A Kestrel Rising (12 page)

* * * *

Ilona couldn’t remember the last time she had slept so well and without dreams. She awoke to gray, wintry light slipping through the curtains and to the sounds of the house coming to life around her. She dressed and went down to breakfast, where Charlie and Aislinn giggled over something and her father took refuge behind his newspaper. Her mother greeted her arrival with obvious relief as she sat down beside her and helped herself to tea and toast.

“Did you sleep well, dear?”

“I did. Thanks, Mama. It was lovely to be back in my own bed again.” She reached for the marmalade and glanced out of the window. The icy brightness of the previous day had been replaced by sullen clouds and she wondered whether it was going to snow. The prospect of a white Christmas outweighed any annoyance created by her sister’s fiancé, who was relating some story about his best mate’s greyhound chasing a neighbor’s cat up a tree. She envied her father his newspaper and finished her breakfast quickly. She asked if anyone wanted to join her on her walk, but both Aislinn and Charlie declared that it was much too cold and they would rather stay warm by the fire. She suspected that her father would retreat to the greenhouse and her mother had mentioned something about repairing the dress she was going to wear to the Woodplumptons’ party.

Ilona ran upstairs and grabbed her coat and boots. She hurried out of the front door and headed for the woods with the dogs in pursuit. It was a cold day, but still, and the air was damp. She thought it would snow before the day was out. She kicked her way through the carpet of leaves in the beech wood and onto the grassy verge at the edge of the barley field. A few seagulls hopped between the dark furrows and the smell of damp soil rose to meet her as she walked up the hill. She followed the path as it swung to the right and to the Reardons’ garden wall. The bench was still there, veiled with dead vines once more. She cleared them away then sat down to enjoy the view. The land slept under the spell of winter. The trees that bounded the fields were black lace against the leaden gray of the sky. Only the squabbling gulls broke the silence. Ilona decided to sit there for a while. She cleared her mind of everything that could have hurt and watched the smoke drift idly from the farmhouse chimney in the coombe below while the dogs flopped at her feet. The war and all its baggage seemed like a lifetime away from this landscape frozen in time.

The scrape of the door in the wall made her jump. She turned around in time to see Francis shoulder his way through it. She was surprised to see him blush.

“Hello. I wasn’t expecting any company.”

“I was just sitting for a while and enjoying the view and the peace and quiet.”

“Until I blundered through.”

She laughed. “That’s all right.”

He sat down beside her. “That’s good. I wouldn’t want to think that I’d interrupted anything.”

“Heavens, no. I was just thinking how peaceful and unchanged it was—especially peaceful.”

“So, Charlie
is
loud then.”

“Sadly, yes. I know I’ll sound like a dreadful snob, but he’s a bit of a spiv and I can’t for the life of me imagine what Ash was thinking.”

“What on earth is a spiv?”

“A wide boy, a wheeler and dealer.”

“All right, I get the idea and, no, you don’t sound like a snob. I gather I will have the pleasure of meeting him at the Woodplumptons’ party tonight.”

“Yes, you will.”

“If it’s anything like last year’s party, which I also had the pleasure to attend, I’ll be too busy providing the entertainment.”

“Entertainment?”

“I made the mistake of sitting down and tinkering on the piano. Before I knew it, I was playing requests for the remainder of the evening…and I never got a single tip.”

“Oh dear.”

“Never mind, it was fun and it was better than making small talk with a bunch of strangers. Since you’re there tonight, it won’t be so bad. We can avoid your future brother-in-law together.”

Ilona thought about walking again. It was too cold to sit still for long. She stood up. “I think I’d best carry on walking, before I freeze to the spot.”

“Would you mind some company?”

“No, I don’t mind at all, but I’ll warn you, I’m taking a long walk.”

“That’s fine by me. I can’t sit around all day. I’d go crazy.”

They strolled down the grass track around the edge of the field down into the coombe and past the farmhouse. The farmer’s wife waved when they ambled past, following an old footpath along the side of the farmyard. The path took them out onto the road and Ilona turned right, heading down toward the river. The woods were still and gloomy and the leaves left a soft, damp carpet beneath their feet. The wind stirred, rattling the bare branches. The dogs snuffled through the undergrowth, idly rooting under branches and logs.

“You do like long walks, don’t you?” Francis said as they followed the path along the river.

“When I get the chance, yes. I spend all my working days sitting in a lorry. It’s nice to stretch my legs.” The path led along the bank to a little half circle of yellowed grass, a favorite picnic and fishing spot when she and Aislinn were children. She sat down on the old log, worn smooth by generations of anglers and picnickers and gazed at the black, still waters of the Loddon.

Francis sat beside her. “Nice spot.”

“It’s a favorite fishing spot…and for picnics. It’s lovely here in the summer.”

He put his hands into his pockets. “Dad told me about this place. Mom asked him to join your mom and her brothers the first day they met.”

“She did?”

“She did. He told me that he was helping his aunt peel potatoes in the Reardons’ kitchen and Mom came running down the stairs in search of the picnic basket. He said he took one look at her and was lost.”

“I remember Mama telling me about that, and how she missed it all because she spent the afternoon asleep on the grass.” Ilona laughed. “She hated missing out on all the fun, because she’s terribly nosy.”

A cold, damp breeze stirred the water and rustled through the dry reeds on the far bank. The field beyond was fallow and a flock of starlings wheeled overhead. It didn’t seem possible to her that there was a war on. They sat in silence for a while, llona watching the starlings, her companion lost in thought. Only when the first flakes of snow drifted idly earthward did either stir. Ilona spotted them first. “Snow. How lovely.”

“It snows here?”

“Sometimes, not as much as where you live. Far from it.” She rose. “You’ll probably laugh because a big snowfall to us is about four inches.”

“At least it’s not so much to shovel away.” He stood up. “I guess we had better get back. You look a bit cold.”

“I am,” she admitted. “But I can’t bear the thought of going back to that noise and chatter.”

He glanced at his watch. “It won’t be for that long. Have an afternoon nap then you won’t hear a thing.”

* * * *

By the time they were ready to walk to the party, the snow was falling in earnest, thick, whirling flakes. It settled into a deep blanket that wrapped the world in silence and gave off a pale light of its own when they ventured down the drive. Even Charlie was silenced by it and Ilona enjoyed the peace and the soft whisper of the flakes as they settled. The Reardons waited at the bottom of their drive and all the talk was of the snow and how perfect that it was Christmas Eve.

“Did you have your nap?” Francis fell into step beside Ilona.

“I did, thank you.” She concentrated on not slipping in the snow.

He offered her his arm. “I wouldn’t want you to fall on your ass.”

“Thank you.” She took his arm. “I should’ve worn boots.”

The village was in darkness because of the blackout and the only sign of life from the Wheatsheaf was muffled laughter through a crack in the door. Everything seemed to be sleeping. The illusion was put to rest when they reached the Woodplumptons’ and walked into a house full of chatter, cigarette smoke and music. Lady Woodplumpton greeted them warmly, kissing Ilona on both cheeks.

“How lovely to see you again, my dear. You look wonderful.” She stepped back, holding Ilona’s shoulders. “Very elegant.”

She blushed. “It’s lovely to see you too.”

Their hostess turned to Francis. “Welcome back, my dear boy.” She smiled and shook her head. “It never ceases to amaze me how much you look like your father.” She took their arms and led them toward the dining room where a lavish buffet was spread out on the long, polished table. “Now, help yourselves. Cook, bless her, has worked miracles in spite of this dreadful rationing. Thank heavens we have lots of chickens now.”

Ilona surveyed the buffet and noticed that eggs and chicken dishes did seem to feature heavily.

Lady Woodplumpton smiled at Francis. “I’ve had the piano tuned especially. I was hoping that you would be able to make it. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’d better see that more wine is brought up.”

They helped themselves to the buffet and to drinks, as ordered, and when Charlie’s hooting laughter echoed along the hall, Francis grabbed Ilona’s arm. “Quick,” he whispered. “The music room, now.”

She giggled and let him lead her along the hall, past a sitting room full of people she hadn’t seen for a long time and didn’t want to see or explain herself to. It was a far cry from the last time she had been with him at this house.

“Here we are.” Francis peered around the door. “There’s no one here, yet.”

Ilona followed him. Their hostess had filled the room with candles which bathed everything in a soft flickering glow, reflected in the vast mirror above the fireplace. Faded velvet curtains concealed the blackout drapes. Ilona thought that she had stepped back in time. Francis sat down at the piano and ran his fingers along the keys, releasing a waterfall of random notes.

“Yup. She’s had it tuned. It sounds good.” An elaborate scale was next and he moved and patted the space on the bench next to him. “Have a seat. Any requests?”

She sat down. “I have no idea.”

“Can you sing?”

“In the privacy of a lorry, yes.”

“Do you know this one?” He began to play an elaborate, bluesy introduction to
These Foolish Things
. “I’ll let you know when to start.”

She watched his long hands. “You want me to sing? In public?”

Francis stopped playing. “Why not? You’re amongst friends. There’s nothing to worry about. Half of them are probably more than a little drunk anyway.” He handed her his glass. “Have a sip of this, for courage.”

Ilona sniffed it and recognized the peaty aroma of whiskey. “Oh, all right then.” She took a sip and shuddered.

“Sorry. It’s a bit strong, isn’t it?” Francis chuckled and retrieved the glass. “I’ll give you a nod when it’s time for you to sing.”

She nodded, feeling a little more courageous, and he began the introduction once more. She marveled at the way his hands skimmed across the keys. His hair flopped over his forehead and his eyes grew distant. Ilona nearly missed her cue. She sang, faintly at first until he nudged her.

“Louder. Go on… I can hardly hear you and I’m right beside you.”

She complied.

“Much better. You have a nice voice, Ilke.”

Ilona smiled and carried on singing, not wanting to lose her place. The more she sang, the easier it became. One or two people drifted into the room then sat down on the settee, listening politely. She watched Francis’ hands instead and kept time.

Francis finished with a flourish and grinned. “Well done. You can sing.”

Ilona’s cheeks flamed. “Thank you.” She took a sip of her sherry, feeling much bolder. “What’s next?”

“How about this one?”

She recognized the introduction. “I love the Ink Spots.” She took a deep breath. “
I don’t want to set the world on fire
.” To her surprise, Francis joined in and he had a pleasant voice that fell into harmony with hers. By the time they’d finished, they had collected quite an audience, all of whom applauded enthusiastically.

“You’re blushing,” Francis whispered.

Ilona took another sip of sherry and tried to pretend that they weren’t there as he struck into the opening chords of another song.

* * * *

After an hour, Francis told the audience that his singer needed a rest, much to Ilona’s relief, and the revelers scattered in search of more food and drink. Someone had brought her some water and she sipped it while her companion improvised, his fingers drifting across the keyboard.

“Are you tired? Because we can stop now.”

“No, I’m fine. I’m enjoying myself.”

He smiled. “Good, because the evening isn’t over yet.”

More people wandered in when they heard Francis playing once more. This time, he played songs that everyone could sing along to, finishing with
We’ll Meet Again
. After which, he declared that he could play no more. Ilona glanced at the clock on the mantelpiece and realized that it was close to midnight. There were a few partygoers remaining. Charlie was telling a long, complicated story somewhere down the hall. Her parents sat together in the corner of the music room, talking with Lord Woodplumpton. She smothered a yawn.

“I’m all done in. It’s been a long day.”

“You’re telling me. That walk wore me out.”

She rose and caught her mother’s eye. “I should go. I need to sleep.”

Ilona waited while her parents made their farewells to Lord Woodplumpton and collected Aislinn and Charlie and the Reardons. Francis helped her with her coat and she was grateful to step out into the cold night air. It was still snowing. She took Francis’ arm as they walked down the drive in silence. Even Charlie was quiet and the peace was a balm. They said their farewells at the bottom of the Reardons’ drive. Francis kissed her cheek.

“Thanks for the company,” he said. “See you tomorrow.”

She ignored Aislinn’s raised eyebrow as they turned to walk for home.

* * * *

“You and Francis are certainly chummy these days,” Aislinn observed.

Ilona tucked her legs underneath her and stared out of the sitting room window. It had stopped snowing in the night and the sunlight was brilliant on the broad, white sweep of lawn. “We’re friends, nothing more.” She told her sister. “We’re both in the RAF and it’s nice to be able to moan about it to someone else who understands.”