standing there in the middle of the floor just the two of them, gazing into each other’s eyes and not caring who sees them? She’s supposed not to be here, you know.’