Risking It All Read online

“It’s from the airfield,” she said.

  “What were you doing there?”

  Lynne stared at him, a strange expression in her eyes; like hope. “I’m fine,” she said.

  Billy nodded to the water glass. “I can’t hold it.”

  Lynne picked it up and placed the rim against his mouth, tilting to pour a small amount of water between his lips.

  “They say you’ll be all right.” She put the cup down. “A nasty cut to your head and a dislocated shoulder. Bruises.”

  “Can they mend my Spitfire?”

  Lynne reached for his hand. “It exploded, Billy. There’s nothing left.”

  He remembered the bullet hitting the engine, the jammed landing gear. Arthur. He closed his eyes as a sharp pain filled his chest. His best friend, dead. It never should have happened; Arthur had been an experienced pilot.

  Lynne squeezed his hand again. “Billy, I love you.”

  Her eyes were red and tear marks ran down her soot-covered cheeks. He couldn’t do this to her; first his brother, now Arthur. When would it be his turn? Oh, why could she not do her job properly?

  “I like you, Lynne, you’re a lovely girl. But I don’t do relationships.”

  “So you said in the ambulance.”

  Damn. What had he said? He couldn’t remember, had felt angry, that was true. Angry about Arthur.

  “I’m due to be transferred soon,” he said. “I doubt I’ll see you again.”

  She stepped back. “It’s your injuries, your head…”

  “No, it isn’t. I’m not interested, Lynne. Last night was a one off.”

  She drew in a breath and he hoped she wasn’t crying, he couldn’t bear it, but when she spoke her voice was hard and dry. “All right. I won’t disturb you anymore. Have a good life.”

  Heels thudded on the floor as she strode out of the room and he closed his mouth to prevent himself begging her to return. Then, from above, came the drone of a bomber.

  ****

  “Are you all right?” Barbara said.

  Lynne looked up from her desk. “I’m fine.”

  “You’re not eating or sleeping. Are you worrying about the planes being shot down?”

  She nodded. It was partly true.

  “But it’s not our fault,” Barbara said. “The moment the signal comes in, we’re racing to put out the call to scramble.”

  “And still they die.”

  Barbara banged her hand on the desk and strode off. Lynne dropped her head into her hands; how much longer could they all cope with this? On top of the worry about the planes, Billy had discharged himself from hospital. Deemed unfit for duty, he spent his days in the mess hall and pub. She avoided both, terrified of seeing him with another girl. One had asked him out, Barbara said, but to her relief, he refused, saying he was unwell. Was it the truth? She didn’t know. He looked pale.

  Oddly, she’d twice found him in the control tower during their evening break. When she opened the door, it sounded like papers were rustling, but it must have been the breeze through the window. Why would Billy be interested in her paperwork? He hadn’t even cared enough to speak to her, had only nodded and strode out while she clung to the desk, legs shaking. How she wanted him back!

  Her vow was so stupid. How could you vow against love? Her mother lost her husband, but she had shared memories and a daughter to remember him by. Lynne had one night, which was not enough, but was her own fault. She’d been so cold to him.

  The door opened again, this time for Derek, not a person she wanted to see.

  “A group of us are going to the cinema tonight. Fancy coming?” he said.

  A shadow fell over the door and Billy walked past, stopping just past the doorframe. Had he heard?

  “No, thanks, sir,” she said.

  “Another time.” He glanced at Billy, who stood frozen in the hall, and marched off.

  Billy looked in at her, his eyes hard and lips pressed tight together, then turned and strode away. Her mouth went dry and she stared at her feet until his footsteps echoed down the corridor.

  ****

  Billy watched Derek plod downstairs; if he moved quickly, he should have time. Opening the door to the man’s office, he crept inside and closed it behind him. A large desk and filing cabinets faced him, and the air stank of cigarettes and sweat.

  Where would the reports be?

  Sliding a drawer out of the cabinet, he rummaged inside. Nothing, and not enough time to check all of them, else he’d be caught. It was likely Derek already suspected something; several times over the last few days, the man had been watching him.

  Pushing the papers back, he turned to the next cupboard before raising his head and staring at the door. Had the handle moved? With a squeak, it twisted down. There was nowhere to hide; he’d have to brazen it out.

  Chapter Four

  Lynne walked in.

  “What are you doing here?” she snapped. “I saw you creep in.”

  “Close the door.”

  “He’ll be back in a minute.”

  “I know, that’s why I need you to help me.” He gestured to the filing cabinets. “I have to find the records showing when the warning call comes in from the Operations Room.”

  She stared at the filing cabinets. Would she help him? There was no reason for her to. “If you tell me why.”

  “There isn’t time.”

  “Then I’m reporting you. I don’t know what you’re up to, but you’re not supposed to be in here.” She crossed her arms.

  “I’m with Special Ops. They transferred me from the RAF. I’m here to find out why the scramble calls are going out late.”

  “You were looking in my desk!”

  “I had to check everyone, I couldn’t make an exception because I know you. Please, Lynne, people’s lives are at risk here.”

  She stared at him. “I’ll help you look, but then you can bugger off back to Biggin Hill and I never want to see you again.” Leaning down, she wrenched open a drawer and grabbed a bundle of papers. “Call reports.”

  Billy snatched them, undid his jacket and slid the papers inside. Looking back up, he saw her gaze on him.

  “I’m sorry, for what it’s worth,” he said.

  “Not a lot.”

  Footsteps sounded on the lino outside and her eyes widened.

  “Here.” He grabbed her.

  “Oh, no, not the old kissing couples thing. I’ve seen it on the movies.” She shoved him away. “I’d rather get court-marshalled.”

  The door opened and Derek walked in. “What the hell?”

  “Sorry, sir,” Lynne said, and saluted. “I was bringing the mission reports in, didn’t realise you weren’t here.”

  “And him?” He looked at Billy.

  “I have no idea, sir.”

  “Lost,” Billy said and put his hand on Lynne’s arm. “Come on, dear.”

  “Get out, the pair of you. I won’t have fornicating in my office,” Derek said.

  ****

  Lynne slammed the door shut behind them. “Thank you very much! My job was on the line before, but I’ll certainly be sacked now.”

  “Come with me.”

  He strode down the corridor, not looking to see if she followed. After a minute, he heard the squeak of her shoes and pushed open the door to an empty office; once it closed behind them, he took out the papers.

  “I rang Operations yesterday and they confirmed the warning call about enemy aircraft on my first day here had been rung through at ten to twelve. The cry to scramble didn’t come through to the airfield until eight minutes later—I know because I checked my watch. Eight minutes is long enough for the bombers to get into position.”

  “We put the alarm through the moment Derek tells us,” Lynne said. “He insists all contact with the Operations goes through him…” She looked up. “Bastard! He’s been accusing me all this time of causing a delay.”

  “There’ve been unusual payments made into his bank account. I checked yesterday. Go back to your desk. I
’ve men waiting outside to arrest him.”

  She stared, open-mouthed. “I should have thought! But I never did, I trusted him.”

  “Lynne, I’ve got to get him arrested, before he causes any more trouble. Now go, or he’ll guess you were involved.”

  She nodded, turning to the door, then glanced back over her shoulder. “Be careful.”

  He nodded and watched her slip out the door, half closing his eyes. How he wanted her back. But he couldn’t do that to her, it would be cruel.

  ****

  Lynne sat at her desk, listening to the scuffle in the office behind her. Footsteps echoed and she glanced up as two soldiers strode past, Derek gripped tightly between them. He spat at her, the spittle landing on the floor beside her feet.

  How many men had been lost due to his greed? From now, she would insist on dealing with Operations herself. So many of her friends had died. She would never be so trusting again.

  She stood up to find Billy, then with a sharp intake of breath, remembered he would be leaving now—the culprit had been found. Leg muscles trembling, she grabbed the back of her chair, sweat beading her forehead. How could she survive each day knowing she wouldn’t see him? Was that one night all they would ever share? Where would they send him now? As Special Ops, it could be anywhere. France? She shuddered, closing her eyes; please not there, she’d heard about what happened to those who got caught spying across the channel.

  ****

  Billy slumped on the hill overlooking the airfield, clutching a telegram—his new orders. The sinking sun sent shoots of yellow across the sky and clouds of tiny flies bombarded him. There was a roar of engines as a squadron of Spitfires set off and he wished he was a pilot again so he could stay at the airfield. Balling his jacket up, he rested his head on it. It no longer smelt of her perfume; the cleaning after the fire had removed all trace of her.

  Footsteps crunched on the grass and he jerked upright; it was Lynne.

  “I need to talk to you,” she said. Her cheeks were flushed and eyes over-bright.

  He flicked out his jacket for her to sit on, but she ignored it and sat on the grass. It probably reminded her too much of the last time they had been on this hill.

  “Are you leaving?” she said.

  He nodded, crumpling his hand to hide the telegram.

  “Where?”

  He took a deep breath. “Malta.”

  Her mouth fell open. “Could you explain about your injuries, that you can’t fly?”

  Her voice broke and part of his heart broke with it. Lynne was no fool. She knew what a deployment to Malta meant. He would never see her again.

  “You can’t go,” she said. “They’ve no supplies. No food, no fuel. Please don’t go. Billy, I couldn’t bear it.”

  He picked a strand of grass and wound it around his finger. The green grass of England.

  “If I don’t go, they’ll send another in my place. A young Special Ops recruit with ten hours experience. I’ve got more chance.”

  “But you haven’t! There are no chances in Malta, there’s no way back from Malta.”

  “It’s my job, Lynne. You wouldn’t stop your work because you were afraid.”

  “I don’t want to lose you,” she whispered. “I love you, I have for years.”

  He reached for her hands and pulled her close. “I can’t do this to you. I broke it off because I wanted to protect you. My job is so dangerous.”

  “It won’t make any difference, my heart will still be broken. My mother mourned for years, but at least she had happy times to remember. I want that, Billy, I want us both to have that, so if the worst does happen, we’ll live on in each other’s minds. The only thing that frightens me is not being with you, and that won’t change even if the damn war kills one of us. I would rather live a week with you than a lifetime without.”

  Billy pressed his mouth to hers, tasting the salt from her tears. No more games, no more arguments. Taking the piece of grass he’d looped around his finger, he lifted her hand and, looking into her eyes for permission, he slid it over her ring finger.

  “If I return, will you marry me?”

  She kissed him, pressing her body close and he glanced into the sky; it was dark enough to conceal them. Drawing her into his arms, he reached to unfasten her jacket as from the sky came the roar of Spitfire engines.

  Epilogue

  Heels clanking on the hospital floor, Lynne hurried across the ward. Billy lay in bed, dark hair tangled on the pillow, face matching the white bed sheets. His eyes were closed and she stared at the burn twisting his left cheek like a red crumpled hanky. Not too bad, about the size of a coaster.

  His hand, though—with three missing fingers, he would never fly again. And his cheekbones were sharp, eyes ringed in black. What had Malta done to him?

  “Billy.”

  His eyes twitched open and he looked at her with his familiar blue stare, lips twisting up in a smile.

  “Not too afraid to come?” he said.

  “Of course not.” She leaned down to kiss the patch of clear skin on his damaged face. “You’re going to be fine, they’re transferring you to Grinstead Hospital. I met the specialist who is going to treat you. He’s not bothered about your face, says it will heal, but he wants to do grafts on your hand so you can use it again.”

  Billy glanced at the twisted claw on the blanket. “They won’t take me back. I’m out.”

  “Yes.” She kissed him again. “We survived, Billy, we’ve reached the end. The tide has turned, the Malta blockage has been broken, ships are getting through. We’ve won back the Mediterranean.”

  “It was worth it, then.”

  “And the consultant told me you’ll be able to do everything you did before, except fly fighters.”

  “I can live with that.” He smiled.

  “I was so glad to receive the telegram saying you were injured.”

  Billy laughed. “I wasn’t sorry myself, compared to what could have happened. At least I was out of Malta. We were eating rat, cooked with curry powder.”

  Lynne winced and sat down on the edge of the bed. He looked down at her bare left hand and lifted it up.

  “What happened to my grass ring?”

  “It’s in my jewelry box, a little dried, but in perfect shape.”

  “I’m going to buy you a proper one as soon as I get out of this bed, if you still want to marry me.”

  How could he think she would not? His face, his hand, none of it mattered. For Billy, the war was over; he’d done more than his part. Now it was time for them to be together, to marry and plan the future that had seemed so impossible such a short time ago.

  At her airfield the planes continued to rise into the air, bullets to streak across the sky and bombs to fall, but each day more planes returned intact and the calls to scramble were fewer. Soon, the dark days of war would end; she and Billy would stand again in a sunny English field, with only the sound of bird song in the sky above and scent of hay filling the air. Hands clasped, they would kiss and she’d touch his scar, grateful that it had brought him home to her.

  A word about the author…

  Lucy Oliver grew up in England and loves writing passionate romances set against the backdrop of the wild Cornish coastlands and heather covered moors. An author of both contemporary and historical fiction, this is her third novel.

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