Sally caught Jemima even before she hit the grass swinging her around like a dolly and yelling though Jemima was unable to make out a word she was saying. When both of them were so dizzy they could barely stand Sally came to an abrupt halt, tipping Jemima back and kissing her fiercely not caring a damn who saw them.
‘Pilot-officer Crabtree!’ Polly strode out of the mist. Jemima and Sally both snapped to attention with a brisk salute. ‘Not now’ said Polly brushing past Sally ‘Pilot-officer Crabtree you are a ruddy angel’ and hugged Jemima until she feared she might faint.
Mal’s finger hovered briefly over his king before tipping it with, quite literally, a sigh of resignation; Anthea’s precocious displays were astonishing, and depressing. At Cambridge her reputation had rested on an ability to enact elaborate practical jokes, not the kind of fearsome intellect Mal had just seen romp across the chessboard. What had changed: was it purely the experience of war, or something even more profound? Perhaps what rankled most for Professor Mal Diarmid was that this talent remained undiscovered by the institution to which he had dedicated his life.
“We’re overdue a chat about your future prospects young lady” he said, absently knocking out his pipe on the desk, “Remind me, what were you reading?”
“It really didn’t matter”, Anthea laughed, “university was merely a way of marking time until my majority; to keep me out of too much trouble.” She began setting up the pieces for another game, “The Empire’s seen too many Carstairs remittance men. They’ve caused no end of trouble, don’t you know.”
“She has, however, had her nose stuck in this all week”, chimed Verity, holding up a book for Mal’s inspection. On its tattered dustjacket the title could just be made out – ‘My Best Games of Chess 1924 -1937.’
“My ‘Alekhine’, you minx!” Mal roared, ”There was no need to steal it, you only had to ask.” He affected a hurt air while quietly pleased; the grand-master’s dashing style would appeal to a fighter pilot. Finding out how much of it she had absorbed would, however, have to wait for another day as the non-playing member of their party appeared distinctly bored.
“May I offer you ladies a drink?”, he said, reaching for the whisky bottle.
“You drink too much”, chided Verity, but took the glass he offered all the same. There was no doubt in Mal’s eyes that she had had a beneficial effect on Anthea. The dowdy flying-officer who, a few weeks previously, had hardly ever smiled, blossomed under the older woman’s influence, becoming the attractive young lady she had trained to be.
“It’ll have to be a quick one, I’m afraid”, he said unscrewing the bottle top, “Jemima’s victory last night has created a few problems which have to be cleared up”, he poured them each a liberal shot, “and it may not be the triumph we had hoped for.”
“But positive, surely?” Verity took a sip of her drink, “they came looking, and we caught them. Isn’t that what we’re trying to achieve?”
“Hmm”, Anthea’s glass stalled between table and lips, “the way it exploded suggests it was carrying a full bomb load…” She left the unspoken question hang in the air alongside her drink.
“Precisely”, Mal grimaced, “Jemima may only have caught a straggler from last night’s raid on London.” Mention of London brought a lengthy pause to the conversation, they all knew people who had already been caught up in the Blitz.
“That would explain why the navigation lights were on”, Anthea added, “they were probably lost.”
“Plus Mike and I have to drive to Monksclere tonight to mollify the station commander over you valkyries roaming the night skies with loaded weapons.”
“Well there’s no fear of that tonight, this rain’s in until morning”, Anthea said, “we’re planning a little celebration for Jemima instead.”
“Ask him over”, Verity chipped in, “I’m sure we can show him what sober, responsible ladies we all are.”
“You may have a point”, mused Mal, “and if that doesn’t work we’ll get Jemima to charm the pants off him… figuratively speaking of course.”
“So you’re the maiden who bowls Dorniers over eh?”