A Sister’s Courage. Molly Green

not wanting to be thought of as unpatriotic, especially when faced with a Frenchwoman who was asking so delightfully for her help.

      Sighing heavily, Raine picked up the huge aluminium teapot and poured yet another twenty mugs of tea, letting the liquid slosh over the rims without pause. She’d asked for a transfer to one of the other administration departments and was sent to Maintenance Command section under Flight Lieutenant Fox. It had been a bad mistake on her part.

      ‘Miss Linfoot, are you there? Please answer.’

      Foxy’s tone was never a polite request but an order. He was of medium height, stockily built, dark hair slicked back with plenty of Brylcreem. His cocky swagger when he came into the office and his condescending attitude made it obvious that women had no place in the department unless they were behind a typewriter. At least once a day she berated herself for ever having learnt how to type. As for Foxy, she detested working for him. His handwriting was appalling and he always took umbrage when she gave him a letter for signing, having guessed the words and the gist of it as she’d gone along.

      ‘I didn’t write it like this,’ he growled more than once.

      She’d answer that it had read a little ambiguously, so she’d tried to make it clear.

      ‘Hmm,’ he would grunt, but to her surprise he never insisted she retype it.

      That was by no means the worst thing. She’d only been at the job a week when he’d pounced as she was leaving his office. He’d barred her way as she had her hand on the door handle and grabbed her.

      She’d twisted her neck away from his repulsive lips. ‘Please don’t.’

      ‘Come on. You’re no prude. You girls – prick-teasers, all of you, with your pouty red lips and your pussycat bows, forever tossing your hair—’

      ‘What nonsense!’ Raine’s voice was ice as she pushed her hand hard against his chest. ‘But I am here to do a job without any unpleasantness from anyone.’ She glared at him. ‘So don’t ever touch me again, sir,’ she emphasised with sarcasm, ‘or I’ll report you.’

      ‘You report me?’ He laughed in her face. ‘The general dogsbody. Who do you think they’d believe – you or me?’ His laugh became a sneer. ‘Make one move in that direction and I’ll have you removed … for good.’

      She could only grit her teeth. She’d get nowhere if she threatened him. He was her superior and he could easily make her life a misery. She’d stepped back and made her exit as dignified as she could, knowing his eyes were on her. Since then, he’d always made a point of looking her up and down every time she had to speak to him, but he’d left her alone and she’d hoped that was the end of it.

      Now, a fortnight later, he was asking to see her on her own again. With Foxy she realised she’d overstepped the mark in threatening him. But she hadn’t been able to stop herself from trying to frighten the rat. She should have known that threatening such a bully would never have worked. Blowing out her cheeks, Raine picked up her notepad, hoping, praying he only wanted to dictate a letter, although Foxy dictating was as bad as deciphering his writing. He’d march back and forth across the floor, mumbling and gabbling, then would say nothing for a whole minute – just turn and stare at her. She wrinkled her nose as she knocked on his office door.

      ‘Please, sit down.’

      Something in his tone alerted her. He wasn’t about to dictate any letter. He leaned back in his chair, steepling his fingers, and studied her. His gaze lowered to her legs, then back up her body to her face. She loathed everything about him – those pinprick cold grey eyes piercing through her, as though sucking out all her problems, laying them bare and grinning at them, but she would not be intimidated. She tried to imagine him naked – she’d read somewhere that it helped when you were in such a situation – and almost giggled at the image dancing in front of her.

      ‘Have I egg on my chin or something?’

      ‘What?’ She managed to recover herself. ‘Oh, sorry, sir, I was—’

      ‘Never mind that,’ he said abruptly. ‘I have something to discuss with you. I understand you’re a qualified pilot.’

      Her heart leapt.

      ‘Yes, sir, I have my licence.’ She couldn’t stop the note of pride that pervaded her answer.

      He nodded and picked up a sheet of paper from the top of a pile, his eyes flicking from one side to the other, taking his time.

       As though he hasn’t already read it.

      ‘This letter …’ he waved it in the air, ‘is from the ATA – that is, the Air Transport Auxiliary.’

      ‘Yes, I’ve heard about it,’ Raine said coolly, though inside her heart was beating fiercely, silently thanking God that Doug had explained who they were.

      Foxy gazed at her as though he couldn’t believe she was not some empty-headed slip of a girl. ‘I’ll give you the thrust of it,’ he said, breaking off to wink at her. ‘It’s from a Miss Gower. Apparently, she’s in charge of a ferry pool …’ he rolled his eyes that a woman should be in charge of something so important, ‘and she urgently requires pilots. She’s even asking for women as well as men.’ He stared at Raine. ‘My God, she must be desperate.’

       Don’t annoy him, Raine. Let him think he has the upper hand.

      ‘She needs highly experienced pilots, of course.’

      Raine’s heart dropped. She hadn’t flown for nearly a year. But at least this Miss Gower was asking for more women. Those eight female pilots must be doing a good job. It gave her a sudden hope.

      ‘Does she say how many flying hours … sir?’

       Please let me have enough.

      He sent her a steely gaze. ‘How many hours do you have, Miss Linfoot?’

      ‘Twenty-five.’ It was actually nineteen, but she wasn’t going to tell him that.

      A smirk crossed his thick lips, but he said nothing.

      Was her dream about to come true – or be smashed to pieces? He was deliberately keeping her in suspense.

      ‘How many hours does Miss Gower require?’ Raine asked, her heart beating hard.

      Foxy glanced down at the letter again. ‘I’m afraid Miss Gower requires pilots with two hundred and fifty … minimum.’ He sent her a triumphant look. ‘So you only have ten per cent of her requirements.’ He paused to let that sink in. ‘I’m afraid we will have to put that idea aside.’ His mouth twisted.

      ‘But with the war, surely—’

      ‘I’m afraid there’s no more to be said.’

      She could see her chance slipping away before her.

      ‘Please, sir, if I could—’

      He held his hand palm upwards towards her. ‘I’m sorry, but you simply don’t have enough experience. And by the time you increase your hours the war will be over. Without any help from women.’ Before she had time to react, he said, ‘But there’s something else I want to talk to you about.’

      The tone had become ominous. Raine deliberately kept her eyes on him, trying to ignore her thudding heart.

      ‘I’m afraid …’ he paused as though for effect (dear God, if he said he was afraid one more time she would cheerfully throttle him), ‘we no longer require your services at Biggin Hill.’

      Her jaw dropped. She hadn’t been prepared for this. His eyes were narrowed in malice. What a nasty little man, enjoying the power he had over her. She could have kicked herself for threatening him. This was his moment of triumph. Her punishment for daring to stand up for herself. Well, she wasn’t going to go down without a fight.