She turned her head away.
Ken was all smiles. “Then nothing else matters, Anne. If we love each other, then that’s all that matters.”
She looked at him somberly. “No, Kenneth. It’s not so easy. I have to be honest with you. I love you, and it hurts, because we don’t know if we’re going to be alive or dead tomorrow. You still must fly ten missions, and I don’t know if you’ll come back to me.”
He pulled her into him and wrapped his arms about her. “I will come back, Anne. I will. Now that I know you love me, I promise you, I’ll make it through this war and come back to you.”
Anne felt the weight of the moment and she pressed her face snugly into his shoulder.
Three hours later, Lieutenant Taylor and Anne Billings had a final kiss before he hailed a cab for Waterloo Station, where he would catch a train back to Ridgewell Aerodrome.
Anne watched him go, feeling both an old heart break and a new heart break, and she stood there, waiting impatiently, for the next time she’d see his face, hear his voice, and feel his lips on hers.
CHAPTER 29
New York City 2008
Constance Crowne and Dr. Jon Miles sat in First Class comfort aboard the British Airways flight to London’s Heathrow Airport. While passengers were continuing to board, the friendly flight attendant drifted over and introduced herself.
Constance ordered a glass of champagne and Jon a ginger ale.
After the attendant retreated, Constance turned to Jon. “Why don’t you live a little, Jon?” she asked.
Jon flashed her a tight smile. “Before this flight is over, Constance, I’ll probably consume at least three gin and tonics.”
“Oh, relax. Everything is fine. We’ll be in the air soon.”
Constance approved of both the champagne, Laurent Perrier Grand Siècle, and the champagne flute it was in. She also approved of the warm towels on silver trays.
“I love this airline,” she said. “The British are so civilized.”
Jon sipped his ginger ale, casting his nervous eyes about. “Looks like everyone is nearly seated. We should be underway soon.”
At 7:45 p.m., the intercom came alive and a flight attendant announced that boarding was complete, at which point the first officer came on the PA and welcomed all aboard.
“Our flight time to London’s Heathrow will be six hours and fifty-five minutes, and we will be cruising at thirty-six thousand feet. We expect mostly calm winds, and the flight should be on time.”
That’s when Constance saw him, and her lips tightened. Alex Fogel had stepped into the plane, along with an official, who was wearing a dark suit and a sober expression. Alex flashed his identification to the nervous flight attendant and quickly shifted his eyes to inspect the first-class passengers.
His icy gaze met Constance’s steely gaze, and then he jerked away and went marching up the aisle, glancing about, obviously searching for Anne.
Constance patiently waited for his return.
“Dammit,” Jon said at a harsh whisper. “How did he know we were on this plane?”
“Simple,” Constance said, coolly. “I told Leon, knowing full well he’d tell his uncle. But I didn’t tell Leon everything. Just what he needed to know. I knew nothing would stop Mr. Fogel from his radical purpose.”
Alex returned to Constance’s seat, glaring down at her. Unintimidated, her eyes were cold and hard on him, her chin set in a challenge.
“What do you want?” she asked, evenly.
He didn’t back down. “Don’t play games with me, Mrs. Crowne. You know what I want. Where is she? She’s not on this plane.”
“Who are you looking for?” Constance said innocently.
“Stop the bullshit. I’m not in the mood for it. Where is Anne Billings?”
Constance gave him a withering look of hatred. “I have no idea.”
He pointed a threatening finger at her. “I’m warning you. I’ll have you thrown off this plane and tossed into jail if you don’t tell me where she is, and tell me right now.”
Jon bit the inside of his lip, his nervous eyes shifting down and away.
Constance folded her arms; her neck and face burned hot. “How dare you talk to me that way, you puffed up, egotistical, insulting blowhard? If you so much as touch me; if you or anyone else makes the slightest move to have me removed from this airplane, I will call Senator Arlen Paxton’s personal number, which I have on my speed dial. He knows I’m on this airplane bound for London. He said I could call him anytime, day or night. You may recall that Senator Paxton is on the Senate Intelligence Committee.”
His eyes glided over her, testing and searching for a bluff. He saw none.
With the flight attendant and several passengers looking on uneasily, Constance continued. “Now get out of my sight, or I will file a lawsuit against you for harassment and bodily threats, and anything else I can think of. I have very hungry attorneys just waiting for my call. I will also sue the CIA, including any and all of your superiors, and anyone else my lawyers care to involve. Now, get away from me!”
Anger pulsed at Alex’s neck, and his eyes flamed. His voice was low and seething. “I will find her. Wherever she is, I will find her.”
“Go to hell,” Constance snapped.
Alex turned and stormed off the plane.
Once they were airborne, Jon swiftly ordered a gin and tonic. He ventured a glance at Constance, who was still fuming.
“Well, that went well, I think,” Jon said, trying for a joke.
Constance was in no mood for it, and she gave him a side glance of disapproval. “That insufferable bastard! We’re not finished with him. He’ll hop the first plane to London, and I’m sure he has others looking for Anne too.”
“So what do we do?” Jon asked, his stomach churning.
Constance stared ahead. “Stick to the plan. He’ll never find her if I stick to my plan.”
When they were at cruising altitude and speed, Jon ordered his second gin and tonic and Constance a second glass of champagne.
While he sipped his drink, Jon stole a glance at Constance. She looked thin, pale and tired. She’d worried herself into lack of sleep with her aggressive plans and hellbent determination to get Anne to safety. Jon admired Constance’s obsession, and he knew why she was driven, but she was pushing herself too hard and he hoped she wouldn’t break down, not that he could imagine Constance ever breaking down.
Of course, she cared deeply for Anne, and Jon knew, for all of Constance’s crusty exterior, the woman was a softy at heart. She fought for animal rights, women’s rights, teachers’ rights, and civil rights, and she gave generously to the Battered Women’s Justice Project.
Jon had first met her in the ER, where he was attending to another young woman who had been attacked and beaten in Central Park. Anne Billings was not the first such woman Constance had taken under her protective wing.
Jon had admired Constance’s compassion, generosity and dedication to the battered young woman, and she’d stayed in touch with her. Fortunately, that victim had a family, and they’d come to New York and taken her home to Minnesota.
Jon recalled a conversation they’d had after the girl had left the Intensive Care Unit and was taken to the private room Constance had arranged and paid for.
They were in the hospital lounge, each nursing a cup of coffee. Constance hovered on the edge of tears and rage.
“What kind of monster does that to a young woman? What evil sickness makes them do it?”
Jon had given her a few minutes of professional scrutiny. “Have you been through this before?”
When she’d looked at him, her eyes had burned with fury and pain. That’s when she’d told him about Ashley, her murdered daughter.
“They never found Ashley’s murderer, not even with DNA testing,” Constance had said. “He’s still out there somewhere, free, no doubt waiting to attack and kill another woman. Sometimes I go to Central Park at the same time it happened, to the same place where Ashley’s body was found
. I have a handgun in my purse, and I search, and I walk, and I study all the men’s faces as they walk by, or linger in conversation, or sit on a bench reading. I pray to God that the sick bastard who raped and killed my Ashley will try it again and, this time, I’ll be there. I’ll be there, and I’ll pull my gun and shoot him. Shoot him until there are no more bullets. Yes, Dr. Miles. Some people pray for money or for a good job, or for the perfect mate. Do you know what I pray for? I pray for revenge. I pray that one day, I’ll find that man and I’ll kill him.”
As they were making their final approach into Heathrow, Constance turned to Jon, who’d just stirred from a nap. He was surprised when she smiled kindly at him.
“Jon… I’ve been thinking. I know Anne trusts you and likes you. I know you like her, and maybe you even more than like her. Once I get her to a safe place, why don’t you think about asking her to marry you?”
Jon sat up, his sticky eyes opening fully. “Marry?”
“Yes. Anne will need to marry, and it will have to be with someone who is successful and financially stable. Someone she admires. I think you two would be the perfect couple.”
He sat stiffly, with a tolerant smile. “Constance, Anne will need time to settle someplace and time to think about her future. I don’t think she’s going to want to get married right away.”
“It doesn’t have to be right away.”
“And I live and work in New York.”
“So you’ll move to England and find work. You have friends here who’ll help you find the right hospital or private practice.”
He shook his head. “You amaze me how you just, I don’t know, get everything arranged in your head and then just go for it.”
“Why not? I know you care for Anne, and you know I have the greatest admiration and respect for you.”
“Thank you for that and, yes, I do care for Anne and, yes, she is someone I would like to consider marrying. All I’m saying is that there are many things to work out before there is any discussion of marriage. First and foremost, we must make sure she is safe, comfortable and healthy.”
“And we will. That goes without saying. Frankly, Jon, she will need a man. She’s a young woman with a woman’s needs and wants, and she is quite alone in this world. I don’t think it will take long for her to realize that she is in love with you.”
“You flatter me.”
“No, I’m a realist and I know she feels safe and secure with you. She’s told me as much.”
Jon rested back in his seat with a little sigh. “You still haven’t told me where she is and where you plan to hide her.”
“I’ll tell you when it’s time to tell you, Jon. Right now, the fewer people who know, the better.”
Constance half-hooded her eyes and lowered her voice, but it still had an edge to it. “As I said earlier, I don’t think Alex Fogel is the type to stop searching. I may have to find a way to make him stop.”
Jon looked at her, gently startled. “What are you saying?”
Constance made little nods. “Excluding present company, Jon, most of the time I’m not so fond of men. All I’m saying is that I’m not so fond of Alex Fogel and I will not—no, not ever—allow Anne to be taken by him, to be locked up, prodded, studied and God knows what. All I’m saying is, if I have to stop him, I will stop him.”
CHAPTER 30
England 2008
Anne Billings sat alone in one of the nine seats of the Citation X, a private jet en route to Farnborough Airport in Hampshire, England. She stared out into the darkness, having been recently told by the friendly but formal male flight attendant that they were flying at thirty-five thousand feet and they’d arrive in Farnborough in about two hours.
She’d eaten an hour ago, a deluxe ham and cheese sandwich, with crisps, a delicious pickle, and a strong pot of English Breakfast tea. The food had relaxed her just enough so that she was able to steal a twenty-minute nap before jarring awake, recalling Tommy’s apple cheeks and Lieutenant Kenneth Taylor’s warm, penetrating eyes. They’d seemed so close, as if she could reach out and touch Tommy’s cheek, as if Kenneth were reaching out to take her hand.
Her mind speeded up and her thoughts became erratic and worried. Constance told her everything would be fine, and Anne had no reason to doubt her but, once again, here she was depending on Constance to help her get out of the mess she was in.
Back in New York, twenty-five minutes after they’d started for Kennedy Airport, Constance had instructed the driver to pull into a mall where a separate limo was waiting. After Constance had ushered Anne into the second limo, she explained that Anne would be flying to England from another airport, Teterboro Airport in Teterboro, New Jersey. She said not to worry, that everything had been taken care of.
Constance had added, “You’ll be the only passenger on the plane, so don’t worry. You’ll fly nonstop to England and land at a private airport in Hampshire, England, and I’ve pre-cleared your flight with customs and immigration to ensure a smooth arrival.”
Anne could only stare, her head spinning, her senses overloaded.
“Now listen carefully, Anne. When you arrive, a private car will be waiting for you. I have arranged a place for you to stay that is private and safe. I’ll join you there as soon as I’m sure I’m not being followed.”
Constance had taken Anne’s hand, smiling tenderly. “Don’t you worry about a thing. I won’t let anything happen to you. You’ll be back in your own country soon. You’ll be home again.”
Relaxed in her seat, studying her reflection in the oval airplane window, Anne kept playing back Constance’s words, “You’ll be back in your own country. You’ll be home again.”
The words were comforting and yet disturbing. Her own country? Home? But it was 2008, not 1944. She was about to arrive in a strange new world, where nothing would look the same or be the same. Would anyone she knew in 1944 still be alive?
Anne lost herself in longing and imagination as she considered the odd panorama of her life. And then she thought of her Dad, who had got along in life by listening and watching. He’d been a mild man who had never—not once—shouted at her or struck her. He was an inward man, a man who kept much to himself, and Anne now realized that she’d hadn’t really known him.
Working as a laborer at the East End docklands, his satisfaction had come from hard work, a quiet family life, and smoking his pipe in the evening while he read the newspaper or listened to the radio. He’d comforted and flattered and treasured his wife, and theirs had been a true marriage of love and mutual respect, the kind of love that everyone had admired, including Anne.
Over the years of watching her parents’ playful hands finding each other, their flirty jokes, and their secret code of lusty glances, Anne had developed what had become a simple set of rules about marriage: find a good man like Dad and be his loving, caring wife like Mom. But it hadn’t turned out that way, almost from the beginning.
Flying at thirty-five thousand feet above the Atlantic Ocean, Anne had a troubling epiphany. It was the distance, and the height, and the time and the year. She continued to stare at her reflection in the jet window, and she thought hard about her marriage to Basil, a marriage she’d regretted a few months after the ceremony. She had never admitted that regret to herself, nor to anyone else. It was a regret that had carried an unspoken pain and guilt.
Basil had a temper—something he hadn’t revealed to her, or something she hadn’t noticed while they dated. Within only weeks of the ceremony, he’d begun shouting at her, a red-faced kind of shout for small infractions: dinner wasn’t ready on time; her ironing was careless; the flat wasn’t clean. She’d passed it off as his nerves over the war, and she’d forgiven him. He wasn’t a bad sort, just worried. And he was her husband for always.
He’d slapped her more than once when she’d tried to defend herself, or when she’d tried to offer an explanation. How could she have ever admitted to her mom, or to any of her friends, that she and Basil seemed to be growing apart instead of
drawing closer together, as a man and his wife are supposed to do? And their love-making had often been rough, painful and abrupt. Sometimes, she’d felt lonely and dirty afterwards. No, she couldn’t share that with anyone, certainly not her mom.
And then in July 1940, the Battle of Britain began, and Basil was gone, flying missions nearly every day until his death on August 12, 1940, when he was shot down over the English Channel.
When she’d received the news, she’d been knocked literally speechless, and she remained that way for more than two weeks. She was also pregnant with Tommy.
Back home with her parents, Anne didn’t sleep well for weeks after Basil’s death, her guilt and her mad confusion knotting her muscles, shrinking her stomach, and battering her spirit. The only thing that had saved her were her kind and loving parents. It was they who’d nursed her back to health. And when the bombs fell, they all ran for the shelter, Anne terrified she’d lose Tommy.
After Tommy was born, a “cold strangeness” had filled her; not quite depression; not quite sickness; not quite rage, but parts of all three. Months later, it was her Dad who finally took her by the shoulders and sat her down for a frank conversation. He said, “Anne, make yourself useful. Get out of this house and go find something to do. You’re no good for little Tommy when you drag on, day after day, in a mood. Go find a job.”
She applied for and got the job at Bletchley Park, but she’d hesitated before accepting it. What about Tommy? What about her baby? How could she leave her baby? What kind of mother was she to leave him when he was but one year old?
Again, it had been her Dad who’d given her wise and soothing counsel. “Your mother and I will look after little Tommy. Don’t you have a care about that now, Annie. You go out into this battling world and do what you have to do.”
“But how can I leave him? I love him with all my heart.”
“Your heart is broken now, and these are not normal times, Annie. You’ve been broken by the sacrifice of your husband and the birth of your son in the midst of this hellish war. Your heart is in need of mending. You go and work for a time. It will be the best thing for you, and it will help heal you. Work is good for body and soul and, anyway, with the men gone, your country needs smart women like you in its hour of trial.”
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