Skylark (34 page)

I met Jay's eyes. "Not one word."

"Tell me what?" my father asked.

I opened my mouth to answer him, and then I thought, No. Jay could explain or not, his
choice. I had already intervened with Thorne.

Jay was tracing slow circles on the tablecloth with his juice glass. Finally he raised his
head. "I have a phobia, George. When Lark called to tell me about the stabbing I knew I ought to
come on the first available flight. It took me three days and a murder to work up the guts to get
on an airplane."

He paused, and I thought he would let it go at that. To my relief and surprise he went on
to explain how the phobia had come about and something of the nightmares. It was a terse,
halting account, and my father listened with frowning attention. Our coffee cooled.

Jay and my mother had hit it off from the first, but there had always been distance
between Jay and Dad. They spoke well of each other and had never had a serious disagreement,
but there was no friendship, either. That had bothered me. I am closer to my father than to my
mother, with whom my relations are fond but edgy. For Jay to confide in Dad about the
nightmares was a remarkable gesture of trust.

Jay fell silent. After a moment he added, "I'm grateful for the tickets, George. I could
probably get through the flight, but I wasn't sure I could deal with the nightmares much
longer."

Dad heaved a sigh. "I am sorry you have a problem with flying, Jay, believe me, but I'm
glad you told me. What you said makes sense of something I've wondered about."

Jay frowned. "I beg your pardon?"

"You've been married to Lark for five years now. We've visited the two of you in
California every year and enjoyed our time with you. Lark flies home regularly, but you haven't
come to see us in Childers since your wedding. Mary and I wondered if we'd done something to
offend you." Dad took a sip of cold coffee and made a face. "Mary said I probably bored you
with my fishing stories."

"I'm sorry." Jay sounded miserable. "It wasn't anything like that."

"Least said soonest mended." Dad smiled at him. "If you've no great objection, my boy,
I'll come out this fall and you can take me up on the Rogue for steelhead."

Jay cleared his throat. "I'd like that."

"Excellent." Dad beckoned to the waiter. "Our coffee is completely cold. We'll need a
fresh pot and cups."

"Yes, sir."

Dad looked at us with a lurking twinkle in his eye. "I'll have to make a clean breast of
things, too, I can see. I thought up the birthday business last night after I talked to Mary. I am to
convey her felicitations, by the way."

"Thanks." Jay's mouth had eased, but he was still a little flushed. He smoothed his
mustache.

The waiter appeared with our coffee and replaced the cups.

I poured and this time Dad laced his with a healthy dollop of cream.

"I bought the tickets because I was having nightmares. All this talk of Lockerbie..." He
shook his head. "I didn't want to worry about the two of you flying all that way." He took a
judicious sip of coffee and set the cup down. "Ah, that's better. If I hadn't stumbled across the
travel agency directly after my talk with the Scottish investigators, I probably wouldn't have
caved in to my fears."

I had taken a warm, satisfying swallow of coffee, too. "That's all very well, Dad, and we
appreciate your concern, but what about you? You're still flying back."

My father reached inside his jacket again and drew out another folder. It was identical to
the one he had given Jay but slimmer. "No, I'm not."

July 1990.

I had a letter from Ann today.

Jay and my father and I sailed from Southampton after a pleasant week and a half taking
day trips out of London. We stayed on in the flat so I could see my doctor. He said the wounds
were healing fast. I was sure of it.

Although Milos agreed to join Ann's impromptu tour, he insisted on looking for a job
first. Fortunately, his notoriety in the media made the task easier than it might have been. A
Bloomsbury bookstore hired him as a salesclerk. The proprietor gave him two weeks to
recuperate first and seemed genuinely interested in Milos's welfare though the salary was
small.

Ann put the brief delay to good use. She hired a car with an automatic transmission, and
bought tickets to the RSC production of
A Midsummer Night's Dream
in
Stratford-upon-Avon. She intended to take Milos to Hay-on-Wye so they could both stock up on used books.
Then she was driving north to Yorkshire. She had reserved rooms at Mrs. Chisholm's bed and
breakfast house for a full week. I thought they would have a wonderful time.

Jay and I cashed in our plane tickets. The voyage across the Atlantic was delightful.
Neither of us got very sea-sick. We had dinner at my father's table every night, and danced and
swam and did connubial things in our tiny stateroom. Jay only had one nightmare. I told anyone
rude enough to ask about my scars that I'd been in a car wreck.

My mother met the ship in New York and drove us home, and we spent a week in
Childers. Jay and Dad fished and talked history. Mother took me to consult a plastic
surgeon.

We flew home from Toronto on a direct Air Canada flight to San Francisco. Jay said he
got a kick out of holding an airplane up over the Rockies. That may have been because I made
him take two tranquillizers before we boarded the plane. It was good to be home. There had been
a forest fire but it had by-passed our house by several miles. My bookstore was still solvent.

* * * *

I returned to London in December to testify in the trial of the man I knew as Smith. So
did Ann. Milos was not there to meet us because he had flown home to Prague to take up an
important position in the Ministry of Education. The Czech government had fallen in
November.

Ann and I stayed with Daphne Worth. She was living in the zebra flat. She had stored
the porcelain knick-knacks and the antique furniture, and had let out Miss Beale's flat to a family
with two children. Her friend, Marge Perry of the tenants' rights association, had taken over the
basement flat.

Daphne was recovering slowly. Trevor pleaded guilty, on the advice of his lawyers, and
received a twenty year sentence. Daphne had visited him once. He complained about the prison
food. She didn't go back.

Ann and I were apprehensive about testifying, but we were well coached and survived
the ordeal. British justice moves swiftly.

For me, the worst part of testifying was seeing Smith in the dock. He had the coldest
stare of anyone I've ever encountered. Faisel had tried to plead diplomatic immunity. When the
Libyan government didn't acknowledge him, he also pleaded guilty. He admitted he had hired
Smith to kill Milos.

Faisel refused to name his employers, though. There was much speculation as to who
they were. Faisel got fifteen years, a stiffer sentence than his lawyers had expected, and a
thorough drubbing in the tabloid press. After all, he had killed dogs in the assault on
Hambly.

Smith was sentenced to life in prison. It was unlikely he would ever be paroled. Chief
Inspector Thorne, who took us out to dinner the day the trial ended, was jubilant. He flirted with
Ann all the way through the meal. She smiled and flirted back, gently. She and Milos had been
corresponding.

I flew home in time for Christmas. My parents flew to California, too. I think Jay was
almost as glad to see them as he was to see me.

In January we watched on television when Vaçlav Havel was sworn in as
president of Czechoslovakia. I thought I saw Milos in one of the shots, but I couldn't be sure
because my vision was a little blurry. Some months later, Havel announced that the Czech
communist government had indeed supplied the explosive that destroyed Flight 103 and so many
young hopes.

Today I received a letter from Ann. She never did open her bookstore, and she is
teaching English again. The letter was postmarked Prague.

Born in Montana and educated in Oregon and Washington, Sheila taught at Clark
College in Vancouver, Washington, for thirty years. She retired to write full time. She has
published eleven novels, four Regency romances and seven mysteries, most recently
An Old
Chaos
from Perseverance Press. Skylark is the second in her earlier Lark Dodge series. The
first,
Larkspur
, was republished by Uncial Press in September 2011. She lives in
Vancouver with her husband Mickey, and also has a son.

* * * *

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