The Darkest Hour. Barbara Erskine

‘She’s not even supposed to be there. Eddie seems convinced it’s OK, and that he can convince the WAAC that she would be a credible witness, but they are not keen at all on women doing this sort of thing. They are supposed to be painting other women, not dogfights in the sky.’

      Rachel sighed. ‘She has set her sights on this. I don’t think we can stop her. And she won’t argue with Eddie. She doesn’t want to put her chances of being accepted at risk. He does seem to have influence in a lot of places. I wish he didn’t, but I don’t think we should interfere. She’ll sort it out.’

      Ralph pushed back his chair and stood up. ‘I’ll speak to her when I have had the chance to go back and talk to them. Don’t worry,’ he added as his mother opened her mouth to argue. ‘I will be tactful. Besides, I don’t think Eddie is quite as high in favour as he once was. Our Evie has her eye on a new beau.’ He smiled.

      Dudley let out a guffaw of laughter. ‘That blond Scots boy? I saw her ogling him the other day.‘

      ‘I’m not surprised,’ Rachel said with a smile. ‘He’s a real charmer.’ She went over and lifted the kettle off the hob. Carrying it back to the tap she half filled it and returned it to the stove. ‘I wouldn’t be sorry to see her distance herself a bit from Eddie but at the same time she needs to be careful. He could destroy her chances of a career in art with a snap of his fingers. He’s only got to say something detrimental to the War Artists Advisory Committee, or in one of those reviews of his, or even to the local galleries, and it would all be over for her. I know she is talented, and one day I am sure she would make her way in the art world, but at the moment she is young and inexperienced and she doesn’t know people, at least not the way he does. As long as he thinks she respects him and is fond of him he will be a good friend to her.’

      ‘Do you know what you are saying, Rachel!’ Dudley burst out. ‘Listen to yourself! Give her credit for a little pride. You seem to be telling her to sell herself to the man.’

      Rachel tightened her lips. ‘I am saying nothing of the sort. I am just worrying that she might spoil her chances of real success.’ She turned to her son, a touch of heightened colour in her cheeks. ‘How long have you got, Ralph? Do you want some tea?’

      ‘Go on then.’ He smiled at her affectionately. ‘I have to be back soon enough. A cuppa with my mum and dad gets priority over Jerry and his attacks any day.’ He pretended not to see when Rachel turned away to hide her face. ‘They are giving Portsmouth a walloping at the moment but I am sure the boys can manage without me for a bit.’ He saw his father’s raised eyebrow. ‘OK, I’ve been given a few hours off. We are getting leave in short bursts at the moment. Don’t worry. I’m not playing hooky.’ He paused. He would have to leave time for another visit though, a visit to a pretty young WAAF called Sylvie who he had met at a dance in Bognor. But time enough for Sylvie once he had drunk his cup of tea. He knew enough about his mother to realise if he mentioned a girlfriend he wouldn’t get out of the door without the third degree. He sighed. ‘You do realise I might get posted to another station one of these days, don’t you?’ he said to her gently. ‘It was incredibly lucky my squadron getting posted to Tangmere. It could just as easily have been to any other station in England.’

      Rachel nodded. ‘We’ll make the most of it while you’re here,’ she whispered. She cleared her throat and, turning away, walked stiffly across the kitchen. ‘I’ve some fruit cake here in the pantry. I think you deserve a bit as it’s tea-time.’ There was a moment’s silence as she clattered about out of sight. When she reappeared with a plate in her hand, her eyes were suspiciously bright.

      Evie had spent the morning sketching the Nissen huts and the ground crew. The squadron had taken off before she arrived and, touching down swiftly to refuel and rearm, had taken off again without her having the chance to see Tony. She had concentrated on her job, sketching furiously, making notes, planning a series of paintings which she could work on in her studio at home. The flight commander of B flight had invited her into the Officers’ Mess for a snack lunch and the chance to admire the new china someone had given them to add to the furniture which had been donated to make life more comfortable. She had accepted in the hope that Tony would appear at some point, but he had, she was told at last, landed at Tangmere with a leak in a fuel line after catching some shrapnel in the fuselage of his plane.

      She didn’t see him until late that afternoon when he arrived at the farm with a bandage on his arm.

      ‘It’s nothing,’ he said cheerily when Evie flew out to meet him in the yard. ‘A splinter, that’s all.’

      She flung her arms round his neck and he let out a yell. ‘Ow! Careful!’

      ‘Sorry, sorry!’ She backed away horrified. ‘Did I hurt you? Oh, Tony, I’m sorry.’

      His face was white. ‘No, I’m fine.’ He managed a grin. ‘Patched up by a local body snatcher. I’m healing already. But I’m not allowed to fly for a couple of days in case I prang the old bus. So, I am all yours.’

      Evie gazed at him. ‘My parents are up in the top field stooking the last of the barley. They won’t be home till dark. I should be going up there too.’ She smiled at him then she took his hand. ‘Let’s go inside and I’ll find you some beer. Then we could go upstairs if you like.’

      He caught her hand. ‘Can we go for a walk first? Just stroll about. Do you mind?’

      She gazed at him, taken aback. ‘You don’t want a beer?’

      He smiled, his eyes lighting up with a mischievous twinkle. ‘Of course I do. And I want to be alone with you. You know I do. I just want to walk and talk first. It’s all been a bit too exciting, the last few days.’ He drew breath as though to say something else and changed his mind. ‘If we were to –’ he waved his good arm in the air as though unable to find the words to describe what was in his mind, ‘you know, make love,’ he paused again, then took a deep breath. ‘I respect your parents, Evie. And you. I don’t want us to, you know, do anything which would upset things. It’s too important we get this right.’

      She grinned. ‘You old romantic! Nothing we do is going to upset things, Tony. I know I am young, but I was an art student,’ she said gently. ‘I was living in London before the war.’

      For a moment he looked taken aback, then his face creased into its usual irrepressible grin. ‘That was then,’ he said. He leaned across and kissed her cheek. ‘Come on.’ He took her hand and pulled her towards the door.

      They walked across the yard, down past the duck pond and then up the track towards the hillside where their flock of Southdown sheep were quietly grazing in the sunshine. Beyond, the South Downs stretched out from the farm east and west, whilst to the south the flat lands of Sussex spread out towards the English Channel. The farm lay in a fold of gentle hills and wooded slopes, the soft grasses spangled with wild flowers, the stubble of the fields lying gold in the afternoon sun. It was an idyllic setting, the setting Evie painted with such love in her pictures of England in happier times, England before the war. The England she no longer wanted to show.

      ‘Right.’ Tony stopped, faced her and put out his hand. ‘Let’s start from the beginning again. If we are going to marry, we have to be introduced properly, as if our parents were here. Pleased to meet you, Miss Lucas. Can I tell you something about myself?’

      She giggled. Holding out her hand, she shook his. ‘Pleased to meet you too. Tell me everything.’

      ‘I am twenty-one years old, three-quarters of the way through my law degree at Edinburgh University. If I get out of this war alive,’ he took a deep breath and went on, ‘I want to go back and finish it. It was my dream, to be a lawyer. It still is.’ He was silent for a moment. Evie said nothing. She was studying his face.

      ‘I am the only child of Alistair and Betty Anderson who live near Wigtown in the south-west of Scotland. They are farmers a bit like your parents except they own mountainous land instead of downs. We have a lovely stone farmhouse which has been in our family for several generations,’ he went on slowly,