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They all stood up. George said wearily: "Don't the Germans ever take a ruddy day off?"
Nobby put the phone down and said: "Nutley Street."
"I know where that is," said Naomi as they all hurried out. "Our M.P. lives there."
They jumped into the cars. As Daisy put the ambulance in gear and drove off, Naomi, sitting beside her, said: "Happy days."
Naomi was being ironic but, strangely, Daisy was happy. It was very odd, she thought as she careered around a bend. Every night she saw destruction, tragic bereavement, and horribly maimed bodies. There was a good chance she herself would die in a blazing building tonight. Yet she felt wonderful. She was working and suffering for a cause, and paradoxically that was better than pleasing herself. She was part of a group that would risk everything to help others, and it was the best feeling in the world.
Daisy did not hate the Germans for trying to kill her. She had been told by her father-in-law, Earl Fitzherbert, why they were bombing London. Until August the Luftwaffe had raided only ports and airfields. Fitz had explained, in an unusually candid moment, that the British were not so scrupulous: the government had approved bombing of targets in German cities back in May, and all through June and July the RAF had dropped bombs on women and children in their homes. The German public had been enraged by this and demanded retaliation. The Blitz was the result.
Daisy and Boy were keeping up appearances, but she locked her bedroom door when he was at home, and he made no objection. Their marriage was a sham, but they were both too busy to do anything about it. When Daisy thought about it, she felt sad, for she had lost both Boy and Lloyd now. Fortunately she hardly had time to think.
Nutley Street was on fire. The Luftwaffe dropped incendiary bombs and high explosive together. Fire did the most damage, but the high explosive helped the blaze to spread by blowing out windows and ventilating the flames.
Daisy brought the ambulance to a screeching halt and they all went to work.
People with minor injuries were helped to the nearest first-aid station. Those more seriously hurt were driven to St. Bart's or the London Hospital in Whitechapel. Daisy made one trip after another. When darkness fell she switched on her headlights. They were masked, with only a slit of light, as part of the blackout, though it seemed a superfluous precaution when London was burning like a bonfire.
The bombing went on until dawn. In full daylight the bombers were too vulnerable to being shot down by the fighter aircraft piloted by Boy and his comrades, so the air raid petered out. As the cold gray light washed over the wreckage, Daisy and Naomi returned to Nutley Street to find there were no more victims to be taken to hospital.
They sat down wearily on the remains of a brick garden wall. Daisy took off her steel helmet. She was filthy dirty and worn out. I wonder what the girls in the Buffalo Yacht Club would think of me now, she thought, then she realized she no longer cared much what they thought. The days when their approval was all-important to her seemed a long time in the past.
Someone said: "Would you like a cup of tea, my lovely?"
She recognized the accent as Welsh. She looked up to see an attractive middle-aged woman carrying a tray. "Oh, boy, that's what I need," she said, and helped herself. She had now grown to like this beverage. It tasted bitter but it had a remarkable restorative effect.
The woman kissed Naomi, who explained: "We're related. Her daughter, Millie, is married to my brother, Abie."
Daisy watched the woman take the tray around the little crowd of ARP wardens and firemen and neighbors. She must be a local dignitary, Daisy decided: she had an air of authority. Yet at the same time she was clearly a woman of the people, speaking to everyone with an easy warmth, making them smile. She knew Nobby and Gorgeous George, and greeted them as old friends.
She took the last cup on the tray for herself and came to sit beside Daisy. "You sound American," she said pleasantly.
Daisy nodded. "I'm married to an Englishman."
"I live in this street--but my house escaped the bombs last night. I'm the member of Parliament for Aldgate. My name is Eth Leckwith."
Daisy's heart skipped a beat. This was Lloyd's famous mother! She shook hands. "Daisy Fitzherbert."
Ethel's eyebrows went up. "Oh!" she said. "You're the Viscountess Aberowen."
Daisy blushed and lowered her voice. "They don't know that in the ARP."
"Your secret is safe with me."
Hesitantly, Daisy said: "I knew your son, Lloyd." She could not help the tears that came to her eyes when she thought of their time at Ty Gwyn, and the way he had looked after her when she miscarried. "He was very kind to me, once when I needed help."
"Thank you," said Ethel. "But don't talk as if he's dead."
The reproof was mild, but Daisy felt she had been dreadfully tactless. "I'm so sorry!" she said. "He's missing in action, I know. How frightfully stupid of me."
"But he's not missing any longer," Ethel said. "He escaped through Spain. He arrived home yesterday."
"Oh, my God!" Daisy's heart was racing. "Is he all right?"
"Perfectly. In fact he looks very well, despite what he's been through."
"Where . . ." Daisy swallowed. "Where is he now?"
