The Room on Rue Amélie(60)
And so he forced himself to refocus. He had to survive if there was to be any hope of seeing her again. And he wouldn’t live through the war if he was daydreaming every time he flew over the Continent.
The cliffs of Dover came into view, white and gleaming, as Thomas made his way back across the Channel, and when he turned toward his home airfield, he tried hard to focus on what lay immediately ahead instead of on a future he couldn’t control. For all he knew, she hadn’t given him a second thought after he left her apartment.
As the landing strip came into view, Thomas opened the cockpit hood, reduced his airspeed to 140 miles an hour, and prepared for landing. Undercarriage locked. Propeller functioning normally. Flaps down. He made a wide turn, reducing his speed further, and then he brought her down safely, easing the long nose in and bumping a few times along the runway before bringing the plane to a stop. He taxied off quickly to leave room for others to land behind him, and once back in dispersal, he cut the engine and turned the instruments and radio off. Another successful flight under his belt.
He had just returned to his room and was about to get dressed for an evening at the pub with Harry, who’d promised to buy the first round, when there was a knock at his door. He answered quickly, but instead of Harry standing there, it was the squadron adjutant, a man named Fred Horn. “Clarke? I’m afraid something has happened.”
“Sir?” Thomas’s mind immediately went to Ruby, but that was crazy. He certainly wouldn’t be notified if anything happened to her. But who else was there? He was a man without a family. “What is it?”
“It’s Harry Cormack, I’m afraid,” Horn said, his eyes downcast. “He didn’t come back today.”
Thomas felt his heart drop to his knees. Harry? Again? “Do you know his status? Where did he land?”
“I’m afraid I’m not being clear enough. Some 109s caught up with him over the Channel.”
Thomas felt a heavy weight settle on his chest. “Did anyone see him go down?”
Horn nodded. “There was a whole mess of 109s out there, complete chaos. But Wellesley and Newton both saw him go into the water on fire. Had a couple of boats out in the area after the crash, but no sign of survivors, I’m afraid.”
Thomas felt a wave of hopelessness wash over him. Harry was one of the best pilots he knew. A swarm of German 109s shouldn’t have been too much to handle, unless he was severely outnumbered or one of them got very, very lucky. Even then, wouldn’t Harry have tried to bail out? “Any evidence of ejection?” Thomas asked.
“It seems his plane went into the water intact.” Horn looked away. “No indication of attempted escape.”
“Damn it.” Thomas pounded his fist against the door.
Horn was already backing away. “Anyhow, Clarke, I just thought you should know.”
“Yes. Right. Thank you.” Thomas closed the door and crossed the room to his bed. He sat down heavily, dazed by the news. Could Harry really be dead? Just like that? He couldn’t understand why he was so shocked. After all, this was the sort of thing that happened nearly every day. No pilot was guaranteed a safe return. Hell, no civilian was either. Just look what had happened to his mother.
It was so senseless. There were days that Thomas felt on top of the world as he soared above the clouds, but other days, especially as he crossed over France, he wondered what it was all for. Someone would win the war one day, whether it was the Allies or the Krauts, and then all those lives lost would feel as if they’d been taken in vain. And what if Britain wasn’t triumphant in the end? Would that mean that Harry and Oliver and Thomas’s mother had died for nothing? What if Ruby was lost in the end too, swallowed into the gaping hole of German aggression?
And so, just before he sat down to write yet another letter—this one to Harry’s parents—Thomas found himself on his knees, praying for his friend’s soul, for his own mother’s soul, for an end to the fighting, and for the strength to play a role in bringing this war to an end. But most of all, Thomas found himself pleading with God that Ruby would stay safe and that one day, fate would deliver him back to her door.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
August 1942
“I’m afraid I have some bad news.” Aubert was standing outside Ruby’s apartment, which was, in and of itself, alarming. He wasn’t someone who just stopped by.
“Are you sure you should be here?” Ruby quickly hustled him inside before anyone saw him.
“I’m an old friend of your husband’s, coming to check on you, if anyone asks. But this couldn’t wait.”
“What’s the news?” For a fleeting second, Ruby imagined that he was going to tell her Thomas had been shot down. But that was crazy, wasn’t it? How would Aubert know such a thing? And even if something had happened to the British pilot, why would anyone inform her? He probably hadn’t given her a second thought after returning to England.
“It’s about Charlotte’s parents,” Aubert said, lowering his voice.
Ruby closed her eyes for a moment. She didn’t want to hear what he had to say. She couldn’t. But she had to. “What is it?”
“They’ve both been sent to a camp in Poland.”
“Already?”
“Drancy is overrun. They’re moving people out as quickly as they can.”