The Spitfire Girls(14)
An hour later their ship, the SS Beaverhill, had successfully docked. Lizzie was happy to be the first to head down the gangplank, her companions close behind, towards the crew who were lined up at the end of it, hats in hands. They’d been a fun and rowdy group to travel with; although there had been plenty of flirting and much drinking, they hadn’t been anything other than respectful and Lizzie appreciated it as much for herself as for the women in her charge.
‘I’m almost sad to say goodbye,’ she said, laughing as the captain took hold of her shoulders and planted a big smacking kiss on her cheek.
Lizzie kissed him back, then walked down the line of men and kissed each one, enveloping most of them in big hugs. Some blushed pinker than she’d ever known possible.
‘Thank you for the wild ride, sirs,’ she said, smiling flirtatiously and watching the captain clutch at his chest as if she’d stolen his heart. She wouldn’t miss the old converted coal liner – it hadn’t exactly been the most luxurious vessel – but she would miss the jovialness of the crew.
Lizzie kept walking, looking for her point of contact. She’d been told that Commander Jones would meet them near the gangplank, but it wasn’t until the crowd had thinned that she saw two women, both dressed in impeccable blue uniforms and looking very serious. She hoped this wasn’t a sign of things to come after such an entertaining trip.
‘Elizabeth Dunlop?’
Lizzie smiled and waved as she approached the slightly older of the two women. ‘Lizzie, please,’ she said. ‘And what kind of a welcome party is this? We expected bouquets and symphonies!’ The two women looked at one another and Lizzie laughed at their puzzled expressions. ‘I’m only joking. Sorry, we were warned how straight-laced you Brits were, weren’t we, girls? Seems like the rumours were true.’
The four women with her were laughing, but the two women in front of her were not. She stared back at their bland, unimpressed expressions and sighed. This was going to be a long few months.
‘I’m Commander May Jones,’ the older woman said, with a frown. ‘And this is Executive Officer Ruby Sanders. It’s a pleasure to have you here to join us.’
Lizzie held out her hand. ‘And it’s an honour to join you ladies here, even if the laughs are going to be far and few between. Anyhow, it’s good to have my two feet on solid ground again instead of lurching around at sea.’
They shook hands and she introduced the other four, noticing that her new associates still looked as though they’d sucked a lemon. ‘This is Ann Foster, Sandy Freeman, Brooke Mayweather and Ruth Powers. They’re my best four fliers and we can’t wait to join you ladies in the sky.’
‘Tell us about your crossing,’ Ruby said as May led them away. ‘We heard you were caught in a ferocious storm and had to pass by a German blockade.’
Lizzie shrugged. ‘It was worth it to come here and fly, but I have to confess that knowing the last convoy lost six out of ten vessels didn’t give us the most confidence.’
‘You’re telling us that now?’ Ann shrieked. ‘Those odds were terrible at best!’
‘Tell me more about when we’ll be flying. I hear we’re to be put up at the Savoy in London,’ said Lizzie, ignoring Ann’s horrified question and stepping closer to May. ‘I want to hear all about it.’
‘Yes, you’ll be at the Savoy. We’ll be travelling to London by train in the morning, but tonight we’d like to invite you all to dinner at the Adelphi Hotel. We have a table booked for seven-thirty.’
‘Sounds wonderful. One last fine dinner before we knuckle down and start work.’
Lizzie could almost imagine what they were thinking, these two prim and proper English roses. Was that what they called the pretty, porcelain-skinned women in England? They’d no doubt seen their brazen kisses and hugs of the ragged crew members, watched as they laughed and chatted and disembarked as if it was all an adventure, and were wondering what on earth Americans were about. Once they saw her flying, though, saw her determination in the air, they’d soon realise that any preconceived ideas were wrong. They weren’t guests of the British government for nothing, and she was looking forward to showing them precisely why they’d been given such special treatment.
Lizzie walked through the restaurant and touched her hand to her blonde hair, gently patting her curls to make sure they were still perfectly in place. She was exhausted and ready to fall into bed, but she wasn’t about to let her English sisters in arms think she didn’t have the stamina to join them. She saw May and Ruby ahead, still dressed in their perfect little uniforms, and wondered if she’d dressed up a little too much for dinner with her new colleagues. Trouble was, she’d only packed one nice dress and a pair of heels to go out in, and as far as her hair and make-up went – well, she wasn’t going anywhere without her trademark pink lipstick firmly in place. It didn’t matter if she was flying or dining: she always wore a sweep of Chanel. She thought of her mother telling her to make herself look confident even if she didn’t feel it, then firmly pushed away all thoughts of her and her sobs as they’d parted. Her daddy had held her tight, then given her a smile and a wink that told her everything she needed to know. ‘You can do this,’ he’d whispered in her ear.
‘Ladies,’ she said as she approached the table. ‘Sorry I’m late.’