in her ear, ‘Not too much for you, is it, Diana? They can be a bit much when you first meet them all.’
Diana shook her head. ‘No, I think it’s wonderful. I’m so glad that your mother has so many people that care about her, particularly as she lost your dad in the last war.’
Diana thought about Agnes and how angry and upset she’d been about her own husband’s death, how it created so much bitterness in her, and Amy was the opposite. She hadn’t let it keep her down, and now she was the life and soul of her own party.
On the way home, Len told her hysterical stories about many of the people they had met, but she noticed he didn’t take her hand, and when she got back that evening, he didn’t offer to kiss her goodnight, just gave her a friendly hug.
All these things reinforced her concerns. Was he just shy? Or was it nothing more for him than friendship? As she bumped along on the truck later that evening to set up the balloon for the night, she listened to the other girls around her talking of their own romantic endeavours. The war seemed to have a way of making so many relationships more intense; as they faced life and death every day, people moved more quickly, like Lizzie and Jack.
Also, some of them talked about the heartache from meeting soldiers who viewed the war as a good opportunity to meet women. Diana kept quiet as she listened to both sides, not sure about where her friendship with Len fitted in. Was she simply someone he saw to spend time with on lonely nights or did this mean more to him? She needed to know soon, because the longer this continued the more that was at stake for her. Even in holding back her feelings, she was starting to care deeply for him and she did not want to get her heart broken.
30
When Julia arrived at the War Office on 9 November, the mood at Whitehall was sombre. She’d picked up a newspaper on the way in to work, and walking into the bunker, the air was thick with grief. Stephanie was already in and at her desk.
‘Did you hear about Mr Chamberlain?’
Julia nodded, showing her the headline on the paper under her arm.
Carol slid in behind her, glancing at Julia’s paper. ‘Awful, isn’t it?’ she said, pushing a platinum curl out of her eyes. ‘Didn’t think he would go so quickly.’
Sally arrived in the bunker, her face red from rushing and out of breath.
‘Did you hear about the former prime minister?’
All the girls acknowledged they had.
‘It’s a sad day,’ Sally sighed as she uncovered her typewriter.
‘Anyone know when the funeral will take place?’ asked Carol.
‘They’ll probably keep it a secret,’ responded Stephanie, practically, and Julia sat down at her desk.
They’d all known that Neville Chamberlain had cancer, but it still came as such a shock that he was dead. It wasn’t long before Julia’s boss found her.
‘Julia, the prime minister wants to see you in his office.’
Julia nodded and picked up her typewriter; she had been expecting it. Churchill would probably want her to type the eulogy. Following Mrs Scriber to the office, she knocked on Churchill’s door and his gruff voice called out to her to enter. Inside, he wasn’t seated at his desk as she had expected, but she saw through ribbons of wafting blue smoke that he was sitting up in bed, still in his pyjamas, breakfast tray in front of him. His glasses were perched on the end of his nose as he perused his vast collection of newspapers and finished up what was not his first glass of Scotch, by the looks of the bottle.
‘Come in, girl, come in,’ his gravelly voice called out to her as she made her way into her position at a table near his bed. This arrangement wasn’t unusual. She’d heard from the other girls that they’d all had to do this once or twice, type for him while he was still in bed, but it still felt awkward to her. The two of them squeezed into this intimate space, that still had the odour of stale air from being slept in swirling around it.
He lay back on his pillow and stared at the ceiling, inhaling a deep draw from his cigar then slowly blowing out more blue smoke around the small room, which made Julia’s eyes water as she set up her typewriter.