The Cornish Girls. Betty Walker

her hand at last, looking round for a waiter. ‘We were just about to order some more drinks. Would you care for a glass of champagne, Eva?’

      ‘I thought you’d never ask.’

      He laughed and waved a hand at a passing waiter, who happened to be Bertram, an old sweetie and one of Eva’s favourites at the club. He threaded his way towards them with a harassed expression, balancing a tray of empties on one hand.

      ‘Sir?’

      ‘We’d like a bottle of champagne.’

      ‘Which kind, sir?’

      Max stared at him, taken aback. ‘There are different kinds of champagne?’

      ‘Yes, sir.’

      ‘I see.’ Max hesitated, glancing awkwardly at Eva, who carefully said nothing but examined her nails for chips in the varnish. There were always a few at the end of a long night at the club. ‘Well, bring us whichever champagne is the most popular. And six glasses.’

      ‘Very good, sir.’

      Bertram hurried away with a grunt. He was a kindly man in his sixties, always dapper in his waiter whites, but overworked by Walter.

      As the band launched into one of the latest swing tunes, Max pulled his chair closer to Eva’s and began to tell her about himself. He described his parents’ bean farm out in Missouri, his little sister Pam and how she made sure to write to him every week he was away from home. Eva listened, charmed by his warmth and the expressive glint in his eyes. He wasn’t just good-looking, she thought. He was friendly and down-to-earth, too. And there weren’t many men like that about, she thought, instinctively drawn to him.

      ‘How come you’re in the RAF, then?’ she asked at last, curious. ‘I mean, you’re an American. Why fight for our country?’

      ‘I flew crop planes back home, so I decided to volunteer.’ His face sobered. ‘My grandfather was born an Englishman, from Surrey, and I could see how unhappy he was about these damn fascists. He wants America to join the war, crush them for good. But while I couldn’t do anything about our foreign policy, I was able to cross the border into Canada and volunteer my services as a pilot. They sent me over to England for training with the RAF, so here I am!’

      ‘How brave you are. I wish I could do something more useful.’

      ‘Oh, I’m no braver than anybody else.’ He winked at her. ‘You keep us entertained; I fly a plane.’ When she looked at him closely, wondering whether Max thought less of her for being a dancer, he said more seriously, ‘We all do our bit in our own way.’

      Eva smiled. ‘I hadn’t thought of it like that. But yes, I suppose you’re right.’

      ‘And it’s fun, in a mad kinda way. I wouldn’t miss this for the world. Even the damn air raids.’ Max met her eyes. ‘Being so close to death … It makes you feel more alive, don’t you think?’

      She nodded, captivated by his charm. ‘Yes, absolutely.’

      While they talked, the other pilots smoked and chatted among themselves, only casting the occasional sideways glance at her tight-fitting stage costume. She didn’t mind the attention though. Most men stared and didn’t care a jot if she saw them. It was nice not to be leered at for a change.

      The champagne arrived, and everyone had a little in their glass. Eva knocked hers back without hesitation, and saw Max’s surprised look. Probably not the ladylike thing to do, she thought with sudden chagrin.

      Since her mother’s death, she’d been brought up by her father, who was a military officer and often absent or too preoccupied to notice her. Eva loved him dearly, but instilling proper manners in his rebellious daughter had not been high on Daddy’s list of parental duties. And once war had been declared, and her father had been packed off to the back of beyond, somewhere down in Cornwall, she’d barely seen him.

      Suddenly, the eerie, all-too-familiar whine of the air-raid siren rose above the swing music. The band stopped playing at once and began to pack away their instruments, and the singer slipped away backstage for her coat.

      Once, the band might have carried on playing through the air raid, like the band on the Titanic was reputed to have done when the iceberg famously struck. But there’d been a near-miss the other week, completely demolishing a building a few doors away, and since then Walter had made the decision to call it a night whenever the sirens went off.

      Eva jumped up too, straightening her skirt. ‘I’m sorry,’ she told the soldiers with genuine reluctance, for she did not often have a chance to talk to such interesting people, ‘but we have to head to the shelter now. It’s only a few hundred yards down the street. Will you come?’

      She managed a smile, but could have screamed with frustration. They had been getting along so nicely. As far as she was concerned, the timing couldn’t have been worse. Drat those German bombers!

      Flight Lieutenant Carmichael seemed to share her disappointment. But he was preoccupied, glancing doubtfully at his friends. ‘We should probably report back to base. It’s quite a drive away.’ He got up too, swiftly followed by the others. Around them, everybody was knocking back their drinks and filing towards the front entrance. ‘But I can walk you to the shelter first.’

      ‘Thank you.’

      Outside on the dark London street, people were quickly making their way towards the shelter, some in dressing gowns and slippers, summoned from their beds by the siren. Above them, the night sky was lit up with criss-crossed searchlights and the frequent flash and crack of anti-aircraft guns.

      Rather cheekily, Max took her hand as they hurried down the street together. Eva was surprised but decided not to pull away, even though it was a bit of a liberty for a man she had only just met. He had such an irresistible smile, after all.

      But before they could reach the underground station where she had spent so many nights before, Eva heard the terrible whistle of a bomb descending.

      ‘Bomb incoming!’ someone shouted. ‘Run for the shelter!’

      The whistle grew louder and louder as it hurtled towards the earth, almost directly overhead.

      People started to scream and run all around her.

      ‘Quick!’ Max pushed her through the churning crowd towards the mouth of the underground station entrance, only a few feet ahead but packed with people. ‘You get to safety, honey.’

      Eva protested and tried to turn around, but stumbled on her heels, pushed along by the crowd of hysterical club-goers on every side. She could hardly breathe, she was pressed in so tight. They were nearly there, nearly at the shelter.

      Suddenly, she felt herself lifted off her feet as though flying …

      Then everything went black.