“I’m trying,” she told him. “And I’m coping, but just give me this day to remember you and to grieve. I’ll be fine. I promise you.”
There was no answer. The ghost faded away and the only thing that stirred through the cool, soft grass was the lightest of breezes, lost beneath the idling hum of bees.
Chapter Nine
Dearest daughter,
I hope that you’re well and still enjoying your time at Mildenhall. I can’t believe that you’ve been there over a year already! I also can’t believe that it is October. Your father has been busy in the garden. We’ve had another good year and the pantry is full of jars of good things, including the best raspberry jam I’ve ever tasted. I am going to put a parcel together for you and send it tomorrow before we eat it all.
Your sister is doing well. She now has a new boyfriend, and she seems very happy, both with her work and with Charlie. He’s from London and is, according to her, quite a laugh. I hope he’s better than her last one, who was awful. But, you know Ash. She isn’t always the most sensible of people when it comes to affairs of the heart. I hope that this one works out better. She is going to try to get leave at Christmas and bring him home with her. I’ll keep you posted and I’m hoping that you will be able to make it back too.
It seems that Francis has had a bit of bother. His plane was shot out from beneath him and, although he managed to parachute to safety, he landed badly and he broke his leg. He is in the RAF Hospital at Ely and has been there for about three weeks. He is supposed to be there for another three weeks. Mrs. Reardon tells me that the poor lad is bored out of his wits. Sadly, it’s too far for any of us to attempt the journey and, since you are practically next door, we were hoping that you could pay him a visit. I know it’s asking a lot of you, darling, being as the two of you did not exactly get on when you met, but it would make the Reardons very happy to know that someone was thinking of him. Just the briefest of visits would be nice—out of politeness, if nothing else. After all, he was kind enough to send you that record. Anyway, it’s up to you, darling.
I should go now, Lady Woodplumpton is coming for tea and bringing her awful niece with her. I must find the sherry, because I’ll need more than one. Look after yourself, my darling, and write soon.
With all my love,
Mama
Ilona looked at the letter and sighed. It wasn’t how she wanted to spend a precious day of leave but out of fondness for the Reardons, she decided that she had to go.
“Bad news?” one of the girls asked.
“No, not really, but my plans for my day off tomorrow have changed. I now have to go to Ely, to the hospital, and visit someone.”
“Oh dear, are they badly hurt? Is it family?”
“It’s Francis. He broke his leg and, since I’m the closest, I have to pay him a duty visit. I suppose I had better get to the NAAFI and buy him something.” She glanced at Betty. “Any ideas?”
“Chocolate is always a good idea…or cigarettes.”
“I’m not sure that he smokes. You’re right about the chocolate. I’ll get him some. I’ll just hand it to him, ask how he is, tell him that I hope he’s better soon and then leave. That should do, shouldn’t it?”
Betty laughed. “Ilke! How rude! You should at least stay for a little while.”
“But that means I have to make polite conversation with him. Given our past record, that won’t be easy, unless the war has taught him humility.” She glanced out of the window at the gathering October dusk. The wind had picked up, hurling leaves across the pavement, and the darkening skies promised rain. “I shall probably get very wet, too. If I get pneumonia, I’ll blame him.”
“Poor lad.” Betty giggled. “I bet he’s not half as bad as you think.”
“He’s bad enough, and I suppose I’d better try and borrow an umbrella. At least if he’s rude and off-hand, I can hit him with it.”
* * * *
Ilona wrestled with the umbrella on her long walk from the station to the hospital in an icy wind straight from the Fens. She gave in and decided that arriving wet was better than turning up exhausted after fighting the umbrella. She bowed her head and hurried along, wishing that she could have worn her working clothes rather than her dress blues. She did not mind turning up looking like a drowned cat. She was just there to deliver chocolate and be polite for half an hour. Then, she could write to her mother to let her know that she had done her duty.
After what seemed like an age, she finally reached the hospital. The receptionist at the front desk remarked how wet she was and gave her a towel. She did her best with her bedraggled hair, which would become an unruly mess as it dried, but she was not about to spend ages putting it to rights again. She thanked the receptionist and followed her directions along a maze of corridors until she found the right room. The smell of carbolic and Lysol reminded Ilona of the infirmary at Catterick. She pushed all thoughts of that aside as she peered at the double row of beds, hoping that she would spot Francis before he spotted her. She found him in a bed under a window in the far corner, reading a newspaper. She walked along the aisle. The ward was quiet and her footsteps echoed on the cold linoleum. Ilona watched him lower the paper and glance in her direction. He folded the paper and set it aside as she pulled up the chair that was beside his bed.
“This is a surprise,” he said. “Hello, Ilona.”
That corn-fed American look had disappeared, replaced by a sullen weariness. She wondered if she should shake his hand or kiss his cheek.
He took her hand and kissed it. “Thank you for coming to see me.”
The old-fashioned gesture took her by surprise. “It was the least I could do.” She tried to smile. “I brought you some chocolate. I’m sorry, but I didn’t know what else to bring.”
He peered inside the damp paper bag. “Thank you. The food here is dreadful. It was very kind of you to use your chocolate ration on me.”
She shrugged. “That’s all right. As much as I like chocolate, I don’t eat a lot of it.” She looked at him, at the leg hidden under the sheets. “How is your leg?”
“Not so bad now. At least it’s stopped hurting. If I’m lucky, they may take the plaster off next week. I don’t know that I can hold out in here much longer.”
She gazed along the silent ward, gray in the rainy light, and felt a twinge of sympathy for him. “I don’t blame you. It seems horribly quiet.”
“It is. I sleep a lot. Everyone in here seems to sleep a lot. I think the War catches up with us, and we sleep while we can.” He looked at her. “How about you? How are you doing? I was sorry to hear about your fiancé.”
“Thank you.” Ilona bit her lip. “I have my good days and my bad ones. I’m better than I was, but it’s been hard, very hard. At least I’ve been able to keep busy. That’s a big help.”
His hand covered hers where it rested on her lap. “It can’t have been easy for you.”
“It wasn’t, but I managed. I’m sorry about your accident.”
“It could have been much worse.” For a moment, his expression was troubled. “Much worse.”
They both fell silent. Ilona stared out of the window and watched the rain stream down the glass. She had heard stories of the horrible things that happened to pilots. Ian had been lucky in that at least he probably had never known what happened. She sought to find another, lighter subject.
“I meant to thank you for sending that record. I wanted to write and thank you, but you left no return address. It was lovely to hear it again.”
He smiled at her. “I’m glad that you liked it. I never thought to put a return address on the note. Anyway, we never seem to know when we’re going to be moved. We’re stuck out in the middle of nowhere at the moment.”
“Where?”
“Matlaske, a godforsaken place if ever there was one. It’s flat and cold and miserable and miles to the nearest decent pub. We’re not far from the Wash so it always seems to be windy, which makes it a bear to take off and land. We’ve had
a few prangs.” He glanced at her. “What about you? I take it you’re still at Mildenhall with the Bomber boys?”
“Yes, not that I see much. I’m too busy delivering things to the other bases. I prefer it that way.”
“I can imagine.” He plucked at his blanket. “Do you get out and about much in your free time?”
“Sometimes. There’s a few of us, and we manage to escape to Bury St. Edmunds now and again, and I went to Newmarket once to watch the racehorses. I’m hoping that I may get some leave over Christmas, because I didn’t last year. I’d like to spend a few days at home.”
Silence fell again between them and Ilona tried to think of something else to talk about but she was rescued by the arrival of a rattling tea trolley. She took a cup and a biscuit while her companion offered her some of his chocolate.
“No, really, it’s all yours. You’ve earned it.” She grinned. “At least I can escape back to base and eat decent food.” She sipped her tea. It was lukewarm and too milky but, out of politeness, she persevered and finished it. She hadn’t expected to feel sorry for Francis, but she did. He was too thin and pale and the arrogance seemed to have been pounded out of him by the war. His eyes were huge and dark, with secrets that she did not dare guess. She decided that it was just as well that his grandparents could not see him like this. She glanced at her watch and realized that much more time had passed than she had thought, eaten up by the silences. She had just enough time to catch her train.
“I have to go or I’ll miss my train.” She picked up the battered umbrella and wondered whether she should shake his hand. Instead, she stooped and kissed his cheek. He looked surprised.
“I’m sorry I have to rush.”
“Thanks for coming to visit.”
“That’s all right. I was glad that I could come.” She was surprised at herself because she realized that she meant it.
“Ilona?”
“Yes?”
He plucked at his blanket again. “Would you mind if I wrote to you? It’s one thing writing to parents and grandparents, but there are things that I can’t talk about with them, things that would upset them and make them worry.”
“Yes, that would be fine.”
“Thanks.” He smiled. “Thanks again for coming.”
She couldn’t get the sorrow in his eyes out of her mind when she walked away from the ward.
* * * *
The visit to the hospital had given the girls in the hut something to mull over and tease Ilona about for a few days and, when the first letter arrived a fortnight after her visit, she had an audience waiting as she read it to herself.
Dear Ilona,
Well, here I am, the good Doctor removed the plaster and pronounced my leg healed. I spent another week in Ely learning how to use it again and then they sent me back to Matlaske with a walking stick and a bottle of pain pills, just in case it started to hurt again. I have to confess that my first flight was a little uncomfortable. Being that I’m tall, I don’t so much fly a Spitfire as wear it, or at least that’s what our Squadron Leader reckons. To be honest, Ilona, it hurt like buggery, but only you know that. I am sure it will get better with time. At least, I hope it does. I don’t know how much you know about flying a plane, but we have to use our legs and mine isn’t quite up to the task, so it’s been a bit tricky. Spits can be awkward buggers to fly until they get to about ten thousand feet. Beneath that altitude? Well, frankly, I’d rather drive one of your trucks. Still, I’d rather be flying than stuck in that hospital for much longer. I’m not one for sitting idle, especially when I have no choice. I’m glad you came to visit, I really appreciate that it took you some time and effort to get there, and I hope you managed to dry out when you got back. I’m sorry that I used up your chocolate ration. I’ll repay the favor one of these days, or I would if there was a shop anywhere near here.
I suppose I had better sign off for now. This hut is bloody cold and it’s time to get ready for the off.
Hope to hear from you soon.
Regards, etc.
Francis
“Well?” This was Grace. “What does he say?”
“Nothing much, he’s out of hospital and flying again. He thanked me for visiting him in hospital and for the chocolate. That’s about it.” She handed Grace the letter. “It’s nice to have someone other than family to write to about the day-to-day stuff we have to put up with that they would never understand.”
Grace passed the letter back to her. “I see what you mean. He’d hardly want to tell his parents about the pain, would he?”
“No, they’re half a world away and they would worry terribly. I suppose I’d better write back. At least he’s given me an address this time.”
Dear Francis,
Thank you for your letter. I’m glad that you’re back in action after all of that enforced idleness. I could not imagine being cooped up for so long, especially as I really loathe hospitals and infirmaries. I still can’t smell Lysol without… Well, never mind. Suffice to say, I would not be in a hurry to return to any hospital. I hope that your leg is getting easier to live with. I had some vague recollection about pilots having to use their legs as well, and I don’t know that I could manage. I have enough trouble wrestling with some of our older trucks and stiff clutch pedals.
I’m glad that I was able to visit you too. It is always nice to escape the daily slog, even if I was soaking wet and shivering by the time I got back. Luckily, our hut is quite warm and I hogged the stove for a good hour before I felt ready to move again. Don’t worry about the chocolate, really. I can take it or leave it. Right now, I’d much rather have a good home cooked meal, so I’m counting down the days until Christmas because I finally have a week’s leave. I was stuck here last year. Aislinn will be home too, with her fiancé, Charlie. It should be quite a lively Christmas. I’m not sure about Charlie. Mama has dropped some veiled hints in her letters that Ash could do better, but I shall wait and see and judge for myself. My sister has proved to have dreadful taste in the past. I’m hoping this one might be an improvement. If that makes me sound snobby then, I suppose I am!
Not much else to report here. It’s getting colder, but then you would know that better than I would, since you’re closer to the sea than we are. At least we have the fens and Brecks in the way here.
I suppose I should go. I have parts to deliver to Newmarket, one of the better runs because there’s always a mug of tea and a sandwich waiting for me there, and I do like the town, although, since it will be afternoon by the time I get there, I won’t see any horses.
Take care of yourself and stay out of trouble.
Regards,
Ilke
November was marked by the coming and going of letters and by the sound of bombers taking off in the night. Ilona heard them depart and knew that, somewhere over the east coast, the fighter squadrons would join them as they headed across the North Sea for their targets. She had managed to avoid thinking about pilots for over a year but the correspondence with Francis had plunged her back into that dangerous world once more. She didn’t spend the hours and days fretting about his safety. It wasn’t that kind of friendship, just an exchange of letters griping about life in the RAF and WAAF, about the endlessly shifting Fen winds and the war. She liked this Francis, the pilot who loved his Spitfire and loved the thrill of leaving the earth behind and the angry roar of the Merlin engine. Grace had pronounced the correspondence harmless and, in spite of her best efforts, she could find no hidden meaning buried in his letters, which had deflated the matchmaker inside her.
November fell into December, bringing rain and icy winds. Ilona had been on a long run to far-flung satellite fields and returned to the depot to find everyone huddled by the wireless, looking pale and shocked.
“What’s happened?” she asked the depot sergeant as she hung the keys on their hook.
“The Japs bombed the Yanks,” he told her, his face gray. “Pearl Harbor. Destroyed a fair few ships. They snuck in at dawn, the evil, craf
ty bastards.”
“Were there many killed?”
“They don’t know for sure yet, but they reckon so. A lot of ‘em would have been asleep when the attack started. I reckon the Yanks will join the war now.”
“I suppose they will.” Ilona thought of Francis and his parents and tried to imagine their shock. At least England had had time to prepare before the bombing had started, a surprise attack like that was as bold and black an act of war as anything. She bid the staff goodnight and walked back to the hut, pulling the sheepskin collar of her jacket up around her face. The bitter wind made her eyes water. When she reached the hut, she found the same scene, reenacted with half a dozen girls sitting beside the wireless looking frightened and shocked.
“Did you hear the news, Ilke?”
“Just now at the depot. How awful.” It seemed, to her, as if the entire world was being sucked into this war and she wondered where it would all end.
They made room for her on the cot and she listened to the news out of Pearl Harbor while the numbers of the dead began to rise.
Dear Ilke,
Thank you for your letter. It was waiting for me on the same day that we found out we are on the move again. Not too far, just another, end-of-the-earth field in the middle of Norfolk, the chopping and changing is a real annoyance. Just for once, I’d like to stay somewhere long enough to be comfortable.
A Kestrel Rising Page 8
