Beauty Chorus, The (36 page)

‘Which pilot is that?’

‘Megan Jones. Why?’

‘Oh dear. The unfortunate Jones.’ He paused. ‘I …’

‘Yes?’

‘Nothing. Tomahawks are damn tricky, that’s all.’

Evie ground her cigarette under her heel. ‘Megan will be fine.’

‘Your plane is ready, Miss,’ one of the engineers called over to her. By the time she turned back, Teddy was marching back towards the offices at high speed.

‘I say!’ Joy ran out onto the field towards Evie. ‘Where’s Megan? I just found this on the cloakroom floor. Miss Gold was going to put it up on the lost property board
but they’d have Megan’s guts for garters if they knew she’d lost her ferry notes.’

‘Thanks, darling.’ Evie grabbed the book. ‘Meggie can’t have noticed.’ Evie raced across the field, waving to Megan to hold on. She jumped up onto the wing of the
Tomahawk and found her rummaging in her flight bag. ‘Lost something?’ She smiled as she handed over the ferry notes.

Relief flooded Megan’s face. ‘Thanks, you’re a star.’

Evie jumped down. ‘Have fun!’

Megan flicked through the book until she found the page for the Tomahawk. She quickly scanned the instructions and settled back in the cockpit. She cranked the lever on the
right of her seat, adjusting it until she was comfortable. A lever on the left shifted her harness.
Right
, she said to herself, fastening the straps.
Here we go.
As she waited for the
signal to start up the engine, she looked around the cockpit. She noticed the pilot’s relief tube suspended from the bottom of her seat.
Won’t be needing that
, she thought, and
giggled.
Only a short hop, then you’re off to the scrapyard old girl.

The circuit was full of aircraft, someone landing or taking off every second it seemed. As Megan waited for her turn she made sure her landing gear was locked, and that the fuel selector was set
to the reserve tank. She drummed her fingers on the control panel, eager now to be in the air. She ran through the drill as she waited:
Ignition switches checked … Flaps neutral
…
Finally, they gave her the signal. As the engine had been standing, she turned it over by hand
. Right, carburettor to cold … Radiator shut.
The 1360 hp engine roared into
life as she started it, and she frowned as she increased the throttle to 800 rpm.
That feels horrible
, she thought as she pulled back on the lever and the Tomahawk lumbered forward.

As she taxied over, joining the queue of aircraft waiting to take off, Megan couldn’t wait to put the plane through its paces. When it was her turn, as the Tomahawk had been ticking over
for a while, she ran the engine up against the brakes to clear it. She remembered the girls talking about this aircraft, swapping tips in the mess, and as it surged forward along the runway and
into the wind she opened the throttle slowly. She felt a slight swing as she took off, used a little right rudder. As the ground dropped away and the aircraft climbed at 150 mph, she thought as she
always did of flying out over Barafundle Bay. She found it always calmed her to think about flying the old Moth, with her brother Huw behind her. She had never managed to convince Bill to come up
with her.
But I will
, she thought, smiling to herself. She checked her instruments systematically as she climbed into the clear blue sky. The Tomahawk felt a little unstable to her, but as
she cranked the sliding glass canopy closed, it steadied. In her mind, she was skimming out over the Pembrokeshire coast, above the glittering sea, her nerves forgotten. Safely in the air, she
retracted the landing gear, the wheels locking flush with the wings. The Tomahawk rose, and White Waltham fell away beneath her.
There we go
, she thought, settling back for the flight. Then
she heard the engine sputter.

Megan’s stomach tightened, a chill coursed down her spine as she waited for it to catch again. It flared, and she exhaled. But something was wrong. She was up too high now to land easily,
the plane banking over the fields. She shielded her eyes from the glaring light. She was pointing directly at the sun and she was completely blinded.

‘No,’ she whispered under her breath as the engine cut out again. Below her, everyone on the field had stopped and was watching Megan fight hopelessly with the stricken plane.

Think
, Megan told herself. She couldn’t understand what was wrong with the aircraft. She checked the instruments. Nothing made sense. In her panic as the engine began to cut out
again, she pushed forward on the throttle, and it cut out entirely.

‘Oh God, no!’ she cried out as the Tomahawk shuddered. The right wing dropped, then the nose. The aircraft was buffeting, tumbling towards the earth, five tons of armoured metal
screaming downwards, like a boulder pitching out of the sky. Megan tried frantically to pull it out of the vicious stall. She felt as if she was watching herself, her hands clutching at the stick
as the ground came up to meet her. All the stories about this plane came back to her in a flash. She remembered someone describing how they had seen one tumble ‘arse over tea-kettle’
out of the sky. She could hear herself shouting, straining to get the aircraft level. ‘God!’ she yelled, ‘please, I don’t want to die!’

Megan glanced quickly at the red emergency hood release on the forward frame of the cabin roof, imagined bailing out and parachuting to safety. She checked her height. She was too low. She
looked blindly at the panel, at the whirling dials, pictured them smashing, splintering. She thought of the flames.

Her mouth was dry as she bit her top lip. She checked her speed. At 95 mph she could chance a steep glide back into the airfield.
Or any field
, she thought desperately. She was so low
now, she would have to land with her undercarriage up. She stared, transfixed, as the golden summer fields came into focus, came close enough for her to make out the cars on the roads.

Snap out of it
, a voice in her head told her.
You can do this.
Megan summoned all her strength, and pulled back on the stick. She tried to get the heavy nose of the plane under
control as the Tomahawk banked around. She remembered to lower her flaps, but in her panic she forgot to shut off the fuel as she readied herself for the crash landing. ‘Ma!’ she cried
out, choking down a desperate sob as the earth hurtled towards her, the wind screeching across the canopy. ‘Ma!’

The wingtips brushed the treetops as she came down. That was the last thing she noticed, seeing the leaves in all their dazzling beauty, so close to her now, the sunlight catching on them like
the waves on the sea. She heard the sounds of the trees rushing by, the shuddering crash as the wings came away, the fuselage ploughing into the copse, the roar as it plunged into the earth and she
was thrown forward, glass and metal fracturing, exploding in slow motion.

The silence flooded in as she lay slumped, her head against the instrument panel. She blinked, something dark and wet clouding her eye as she looked across the fields through the broken window.
She tried to move, but couldn’t. She could see her arm, limp at her side. She blinked again. She could hear something dripping. The smell of petrol burnt her throat as she gasped, her lungs
forcing a last, desperate breath into her body. ‘Ma, help! Ma!’

The smoke wisped up through the cockpit floor, and Megan closed her eyes.

39

The 400 Club was packed, the dance floor overflowing as couples moved to Fat Tim’s Band. For once neither the music nor the glamorous London crowd did anything to lift
Evie’s spirits. In the last sleepless days her thoughts had returned again and again to Megan’s crash.

‘Get the blood wagon!’ Commander Francis had yelled. Evie had watched the ambulance racing across the airfield in the direction Megan had taken. She had prayed silently as the cars
and motorbikes tore after it, cutting across the lanes and rutted fields. She had jumped on the back of one of the bikes, clinging to the driver. Then, suddenly, an explosion. A pall of dark smoke
and vivid flames leapt up from behind the hedge as they drew alongside. She screamed Megan’s name, and ran, stumbling across the cornfield to the crash site. The Tomahawk had ploughed
straight into a copse of trees, its wings broken and scattered. Teddy was ahead of her, his arms shielding his face as he tried to reach the plane. Evie could see Megan’s body silhouetted
against the orange flames licking ferociously around the fuselage. She was slumped forward, her head resting against the control panel.

‘Get back!’ Teddy had yelled, pushing Evie clear. Evie fought him, punched him hard and struggled free. She sprinted towards the burning plane, crying out Megan’s name. Teddy
ran after her, and wrestled her to the ground as the petrol tank exploded.

Evie tasted earth in her mouth, the leaping flames scorching her skin even from that distance. Teddy scrambled to his feet, dragged her with him as Baldwin’s fire crew aimed their jets at
the wreckage.

‘What would you like to drink?’ Peter pulled her chair out for her as she sat down.

‘Sorry?’ Evie looked vaguely at him.

‘How about a brandy?’ He gently squeezed her shoulder. ‘It looks like you could do with one, old girl.’ Peter’s concern was written across his face. ‘I am
glad to see you.’

‘I just had to get away. Bert gave me a lift up in the ATA van. He had some spares to drop at Paddington.’ She hung her head. ‘I wanted to tell you myself. I’m so sorry,
Peter.’ She took his hand over their table. ‘Megan was awfully fond of you.’

‘I don’t know, Evie.’ He shrugged. ‘I think she would have gone with that chap who looked like Errol Flynn. Don’t have much luck with love, do I?’

What was the point in telling Peter the truth?
Evie thought. ‘You and me both.’ She smiled bravely as she looked around the club. It was as busy as ever and she recognised
several old friends. The maître d’ had told her that her father was there too, entertaining friends somewhere in among all the mirrored pillars. She longed to see him, but she was too
proud.
He could have called me
, she thought.

‘We all feel awful,’ she said finally. ‘Stella’s blaming herself, I’m blaming myself ...’

‘It’s nobody’s fault. Accidents happen, especially with those old NEAs. The ATA has the most marvellous record if you think of how many planes you chaps are handling every day.
From what I hear you girls have a better safety rate than the men.’

‘Still …’ Evie shook her head. ‘I just can’t make any sense of it. I know it was an old plane ... Perhaps she forgot the backwards throttle?’

‘They are tricky. It can happen, you know. All it takes is a split second. Chaps have lost their lives for much sillier reasons.’ He sipped his drink. ‘You’re going to
the funeral?’ he asked, and took out his wallet. ‘Can you get some flowers for me? Something fresh, and pretty – like her.’

Evie pushed his money away. ‘Don’t worry, I’ll get some from all of us.’

Peter thought he had never seen her look so heartbroken. ‘How are you, old girl?’ When she said nothing, he chattered on. ‘I thought someone had beaten me to it, when you got
engaged, but there’s still a chance …’ A tear trickled down Evie’s cheek and Peter pulled a clean handkerchief from his breast pocket and handed it to her.

‘It’s too much, Peter,’ she said quietly. ‘I can’t bear it. Charlie, Jack, now Megan. All these people I love, and all so young, with such hopeful lives ahead of
them.’ She took a deep sip of her drink. ‘Being here, I keep thinking of the first time we took her to the Riviera. She was dancing with some fellow. I remember looking at her as he
threw her up into the air. Her face …’ She stifled a sob. ‘She was so happy. So full of joy. It’s not fair.’ Her voice shook with anger. ‘Why her?’

Peter took her hands, kissed her fingers gently.

‘Miss Chase?’ someone cut in.

Evie looked up to see Beau in a tuxedo, an elegant blonde on his arm.

‘Hello, sir,’ she said, composing herself. She coolly returned the blonde’s curious gaze.

‘Glad to see you’ve dried off.’

Evie glared at him. How could he be so flippant when she had just lost Megan?

Peter stood and shook his hand. ‘Good to see you, sir.’

‘How’s the arm, Peter?’

‘I’ll be back in action soon.’

‘Jolly good.’

‘Congratulations by the way, I heard they gave you the DFC.’

‘Yes.’ Beau looked at Evie. ‘That’s why we’re here. I have a couple of days’ leave and we thought we’d celebrate. Enjoy your evening.’

‘How do you know Beau?’ Peter asked Evie.

‘He was my instructor.’

‘I’d forgotten he was seconded to your lot for a bit.’

‘Why? How do you know him?’

Peter lit a cigarette. ‘Everyone knows Beau. Haven’t you heard of his reputation? He’s one of the best fighter pilots we have. Absolutely fearless, and more kills than
anyone.’

‘He’s certainly ruthless.’ Evie stared at him as he put his arm around the blonde’s waist at the bar. ‘What happened to good old Olivia? Looks like he’s
already moved on.’ She knocked back the rest of her brandy.

‘I know what would cheer you up,’ Peter said. ‘Why don’t you ask Tim if you can sing with the band?’

Evie frowned. ‘I’m not in the mood.’

‘Oh, ha! Good joke, Evie – “In the Mood”!’

Peter was beginning to irritate her. ‘I’m just going to powder my nose,’ she said, and gathered up her black velvet evening bag.

Peter sat alone, watching the dancers, lost in his thoughts. Someone tapped him on the shoulder, and he turned. ‘Leo? Hello, sir, have you seen Evie?’

‘No, no I haven’t, Peter. I have a feeling she might not want to see me,’ he said. ‘I just wanted to check how she is.’

‘Not so good. She …’ He hesitated. ‘We lost a good friend, one of the girls she’s been billeted with. Megan.’

‘Oh dear, I am sorry. The lovely Welsh girl?’

‘Evie’s rather cut up about it. I said she should sing a couple of songs, cheer us all up.’

‘Good idea. I haven’t heard her sing for ages.’ Leo beckoned to the maître d’ and whispered something in his ear. ‘I’m just over there with a party of
friends,’ Leo said to Peter, indicating the best seats in the house. ‘If Evie … Well, if she wants to see me, you know where I am.’