braced herself for what she suspected might be a stern dressing-down.
According to the gossip, and verified by Rita’s father who knew about such things, Major Marshall was an Oxford graduate who, before the war, had designed and built aircraft for the RAF, as well as for the burgeoning number of private flying enthusiasts. She and her husband, who was a hugely respected Wing Commander at the local airfield, had run this successful business together. Now Patricia was in sole charge of the government contracts to build aeroplane parts in this area, and took her duties very seriously indeed.
Closing the door behind her, Rita stood in the small, cramped office and waited nervously for the other woman to tear her off a strip – or worse, to question her loyalties.
Major Marshall sat down in the battered chair and eyed Rita across a desk strewn with paperwork and technical drawings. ‘You have an important job here, Smith, and I don’t want it compromised by your relationship with your Italian neighbours.’
Rita was about to protest when she was silenced by an impatient wave of Major Marshall’s hand. ‘The events of last night were unfortunate. I do not agree with mob rule – never have. But the fact is we are at war with Italy and, as with all enemy foreign nationals living in this country, it is the law to take them into custody.’
‘But Antonino has lived here since he was a boy, and Roberto’s a British citizen. They had no right to arrest him.’
The Major took a deep breath and eyed Rita down her long, patrician nose. ‘I suggest you make sure you are familiar with the salient facts before you make such wild statements.’
Rita frowned. ‘What do you mean?’
The older woman stood, clasped her hands behind her back and stared out through the heavily taped window to the yard in front of the shed and the enormous barrage balloons that swayed above it. ‘Because of their connection with you, I have made enquiries,’ she said, ‘and it appears the Minelli son was actually born in Naples.’
Rita stared at her in shock. ‘That’s not right,’ she protested. ‘Louise has always . . .’
The Major turned from the window, her impatience clear. ‘It is of no matter to you, Smith, and we are wasting valuable time discussing things that don’t concern either of us. Go back to your work and don’t rise to the baiting of the other women. Not everyone feels the same as Aggie Rawlings, and last night’s shocking events will soon become of less interest as this war progresses.’
She relented somewhat with a stiff little smile. ‘You are a valuable member of my team despite your youth, Smith. It would be a shame to blot your copybook now.’
Rita knew better than to speak and, at the other woman’s nod of dismissal, she hurried out of the office and headed to the welding bay which was at the far end of the enormous shed.
May was already busy welding, but on Rita’s approach, she switched off the blow torch and raised the heavy leather visor. ‘What did she say?’
‘Nothing much,’ Rita replied, reaching for the sturdy gloves. ‘But Major Patricia has her beady eyes on us, so we’d better get to work. I’ll tell you more during our lunch break.’
‘All right, but don’t let them upset you, Rita. Their opinions don’t matter a jot.’
Rita shot her a grin and, ignoring the sly glances of the others, she fastened the heavy leather hooded visor over her head, pulled on the thick gloves and sturdy apron and adjusted the oxyacetylene supply. Having tested the strength of the flame coming from the blowtorch, she focused her attention on welding the two pieces of metal together that would form an intrinsic part of an aircraft wing.
As the blindingly bright sparks flew and the sweat began to sting her eyes beneath the stifling visor, her thoughts kept returning to Louise and the lie she and Papa Tino had maintained for almost twenty years. It made no sense, and she was impatient for her shift to
According to the gossip, and verified by Rita’s father who knew about such things, Major Marshall was an Oxford graduate who, before the war, had designed and built aircraft for the RAF, as well as for the burgeoning number of private flying enthusiasts. She and her husband, who was a hugely respected Wing Commander at the local airfield, had run this successful business together. Now Patricia was in sole charge of the government contracts to build aeroplane parts in this area, and took her duties very seriously indeed.
Closing the door behind her, Rita stood in the small, cramped office and waited nervously for the other woman to tear her off a strip – or worse, to question her loyalties.
Major Marshall sat down in the battered chair and eyed Rita across a desk strewn with paperwork and technical drawings. ‘You have an important job here, Smith, and I don’t want it compromised by your relationship with your Italian neighbours.’
Rita was about to protest when she was silenced by an impatient wave of Major Marshall’s hand. ‘The events of last night were unfortunate. I do not agree with mob rule – never have. But the fact is we are at war with Italy and, as with all enemy foreign nationals living in this country, it is the law to take them into custody.’
‘But Antonino has lived here since he was a boy, and Roberto’s a British citizen. They had no right to arrest him.’
The Major took a deep breath and eyed Rita down her long, patrician nose. ‘I suggest you make sure you are familiar with the salient facts before you make such wild statements.’
Rita frowned. ‘What do you mean?’
The older woman stood, clasped her hands behind her back and stared out through the heavily taped window to the yard in front of the shed and the enormous barrage balloons that swayed above it. ‘Because of their connection with you, I have made enquiries,’ she said, ‘and it appears the Minelli son was actually born in Naples.’
Rita stared at her in shock. ‘That’s not right,’ she protested. ‘Louise has always . . .’
The Major turned from the window, her impatience clear. ‘It is of no matter to you, Smith, and we are wasting valuable time discussing things that don’t concern either of us. Go back to your work and don’t rise to the baiting of the other women. Not everyone feels the same as Aggie Rawlings, and last night’s shocking events will soon become of less interest as this war progresses.’
She relented somewhat with a stiff little smile. ‘You are a valuable member of my team despite your youth, Smith. It would be a shame to blot your copybook now.’
Rita knew better than to speak and, at the other woman’s nod of dismissal, she hurried out of the office and headed to the welding bay which was at the far end of the enormous shed.
May was already busy welding, but on Rita’s approach, she switched off the blow torch and raised the heavy leather visor. ‘What did she say?’
‘Nothing much,’ Rita replied, reaching for the sturdy gloves. ‘But Major Patricia has her beady eyes on us, so we’d better get to work. I’ll tell you more during our lunch break.’
‘All right, but don’t let them upset you, Rita. Their opinions don’t matter a jot.’
Rita shot her a grin and, ignoring the sly glances of the others, she fastened the heavy leather hooded visor over her head, pulled on the thick gloves and sturdy apron and adjusted the oxyacetylene supply. Having tested the strength of the flame coming from the blowtorch, she focused her attention on welding the two pieces of metal together that would form an intrinsic part of an aircraft wing.
As the blindingly bright sparks flew and the sweat began to sting her eyes beneath the stifling visor, her thoughts kept returning to Louise and the lie she and Papa Tino had maintained for almost twenty years. It made no sense, and she was impatient for her shift to
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