Chapter 8 Summer 1941
Chapter 8
Summer 1941
So far in the eight weeks she’d been on active duty, Fitz had been to Tangmere twice. The first time she went back after Betty’s fatal accident had been more traumatic than Fitz had expected. As she came into land, images of Betty’s plane hitting the tarmac and digging into the ground flashed before her. When she’d climbed out of the Spit she was delivering, Fitz’s legs had buckled and Bob had somehow managed to catch her under the arm.
She found herself wishing it was Sam who had been there to comfort her, like he had that awful day. She had managed to regain her composure, though. It wouldn’t do to fall apart in front of the men and Fitz certainly didn’t want it reported back to the ATA. She refused to put her emotions out on show for everyone and blamed the near collapse on cramp in her leg.
Fortunately, the second time she flew into Tangmere, she was mentally prepared and had no such problem as before.
On neither occasion had she seen Sam Carter again, and she had to acknowledge she was a little disappointed. Bob had reliably informed her however that on one of the days, she had missed him by just an hour as he’d set off on a mission, and on her other visit it had been his day off and he’d headed up to London to see an old friend. Fitz wondered if the old friend was of the female kind but then silently admonished herself for even thinking that. It wasn’t like her at all. She wasn’t even looking for a romance, so why she was letting Sam Carter get under her collar, she didn’t know.
Still, one morning when Fitz, Marjorie and Elsie were waiting for the bus to take them to the ferry pool, Fitz found herself wondering when or if she’d see Sam again. She took out his handkerchief from the pocket of her flight bag and refolded it. Maybe she’d never get a chance to return it to him.
‘Ah, look at you,’ said Elsie. ‘I bet you’re hoping you’ll be sent to Tangmere today.’ She nudged Fitz with her shoulder.
‘I don’t know what you mean,’ declared Fitz, as the bus pulled up.
‘You hear that, Marjorie?’ said Elsie as the three women climbed on board. ‘Fitz here doesn’t remember a certain American airman with the most amazing blue eyes whose handkerchief she’s been carrying around in her flight bag all this time.’
‘Oh, really?’ said Marjorie, as she headed down the aisle to the empty seats at the back. ‘That is strange. Maybe we need to jog her memory?’
‘You’ll do nothing of the sort,’ said Fitz.
‘I wonder if he’s been pining for you,’ teased Elsie, settling into her seat.
‘Every morning he looks wistfully up to the sky wondering if today will be the day the Attagirl with the bright red lipstick will return.’
‘Well, Fitz, this could be your lucky day,’ said Marjorie, sitting down next to Elsie.
‘Stop it, both of you,’ said Fitz, taking the seat in front of them. ‘Besides, if he is there, it will be his lucky day.’
Marjorie leaned forward and slapped Fitz on the shoulder. ‘Exactly. He is the lucky one.’
When they arrived at the ferry pool and Fitz was handed her chitties for the day, she was amazed to see her second delivery was indeed to Tangmere. Despite her declaration that it was Sam who should be thrilled, she couldn’t help feeling excited herself that she could possibly see him.
Two hours later, after delivering her first Spitfire of the morning to Andover and getting a lift back to Southampton’s Supermarine factory to collect another, Fitz landed her second Spit of the day at Tangmere airfield and taxied to the apron. She was pleased to see, once again, that Bob was there to meet her.
‘Hello, there, Bob,’ she said, climbing down from the cockpit. ‘Good to see you.’
‘And you, Fitz. Are you going over to the mess room?’
‘I mostly certainly am, but you know me, I need to get ready first.’ She smiled at the engineer and immediately began peeling off her flight suit. ‘How’re things here at Tangmere?’
‘All good,’ said Bob. He checked his watch. ‘If you hurry you’ll be in time for elevenses.’
Fitz by now had smoothed down her skirt and whipped her lipstick from her pocket. Using the small, hand mirror, she applied it to her lips. ‘There. How do I look?’
‘Perfect. Oh, we’ve got a couple of Frenchies in the mess today.’
Fitz frowned. ‘Frenchies?’
‘French airmen. They’re being flown out tonight.’
‘Right. I’ll look forward to talking to them. It’s been an age since I last spoke French.’
‘You speak French?’
‘ Bien s?r ,’ replied Fitz.
‘I might have guessed,’ said Bob. ‘See you over there.’
Five minutes later, Fitz walked into the mess room, casting her gaze around, she couldn’t deny her disappointment that Sam wasn’t there. She had so been hoping to see him. She did, however, notice the two gentlemen in civilian clothes sitting on one side of the room.
‘ Bonjour ,’ she greeted them. ‘How are you both?’ The two Frenchmen looked surprised but replied in French that they were indeed well. ‘And you’re looking forward to your trip overseas?’ queried Fitz.
The two men exchanged a look and the older of the two replied. ‘We really can’t comment.’
‘Oh, of course not. Silly of me. I take it you’ve come across from Tangmere Cottage?’ asked Fitz amiably.
‘That we can confirm,’ replied the man. ‘I must compliment you on your French. I can barely detect an accent. You’re not French though, are you?’
Fitz smiled. ‘Thank you. I’m afraid I have a succession of French governesses to thank for my language skills.’
The man looked impressed, but before he could say anything else, a deep American voice, one that Fitz had replayed over in her mind the past few months, broke through the conversation.
‘Why am I not surprised you speak fluent French, Miss Fitz-Herbert?’
Fitz spun around. She wanted to fling herself into Sam’s arms but even she wasn’t that brazen. ‘Oh, Mr Carter,’ she said. ‘Not just French but German, too. There is no end to my talents.’
This caused a snigger from one of the English pilots who was standing nearby. Fitz winked at him and looked back at Sam.
He shook his head. ‘I don’t doubt that for one moment.’
They grinned at each other. ‘Hello, Sam,’ said Fitz. ‘I wasn’t sure I was going to see you today.’
‘Hi there,’ replied Sam. ‘I heard you were in town so thought I’d drop by.’
‘I’m glad you did. You owe me a pub lunch I seem to remember.’
‘And you owe me a handkerchief.’
Fitz produced Sam’s handkerchief from her pocket not unlike a magician. ‘Hey presto!’
‘I’m impressed.’ Sam took the cotton square from her.
‘I do like to impress you,’ said Fitz. ‘Now, I’ve fulfilled my side of the deal, I do hope you’re not going to renege on yours?’
Sam raised his eyebrows in mock indignation. ‘Never let it be said I don’t keep my promises.’
‘Oh, God, you two need to get yourselves down the pub.’ It was Bob who had come into the mess room unnoticed by Fitz. ‘All this pussyfooting around. Go on. Off you go.’
Fitz wished the two Frenchmen well and then left the mess with Sam. He offered her his arm and she placed her hand in the crook of his elbow.
They walked through the village to the one and only pub which was more of a small hotel, simply named The Tangmere Hotel and Bar.
‘It’s not much to write home about,’ said Sam apologetically. ‘I figured taking you into Chichester when you’re supposed to be on duty, it wouldn’t go down too well with the top brass.’
‘No, I don’t suppose it would,’ agreed Fitz. ‘However tempting it might be. I confess I don’t always abide by the rules, but nevertheless I don’t want to be booted out of the ATA.’
The bar area was quiet for the time of day and Sam showed Fitz to a table in the window, before ordering them a drink each. Fitz stuck to orange juice. She knew she’d be hung out to dry if they thought she was boozing before getting into a plane.
‘So, how have you been?’ asked Sam.
Fitz knew he was thinking of Betty and the accident. ‘I’ve been all right,’ she replied. ‘We try not to dwell on what happened but remember Betty for, well, the things we love doing ourselves. You know, flying.’
It was hard for Fitz to articulate how she felt about Betty when it was so very different to how she felt about her own mother’s death.
‘You shouldn’t try to bury things, though,’ said Sam. ‘I know you British like to keep a stiff upper lip, but it’s not always a good idea.’
‘I don’t know. It’s served me well so far,’ said Fitz. She stopped. She could have bitten off her own tongue for saying that out loud. She could see by the way Sam was looking at her, he was going to ask some awkward questions. And before she had a chance to say another word to divert the conversation, he spoke.
‘What is it you’re frightened of?’ he asked.
Fitz took a sip of her drink to stall for time before she answered. ‘Frightened of? I don’t know. I don’t believe in fear.’
‘That makes you either brave or foolish.’
‘Maybe I’m both.’
‘When you’re up in the sky, what is it you’re looking for?’
Fitz swallowed. She’d never been asked this question. She knew the answer ran deep, maybe deeper than she fully understood herself. She wasn’t one for talking about it to anyone, least of all an American pilot she barely knew and yet something made her want to open up to him.
‘It’s just me and the aircraft. It’s exhilarating. It’s freedom. Free of responsibility. When I’m flying I don’t have to rely on anyone else or worry about anyone else.’ She paused. ‘It all sounds rather selfish and self-indulgent when I say it out loud. I’m not sure any of it makes sense. All I do know is my mother was taken away far too soon.’ She could hear the bitterness in her voice and it shocked her. She usually kept these feelings locked away.
‘You’re angry that she died. That she took that risk and left you without a mother.’
‘Is that right?’
‘I think so,’ said Sam in that confident yet casual way of his. ‘You fly without fear because you’re seeking power and control over a situation, that as a child, you had zero control or power over. You’re attempting to gain a sense of closure and your childhood self might have been attempting to rewrite the outcome.’
Fitz scoffed at the last suggestion. ‘It sounds rather fanciful, don’t you think?’
Sam shrugged. ‘True, it might be a less common reaction to childhood trauma, but it’s not unheard of.’
‘Golly. That’s all rather deep,’ said Fitz not feeling comfortable at all with the psychological analysis Sam had just offered. ‘Well, I hate to disappoint you or suggest that your degree at Cambridge is wasted, but none of that applies to me. I simply love flying. I do love the adrenaline, that’s true but it’s a love my mother had and passed on to me. It’s in my blood. Anyway … enough about me. What about you?’ she asked, switching the subject away from herself. ‘What makes you take to the sky? Are you after that rush of adrenaline, too?’
‘You won’t be surprised to learn that I’ve thought about this before,’ said Sam. ‘And, yes, I am seeking the rush of adrenaline, but that’s because growing up my life was very rigid and very safe. Don’t get me wrong, I had a good home life and childhood. My father is an international banker. He likes order. Planning ahead. Sticking to a well thought-out plan.’
‘And that’s not you.’ Fitz might not know a great deal about the Anglo American sitting next to her, but she’d worked that one out pretty early on.
‘Most definitely not me. I guess I kicked out against it. I wanted to test myself.’
‘Finding your limits can be dangerous,’ said Fitz.
‘True, but I’ve not found them yet, so I’ll keep pushing,’ replied Sam. ‘I’d always thought I’d like to fly and when I met some of the pilots at White’s and was invited out with them one day, I was hooked. But I like speed of all kinds. Not only in the air. I got myself a motorbike. A Brough Superior. She’s a beauty.’
‘Really? I love motorbikes,’ said Fitz. ‘I used to take a Triumph out for a spin around the airfield sometimes. It belonged to Johnny Fisher. He was an absolute sweetheart. He taught me to fly, you know.’
‘Sounds like I have competition,’ said Sam. He fixed his gaze on Fitz.
She didn’t look away. Wouldn’t have been able to even if she had wanted to. His eyes looked particularly blue today. More Mediterranean than West Sussex blue. ‘Competition?’ she said, her voice low. ‘I’m not sure that’s possible.’
For all her extrovert ways, Fitz’s heart was hammering in her chest. Her pulse was pumping far faster than it should. She was fully aware this visceral reaction to Sam was for him and him alone.
Sam leaned in closer to her, his face merely centimetres away. ‘I’d hate to have competition,’ he said in almost a whisper.
Fitz offered a small smile as the loss of Johnny struck her again. ‘He died in service not that long ago.’
‘Ah. I’m sorry,’ said Sam.
‘As I say, Johnny was a sweetheart,’ said Fitz, and then adding to lighten the mood. ‘So you have big boots to fill and might have to up your game.’ She raised her eyebrows. Flirty. She could do flirty with Sam. Anything else was dangerous. But then, she loved a bit of danger. She needed to get back in control of this conversation. ‘Maybe you need to thrill me on your Brough Superior.’
‘That will do for starters,’ said Sam. ‘Thrills are my speciality.’
He was dangerously close to her now. She could feel his breath on her skin. ‘You’ll have to prove that you’re not all talk,’ she managed to say.
With that, Sam leaned in and kissed her on the mouth.
Fitz’s whole body reacted to that tender and fleeting meeting of their lips. She gasped at the ferocity of the feeling. She certainly had never experienced anything like that before. And judging by Sam’s sharp intake of breath, it was new for him, too.
This time she didn’t wait for him to initiate the kiss. And when he kissed her back, she couldn’t help let out a small moan of pleasure.
The sound of the barman giving an exaggerated cough had them pulling apart. Fitz and Sam giggled like naughty teenagers being caught out. She didn’t care. If just his kiss could do that to her, then heavens knows what she’d be like if anything else happened.
‘Next time you’re here, I’m taking you out on the Brough.’
‘I’ll hold you to that,’ said Fitz.