J.T. Edson - Blonde Genius

Then the headmistress became aware that the head girl was prodding the School Swot with her elbow, as if urging Amanda to carry out an unpleasant but necessary duty.

“Er, Miss Benkinsop,” said Amanda, at her most guileless. “Perhaps you would care to go to your study and check through my notes. I fear I may not have covered every point.”

“ Et tu, Brutus?” Miss Benkinsop sighed. “I’ve already read it. Come, There are other things calling for our attention.”

Dropping back slightly. Amanda and Penelope followed the headmistress. Although they lowered their voices, their words just reached her ears—and confirmed her suspicions.

“We’ve got to get the poor old luv off ’er feet for a bit, Amanda,” Penelope hissed. “She’s got a hard night in front of her,”

“She’s not all that old,” the School Swot protested. “Not more than forty-five—”

“Cor! As old as that? She doesn’t look it. But we ought to get her to ’ave a sit down.”

“I agree. But how do we do it so that she doesn’t realise—”

“Can I trust you girls to carry on for a time without me?” Miss Benkinsop inquired, trying to sound natural and calm as she halted facing them. “I will go and look over your notes, Amanda.”

“We’ll do our best, ma’am,” Penelope promised and, after the headmistress had departed, looked at her friend. “Do you fink she ’eard us?”

“She couldn’t have,” Amanda decided, making probably the first mistake of her young life.

Looking rather flushed, Miss Benkinsop entered the deputy head’s needlework classroom.

“Hortense,” she said. “I want you to do something important for me.”

CHAPTER TWELVE

Although he was by nature and training a suspicious man, the sentry at the main entrance to the Research and Special Maintenance Squadron’s base did not hesitate to raise the barrier. He had checked the identification cards of the Aston Martin’s occupants and was satisfied that they were the party of W.R.A.C.’s whom the Station Commander had personally warned him would arrive. Slamming off a textbook salute, as the silver-grey car purred by, he ignored the wink of the perky little blonde corporal at its steering wheel.

“Cor!” Penelope grinned, as she followed the signs towards the Headquarters building. “He was a bit of all right.”

“And that will he enough of that, young lady!” Miss Benkinsop warned.

Parking the car deftly, next to the space occupied by the Station Commander’s Jaguar, Penelope acted the part of a W.R.A.C. chauffeur to perfection. Jumping out, she threw open the rear door and saluted smartly when Miss Benkinsop alighted. If anybody, other than Group Captain Porter. had seen their arrival there would have been nothing to arouse suspicions.

Clad in a modem flying-suit, Porter looked only slightly older and more portly than in the days when, as a dashing, elegant, devil-may-care young blade, he had helped to tear the Luftwaffe from the skies of England. Striding forward, his step was jaunty and his face bore a broad smile of welcome.

“Amelia, old girl,” Porter greeted, shaking hands and then kissing her lightly on the cheek. “You look younger and lovelier than ever.”

“ Flatterer! ” Miss Benkinsop replied, but she looked unusually pleased by the wording of the compliment.

“We’ve just got time to go into my office and have a jar before we take off,” Porter offered.

“That’s extraordinarily thoughtful of you, Pongo,” Miss Benkinsop answered, catching something of his youthful zest. “By the way, I believe you’ve met Amanda and Penelope. haven’t you?”

“That I have,” agreed Porter, sounding impressed by the thought of their first meeting. He shook hands, but did not offer to kiss either girl as he doubted whether their headmistress would approve. “At the World Sky-Diving Championships, wasn’t it? I recollect that you won, Amanda.”

“I was very lucky, sir,” the School Swot replied, blushing modestly. “Penelope is much better than I, And, after all, we did have Miss Benkinsop to instruct us.”

“If she’d been entered,” Penelope went on, “neither of us would ’ave stood a chance.”

“Don’t talk such nonsense, dear,” Miss Benkinsop commanded. “Open the boot, so that we can unpack our equipment.”

“You go and have a nice talk to the Group Captain, ma’am,” Penelope suggested. “Me and Amanda—”

“Amanda and I,” Miss Benkinsop corrected automatically.

“Amanda and I can fetch the stuff in easy enough.”

“I’ll carry my own,” Miss Benkinsop said, somewhat stiffly.

“That would hardly be in keeping with your role, ma’am,” Amanda pointed out, “A lady holding the rank of colonel would be unlikely to carry her own baggage.”

“I’ve never seen one of ’em’s did,” Penelope confirmed, just a shade too quickly. “And we don’t want nuffing to go wrong, do we, ma’am?”

“Very well,” Miss Benkinsop conceded and took consolation in thinking that she might give her young companions a surprise later on. “Come, Pongo. Is there anywhere in which we can change?”

“Use the Adj’s office,” Porter offered.

Leading the way to his own office, Porter frowned as the two girls entered. Amanda carried two packed parachutes and a kitbag with an adjustable carrying-strap. Penelope was burdened with two bags and one parachute.

“Go in next door and change, girls,” Miss Benkinsop requested, pointing to the entrance to the Adjutant’s office. “I wish to have a few words with the Group Captain.”

“Yes’m,” Amanda and Penelope chorused.

“You may leave the parachutes and my bag here,” the headmistress went on.

“Shan’t we take and unpack your bag, ma’am?” Penelope hinted.

“I’ll endeavour to do that for myself,” Miss Benkinsop answered and her tone warned the head girl that she would brook no arguments. “Cut along with you.”

They’re two nice youngsters, Porter remarked, ushering Miss Benkinsop into his office.

“Yes,” the headmistress sighed. “Were we as intolerant of our elders at their age, Pongo?”

“How do you mean?”

“They’re convinced that I’m approaching my dotage. In fact, I quite expect them to produce a shawl for my ageing shoulders.”

“You’re not old,” Porter declared, looking her over with frank and open admiration. “Damn it, you look even younger than when we spent that weekend at—H.Q. Fighter Command—”

“Flattery like that will get you thrown over my shoulder, Pongo Porter,” Miss Benkinsop warned, but showed her pleasure at the compliment. “Let’s have that ‘jar’, shall we?”

The girls returned, dressed in dark blue cover-alls and carrying paratrooper’s helmets, before Miss Benkinsop could get down to the serious business of the trip. Taking up her own kitbag, Miss Benkinsop warned that lemonade was the only beverage she would tolerate where the pupils were concerned. Then she left to change. What she was planning to wear had been kept a strict secret and was a source of much speculation between Amanda and Penelope.

“Why the ’chutes?” Porter inquired, after the headmistress had taken her departure. “Don’t you think our old crocks can make it?”

“We’ve complete faith in them, sir,” Amanda replied, sipping at her glass of lemonade. “But, if you would care to read this little time-table, you will see that we must parachute down instead of accompanying you all the way to Akrotiri.”

Taking the paper which Amanda had produced from the pocket of her cover-alls. Porter read it in a daze. Then the light broke through. Admiration filled him as he decided that he had never seen a more concise, accurate piece of work. Everything. including the map-reference of the target area and directions of approach for every type of wind had been included.