It took a second for the airmen to realise what Bob meant. ‘Attagirls?’ he said, eventually.
Fitz smiled. ‘Of course. Not that the uniform gives it away.’ She took the cup of tea Bob passed to her. ‘We landed the two Spits out there.’
‘Oh, Christ,’ said the airman.
‘And they landed them with ease, despite the crosswind today,’ came a voice that was distinctly not English. Maybe American.
Fitz turned around and nearly spluttered on the mouthful of tea. Leaning against a bookcase on the other side of the roomwas Flying Officer Sam Carter. The American she’d seen at the railway station when she’d stepped off the train at Maidenhead.
There was a small curve of amusement to his mouth and Fitz guessed the shock registered clearly on her face. She swallowed her tea and composed herself. ‘Well, if it isn’t …’ she paused and looked up to the ceiling, as if trying to recall his name. ‘Sam. Sam Carter. Didn’t expect to see you here. You’re turning up everywhere like the proverbial bad penny.’
There was a small chuckle from Bob. ‘That’s Flying Officer Carter.’
‘Oh, is it?’ replied Fitz nonchalantly, although she was dying to ask how an American had joined the RAF. And what a coincidence that she should meet him again.
Betty saved her the trouble. ‘How are you in the RAF if you’re American? Or are you Canadian?’
Sam pushed himself away from the bookcase and tapped one of the men sitting by the fireside on the shoulder. ‘Why don’t you let the ladies sit down?’
The airman got to his feet, albeit somewhat reluctantly, but he didn’t protest. Fitz got a sense that Sam was well respected among the British pilots. ‘Thank you,’ she said taking the now vacant seat.
The other chair was swiftly vacated for Betty by another pilot. Sam stood by the fireplace and offered Fitz and Betty a cigarette each, which they both accepted.
‘You didn’t answer Betty’s question,’ said Fitz, blowing out the smoke.
‘How I came to be here?’ Sam asked.
‘That’s the one,’ said Fitz.
‘American father and British mother,’ he replied.
‘He charmed his way in,’ said Bob. ‘He could charm his way into anything, couldn’t you, Sam?’
Sam didn’t answer. Fitz could sense a self-assurance that the flying officer didn’t feel the need to explain himself to anyone. Although there was a quiet and reassured confidence about the man, there certainly was no sense of arrogance.
Fitz was aware that not all the RAF pilots welcomed the ATA girls. The idea that a woman could fly a plane as well as, or indeed better than, some of the male pilots was alien to them. Still, it wasn’t the first time she’d come up against such resistance. It only served to spur her on even more and there was nothing she liked better than putting the men in their place.
‘So what are you both doing here today?’ asked Sam.
‘Our assignment is to familiarise ourselves with the south of England,’ said Betty.
‘And what better place to start than with RAF Tangmere,’ said Sam.
‘Yes, the Millionaire’s Club, as I understand it,’ remarked Fitz, casually looking around the room.
Sam shrugged. ‘I guess so.’
Bob laughed. ‘Our American Anglo pilot is being very modest. You know he’s an Olympian.’
Now that did surprise Fitz. ‘Really? In what sport?’
‘Rowing. Men’s eight,’ said Sam, matter of factly, as if it was no big deal.
‘And did you win? I have to admit I know nothing about rowing,’ confessed Fitz. She’d never wanted to get into a boat in her life but for some reason she was inexplicably fascinated by this American Olympian Anglo pilot based in Britain. She had no doubt he won.
‘Of course, Sam won,’ said Bob. ‘Gold.’
‘Wow. That’s impressive,’ replied Fitz.
