I wish Polly would ease up on Jemima’ Anthea said to Verity ‘she’s a good kid, just a bit flighty that’s all’. The two of them were sitting apart from the main group in the mess, close enough to benefit from the fire but where there conversation could not be heard.

‘Why?’ Verity asked ‘has Jemima been giving the glad eye to the CO?’ Anthea made a great show of looking appalled. ‘That’s just silly’ Anthea said ‘you could just as well say the same of Mal and I’.

‘There’s been talk’ Verity added a smile playing over her lips. Anthea’s laugh was like the first few raindrops of a shower that fails to fall. ‘Poor Mal’ she said ‘He’ll be devastated’. Since the night when Verity had taken Anthea into her confidence the two had become very good friends; much to Mal’s annoyance as he missed their nightly chess games.

‘Anyway’ Anthea continued ‘I believe our Jemima has found herself a friend among the other ranks, that’ll always annoy a regular like Polly. I’m just glad I’m not pretty enough to be roped into a fantasy ménage a trois’.

‘You are you know’ Verity took her friend’s chin in hand turning her face this way and that ‘perhaps we should have a look at your make up’.

If keeping a grounded 641 occupied had been difficult for Polly keeping them out of mischief now they had aeroplanes was nigh on impossible. 641 was to be nightfighter squadron with Polly, Anthea and Jemima doing all the night flying in Mal’s plan. Polly was quick to object, not only would that put an incredible strain on the three of them it would alienate the women pilots. Instead she proposed only two of them would fly each night joined by two of the other pilots in rota. Mal was unconvinced but Mike’s intercession brought the adjutant around.

The squadron had received twelve Miles Master aeroplanes; two were the standard two seat advanced trainer model, the others had been converted to single seat emergency fighters during the summer when it was feared Hurricane production might fail to keep up with Fighter Command’s needs. Fortunately they were not needed and had been standing around or used for communications work since. Although by no means a first line fighter (although approximately the same size as Hurricane the engine was less powerful) the single seat Master was nimble enough to catch the Luftwaffe’s bombers and its six machine guns capable of giving a good account of themselves.

Polly’s first task had been to assess the women pilots. All had held civilian licences before the war and while the ministry thought them only fit to ferry Tiger Moths in daylight many had hundreds of hours’ flying time. Most had some night flying experience, some more than Polly, and with one or two exceptions all had flown advanced civilian types. Polly spent hours poring over their log books, while Anthea and Jemima had flown with all of them in the two seat Masters. It was not her intent to turn the women as combat pilots but Polly would not send them into the night skies unprepared.

Mike had been a great help. He had not been cleared for flying by the MO yet but Polly had grown to rely on his help with the more intransigent pilots as well as with Mal. The two of them had taken to meeting in his study after dinner each evening to talk through the day’s events and plans for the next. At first they were more than a little reserved after baring so much of their souls to each other. The triumphs and tribulations of 641 however had brought them closer together and both looked forward to ‘vespers’ as Mike called their meetings.

Mike had dragged into his study a ratty old leather chesterfield that the Hall’s owners had left behind which the efforts of a couple of WAAF orderlies had cleaned to the point of respectability. It was not all that comfortable but easy enough on the rump for him and Polly to spend an hour or so over a glass of gin. Poor Polly was dwarfed by its huge wing back and arms, especially at first when she had made a point of sitting as far from him as the chair allowed.

Polly laid her head on Mike’s chest wondering at how quickly they had slipped into a couple’s roles and, with his arm around her shoulder, feeling safe in a way she had forgotten. He gave her so much she was unsure what she could offer in return, save warmth and something for him to hold onto. As he laid a reassuring hand on her knee she buried herself even closer in his side until she could hear his heart beating. Even in war it was possible to find peace, maybe contentment too Polly told herself her eyelids drooping.