The Last Letter from Juliet - Melanie Hudson Page 0,59

of tailor as we continued down the road. ‘Not this time! This time we’ll go to my own personal tailor, and hey,’ she nudged Anna’s shoulder, ‘how about I treat us all to a fabulous silk lining in the jacket, a matching one just for the three of us? The Spitfire Sisters. How do you fancy silver? Too obvious?’

‘A silver lining!’ I repeated. ‘Oh, yes, that’s a fabulous idea!’ I threw my fists in the air, shouting out. ‘Spitfire Sisters, forever!’ We stopped at the entrance to the tube. Marie turned to Anna who was still shaking and put a big-sisterly arm around her shoulder. ‘And afterwards, how’s about we get dressed up and have a few drinks with some pals of mine at the 400 Club, and then off to the Plygon for some dancing – if it’s still standing, that is. We’ll spend the night at my place in Chelsea, make a real good night of it, whad’ya say?’

Anna turned to me and shook her head with a resigned smile.

‘After tonight, I’d say you’re barking mad. But yes, thank you. I’d love to!’

We boarded the train at Waterloo Station, utterly dishevelled. Despite Marie’s desire to rouse spirits, as she rested her bruised head against the blackout blind and closed her eyes, I noticed several stray tears escape from her long lashes and ebb down her beautiful face. Anna rested her head on my lap and smiled up at me before closing her eyes. I stroked her light chestnut hair as the carriage helped to rock her to sleep. And as the night train headed west and left a broken but not defeated London in its wake, my heart seemed to be finding it a strain to simply keep on beating, not just because of the tragic events we witnessed tonight, but at the not knowing … the not knowing if Edward Nancarrow, whose face I had glanced briefly across the crowd at the Empire, was dead or alive.

Anna woke just before Southampton and glanced up at me.

‘Who’s Edward?’ she asked in a whisper, trying not to wake Marie and wiping sleep and dust from her eyes. ‘You were shouting for him, when we were searching for Marie, you kept shouting his name.’

I looked away, further down the carriage, anything rather than to catch her eye.

‘Oh, no one in particular,’ I lied. ‘Just someone I used to know. I thought I saw him in the crowd.’

At which point Marie stirred.

‘I’ve made a decision,’ she said, stretching her long arms skywards. ‘The Bentley’s a bit of a gas guzzler and I can never get enough coupons to fuel it.’ She raised the blackout blind, causing us to blink but allowing the morning sun to fill us with light. ‘So, I’m going to buy me a motor bike! A real beaut of one, too.’ She looked from Anna to me. ‘Whad’ya think?’

Chapter 21

Juliet

Summer 1941

A surprise communication

I was in the Met Office at Hamble, self-briefing the weather for a delivery to Scotland when Marie, sidled in. She nudged my shoulder and handed me a note, folded into four.

‘What’s this?’

Marie leant her back against the map table and smirked.

‘What’s this, my ass! You’re the dark horse, no mistaking, Third Officer Caron … or should I say, Mrs Lanyon. No wonder you use your maiden name in the ATA. I would too with a man like that on my tail.’

I didn’t understand a word Marie said. Then I read the note.

Dear, Juliet

I’m writing in the hope that you are safe. It was a shock to see you in London at the Empire last evening. I became trapped with some of the bandsmen behind the stage area. Luckily the fire did not spread and we were rescued, but it took a couple of hours for the building to be secured enough to get us out.

I looked for you afterwards amongst the injured but obviously didn’t find you. I’m hoping that you escaped unharmed, but until I know for sure, I will not rest. Seeing you was surreal. Only that morning I had read an article in The Times about women in the ATA. The article led with a (very glamorous) picture of you. You were stepping off the wing of a Spitfire with your hand running through your hair. You looked extremely happy. I couldn’t believe it was you at first, but then I could believe it completely, because flying Spitfires in the ATA is exactly what I should have realised you would do. I