Chapter 21

Red Badge Of Courage

June 1943

‘ H ello. I’m here at Mr McIndoe’s invitation—Miss Charlton.’ Stella smiled. It was refreshingly cool in the oak-panelled hall of Dutton Homestall. She snapped her compact shut, her lipstick applied. The magazines called it the red badge of courage, and right now she had to agree. On dark days, it was necessary to paint on a smile.

‘Oh yes, Miss Charlton. We’ve been expecting you.’ The VAD nurse stepped out from behind the desk in the hall. ‘Everyone’s out on the terrace. Come this way.’

Stella assumed Mac would be here too, and she sucked in a deep breath and released it slowly as she wondered how much more of this she could take. So far around Mac, she’d managed to keep up a pretence while her crushed heart and soul ached for his love, and she didn’t know how much more she could take. It was madness coming all this way on what would appear to be a fool’s errand, but then she had been helping out, and it gave her such a boost to see the boys and to be able to help them. Her reward was seeing their faces light up with a smile or, in some cases, their eyes, and it had nursed her bruised heart these past weeks.

Mac hadn’t given her any indication of wanting her back and being so close to him and yet so far apart was jolly frustrating. Golden light and voices tumbled in through an open doorway ahead, and Stella forced a smile despite the heaviness in her heart. Nerves simmered, and she clutched her stomach as if she could pin them down before stepping outside to a sea of servicemen and civilians, milling around on the terrace.

‘Stella, you made it.’ Archie strode over to greet her, his eyes twinkling as his face creased into a broad grin. He had a pint glass in his hand. Tables laden with plates of sandwiches and cakes adorned the terrace. ‘Come and meet some of the boys and I’ll get you a drink.’ He took her arm and steered her towards a group of young airmen. ‘Gentlemen, this is the young lady I’ve been telling you about. Stella. She’s been an asset to our merry ward.’

As they greeted her one by one, her eyes picked out the USAAF uniform directly in front of her and her heart leapt as she was reminded of the first time she and Mac had met. He stood with his back to her, tall and broad and the smooth tone of his voice sent a tingle coursing through her veins.

‘It’s jolly nice to meet you, Stella.’ A young RAF officer held out his hand, jerking her back into the present.

Mac spun around, and her breath caught in her throat. At first she glimpsed only the burned side of his face, and for a fleeting moment, she thought it must be someone else. But then he turned fully, and she saw him—as if for the first time. The skin on his right cheek was pulled taut, a deep red like wine, fading into paler skin beneath his eye. The scars puckered at the edge, crinkling as he managed a smile. She held her breath, knowing she was staring but unable to speak. A faint pink tinge crept into his left cheek, and his smile faded. His beautiful face...yet Archie was right. It could have been so much worse. Entranced by Mac’s deep blue eyes, she failed to take the RAF officer’s proffered hand.

‘Stella, I didn’t know you were coming today.’ Mac took a step towards her. He was as handsome as ever, and she longed to reach out and touch him, except he wouldn’t like that. Just as words formed in her mind, a hand took her arm gently.

‘Stella, Dickie tells me you have a beautiful singing voice. Come and sing for us. I’m afraid we’ve been let down today as our singer has cancelled. I had no idea we had a songbird in our midst.’ As Archie led her away, she glanced over her shoulder at Mac, and he grinned back. Her heart swelled. It was something, at least.

‘I’m not that good a singer, Archie, really I’m not.’

‘Oh, she’s a natural, Maestro. Just wait till you hear. Come on, Stella. You’ll be ace.’ Dickie beamed, holding a sheet of music in his hand. ‘We’re just through here.’

She followed him through French doors to the piano, glancing at the sea of expectant faces gathering on the terrace. Among them stood Mac, his intense gaze on her. Stella tore her eyes away and took a deep breath. ‘I can’t do it.’ Her palms were moist with sweat.

Dickie placed his hands on her shoulders. ‘Come on, you’ll be great, I promise. Just pretend there’s nobody there. It’s just you and me.’ He smiled, then thrust a crystal glass into her hand. ‘Dutch courage.’ He chuckled. ‘Go on, down the hatch.’

Stella took a sip. The fiery whisky coated her tongue, and she wrinkled her nose. ‘I’ve never tasted this before.’ She coughed, and Dickie laughed.

He began playing the keys. ‘Recognise it?’

She nodded.

‘Know the words?’

‘Doesn’t everyone?’

He launched into the music, and Stella began to sing A Nightingale Sang in Berkeley Square . Her voice trembled at first, the notes quivered, and she clenched her fists by her sides as a flash of warmth spread upward from her neck. The chatter died away, and all eyes were upon her, scrutinising. She glanced down at the floor for a second as her heart raced and she told herself there was no one there, and as she raised her chin, she found her focus. Mac. She gazed into his eyes, drinking him in as his mouth curved upward into that heart-stopping half-smile as if he believed in her, and the words flowed from her lips, sweet and melodic. When the song ended, and the piano music ceased, people applauded, and the jovial hubbub of voices erupted once again.

‘Stella, that was beautiful. Thank you for stepping in,’ Archie said. ‘Isn’t she wonderful?’

Mac stepped forward. ‘She sure is.’

‘Ah, Dickie, can I have a word?’ Archie steered Dickie away, leaving Stella transfixed by Mac’s twinkling eyes, alone.

‘You were a knockout.’ Mac rubbed the back of his neck. ‘I had no idea you could sing. You’re full of surprises.’

A gentle breeze of cedarwood flowed towards her, and she drank it in. ‘Well, I don’t make a habit of it, especially not in public.’ She grinned and looked around. She longed to tell him that he was still handsome, that his scars made no difference to her, only she wasn’t sure how he’d react.

‘Say, would you like to take a walk?’ He scraped a hand through his hair.

‘All right.’ She followed Mac out into the garden, and he led her around to the side of the house where a bench seat nestled beneath the shade of oak trees. As they sat, she noticed how he left a space between them, and her heart sank.

Mac took out a packet of Lucky Strikes and offered it to her.

‘Thanks.’ She plucked one and leaned in close for a light, and his hand cupped hers, sending a tingle streaking up her arm to her chest. ‘You’re looking well.’

‘I’m okay. The doc’s work is almost done.’

‘That’s good. Do you think they’ll send you home?’

‘I doubt it. I’m going back, Stella. I wanted you to know.’

The air rushed out of her lungs. ‘You mean you’re going to fly?’

‘Yeah, if they’ll have me. I just have to pass the medical.’ He spoke as if it was a mere formality.

‘Mac, you can’t. They won’t pass you.’ Her heartbeat pounded in her ears. He wasn’t fit to fly bombers. She swallowed as she pictured him in the cockpit of a B-17 in a turbulent sky swarming with the Luftwaffe, and a swell of nausea surged in her gut. She turned away towards the shimmering horizon as tears clouded her vision.

‘The doc says I might make it. I need more tests, and then there’s the therapy, but so far so good.’

Why was he doing this? He could take a desk job. Be safe. She couldn’t bear losing him, even though he wasn’t hers to lose. A tear bobbed on her eyelash before slipping down her cheek, and she gritted her teeth.

‘I just wanted you to know, after all, we were . . . well, I didn’t want you finding out from somebody else.’

Was that all? He just had to tell her his good news as if she’d never been anyone special at all? When had he become so cold? She bit her lip as her shoulders shook and she tried in vain to swallow down the sob. The flying was one thing, but his coolness towards her hurt more than anything and she squeezed her eyes shut.

‘Hey, come on, honey.’ Mac placed his hand on her shoulder.

She turned to face him. ‘I can’t believe you’re doing this. What about everything you said? What about me?’

Mac shook his head and bit his lip. ‘This is exactly what I wanted to avoid. Stella, you know how I feel, but I can’t risk hurting you, or worse.’

‘Never coming back?’ she choked. ‘Is that what you mean?’ She swiped tears away with the back of her hand. ‘You said you loved me, and then you pushed me away.’

‘Oh, come on, honey. Please don’t be like that.’

‘Like what exactly? Like someone who happens to care a lot about you. Well, more fool me.’ She rose, grabbed her bag, and drew in a deep breath. ‘I’m glad you’ve recovered so well, truly I am, but I think you’re making a mistake. Still, it’s your life. Bye, Mac.’

His eyes flashed and she spun on her heels and fled, tears stinging her eyes as she marched off down the drive.

‘Stella, wait.’

She didn’t turn around. If he wanted to follow her, that was up to him. She was in the middle of nowhere, although there was an inn just along the lane which she’d noticed when she arrived. Perhaps she could telephone a taxi to take her to the station. At the end of the drive, she stopped and leaned against the wall, catching her breath, flicking a gaze back along the winding drive, hoping to glimpse Mac hurrying after her, but he wasn’t there, and her heart sank.

From her bag, she pulled a handkerchief, dried her eyes, and took some deep breaths. She’d failed. It was obvious Mac had made his mind up weeks ago. He wanted to fly and had cast her aside. Alex’s words echoed in her head. He’ll love you and leave you .

A low guttural cry slipped from her throat, and an iron fist closed around her heart, and she couldn’t bear to think of never being in his arms again, of slipping her hand in his, of tasting his lips. No, she had to get away, so she dried her eyes and strode off towards the inn, her head held high as she squinted into the sun.