A Kestrel Rising (13 page)

“Are you sure that’s all?”

“Yes, that’s all. No more pilots for me, Ash. I don’t want the worry and the heartache anymore. I haven’t looked at another man in that way for a long time. I just
can’t.
”

Aislinn touched her shoulder and stood. “I understand, Ilke. I just hope Francis does, because I’ve seen the way he looks at you.”

“That’s just your imagination. You’re in love with Charlie and you just want the rest of the world to be in love too.” She picked up her book. “There’s nothing there. We really are just friends.”

“If you say so. I’m going to see where Charlie’s gone. The Reardons should be here soon. I hope so, I’m starving and ready for brunch.”

Left in peace, Ilona returned to her place in
Gone with the Wind
and began to read. The mid-morning sun streamed through the window and fell across the faded yellow couch. She was warm and comfortable, curled up in the light like a cat and surrounded by sleeping dogs. She turned her attention to the burning of Atlanta.

The frantic barking of dogs heralded the arrival of the Reardons. Ilona was abandoned when her fair-weather companions raced toward the front door. She couldn’t be bothered to move, knowing that everyone would soon end up in the sitting room and she could bid farewell to peace and quiet. Charlie was already hooting with laughter about something.

“Ah, there you are.” Francis sank onto the other settee. “Hiding behind a book.”

She closed the book and smiled at him. “Merry Christmas to you too.”

“I was sent to tell you that brunch is served, and Merry Christmas.” He rose and offered her his arm. “Care to join me?”

“Thank you. I do believe I shall.”

* * * *

After brunch, everyone retreated to the sitting room. A fire roared in the hearth and the room was flooded with sunlight. Ilona, not used to so much food, couldn’t bear the thought of sitting like a lump when it was such a glorious morning. “Does anyone fancy a walk?”

Everyone but Francis declined and Ilona avoided her sister’s I-told-you-so glance as she went to fetch her coat.

It was bitterly cold. Their breath hung in silvery clouds as they walked down the drive, trailed by two of the dogs. The Jack Russell, Golly, struggled through snow that came up to his elbows, while Maeve, the wolfhound, trotted effortlessly between her mistress and Francis. They strolled in silence through the woods, along a path which was little more than a slight furrow crisscrossed by the long, pale blue shadows of the trees. Ilona found it hard to believe that only the day before they had been kicking through a carpet of dead leaves instead of several inches of glittering, powdery snow.

“It’s beautiful,” Francis said.

“It is, isn’t it? And so peaceful, I bet we’re the only ones out here.”

“I shouldn’t wonder.” He put his hands into his pockets. “It’s cold, even for England.”

“Is it as cold as where you live?”

“More or less, although it gets even colder there.”

They left the woods and worked their way along the side of the field, the plowed furrows now lost beneath the snow. Maeve spotted something further up the slope and bounded away barking, while Golly tried to follow.

Ilona tried to imagine a winter so cold that it could freeze a lake. “Do you skate?”

He laughed. “No, I stay inside and keep warm.”

They reached the bench. Francis brushed the snow from it and they sat down. Golly jumped on the bench and insinuated himself between them while Maeve went off in pursuit of the gulls that had settled on the field. Smoke rose lazily from the farmhouse chimney into a sky uncluttered by clouds. The landscape was covered with an unbroken blanket of silver.

“I can see why Mom liked this place so much,” he said. “It seems like you can see for miles from here.”

“Especially on days like this. It’s much better than being stuck indoors.”

“I suppose we’d better enjoy it while we can before we go back to our regular lives. Being here is like stepping back in time, before everything fell to pieces. I swear if I tried hard enough, I could forget that the world beyond even exists.” Francis’ voice sounded bleak. His eyes were dark and unreadable. “It’s moments like this that I wonder what the hell I’m doing. I must be insane or stupid.”

Ilona touched his arm. “Or very brave. Don’t forget, I know all too well what it takes to be a pilot and what it can cost.” For the first time in months, Ilona felt the sting of tears.

“You’re the only one I can talk to about these things.” He stared at his hands. “I hate that I’m probably raking up a lot of hurt for you, Ilke, but I know you understand.”

“I’m fine. I don’t mind. It’s best not to keep it locked up inside.”

He lifted Golly from the bench and moved next to her. He rested his head on her shoulder. Ilona put her arms around him and held him in silence. He was still and she stroked his hair absently.

“Thank you,” he whispered after a while.

“It’s all right.”

Francis sat up and ran his fingers through his hair. “It all catches up with me sometimes. I’m just glad you understand. I’m sorry if I stirred up some bad memories.”

“You didn’t.”

He sighed. “I suppose we had better get back.”

“Yes, as much as I’d prefer to stay out here in the sunlight and fresh air, we might be missed.”

He stood and held out his hand. “I’m not one for all this sitting around and making idle conversation, so let’s take our time.”

She took it. “Yes. The sooner we get back, the sooner we shall have to play charades.”

They walked back the way they came, following their own footsteps through the snow, neither saying much. Ilona struggled with the idea of holding someone else’s hand and wondered if Aislinn
had
been right. If she was, she would deal with it in her own time, but he needed the comfort of another’s touch and she was willing to let that be her Christmas present to him, realizing that she took as much solace from the gesture as he did.

Chapter Eleven

“Well, that break didn’t last very long.” Francis observed while they stood on the empty station platform.

“Nor did the snow.” Ilona glanced at the sky where a brisk wind harried heavy gray clouds. The platform was damp with rain. Christmas had flown past. The magic had begun to fade on Christmas night when they’d learned that Hong Kong had fallen to the Japanese—a stark reminder that, beyond the peace of the village, the world was at war. Ilona had seen the bleakness return to Francis’ eyes once more when silence had fallen across the room. Boxing Day at the Reardon’s had been a very subdued affair with desultory efforts to play games. No one had had much of an appetite and the day had ended early with the excuse that there were travelers who had to return to their bases the next day.

The tracks vibrated when the train approached. A plume of smoke rose into the sky and was shredded by the cold, damp wind. The engine squealed to a halt alongside the platform. Francis took both of their bags and carried them onto the train. By some stroke of good fortune, the carriages were relatively empty and they found a pair of seats in the first compartment they walked into. Ilona sat down while he stowed the bags in the luggage rack. She gazed out of the window and wondered when she would see home again. Neither of them spoke much on the journey into London, watching the rolling hills and woodland fade away into open farmland before it was swallowed by the grim sprawl of the suburbs. Drops of rain splattered the grimy windows as the train rolled into Waterloo station. Then they were back into the crowds and the noise as they made their way to Liverpool Street. Once more, Francis led the way and he found two seats in the last but one carriage. They ate their sandwiches in silence as the train left London behind and steamed across the flat, windblown Essex fields. The rain battering the window made Ilona tired and depressed. Mildenhall was a miserable place in the rain and she hated to think about the bleakness of Francis’ billet out on the fringe of the Norfolk Broads. At least the WAAF hut was warm. Her companion was quiet and his distant expression discouraged any attempt at conversation so she closed her eyes and let sleep take her, drawn there by the ceaseless rocking of the train.

* * * *

“Ilke.” Francis’ whisper intruded on her peaceful, dreamless darkness. He shook her shoulder gently. “Ilke, wake up. Your stop is coming up.”

Ilona woke to the coarseness of wool beneath her cheek. It smelled of rain and aviation fuel. For a moment, she had trouble remembering where she was. Only the sound of rain against the windows and the cold gray light brought her back to reality. She opened her eyes and realized that her head rested on his shoulder. She sat up, blinking as the train began to slow. “Already?” she smothered a yawn. “That didn’t seem to last long.”

Francis retrieved her bag from the luggage rack. “You’ve been asleep for a good hour. I guess you must have needed it.”

“I suppose so.”

“Come on. I’ll take your bag for you then you’re on your own, I’m afraid.”

Ilona followed him along the narrow corridor to the nearest door. The train was easing to a stop and the wind blowing through the open window was full of drizzle and ice. He opened the door and stepped onto the platform and she followed, shivering when the full blast of winter hit her. Doors slammed open and closed along the length of the train while it idled in the station. “That’s Christmas over and done with.” She sighed. “Thank you for your company, Francis. I really enjoyed it.” She kissed his cheek and stepped back.

“The pleasure was all mine.” He lifted her chin and kissed her swiftly. “Goodbye, Ilke. Look after yourself.” His eyes were dark and unreadable.

“And you,” she replied. “Be careful, please.”

He grinned, then, “I will, as long as your Bomber Boys behave themselves.” He stepped back onto the train, closed the door and leaned out of the open window as it began to move, “Safe journey.”

“Thanks.” She waved until the train was out of sight, swallowed by the dark bulk of another train. With a sigh, she picked up her bag and walked slowly along the platform, oblivious to the rain as her hand strayed to her lips. She did her best to dismiss the gesture but his lips had been warm and firm, and she admitted to herself that she’d enjoyed it.

* * * *

Dear Ilke,

Here we are, once more, back in our respective barracks, although in my case, it’s little more than a shed. It’s only been a week since I got back but it seems like I’ve been here for ages. Some things never change. I hope that you’ve adjusted better than I have after that break. The only good thing about being back is being airborne again. I know you will think I’m mad, but, for all the dangers, the joy of leaving the earth behind can’t be beat, and my old Spitfire soars like a bird through the clouds. I know you think I’m talking nonsense, but I wish you could experience what I do.

I suppose you’re back to your lorries, hauling bits and pieces all over the place. Now that I know your secret, I imagine that you’re sitting in the cab singing as you go. Just remember to keep your eyes on the road.

I want to thank you for being so patient with me on Christmas Day. Sometimes, I just fall into a black mood, and it’s probably because it was so peaceful and I had too much time to think. I know that it must have been painful for you, which makes me appreciate your patience so much more. You are the only one that would understand and that means more to me than you will ever know.

Anyway, that’s enough of the serious stuff. We’re getting ready to fly, so just enough time for a cup of tea and then we’re off. I don’t suppose our bosses would be kind enough to make sure that our next leave coincides. If we can both get a day, how about Cambridge? One of the chaps here says there’s fun to be had. We can hire a punt and go for trip down the Cam. Let’s keep our fingers crossed for a warm day in spring.

Take care,

Regards, etc.

Francis

Ilona looked out of the window. Winter had returned to the Brecks and the late afternoon wind hurled small flakes of snow against the glass and rattled the panes. Spring seemed an impossibility, especially a warm spring day balmy enough to float on the river.

“A penny for them,” Grace said.

“Oh, nothing really. It’s from Francis. He thinks we should go to Cambridge for a day in spring.”

“There’s nothing wrong with that, is there? After all, you’re just friends.”

“As far as I’m concerned, yes.”

Grace raised an eyebrow. “But?”

“I’m not so sure about Francis.” Ilona thought of Christmas Day, and tried to dismiss that moment on Anna’s bench as just a friend needing the comfort of a friend. The swift kiss on the platform was something else, and she hoped it was only impulse on his part and just the fact that it was an unexpected pleasure on hers. “But that’s me and my overactive imagination.” She looked at her friend. “Ian was an open book. There were no mysteries with him. There was no darkness, no sides. He was just Ian.” She glanced at the photograph and felt that now familiar twist of sorrow. “I know Francis is just a friend, but there are moments that I wonder if he doesn’t regard me as more. I can’t be bothered with the mystery and I don’t want to have to start worrying about him—wondering, every night, if he’ll make it back in one piece.” She sighed. “But we had a lovely time together over Christmas. We got along so well, as if we’d made a fresh start. I really hope he doesn’t want more than friendship. I
can’t
fall in love again.”

“Is that because you don’t want to or because you really don’t think it’s possible?”

“I can’t bear going through all that uncertainty again, praying every night that he gets back safely, not being able to breathe from the fear. I can’t go through that grief again. I promised Ian that I wouldn’t spend my life mourning him, but there’s still part of me that can’t let go of him. I still love him, Grace.”

“You always will love him. That will never change. He was right. You can’t hide away from life forever. As for the worry, you still loved Ian in spite of all of the fear and the uncertainty. You were still happy.”