China Blue (The Dudley Sisters Saga Book 3) Read online

  CHINA BLUE

  −·−· ···· ·· −· ·− −··· ·−·· ··− ·

  CLAIRE, THE THIRD DUDLEY SISTER

  by

  MADALYN MORGAN

  China Blue @ 2015 by Madalyn Morgan

  Published worldwide 2015 @ Madalyn Morgan

  All rights reserved in all media. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form by any means, electronic or mechanical (including but not limited to: the Internet, photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system), without prior permission in writing from the author.

  The moral right of Madalyn Morgan as the author of the work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

  All characters in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons,

  living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data.

  A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

  Book Jacket Designed by Cathy Helms

  Proofreading by Alison Thompson, The Proof Fairy

  Formatting for Kindle by Rebecca Emin

  Author Photograph: Dianne Ashton

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  My thanks as always to my mentor, Dr Roger Wood, for his brilliant critique.

  My family and friends for their love and support.

  My author friends, Theresa Le Flem, Jill McDonald-Constable, Pauline Barclay at Chill With A Book, JB Johnson at Brook Cottage Books, Sarah Houldcroft at Authors Uncovered, and Gary Walker at Look 4 Books. Thank you for your friendship and encouragement – and for the help you have given me in promoting Foxden Acres and Applause, while I was writing China Blue.

  China Blue is dedicated to the memory of my mum and dad,

  Ena and Jack Smith.

  And to my beautiful friend, Debbie Seepersad.

  *

  I also dedicate China Blue to the brave men and women of The Special Operations Executive, The French Resistance, the WAAF, RAF, RCAF.

  To all the servicemen and women of the British, Commonwealth and American armed forces. The home guard, air-raid wardens, nurses, doctors, hospital auxiliaries, volunteers, ambulance drivers, men and women of the fire brigade, factory workers, farmers, land army girls and wartime correspondents.

  Last, but by not least, the mothers, daughters, sisters and wives who kept the home fires burning, so our heroes had a home to come back to.

  CHAPTER ONE

  ‘Damn fog.’ Claire rubbed her eyes and strained to see the road. ‘Morecambe station would have to be closed in a pea-souper like this. What time is it, Ed?’

  Eddie lifted her arm and squinted at her wristwatch. ‘Too dark to see, darling, but your train came in to Lancaster at half past seven, so it must be quarter to eight.’ Eddie leaned back in the passenger seat and put her feet up on the dashboard. ‘How do you say, “Hello, good looking” in French?’

  Claire laughed. ‘You’re incorrigible, Edwina Mountjoy. Can’t you think of anything else?’

  Eddie put her forefinger to her chin. ‘Now let me think... No! Be a pal, Dudley and parler Français.’

  ‘Bonjour, mon beau! But you won’t need phrases like that when we get to France.’

  ‘Maybe not with the RAF, but we will when we’re out on the town with the local Monsieurs.’

  ‘Out on the town? There’s a war on, Eddie. We’ll be going to France to work, not to fraternise with the locals.’

  ‘Don’t be a bore, darling and tell me how to say, “Would you like to take me to a dance?”’

  ‘If you don’t shut up and let me concentrate, you can drive back to Morecambe.’

  ‘Not me!’ Eddie said. ‘I hate driving in fog.’

  ‘And I love it, I suppose?’

  ‘No, but you’re better under stress than I am.’ Eddie began to sing, ‘“Frère Jacques, frère Jacques, Dormez-vous? Dormez-vous?” Come on Dudley, “Morning bells are ringing! Morning bells are ringing! Ding, dang, dong. Ding, dang, dong.”’ Eddie poked Claire in the ribs. ‘You’re no fun at all, Claire Dudley! “I hear thunder, I hear thunder, Hark don't you? Hark don't you?”’

  ‘Shush, Ed. I hear something that sounds like thunder, but I don’t think it is. Listen!’ Eddie took her feet from the dash and sat up. She wound down the passenger window and leant out, while Claire peered through the windscreen. She looked up. ‘Is it an aircraft?’

  Eddie twisted round to look out of the back window. ‘It can’t be a plane, it’s on the road behind us. Good God, it’s as big as a bloody tank.’

  Claire looked in the rear-view mirror and put her hand up to shade her eyes. ‘Whatever it is, its headlights aren’t hooded.’

  ‘They are, but it’s a ruddy big lorry, and it’s hellishly close. Put your foot down, Dudley, it’s almost on top of us.’

  At that moment there was a loud crunch as metal collided with metal, followed by a violent shunt, sending the Wolsey into a skid. ‘Brace yourself, Eddie, we’ve lost the road,’ Claire shouted, as the car hurtled over a ditch, stopping with a jolt against the exposed roots of a huge oak tree.

  ‘Good God, that was close. Are you all right, Ed?’

  ‘I think so.’ Eddie rolled her shoulders and flexed her hands. ‘Ouch! I think my left wrist’s had it. You?’

  ‘Jarred my neck.’ Claire inhaled, and coughed. ‘The steering wheel’s knocked the wind out of me. Still, it stopped me from going through the windscreen.’ She pressed on her ribcage and struggled for breath. ‘Damn! That hurt.’

  ‘Someone’s coming,’ Eddie said, getting out of the car. ‘Careless bugger will get us bombed as well as ditched the way he’s waving that flashlight about.’

  Claire struggled to open the driver’s door and stumbled out. ‘What the hell were you doing pushing us off the road like that?’ she gasped, holding her ribs.

  ‘I’m sorry, Miss. I didn’t see you till it was too late. Are you all right? I’m a first-aider with St John’s Ambulance. If there’s anything I can do?’

  ‘I think you’ve done enough!’ Claire said, and lost consciousness.

  ‘Excuse me?’ Claire called, as a nurse passed the half-closed curtains surrounding the bed she was lying on. ‘Where am I?’

  ‘The Royal Infirmary, Lancaster.’

  ‘Lancaster?’

  ‘You were involved in an accident on the Morecambe road.’

  ‘Is my friend here? Her name is Edwina Mountjoy. She was in the car with me.’

  Before the nurse had time to reply, Eddie shouted, ‘I’m in the cubicle next to you, Dudley.’ A second later she was at Claire’s side.

  ‘Thank God you’re all right. Help me to sit up, will you? My neck and chest hurt when I move.’

  ‘Wish I could.’ Eddie lifted her arm to show Claire a white sling. ‘I put my hand out to stop my head from hitting the windscreen. It might be broken. I'm waiting for the dishy doctor to confirm and administer,’ she giggled. ‘Crikey, if it’s broken, I’ll be in plaster for God knows how long. It’ll be au revoir pour le moment, France,’ Eddie said, frowning.

  ‘I’m sorry, Eddie.’

  ‘It isn’t your fault, Dudley.’

  ‘Maybe not, but as you say, it will be goodbye to France until your wrist heals.’

  Eddie wrinkled her nose. ‘Well, it was always going to be you who got first bite of the cerise. You came top in the written exam, and you speak better French than I do. I danced my way through Christmas leave.’ Eddie dragged a chair from the head of Claire’s bed and sat down. ‘I expect you spent the holiday swotting.’

  ‘I did a bit, ye
s.’

  Eddie shrugged. ‘Anyway, your accent is better than mine. I’d be able to blag my way through the interview, but I’d muck up an oral exam.’

  ‘I’d forgotten about the exam tomorrow.’

  ‘Today!’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Today. The oral exam: It’s today, after the interview.’ Eddie took her wristwatch from her pocket. ‘In four hours, to be precise.’

  Breathing heavily, Claire pushed herself up into a sitting position and swung her legs over the side of the bed. ‘I need to get to Morecambe.’

  ‘The lorry driver’s around somewhere. He said he’d wait to make sure we’re all right.’

  ‘Wait to see if we’re going to shop him for shoving a WAAF staff car off the road more like. I’ve got to get out of here. You stay and have your arm seen to.’ Claire buttoned her shirt, grabbed her jacket, and struggled into it with Eddie’s help. ‘Goodness, my ribs hurt.’

  ‘You shouldn’t leave until you’ve seen the doctor.’

  ‘Tell him I’ll be back this afternoon.’ Claire lifted her arms and put on her hat. ‘Ah! Damn!’

  ‘How are you going to fake “fit and ready to fight” at the interview when you’re in such pain?’

  ‘I’ll be fine by the time I get there. I’ve worked too damn hard to miss this interview.’ She looked at her reflection in the window. ‘My hair’s a bloody mess. I’ll do something with it before I go in,’ she said, pushing a rogue strand under her hat. ‘Will you be all right if I go?’

  ‘Of course.’ Eddie hugged Claire with her good arm.

  ‘Ouch!’ and ‘Argh!’ they said at the same time, laughing.

  ‘Don’t make me laugh, it hurts,’ Claire said, leaning on the metal bed frame.

  ‘Sorry, darling. Give that damn driver what-for from me, will you?’

  Claire found the lorry driver slouching against his lorry smoking a cigarette. ‘I think you owe me a lift.’ The driver’s cheeks reddened. ‘Can you take me to WAAF headquarters?’

  ‘Where is it?’

  ‘The Clarendon Hotel in Morecambe. I’ve got an interview at nine, but I’ll need to be there by eight, to tidy myself up.’

  ‘I’ll try,’ he said, straightening.

  ‘You’ll do more than try,’ Claire snapped. ‘If I’m not at that interview by nine, you’ll be in trouble for shoving the vehicle of one of the WAAF’s top brass off the road.’ The lorry driver threw down his cigarette and stamped it out. ‘Come on then, give me a shove, so I can get into the cab.’ With the driver pushing her from behind, Claire managed to pull herself up and swing onto the passenger seat. ‘Well?’ She looked down at him. ‘What are you waiting for?’

  Claire arrived at the office of her superior, Flight Officer Bingham, and reported to her secretary. Before acknowledging Claire with a scowl, she looked at the clock on the wall. It was two minutes to nine. She knocked on the FO’s door and disappeared inside. A couple of seconds later she reappeared. ‘Aircraftwoman 2nd Class Dudley?’ Claire stood to attention. ‘Flight Officer Bingham will see you now.’

  Claire saluted and marched into the office. Her ribs felt as if they were in a vice that was being slowly tightened. Pretending to clear her throat, she put her hand up to her mouth and wiped perspiration from her top lip.

  ‘At ease, Aircraftwoman,’ the FO said, reading Claire’s notes.

  Simultaneously, Claire moved her right foot to shoulder width and put her hands behind her back. Instead of placing them palms out, one on top of the other, she clasped them tightly. Her nails, as short as they were, dug into the fleshy backs of her fingers, but she didn’t relax them. The pain in her fingers took her mind off the pain in her chest.

  ‘For the short time you’ve been here your service record is exemplary. Top of your class in French. Not only do you speak the language, but you read and write it. Ninety-nine percent fluent, it says.’ The FO looked up. Claire nodded once in acknowledgement. ‘Do you have family in France?’

  ‘No, Flight Officer Bingham.’

  ‘Was any part of your education in France?’

  ‘No, Flight.’ If she hadn’t been in so much pain, she’d have laughed. Lowarth was about as far away from France as you could get, in every respect. The FO looked at her and tilted her head. She’s expecting me to elaborate, Claire thought. ‘My language teacher said I have an ear for languages.’

  The FO nodded. ‘It isn’t often we get someone who is fluent in a language that isn’t their mother tongue.’ She continued reading. ‘If you speak French as well as you read and write it, you’ll be a perfect candidate. An asset,’ she said, more to herself than to Claire. Her eye was caught by something on the page. ‘Languages?’ she queried. The FO looked up from Claire’s notes. ‘Which other languages do you speak?’

  ‘A little Polish and some German. I--’ A spasm of pain took her breath. It was so severe, Claire thought she’d faint. She gripped the back of the chair in front of the FO’s desk with both hands and tried to keep her balance. She looked down at her feet, took a shallow breath, and looked back at the FO. ‘Argh!’ She had looked up too quickly. Her head was spinning. She tried to focus on her superior officer, but the light from the window behind her was suddenly bright and shimmering. It hurt her eyes. She closed them and slid to her knees.

  ‘Aircraftwoman Dudley?’ Claire was aware that the FO had left her seat and was crossing the room to the door. ‘Call the medics!’ she shouted to the WAAF who had shown Claire into the office.

  Flight Officer Bingham helped Claire to her feet. ‘Sit down, Dudley,’ she said, prizing Claire’s hands from the back of the chair and helping her into it. ‘We’ll resume this conversation tomorrow.’

  Feeling nauseous, Claire nodded. She daren’t speak in case she was sick. Shortly afterwards two medics arrived and after a few simple tests – holding one finger up, and then two, and moving them across Claire’s line of vision to make sure she was able to follow them – they agreed she wasn’t concussed. Arming Claire out of the FO’s office, the medics took her to the sickbay; and from there to the Royal Infirmary, in Lancaster.

  With her ribs tightly bandaged, Claire walked slowly and stiffly to the appointment with Flight Officer Bingham.

  ‘I have the maintenance report for my car!’ the FO said, as soon as Claire was shown into her office. There was nothing Claire could say or do to get out of the inevitable ticking off that awaited her, so she braced herself to take it. ‘What the hell happened to cause you to career off the road into an oak tree? Have you seen the damage you’ve done to the Wolsey?’ Claire opened her mouth to apologise, but the FO cut her off. ‘It needs a right wing, headlights, bumper, and God knows what else. Apart from which, you and Aircraftwoman Mountjoy could have been killed. Well? What do you have to say for yourself?’

  ‘I’m sorry, Flight. A lorry drove into the back of us, and there was nothing I could do. The driver admitted responsibility. He said he didn’t see us. It was very foggy.’ The FO didn’t comment. ‘He did what he could to help at the scene, and then drove ACW Mountjoy and myself to the hospital in Lancaster, later bringing me here for my interview.’ Claire could have bitten her tongue. She wished she hadn’t mentioned the interview. She shot the FO a sideways glance. She was making notes on a large writing pad. Eyes front again, Claire hoped she’d said enough to get herself and Eddie off the hook; the lorry driver too.

  The FO finished writing. ‘Continue.’

  ‘That’s it really, Flight. He said that, because his cab was high and the car low, he hadn’t seen it until it was too late. The Wolsey, being black, wouldn’t have been easy to see in thick fog, especially at night. From the position of the lorry after the accident, I --’

  ‘All right!’ The FO put her hand up. Claire waited for her response. It was some time before she spoke. ‘I can’t think why you would want to, but you’ve made a good case for the driver of the lorry, so I won’t be taking the matter any further. We’ll leave it to his employer to reprimand him.’
Flight Officer Bingham pushed the maintenance report to one side, put her elbows on the desk and clasped her hands. ‘As for not informing me about the accident, I should put you on a charge. What the hell were you thinking of?’

  ‘I’d hoped--’

  ‘I haven’t finished.’ Claire stopped speaking immediately, lifted her head and, in agony, stood to attention. ‘You have several severely bruised ribs after an accident in a WAAF staff-car that Aircraftwoman Mountjoy had signed out as the driver, which means you were not authorised to drive it.’ Claire opened her mouth to explain why she was driving, but the FO put her hand up again. ‘ACW Mountjoy has explained that she is nervous of driving in fog.’ The FO raised her eyebrows. ‘If I am to believe that, I must also believe that it was not foggy on the journey to Lancaster, only on the way back! And why Lancaster railway station?’ Clearly exasperated, she said, ‘No matter!’ and shook her head. ‘Apart from making me look as if I don’t know what my WAAFs are doing, you have ruined your chance of working with the RAF’s Advance Air Strike Force in France.’

  Claire bit back tears of disappointment. ‘I’m sorry, Flight.’

  ‘I’m sure you are. What the hell were you thinking of, Dudley, attending the interview in the state you were in? Were you going to inform me about your injuries?’ Claire didn’t answer. ‘Or were you going to go ahead with the training and get yourself, or someone else, killed?’ Claire’s head was pounding and her cheeks burned with embarrassment. ‘Pretending there was nothing wrong after injuring yourself as severely as you had was a stupid thing to do. Well?’

  ‘I didn’t think I was that badly hurt. And,’ Claire lowered her eyes, ‘I didn’t think I’d be lucky enough to be chosen to go to France with the first batch of recruits.’

  The FO pushed her chair back, stood up, and stormed across the room towards the door. ‘That’s the problem, Dudley. You didn’t think at all!’