“How lovely to see you again, my dear. You look wonderful.” She stepped back, holding Ilona’s shoulders. “Very elegant.”
She blushed. “It’s lovely to see you too.”
Their hostess turned to Francis. “Welcome back, my dear boy.” She smiled and shook her head. “It never ceases to amaze me how much you look like your father.” She took their arms and led them toward the dining room where a lavish buffet was spread out on the long, polished table. “Now, help yourselves. Cook, bless her, has worked miracles in spite of this dreadful rationing. Thank heavens we have lots of chickens now.”
Ilona surveyed the buffet and noticed that eggs and chicken dishes did seem to feature heavily.
Lady Woodplumpton smiled at Francis. “I’ve had the piano tuned especially. I was hoping that you would be able to make it. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’d better see that more wine is brought up.”
They helped themselves to the buffet and to drinks, as ordered, and when Charlie’s hooting laughter echoed along the hall, Francis grabbed Ilona’s arm. “Quick,” he whispered. “The music room, now.”
She giggled and let him lead her along the hall, past a sitting room full of people she hadn’t seen for a long time and didn’t want to see or explain herself to. It was a far cry from the last time she had been with him at this house.
“Here we are.” Francis peered around the door. “There’s no one here, yet.”
Ilona followed him. Their hostess had filled the room with candles which bathed everything in a soft flickering glow, reflected in the vast mirror above the fireplace. Faded velvet curtains concealed the blackout drapes. Ilona thought that she had stepped back in time. Francis sat down at the piano and ran his fingers along the keys, releasing a waterfall of random notes.
“Yup. She’s had it tuned. It sounds good.” An elaborate scale was next and he moved and patted the space on the bench next to him. “Have a seat. Any requests?”
She sat down. “I have no idea.”
“Can you sing?”
“In the privacy of a lorry, yes.”
“Do you know this one?” He began to play an elaborate, bluesy introduction to These Foolish Things. “I’ll let you know when to start.”
She watched his long hands. “You want me to sing? In public?”
Francis stopped playing. “Why not? You’re amongst friends. There’s nothing to worry about. Half of them are probably more than a little drunk anyway.” He handed her his glass. “Have a sip of this, for courage.”
Ilona sniffed it and recognized the peaty aroma of whiskey. “Oh, all right then.” She took a sip and shuddered.
“Sorry. It’s a bit strong, isn’t it?” Francis chuckled and retrieved the glass. “I’ll give you a nod when it’s time for you to sing.”
She nodded, feeling a little more courageous, and he began the introduction once more. She marveled at the way his hands skimmed across the keys. His hair flopped over his forehead and his eyes grew distant. Ilona nearly missed her cue. She sang, faintly at first until he nudged her.
“Louder. Go on… I can hardly hear you and I’m right beside you.”
She complied.
“Much better. You have a nice voice, Ilke.”
Ilona smiled and carried on singing, not wanting to lose her place. The more she sang, the easier it became. One or two people drifted into the room then sat down on the settee, listening politely. She watched Francis’ hands instead and kept time.
Francis finished with a flourish and grinned. “Well done. You can sing.”
Ilona’s cheeks flamed. “Thank you.” She took a sip of her sherry, feeling much bolder. “What’s next?”
“How about this one?”
She recognized the introduction. “I love the Ink Spots.” She took a deep breath. “I don’t want to set the world on fire.” To her surprise, Francis joined in and he had a pleasant voice that fell into harmony with hers. By the time they’d finished, they had collected quite an audience, all of whom applauded enthusiastically.
“You’re blushing,” Francis whispered.
Ilona took another sip of sherry and tried to pretend that they weren’t there as he struck into the opening chords of another song.
* * * *
After an hour, Francis told the audience that his singer needed a rest, much to Ilona’s relief, and the revelers scattered in search of more food and drink. Someone had brought her some water and she sipped it while her companion improvised, his fingers drifting across the keyboard.
“Are you tired? Because we can stop now.”
“No, I’m fine. I’m enjoying myself.”
He smiled. “Good, because the evening isn’t over yet.”
More people wandered in when they heard Francis playing once more. This time, he played songs that everyone could sing along to, finishing with We’ll Meet Again. After which, he declared that he could play no more. Ilona glanced at the clock on the mantelpiece and realized that it was close to midnight. There were a few partygoers remaining. Charlie was telling a long, complicated story somewhere down the hall. Her parents sat together in the corner of the music room, talking with Lord Woodplumpton. She smothered a yawn.
“I’m all done in. It’s been a long day.”
“You’re telling me. That walk wore me out.”
She rose and caught her mother’s eye. “I should go. I need to sleep.”
Ilona waited while her parents made their farewells to Lord Woodplumpton and collected Aislinn and Charlie and the Reardons. Francis helped her with her coat and she was grateful to step out into the cold night air. It was still snowing. She took Francis’ arm as they walked down the drive in silence. Even Charlie was quiet and the peace was a balm. They said their farewells at the bottom of the Reardons’ drive. Francis kissed her cheek.
“Thanks for the company,” he said. “See you tomorrow.”
She ignored Aislinn’s raised eyebrow as they turned to walk for home.
* * * *
“You and Francis are certainly chummy these days,” Aislinn observed.
Ilona tucked her legs underneath her and stared out of the sitting room window. It had stopped snowing in the night and the sunlight was brilliant on the broad, white sweep of lawn. “We’re friends, nothing more.” She told her sister. “We’re both in the RAF and it’s nice to be able to moan about it to someone else who understands.”
“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.
A Kestrel Rising Page 10
