Free Jasmine Nights by Julia Gregson Page B

to either torture or comfort herself, but on this night they gaped at each other like actors from different plays. She was wearing a blue dress, with the small RAF wings brooch Jacko had bought her pinned to the lapel. She was thinner.
    He expected her to cut him, but instead she moved towards him and hugged him hard.
    ‘Dom,’ she said at last. She was gripping his hand so hard it hurt. ‘Are you all right?’
    ‘Not bad,’ he muttered back. ‘You?’
    ‘Awful,’ she said. She put her arms around his neck again. ‘I tried to find you at the funeral.’
    ‘You did?’ He’d avoided her all day, couldn’t cope. ‘I had to go. I’m sorry I didn’t speak to you then.’
    He’d been throwing up in the bushes in a muddy field behind the graveyard, sure she must blame him for everything. Who else had talked Jacko into flying at Cambridge, and later, teased him in the mess the week before he was shot down? Good joke, Dom – one of your better ones.
    Jacko, screaming behind the Perspex of his cockpit and in flames. The rictus of his almost smile before his aircraft went down.
    ‘I missed you.’
    ‘You did. I—’
    ‘But I can’t talk now.’ When she grabbed both his forearms, he saw she was slightly tight, not that he blamed her. ‘I’m with someone.’
    A tall chap got up from the booth, she put her hand on Dom’s face and said: ‘Wonderful to see you, Dom, you look as good as new. Sorry to hear about Annabel, by the way – come and have a drink with us soon.’ She was gabbling, her new man frowning, and protective, sliding an arm around her waist.
    Dom stood there frozen for a while, and when he turned, Saba was gone. Jilly had kept her hand on his arm while they were talking. Saba must have seen it all. When he went back to their table, their half-drunk cocktails were still there, the waiter hovering unsure.
    ‘Did you see the lady go?’ Dom asked him.
    ‘Yes, sir. She must have left this.’ The waiter dived underneath the table and came up with a blue coat over his arm. Dom took it and ran out into the street.
    It was completely dark outside the restaurant now. The streets still wet. He ran almost all the way back down to the Theatre Royal, worried about her on her own, desperate to return the coat, to say goodbye properly. No sign of her. The crowds of London rushed by him, splashing him, no lights, no stars, the statue of Eros at Piccadilly all covered now to protect it from bombs.
    When he reached the theatre, the doorman he’d bribed earlier stood under a dripping tarpaulin.
    ‘Evening, gov,’ he said. ‘Stinking day, innit? You can stop inside if you like.’
    ‘I need to find Saba Tarcan,’ he said. ‘She was at the audition earlier. I have her coat.’
    ‘I don’t know her, sir. We have hundreds coming every day at the moment. Do you want to leave it here in case she comes back for it?’
    ‘No. No. I have her home address.’ He’d suddenly remembered. ‘I’ll post it.’
    No time left for him to try and find her; his leave was over the next day – he’d be training again for the next few weeks.
    ‘Any idea where the company is going next?’ he asked casually, fumbling for another half a crown.
    ‘No idea whatsoever, sir.’ The doorman looked stolidly ahead at the crowds and the rain, at London preparing itself for another night of bombs. ‘But I suppose if I had to take a wild guess, I’d stick my pin in Africa.’

Chapter 6
    There was no time to go home and say goodbye. After the injections and three days of rehearsals, Saba was fitted for her ENSA uniform, which she thought was pretty hideous: khaki, rather like the ATS uniform, with a badge on its shoulder, three Aertex shirts to go with it, two terrible-looking brassieres and some huge khaki-coloured knickers.
    When she asked Arleta where she thought they were going, Arleta said Aertex shirts meant somewhere hot, but apart from that, not a clue: it could be an aerodrome, a desert camp, Malta, Cairo. ‘From now