by Vicki Beeby
He seemed to know a lot about her. Maybe he already sensed she wasn’t good enough for him.
* * *
Milan couldn’t get Jess’s worry from his mind as he flew over France the next day. Slowly the signs of the Allied advance gave way to areas where the Germans still clung on. His tension increased as it always did when flying over enemy territory. The Germans might be falling back, but he was well within range of the Luftwaffe should he be seen. He kept a constant watch for enemy aircraft and also looked behind him to ensure he wasn’t leaving a vapour trail.
It was depressing, seeing the lack of progress made by the Allies. As ever when he saw signs of enemy troops below, his thoughts returned to Eliška and Franta. He had dreamed of home again last night, and now the pangs of homesickness were sharper than ever. Would his dream of a happy reunion come true, or would he return to Roztoky to find his family gone? While he knew it was only a matter of time before Czechoslovakia was freed, would it be soon enough for his sister and nephew?
He tried to push his worries from his mind as he flew on. He had been sent to photograph a possible V2 launch site. When Jess had told him about her fears for her family, he knew it was a V2 strike she feared, even though she had been unable to speak about it. While he could do nothing for his own family, it was good to know the work he was doing would potentially help Jess’s.
He was approaching his target now. All he could see of the ground was woods and fields. Not that he would be able to spot launch sites from this height; all he could do was take the photographs and rely on the experts at RAF Medmenham to interpret them correctly. Once he arrived back at RAF Benson, the ground crew would remove the film magazines before he’d even climbed out of the cockpit. By the time he was in the briefing room for his mission debrief, the films would be well on their way to the developing and processing unit. Speed was of the essence if Intelligence was to get the information from his photographs in time to act on them, especially if they showed trucks carrying mobile launchers which could quickly be moved to a new location.
Another glance around the skies showed he was, thankfully, alone. Holding his breath, he banked and turned the cameras on, exhaling a sigh of relief when he completed his run with still no sign of enemy aircraft. As Jiří would say, this had been a milk run. All he had to do now was calculate his return course and head straight for RAF Benson. With luck, if the photographs revealed a launch site, the V2s could be destroyed before they were launched at London.
He thought again of Jess’s aunt and cousin. Somehow, having names and personalities made his mission more personal. Perhaps flying reconnaissance missions weren’t such a waste of time. While he had been furious at his transfer, he was starting to see how vital his missions were to the war effort, even if he wasn’t fighting Nazis himself any more.
He was over the Channel now, losing height the closer he came to the English coast. He let himself relax, knowing himself out of range of most enemy fighter patrols.
It took an explosion off his port wing to bring his attention back to sharp focus. He stared out, craning his neck to look this way and that. Had he made a navigational error? Had he somehow ended up flying over the wrong coast? But no – he could see the unmistakable towers of the Chain Home station at Rye below him. A sudden calm washed over him – it must be anti-aircraft fire. He banked sharply, checking that his IFF transmitter was on. He had switched it off while over enemy territory because many pilots believed the signal it emitted could now be intercepted by German radar. It was definitely on, so why were the idiots aiming at him? The signal should tell them he was a friendly fighter even if they couldn’t see the RAF roundels on his Spitfire.
Another explosion rocked his plane. What the hell was that? Fighting to regain control, he looked for the source. No anti-aircraft fire was that powerful.
That’s when he saw it: a small cigar-shaped aircraft with blunt wings that looked like they had had their tips chopped off. It flew at high speed inland. He had seen enough images to know this was a flying bomb. The explosion must have been another flying bomb being struck by ack-ack. This one, however, was now out of range of the bursts of anti-aircraft fire and was streaking right towards London. He, however, had the height and speed to catch it.
He didn’t even think, he just dived towards the bomb. He navigated an intercept course that would bring him below the bomb. Once in position, he glanced up, dry mouthed at the madness he was about to attempt. He’d heard other pilots describe how to knock a flying bomb off course, but he’d never tried it himself. One false step and the flying bomb would explode, taking him with it. The dark shape blotted the light from above. He had only one chance. With aching care, he eased the control column back, gaining just a tiny bit of height. The shape filling the canopy grew larger. Now he could pick out every rivet holding the sheets of grey metal together. With minute movements of his feet on the rudder, he positioned his plane so that his starboard wingtip was below the flying bomb’s port wing. Holding his breath, he banked to ‘nudge’ the bomb’s wing. He hit the wing tip then banked sharply to avoid a full collision. Craning his neck, he searched the sky for the bomb. He let out a ragged breath when he saw the bomb streaking out to sea. A moment later it plunged into the water, exploding in a column of mist.
Weak with relief, he checked his compass and resumed his course. Jess might never know, but he had done it for her.
Chapter Fourteen
It was another fortnight before Jess was able to see Milan again. Filming had finally finished, and she looked forward to returning to the routine of the Filter Room. She had been told that she would be needed later on to record her voice parts and possibly to film any additional scenes the writer decided to add. However, it had been agreed that Jess could fit this around her duties. They were somewhat short-handed in the Filter Room at the moment, with a group of the most experienced Filter Plotters and Filterers having been mysteriously moved elsewhere.
Evie had been on leave at the time, visiting her mother who had been taken ill with appendicitis. On her return, once her mother was on the mend, she had told Jess and May that she’d been glad to be away and so missed being transferred. She hadn’t wanted to be separated from Jess, May and Alex for what could be months. No one spoke of the missing officers, but Jess privately believed they had been transferred to the continent. This was confirmed a few days later when information on V2 launch sites began to be reported to the Filter Room. They weren’t allowed to speak of it, but Jess guessed the women were using V2 trajectories to locate where they were being launched from. Whatever they were doing, Jess could only pray their plan succeeded and as many V2s could be destroyed before launch as possible.
‘A shilling for your thoughts,’ Milan said as they walked through the dark streets. At Jess’s snort of laughter, he said, ‘That is what the English say, is it not?’
‘Nearly. The English would only offer me a penny. You must value my thoughts more highly.’
‘Either that or I expect more for my shilling.’
Jess sighed then gripped Milan’s arm when she stumbled over an uneven paving slab. ‘I’m afraid you won’t get any new thoughts for your money. Still the same worries about my family. It will be good to be back on duty, though.’
‘When do you start?’
‘Tomorrow morning. I know I can’t make any difference to what’s happening, but I’ll feel better being able to watch over them.’
‘You made a difference to me.’
Jess gave his arm a squeeze. ‘I’m glad I was there for you.’ Then she remembered something Evie had told her. ‘Speaking of keeping watch on you, what’s this I hear about you flipping a flying bomb?’
‘How do you know that?’
‘I wasn’t certain until now. An observer on the ground watched the whole thing and reported it. He had a good view of your plane’s markings, enough to know it was from your squadron. Somehow, I had a feeling it was you. It sounded like the mad, reckless kind of thing you would do.
’
‘I didn’t do it for the thrill. I did it for you.’
‘For me?’ They had reached the door to Stoneleigh and Swift by this time. Jess made no move to knock at the door, however. She gazed into Milan’s shadowy face, straining to see his expression by the dim moonlight.
‘I knew how worried you were for your family. I could not let the bomb through. Maybe it would have landed on your family’s house.’
‘But you took a terrible risk.’ She could not comprehend how Milan had put his life on the line for her sake. Leo, for all the help he could give her acting career, would never risk his life for her or her family.
‘So I should have watched it fly all the way to London?’
‘No. Of course not. I just—’ she swallowed, her heart thudding painfully. ‘I mean…’ For goodness’ sake. She had never had any trouble speaking her mind before. Why was she finding it so hard now? ‘You do know I would care if you got yourself killed, don’t you?’
‘I do. I think I have known it longer than you.’
Jess laughed, more to release the sudden tension than because she found his remark funny. ‘Have you any idea how arrogant you can be?’
Without waiting for an answer, she knocked at the door. Stoneleigh and Swift would be closed by now, but when she had arranged the meeting Kathleen had told her she would be working in the shop all evening.
There came the sound of a lock turning and bolts being drawn, then the door opened a crack. ‘Do come in,’ came Kathleen’s voice from within. ‘Take care of the blackout curtain.’
They squeezed through the door and after a brief tangle with the heavy curtain, they were inside. Jess blinked in the sudden light.
‘Come in, come in,’ Kathleen said, leading them to a table and chairs she had arranged in the middle of the shop. The room looked less crowded than before, and Jess suspected Kathleen had cleared a space especially for Milan to play. ‘I’ve put the kettle on and made some cake.’
She turned to Milan with a small smile. Jess saw that she looked much better than she had when she had given Jess the violin; the circles under her eyes were less pronounced, and her cheeks had regained some colour. While her hair was still pinned into a severe bun, there was a shine to the light brown hair that hadn’t been there before. ‘You must be Jess’s young man. I can’t tell you how much it means to me to know someone is playing my Danny’s violin.’
Milan shook her offered hand. ‘I can’t tell you how much it means to have a violin again. I am Milan Mašek, by the way.’
‘I’m so sorry. I should have introduced you.’ Jess shrugged off her greatcoat and hung it on a coat stand. ‘Let me make the tea while the two of you get acquainted.’
When she returned from the back room bearing a heavy tray holding teapot, cups, milk, plates and a huge carrot cake giving off a spicy aroma that set her stomach rumbling, Milan and Kathleen were both stooped over the violin case which Milan had placed on a chair.
‘Oh, thank you, my dear,’ Kathleen said, taking the tray from Jess and placing it on the table. ‘You must eat first. I wouldn’t have you think I invited you all the way here just to hear you play.’
As they munched on the delicious cake, however, it was clear from the glances both Milan and Kathleen directed at the violin that they both itched for Milan to play. Jess had to bite back a laugh at the eagerness with which Milan seized the bow when she collected the cups and plates to carry them back to the other room. When she returned, he was applying rosin to the bow. A piano stood against one of the walls, and Kathleen opened the lid and played him an A to assist him in tuning.
Once Milan had finished tuning, he turned to Kathleen with a look of apology. ‘I went a long time without playing. I am still… how do you English put it – rusty? I hope I do not disappoint.’
Mrs Swift patted his arm. ‘I’m sure you won’t. Just seeing the care you’re taking with my Danny’s violin is good enough for me.’
Milan inclined his head towards Mrs Swift then said, ‘I will play you a traditional Moravian folk tune to warm up.’
‘As long as it’s not “Roll Out the Barrel”, or whatever you call it,’ Jess said.
Milan gave a crooked smile. ‘Not that one. I shouldn’t say this as a Czech – from the part of Czechoslovakia you would call Bohemia – but I prefer Moravian folk music.’
He lifted the violin to his chin and started to play. The music was jaunty yet played in a key that also gave it a haunting air. Jess found her feet tapping even while she watched his face. Although he didn’t close his eyes, his gaze seemed fixed on a point at a great distance from the antiques shop. Every emotion wrung from the strings could be read on his face, although while Jess had always thought it was the music that caused the emotion, she could have sworn this time the emotion led to the music.
When the tune came to an end with one single note fading into silence, neither Jess nor Kathleen spoke for a moment. Kathleen was dabbing at her eyes with a handkerchief.
‘Wonderful,’ she said at last. ‘You’re definitely not rusty.’
‘I am, believe me,’ Milan replied. ‘I could almost hear my old violin tutor telling me off as I was playing.’
‘Well, I thought it was perfect,’ Kathleen said, tucking her hanky into her cardigan sleeve. ‘I know I did the right thing in giving you Danny’s violin. He would be happy to know his violin was being put to such good use.’
‘What shall I play next?’ Milan tilted his head towards the violin case. ‘I found some music that your son must have been studying. I have been playing it and it is lovely, but I don’t want to play something that would upset you.’
‘Oh no, I would love to hear what he was working on.’
Milan drew a sheaf of music from the case. ‘This is “The Lark Ascending” by Vaughan Williams. I have performed this before, so I already know the piece well. It is an orchestral piece, though. It really needs an accompaniment.’
‘Oh, I can do that.’ Kathleen’s face lit in an eager smile. ‘I used to play for Danny sometimes.’
Milan handed her the music and she sat at the piano, propping the music on the stand. After a moment’s hesitation, she put her fingers to the keys and played the opening notes. Then Milan raised his violin and began to play.
From the very start, Jess finally recognised Milan’s full talent. The opening, trilling notes evoked a lark soaring and swooping through the summer sky so clearly that she could almost imagine she was in open fields listening to the lark’s joyful song. She felt a surge of sorrow that the war had ripped Milan so cruelly not just from his country and family but also from his chosen career. Would he ever find the success that he deserved?
She found herself watching Milan’s fingers running up and down the neck of the violin, sometimes moving faster than her eyes could follow, at other times one long arched finger quivering upon the same string while the bow drew out a long vibrato note.
‘That was beautiful,’ Kathleen said, pulling out her handkerchief again. She suddenly gazed at her reflection in a mirror mounted upon the wall. ‘Oh dear, I must look a fright.’
‘Not at all,’ said Jess, who thought Kathleen had more animation than she’d ever seen.
‘You know, my Danny used to compare the different kinds of flying to different birds. He used to say bombers were like geese, flying in formation straight as an arrow to their destination. He—’ Kathleen dabbed her eyes again ‘—he used to say that while a few geese might drop out, the formation always reached its destination.’
Jess felt a lump in her throat, thinking of the nights in the Filter Room, tracking the returning bombers, anxiously counting those who arrived in the main mass and waiting for the stragglers, praying everyone would return this time. ‘What about the fighters?’ she asked, her voice hoarse.
‘Sometimes he said they were like hawks, hovering over a flock of smaller birds, waiting to strike. But at other times he compared them to larks, flying free, flinging themselves up in the sky withou
t a care in the world.’
* * *
Jess was still thinking about this comparison after they’d left Mrs Swift, replete with tea and cake, and walking back towards No. 2 Mess. ‘If bombers are geese and fighters are hawks or larks, what are reconnaissance pilots?’
‘Eagles,’ Milan replied without a pause. ‘They fly high in the sky looking at the ground.’
‘What do you prefer?’
Before he could answer, the sound of running feet approaching made them stop. Then they saw the dim circles of two shielded torches upon the pavement and heard a voice say, ‘It’s down here somewhere.’
‘Evie?’ Jess called.
The footsteps stopped. ‘Jess?’ The dim outlines of two figures appeared, one much taller than the other. Evie stepped closer. ‘Jess, thank God. We were looking for you.’
‘Why?’ Jess asked. There was a long pause, and it occurred to Jess that Evie and May must have come here straight from standing watch in the Filter Room. Only the most urgent news would make them do that. Suddenly Jess wanted to run away, somewhere far away where she couldn’t hear what Evie was so reluctant to say. If she didn’t know, it wouldn’t be true.
‘Jess,’ Evie said again, and now Jess could hear the tremble in her voice. She clutched Milan’s arm.
‘Just tell me.’ Jess forced the words through frozen lips.
‘You need to go to your aunt’s,’ Evie said. ‘You know we can’t say anything, but… well, you need to go.’
Chapter Fifteen
If Milan hadn’t put a supporting hand around her waist, Jess thought her legs would have given way. An icy chill gnawed her insides and her ears buzzed, muffling what Milan, Evie and May were saying.
