Coming Home To Holly Close Farm by Julie Houston

Author:Julie Houston [Houston, Julie]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Head of Zeus
Published: 2018-12-20T16:00:00+00:00

19

‘Gregory, you might have the day off, but you’re not going anywhere not wearing full uniform.’ The officer looked suspiciously at Madge’s stockings. ‘Where are you going anyway? You can’t get too far with a twenty-four-hour pass.’ Sergeant Briscoe took her duties seriously and, narrowing her already small eyes, glared at Madge. ‘Bit too much lipstick on as well. You’re an ambassador for the King and his government, you know, not trying to set Hollywood alight.’

‘I’m going to see a friend in Ascot,’ Madge replied, reddening slightly. ‘I’ve been invited for dinner.’

‘Dinner? Do you mean lunch?’ the NCO snapped crossly. ‘For heaven’s sake, you’re not back oop north now. And if you do actually mean dinner…’ Sergeant Briscoe glanced at her wristwatch, ‘… then I doubt you’re going to be able to eat and get back here in time. I’ll be watching out for you. In fact, Gregory, you’d be better sticking your apron on and practising your Yorkshire puddings. How a girl from Yorkshire can produce what you dared to offer up to Squadron Leader Roberts last week is anyone’s guess.’

‘Yes, ma’am.’ Madge looked at her feet in the hope that her apparent subservience might help her on her way to Waterloo. If Briscoe hadn’t done with her soon she’d have to take a taxi to the station.

She obviously hadn’t.

Sergeant Briscoe continued to take in every aspect of Madge’s newly waved blond hair and red lipstick. ‘This friend, Gregory, I hear you’ve got yourself involved with an RAF officer?’

‘Ma’am.’ What the hell was she supposed to say? Agree that yes, she’d fallen in love with an officer – a viscount, actually – and was now on her way to meet his mother, if only she could escape this grilling?

‘A flight lieutenant, no less.’ It was a statement rather than a question and, since last Tuesday, the wrong handle anyway. James, according to Francesca, who’d spoken to her mother over the telephone a couple of days ago, was now apparently Squadron Leader Montgomery-West.

‘Ma’am.’

Obviously tiring of her attempts to goad Madge, Sergeant Briscoe tutted and snapped, ‘Go on with you, then,’ and turned on her heel, shouting over her shoulder warnings and dire consequences were Madge to be late back.

The minute she was free, Madge ran to the bathroom, patted her newly set hair and added more lipstick before grabbing her black WAAF-issue handbag and setting off at a trot for the underground. With minutes to spare she found the correct platform at Waterloo Station and boarded the train to Ascot, standing with a whole load of both American and Australian service personnel.

‘Where’re you going, sweetheart?’ The dark-haired Yank pinning her against the window grinned down at her as he waited her reply. ‘You sure look ready to fight Hitler, ma’am. In fact, you can fight my corner any day.’

‘Out for lunch,’ she smiled, remembering to call the midday meal by its proper handle. ‘I’m going to Ascot.’

‘As are we.’ He raised his hand, taking in the men crowded into the carriage.

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