All Clear

“All right. You win, Isolde.” He signed the form, climbed out of the Daimler, and then leaned back in. “But keep in mind this is only round one. I have all sorts of techniques I haven’t tried yet, which I promise you, you will not be able to resist—though I’m forced to admit you have better defenses than any girl I’ve ever met.

Perhaps we should use you to stop the V-1s. You could turn them away with a flick of your hand or a well-timed word—”

He stopped and looked blindly at her, as if he’d suddenly remembered something.

Please don’t let it be where we met, she thought. “I really must be going,” she said quickly.

“What?”

“The stretchers.”

“Oh. Right,” he said, coming back from wherever he’d been. “Adieu, Isolde, but don’t think you’ve seen the last of me. It’s our destiny to meet again very soon.

Very soon. It wouldn’t surprise me if I needed a driver again tomorrow.”

“I’m on duty tomorrow, and you’re lassoing V-1s, remember?”

“Quite right,” he said, and got that odd, looking-straight-through-her gaze again. She took the opportunity to say goodbye, pull the door shut, and drive off quickly.

“One can’t escape one’s destiny by driving away from it!” he called after her. “We were meant to be together, Isolde. It’s fate.”

I’ll have to make certain I’m on duty or away from the post for the next few days, she thought, turning toward Edgware. After which he’ll forget all about attempting to remember where he met me and begin calling some other girl Isolde.

She should have found a way to escape from him sooner. By the time she located Edgware’s ambulance post and managed to talk them out of one lone stretcher, it was not only dark but past eight o’clock. She was in unfamiliar territory, her shuttered headlamps gave almost no light at all, and if she got lost and took the wrong road, she’d be blown up.

But she also couldn’t creep along. Dulwich had had three V-1s tonight. They’d need every ambulance, and the route she’d mapped out was only good till twelve, and with the blackout, she’d have no way to look at the map. I must be home by midnight, she thought, leaning forward, both hands on the wheel, peering at the tiny area of road her headlamps illuminated. Just like Cinderella.

area of road her headlamps illuminated. Just like Cinderella.

There wasn’t enough light to see signposts by, even if there were any, which there weren’t. The threat of invasion’s long since over, she thought, annoyed. There’s no reason for them not to have put the signposts back up.

But they hadn’t, and as a result, she made two wrong turns and had to retrace her way for a tense few minutes, and it was half past twelve by the time she reached Dulwich.

The garage was empty. They’ve already left for the V-1 that fell at 12:20. Good, that means I can have my tea before the next one. But she’d no sooner pulled in than Fairchild and Maitland piled in beside her. “V-1 in Herne Hill, DeHavilland,” Fairchild said. “Let’s go.”

“They’ve had three in the last two hours,” Maitland said, “and they can’t handle it all.”

And for the rest of the night, Mary clambered over ruins and bandaged wounds and loaded and unloaded stretchers.

It was eight in the morning before they came home. “I heard you got stuck with my job, Triumph,” Talbot said when she went into the despatch room. “Which one was it? I hope not the Octopus.”

“The Octopus?”

“General Oswald. Eight hands, and cannot keep any of them to himself.” Talbot shuddered. “And very quick, even though he’s ancient and looks like a large toad.”

“No,” Mary said, laughing. “Mine was young and very good-looking. His name was Lang. Flight Officer Lang.”

“Oh, Stephen.” Talbot nodded wisely. “Did he convince you he’d met you somewhere before?”

“He attempted to.”

“He uses that line on every FANY who drives him,” Talbot said, which should have been a relief, but part of her had been secretly looking forward to the possibility of seeing him on her next assignment.

“I wouldn’t set my cap for him,” Talbot was saying. “He’s definitely not interested in wartime attachments.”

“Good,” Mary said. “I’m not either. If he rings up saying he needs a driver, would you—”

“I’ll see to it the Major sends Parrish.”

“Thank you. Talbot, I wanted to apologize again for pushing you down. I am sorry.”

“No harm done, Triumph,” Talbot said, and the next day she hobbled into the common room on her crutches and kissed her on the cheek.

“What was that for?” Mary asked.

“This,” Talbot said, waving a letter at her. “It came in the post this morning. Listen, ‘Heard about your accident. Get better soon so we can go dancing. Signed, Sergeant Wally Wakowski,’ ” she read. “And in the parcel with it were two pairs of nylons! Your pushing me down was an absolute godsend, DeHavilland! As soon as my knee’s healed, I’ll take one—no, two—of your shifts for you.”