‘You’re right,’ she said. ‘It’s exactly what I need to do.’
‘Maybe we should get some fresh air first,’ suggested Sam. ‘You won’t be able to leave just yet, anyway. They’ve got to clear the runway.’
Fitz nodded. Again, he knew exactly what she needed. ‘Thank you.’ She turned to Bob. ‘Thanks so much. Please thank the emergency crews, too.’
She followed Sam through the hallway and out the back of the mess hut. ‘There’s not much to look at around here,’ said Sam. ‘But we can take a walk down to the church, if you like.’
‘I’m not a religious person,’ said Fitz.
‘Neither am I, but there’s a peacefulness there. A sort of calm.’
They walked along the main road and took the turning for St Andrews Church.
‘Thank you for this,’ said Fitz.
‘Anytime.’
They walked on in silence, coming to a halt at the gate to the graveyard. Fitz leaned back against the wall, closed her eyes and lifted her face up to the sky, absorbing the warm rays of the spring sun. She took several deep breaths. ‘All this feels like an awful nightmare.’ She opened her eyes and squinted against the sun, before looking down at her feet. Tears filled her eyes and she fought hard to keep them at bay.
‘You know that British stiff upper lip isn’t always a good thing,’ said Sam softly. He rested his hand on her arm as if to underline his words.
The small act of sympathy was too much for Fitz. The tears breached the lids of her eyes and streamed down her face.
Then Sam was holding her again. His strong arms enveloped her and she had an unmistakable feeling of safety. She allowed herself to be held, unsure when it was she had last felt that human touch of kindness. The depth of her emotion at losing Betty surprised her and she quietly allowed the feeling to show itself through her tears.
After a few minutes, when her silent crying had subsided, Fitz pulled away, rummaging in her pocket for a hanky to wipe her face. Sam beat her to it and produced a crisp white handkerchief for her to use.
‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘And sorry.’
‘Hey, you don’t have to be sorry. It’s not good to hold all that emotion in. You gotta let it out sometime.’
‘I just didn’t want to do it back at the mess,’ confessed Fitz. ‘That would only reinforce some of the views from the men that women shouldn’t be doing this job.’
‘You shouldn’t let small-minded people bother you.’
She smiled. ‘I don’t usually, and I know you’re right.’
‘I get it sometimes here even as a man,’ said Sam. ‘Not everyone is happy to have a Yank in their midst.’
‘Even though you’re half British?’
‘Sometimes I think that’s worse than being a full American,’ said Sam. ‘It means they have to kind of accept me even if they don’t want to.’
‘Oh, I don’t know,’ said Fitz. ‘From what I saw back at the mess, you’re very well liked.’
‘I am now. Here with 601 Squadron but it hasn’t always been like that. I guess my connection with some of the guys back at Cambridge and then through White’s in London made it easier.’
Fitz raised her eyebrows at the mention of the exclusive London gentlemen’s club. ‘White’s? Impressive.’
‘To be honest, I don’t always get the British snobbery thing, but I have to confess, knowing the right people and mixing in the right circles has made it easier to be accepted.’
Fitz smiled. ‘I love the way you’re playing the long game.’
‘Don’t let on to the fellas back at the mess. You’ll blow my cover.’ He winked at her and Fitz grinned back at him and then immediately felt guilty. Here she was chatting and flirting with Flying Officer Sam Carter when her dear friend Betty had died just a couple of hours earlier.
She looked down and shook her head, embarrassed at herself. Then taking a deep breath, she straightened up. ‘Right, I really need to get back,’ she said, her tone a little sharper than she intended. It didn’t do well to let her guard down. ‘I need to get back to Maidenhead.’
‘Sure,’ said Sam.
