The Mersey Daughter (Empire Street #3)(70)
‘So what have you seen of the city so far?’ he said now. ‘I’m afraid you’ve missed the chance of visiting our cathedral or St Luke’s Church, or even our best department stores. Hitler decided we had too many beautiful buildings and set about destroying them. But you must have seen the Liver Birds at least.’
Sylvia laughed, a little shame-faced. ‘Do you know, I haven’t been down there yet. Everyone says I must see them – that they’re the symbol of the city, and as long as they are there then Liverpool will never be defeated. But I’ve been so busy settling into my billet and starting at Derby House that I haven’t had a moment.’
The sun came out from behind a cloud and shone down on them, turning Frank’s hair the colour of warm molasses sugar. Sylvia smiled up at him and he couldn’t resist taking the next step.
‘Well then, Wren Hemsley,’ he said, ‘would you let me have the honour of escorting you to see our fine birds? You can’t really say you’ve been to Liverpool without that sight. It’s not far, just down there and across to the river. Can I persuade you to accompany me?’ Until recently he would have added, ‘If you don’t mind being seen with a cripple with one leg.’ But he held his tongue – it was her who had approached him to begin with, after all.
She looked up directly into his eyes and smiled with pleasure. ‘Thank you very much, sir. I’d be delighted.’ A sunbeam caught on her shining curls and he smiled back. The sharp poignancy of his thoughts about Kitty eased a little. He decided Wren Sylvia Hemsley was somebody well worth getting to know.
Laura and Kitty walked swiftly down one corridor after another in the almost silent hospital, attempting to find the right ward from the directions a nervous receptionist had given them. Laura hadn’t exactly lied to get them past the front door, but she’d let the young woman assume that they were family. She made sure her accent was at its cut-glass best, had instructed Kitty to let her do the talking, and was behaving according to one of her brother’s favourite maxims: act like you belong and nobody questions your right to be there. She didn’t know how far this would get them, but she was going to give it her best shot.
‘This must be it. She told us to look out for the big painting of Winston Churchill.’ Kitty pointed to a portrait in a heavily carved gold frame. ‘It’ll be one of the doors at the end.’
Laura looked to where her friend meant. French windows at the far end of the corridor gave on to a rose garden, by the looks of it, and she thought what a beautiful sight that would have been under different circumstances. She couldn’t dwell on that now, though. Every minute counted, as they could be turned back at any moment. She began to march smartly towards the doors near the full-length windows, but before she’d got far, two people emerged from one of the doorways, one in a matron’s uniform and one clearly extremely senior in the navy. His gold braid shone in the light from the French windows and Laura was momentarily dazzled.
The matron did not look best pleased. She didn’t shout, presumably so that her patients would not be disturbed, but she swept towards Laura and Kitty with a look of ill-disguised fury on her face. ‘What do you think you are doing here?’ she demanded. ‘This area is not open to the public and you need security clearance to be anywhere remotely close to this corridor. You must leave here at once.’
Laura refused to be intimidated by the angry nurse. She drew herself up to her full height and made sure her shoulders were back. She didn’t intend to leave the premises without finding out what had happened to Peter. ‘We are here to see Captain Cavendish,’ she said, steadily but utterly firmly. ‘Please tell him that Wren Laura Fawcett is here.’ She could sense Kitty’s nervousness but she would not back down.
‘You will do no such thing,’ the matron replied immediately. ‘Captain Cavendish is in no state for visits, and certainly not from the likes of chits like you.’ She pointed back the way they had come. ‘Now leave this instant, or I shall report you to your commanding officer.’
Laura had expected that but she still wasn’t going to turn around. She was more desperate than ever to discover what had happened to the captain. What would Freddy have done in such a situation? He’d have brazened it out, probably used his considerable charm to win the furious matron over. Laura knew she would stand little chance of that, but it didn’t mean she couldn’t try with the naval officer – an admiral no less, she realised, as she noticed the detail of his uniform. Well, nothing like going straight to the top.
‘I wonder if you can tell me how he’s doing, sir?’ she said, as winsomely as she could.
The man had deep lines etched into his brow and he regarded her with the utmost seriousness. For a moment Laura thought he was going to echo the matron’s command for them to leave. Then his expression changed a fraction. ‘My dear young lady, did you say your name was Fawcett?’ he asked.
‘That’s right, sir.’ Laura saluted smartly.
The admiral turned to the matron. ‘While it is highly irregular, and usually I would concur that this is a breach of security, I can vouch for this young lady,’ he said with a sigh. ‘You were Captain Cavendish’s driver on the fateful evening of the UXB blast, were you not?’ Laura nodded, not trusting herself to speak. ‘Then I must thank you for saving my nephew’s life.’ The man paused and drew breath, and before he could go on Laura leapt into the gap.