Voices on the Wind Read Online Free PDF Page A

uniform was draped over the back of a chair, and Kate hurried down to find her mother.
    â€˜I’ve got fat,’ she announced. ‘This skirt is really tight! It’s all that awful stodge we get to eat – bread and potatoes and caterpillar cabbage – Oh, Maman, what have you got in the oven?’
    Her mother laughed. ‘Something special. Not stodge, my darling. There’s your father, I can see by Mimi’s face; she knows when he’s walking up the street, that dog!’
    The little terrier bounded out to the front door, and Kate ran to meet her father. They were very similar in looks. Born in County Wexford, he’d been educated in England and gone to Cambridge to read law. Opportunities were poor at home, and the professional classes sent their sons overseas. For thirty years he had worked with the same Anglo-French banking company, and married Denise in Paris, where they made their home. Both their son and daughter had been born there and the family was more French than anything else.
    â€˜Kate.’ He hugged her, held her out to look at her. ‘You’re looking well. Very well, just my little Kate again.’
    There was a special bottle of wine opened for the dinner conjured out of rations like a miracle. They talked and laughed and interrupted each other, and after dinner, the questions began.
    â€˜Tell me,’ her father said, ‘how did you get this job? And why do you have to change services?’
    â€˜Because they want interpreters in the WAAF, and as soon as someone realized I was bilingual, they thought I’d be better employed speaking French than scrubbing bloody floors – sorry, Daddy, that slipped out. Don’t you think pale blue will suit me better than that navy serge?’ She laughed and they joined in. She hated lying to them. More questions, forcing her to elaborate. ‘Six months’ training … why six months, Maman – I don’t know. No not training, really, just going to courses and learning to type and use some shorthand. Then maybe some lovely cushy job in the Air Ministry! Just think, I’d be able to get home at weekends.…’ She saw the joy on their faces.
    â€˜We’re thrilled for you,’ her mother said.
    They talked about her elder brother, David; he was taking a gunnery course at Manobeir. She was given his last letter to read. It was funny and individual, just like him. They had got on well as children; having a brother made Kate more of a tomboy. That night, lying in the comfort of her own bed, nursing the luxury of a hot-water bottle, Kate thrust the memories of her childhood aside. It was no good slipping back mentally, when she had made the decision. Lying to the people she loved had been both difficult and shaming. But that was part of the price she must pay every day of her life from now on. She didn’t belong to herself or her family any more. It was a chilling thought, and for a moment the niggle of fear stabbed like a pain. Of course, she wanted to tell her parents, to ask for their support, even to share her excitement and, yes, fear again, with them. But it wasn’t possible or kind. They’d worry themselves to death. Her father knew the situation in France better than most. Her mother fretted over David in the safety of Wales. Besides, wasn’t she taking too much for granted – how did she know she’d even pass the rigorous tests ahead? Scotland was going to sort out the candidates, she’d been told, seeing the Colonel on her way through London. A lot of people got injured or gave up. Only the fit and the courageous got past that initial stage. She had no guarantee. She fell asleep thinking about it, and didn’t wake till lunchtime.
    It was a bright day outside. Her father worked in a reserved occupation in London; she spent a happy day with her mother, helping her in the house, drinking cups of tea and gossiping. The mood of childishness had