We skirted Piccadilly Circus, tyres jolting rhythmically on the joints of the concrete, and then we were on the FASO apron where big arc lamps blazed and there was the bustle of planes and lorries and German offloading teams. The control tower shack on its scaffold stilts stood high and dark above the line of Nissen huts.
‘Shall I wait for you?’ the lieutenant asked as he drew up at the roundel signboard of the Malcolm Club.
‘No, thanks,’ I said. ‘I’ll be all right now. And thank you very much for running me out.’
‘Not at all.’ He got down and opened the door for me, his hand steadying me as though he thought I were too weak to climb out on my own. ‘Good-bye, sir. And good luck!’ He gave me a parade ground salute.
I hesitated at the entrance of the club and stood watching him get back into his truck, turn and drive off. The red tail-light dwindled and was lost amongst the litter of lights. I stared at the planes coming in. They were Daks from Lubeck with coal. There was a line of them standing in the slush of the apron. I stared at them dully. A girl checker with the nearest German labour team looked up from her manifest and stared at me. She was big and fair-haired with high cheek bones. She reminded me of Else, except that she was covered in coal dust. I turned towards the entrance to the Malcolm Club, still hesitating, reluctant to go in. If Diana were there it would be all right. But if she weren’t … I’d have to explain myself and the filthy state I was in and I should be surrounded by a barrage of questions as air crew after air crew came in and wanted to know the story of the crash.
A group of R.A.F. boys tumbled out of the hut, laughing and talking, bringing with them through the open doorway that familiar smell of coffee and cakes. There was no point in putting it off any longer — besides, the smell of the place had made me realise how hungry I was. I brushed quickly at my filthy clothing and pushed open the door.
It was hot inside, the stove roaring red and the place full of smoke and cheerful chatter. I crossed the long room, pushing my way towards the counter, conscious of the gradual fall of conversation as eyes fastened on my scarecrow figure. ‘Is Mrs Carter here?’ I asked the girl behind the counter. I had spoken quietly, but even so my voice sounded loud in the silence that had developed.
The girl looked nervously to the mute groups behind me. ‘No,’ she said. ‘She doesn’t come on until seven.’
I glanced at my watch. It was half-past six. ‘I’ll wait,’ I said. ‘Can I have some coffee and a plate of sandwiches, please?’
The girl hesitated. ‘All right,’ she said.
A hand touched my shoulder. I spun round and found myself facing a big blond man with a wide moustache. ‘Who are you?’ he asked. The silent circle of eyes echoed his question.
‘My name’s Fraser,’ I answered.
‘Fraser.’ He turned the name over in his mouth as though searching for it in his memory. And then he suddenly boomed out, ‘Fraser! You mean the pilot of that Tudor?’
‘That’s right,’ I said.
‘Fraser! Good Christ Almighty!” He seized hold of my hand. ‘Don’t know you from Adam, old man. But allow me to do the honours and welcome you back. You look about all in. Here, Joan — the coffee and sandwiches are on me. What happened? Come on, tell us all about it. We’ve got to go in a minute. What happened?’ The circle of faces closed in like a pack of wolves, avid for news. Their eyes shone with excitement. Questions were hurled at me from all directions.
There’s nothing to tell,’ I murmured awkwardly. ‘The engines failed. The plane crashed near Hollmind.’
‘And you’ve just got out of the Russian Zone?’
‘Yes.’ The girl thrust a cup of coffee and a plate of sandwiches into my hand. ‘If you don’t mind — I’d rather not talk about it.’ The heat of the room was making my legs shake under me. ‘I’m very tired. You must excuse me. I must sit down.’
Hands gripped my arms at the elbows and half-lifted me to one of the easy-chairs by the stove. ‘You sit there and drink your coffee, old man. We’ll have you fixed up in no time.’
‘I must speak to Mrs Carter,’ I insisted.
‘All right. We’ll get her for you.’
They left me then and I grasped the coffee cup in my hands, feeling the warmth of it spread up my arms, savouring the glorious, reviving smell of it. I could hear them talking about me in the background. Fresh air crews came in to replace others that went out to their planes. The word was passed on and they took up the story, talking about me in whispers.
Somebody came and squatted down on his haunches beside me. ‘Glad to know you’re back, Fraser,’ he said. ‘You must be the greatest escape merchant alive. All the boys back at Wunstorf will be glad as hell to know you’re back. We thought you’d had it.’
‘Wunstorf?’ I stared at him. His face seemed vaguely familiar.
That’s right. Remember me? I’m the guy that was sitting right next to you at dinner that night you crashed. You were growling at Westrop for talking too much about the Russians. Seems he had second sight or something. I’ll see that the station commander knows you’re back.’
‘Is the Wunstorf wave coming in now?’ I asked.
‘Yes. Just started to come in.’
‘Is a man called Saeton flying a Tudor tanker on the lift yet?’
‘Is he flying the lift!’ The kid laughed. ‘I’ll say he is. Been flying for two days now and he’s got the development section puzzled as hell. Flies on his two inboard engines all the time, except on take-off, and his fuel consumption is knocking holes the size of a hangar door in all the aero engine boys’ ideas. He said you worked on the motors with him at one time. Boy, he’s certainly got them guessing. Boffins from Farnborough are flying out tomorrow with the C.T.O. of the Ministry of Civil Aviation and a big pot from the Ministry of Supply. Saeton will be in shortly.’
‘How soon?’ I asked.
‘About quarter of an hour. The Tudors aren’t far behind us.’
An R.A.F. corporal pushed forward. He had a big web satchel with a red cross on it. ‘I’ve got an ambulance outside, sir. Do you think you can walk to it or shall I get a stretcher in for you?’
‘You can send your bloody ambulance away,’ I said angrily. Why the devil couldn’t they leave me alone? ‘I’m not leaving here until I’ve seen Mrs Carter.’
The fellow hesitated. ‘Very good, sir. I’ll be back in a minute and then we’ll get you patched up. Nasty cut you got there. Sure you’re all right, sir?’
‘Of course I’m all right,’ I snapped. ‘I’ve walked nearly twenty miles already tonight.’
‘Very good, sir.’ He went to the door and opened it, and at that moment Diana came in.
Her face, devoid of make-up, looked quite haggard. At sight of me she stopped as though she couldn’t believe that I was really sitting there in an easy-chair beside the stove. ‘So it is you.’ She said it almost accusingly. Then she came slowly towards me. ‘What happened? What have you done with Tubby? Why didn’t you let him jump with the others?’ Her voice trembled and there was a look of dull pain in her eyes.
‘You needn’t worry,’ I said. ‘He’s safe.’
She stared at me. ‘You’re lying.’ Her voice was suddenly hard. ‘You know he’s dead.’
Tubby’s all right,’ I repeated. ‘He’s alive.’