A Kestrel Rising

by S. A. Laybourn

  Harry twisted his cap, then plucked at it. “Francis loves a good scrap, so he went after them. He climbed fast and put it in a turn that brought him right on the bandit’s tail. Brought him down before the pilot knew what had hit him. We were outnumbered and we were running low on fuel, and these fighters? They were from fields close by so they had plenty of juice. We had to turn and run and one of them had Francis at six o‘clock. He was right beside me and he tried to climb again before they took a shot.” He stared down at his shoes. “His plane got hit. It all happened so quickly, but I did my best to stick around and see what happened. The plane was going up in flames but he got out in time. That’s what I wanted to tell you. I saw his ’chute open, so that means he got out of there in one piece.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “I’d be willing to bet that he’s been picked up by the French Resistance by now, and they’ll get him out.”

  Ilona curled her trembling hands into tight fists. “How can you be sure?”

  He shrugged. “I can’t, at the moment, but someone will get the word to us and as soon as I hear anything, I’ll let you know, I promise. I have to, because Francis would have my nuts on a plate if I didn’t tell you.”

  “He would?”

  Harry offered her a weak smile. “Most definitely.”

  Ilona’s hands were in a knot and her palms hurt from where her nails dug into them. She was trying to be brave and trying not to cry, but all she could think about was standing in the dusk in the middle of a country lane and the warmth of Francis.

  “Are you all right, Ilona?”

  She swallowed, trying to quell the nausea. “No, not really.” Her throat felt tight. “But I’ll manage. If there’s a chance that he’s safe, then I’ll think about that and pray.”

  “He said you’d try and put a brave face on it.”

  “He knows me too well, I think.”

  Sergeant Sharp had handed her a mug of tea and she sipped it, gratefully.

  Harry had finally stopped playing with his cap and he rose.

  “I’d better get back. As soon as I hear anything, I’ll let you know. I promise. I know it’s hard but don’t let anyone know what I’ve told you, not in writing, anyway.”

  “No, of course not.”

  “His parents will only know that he’s missing in action. I know it sounds harsh, but we don’t want to put anyone’s life in danger.”

  She stood stiffly, feeling like an old woman. “I know. Thank you for taking the trouble to tell me.”

  “I know it’s pointless me saying this, but he wouldn’t want you to worry.”

  She bit her lip. “It is, but I appreciate the sentiment.”

  He gave her an awkward hug. “Take care, Ilona, and stay strong. I’ll see you soon.”

  Tears gathered in her eyes. “Thank you. Don’t worry. I’ll be fine.” She watched him go and sank back onto the chair.

  “Lowe? Are you all right?”

  “I’ll be fine, Sergeant Sharp, sir.”

  “I think you should take the rest of the day, Lowe.”

  She stared into the mug of tea and set it down, wondering how it was that tea was supposed to be the cure-all for every ill. “Yes, Sergeant Sharp, sir.” She saluted the sergeant and walked out of the office, blinking in the brilliant August sunshine. Nothing on the station had paused to mark the moment, birds still quarreled in the trees and the ground crews still worried over their planes. Somewhere, in enemy territory, Francis could still be alive and Ilona tried to hold onto that. If anyone could find a way back, it would be him. He had to, because she needed him and he needed her. She was his constant, his lodestar and he would be back, somehow. Tears burned a familiar trail down her cheeks, but she refused to give in to them. She was glad to reach the hut and sink down on her bed. Then she was still, taking in the daytime silence of the place. Ilona lay on the bed and gazed at the ceiling. That sleep managed to find her came as a big surprise.

  * * * *

  When Harry stood in the sergeant’s office, he wasn’t twisting his cap or shifting from one foot to the other. He gave her a half-smile.

  “Hi, I have news.”

  Ilona kept her hands in her pockets to hide the trembling. “And?”

  “He’s safe. That’s all I know. He’s not a prisoner and he’s safe.”

  Relief washed through her. “That’s all you know?”

  “That’s it and you can’t tell anyone—no one.”

  “I know. I won’t. I promise.” She sank onto a chair and trembled.

  “Are you all right?”

  “I’m fine.” She took a deep breath and wiped her burning eyes.

  He patted her shoulder. “Are you sure?”

  “I’m sure. I’m just relieved, more relieved than I can say.” She covered her face in her hands and wept.

  Harry had pulled up a chair beside her. He patted her shoulder. “It’ll be all right. Francis will be home soon, with any luck.”

  “It’ll be all right, Lowe. It’s all right to cry. It’s good news.” The sergeant brought her tea and handed her a handkerchief.

  She wiped her eyes and offered them both a watery smile. “I’m sorry. I think I needed that.”

  Harry laughed and stood. “I’m not surprised. It must’ve been hard for you, this past month.”

  “It has.” Ilona sipped the tea. The sergeant had made it strong and sweet, giving her the kick up the arse she knew she needed.

  “When he gets back he’s going to find it all a bit strange. The 71st doesn’t exist anymore.”

  She wrapped her hands around the tin mug. “It doesn’t?”

  “We were officially disbanded yesterday. Today is the last day you’ll see me in RAF Blue. From tomorrow, I’ll be in the USAAF, since they’re now here and we can fight under our own flag. Most of us have joined. I’m hoping Francis will too, when he gets back.”

  “That’ll be strange for him. He’s been with the RAF ever since the start of the war.”

  “I think if it means he can stay at Debden, he’ll join.” Harry winked at her. “Now, I had better get back. There’s a lot to be done and it’s going to be strange, as you say, for all of us.”

  “It will. Thank you for bringing me the news. When Francis gets back, I’ll be sure to tell him that you did right by him.”

  He grinned. “I’d appreciate that. He was going to hold my record collection hostage if I didn’t. He’s a bit of a devil like that.”

  * * * *

  Dearest Daughter,

  I hope all is well with you, given the circumstances. I understand that there is still no news of Francis. I was around at the Reardons’ this morning and they showed me a letter from Anna. As you can imagine, she and Jonathan are worried sick. All they have had is one telegram to inform them that he was missing in action, nothing more. Poor Anna, this has brought back some terrible memories for her. I can remember all too well what she went through with Jonathan and it’s terrible that she’s having to go through it all again. The Reardons are taking it as well as can be expected. They adore their grandson and it has been so hard for them. I wish we knew what has become of him. I hope you are coping. You are closer to him than anyone else is and I know how hard this is for you. You will tell us if you hear anything, won’t you?

  Your sister is fine, she’s getting bigger by the day and she’s busy knitting for the babies. Yes, ‘babies’. It is more or less certain that she is having twins. Lord help us. We have turned one of the guest rooms into a lovely nursery. It’s sunny, bright and warm and Ash has had great fun decorating it. Charlie writes often. He is on the south coast still and keeping busy. He’ll be with us for Christmas again this year. Do you know whether you will be coming home? It would be nice if you could, but I would understand if you couldn’t. I hope that this damn war will be over soon. It is so hard on everyone. I had really hoped never to see another war in my lifetime. I’ve had a bellyful of war. Your father, however, is not optimistic. I swear there are days when I would j
ust like to snatch that newspaper out of his hands and throw it in the fireplace. At least he has his vegetables to keep him busy. He’s got the hang of it now and everyone is reaping the benefits. It’s just as well, because this rationing is a nuisance. He is also keeping us supplied with pheasants and other game, and Mrs. Maplin is tired of plucking pheasants and skinning rabbits but it doesn’t stop her from making grand meals. But, just once, I’d love a piece of roast beef.

  It’s time for me to walk into the village. I need some fresh air and I will stop by the post office on my way to see Lady Woodplumpton. She is having a fund raising drive. That woman never stops. Would you like me to send you anything? You must have need of some winter clothes before too long. It is getting so cold. The summer hardly seemed to last.

  Write as soon as you hear anything of Francis, dear.

  With all my love,

  Mama

  Ilona gazed out of the window. The November sky was a dull and lifeless gray and the trees were bare. She was grateful for the warmth of the hut but she wished that she was home, walking the fields away from this war and away from the worry. She wanted to be sitting on Anna’s bench, watching the wind hurry the clouds along. She wanted the bite of that cold wind. She wanted Francis.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Ilona retrieved her case from the luggage rack and made her way through the crowded carriage. It was full of people going home for Christmas, and she was one of them. The grass at the side of the tracks was white with frost. Her parents waited on the platform. She bit back tears. This year, there was no Francis to carry her bag for her or ask about getting a lift home. She had done the journey in silence, staring out of the grimy windows at the wintry landscape. She had tried not to remember how it had been the year before, but comparisons were inevitable and the memories hurt.

  She pushed the window down and opened the door as the train pulled to a halt with a hiss of steam and brakes. She resolved not to cry and she did well until her mother hugged her then it was all pain, once more. She set her mother off and they both sat in the car, sniffling, as they headed home.

  “Don’t worry, dear. Once you get home and hear Charlie chattering nineteen to the dozen, you may even begin to feel a little better. It’s hard not to catch his happiness. I think he’s just what we all need this Christmas.”

  Ilona doubted that, but she was willing to give Charlie a chance as she stepped into the hall and into her sister’s enthusiastic embrace.

  “Oh, Ilke! I’m so glad you could come home!”

  Ilona stepped back to look at her sister. “Good heavens! Look at you!” Her sister had been transformed from a slender little thing to a slender little thing with a huge belly. Ilona wondered how she could even walk.

  Aislinn grinned. “I know! It’s incredible, isn’t it? Twins!”

  “And football players, at that!” Charlie kissed her cheek. “They’re kicking like mad, the pair of them. It’s nice to see you, Ilke.”

  “It’s nice to see you too.”

  “Hurry up and get changed,” Aislinn told her. “Then we can sit down and catch up.”

  Ilona wasn’t sure that she wanted to catch up. She retreated to her room, washed and changed, happy to be in comfortable clothes again. She sat on the window seat for a little while and stared across the frosted lawn to the black belt of trees beyond. Clouds were gathering to the west, but she could tell that they would only bring rain.

  * * * *

  Christmas Eve brought a gray and steady downpour that pounded against the windows all day. Ilona found a book and sought refuge in the sitting room, curled up on the yellow couch with the dogs for company. She wasn’t looking forward to Lady Woodplumpton’s party because there would be no music this year. She pushed the memories aside and concentrated on Jane Eyre, hoping that the dark charms of Mr. Rochester would distract her. The rain was a comfort and she was glad to be warm and dry and away from the war. Aislinn sat on the other couch, knitting, transforming a formless bundle of saffron-colored wool into a tiny, beautifully stitched cardigan.

  “How are you bearing up, Ilke?” Aislinn set her knitting down.

  “I’m all right. I didn’t know if coming home would be a good thing and I didn’t even request the leave. They gave it to me anyway.” She smiled. “But I’m glad I’m here. Home is home, after all. I like being here because I need the rest and the peace, and I need to be away from uniforms and planes and lorries for a few days, even if it does mean having to face memories.”

  “But they’re good memories, aren’t they? Surely, that’s something.”

  “Yes, I suppose it is. At least, if nothing else, we parted on good terms.” She remembered the country lane again, the slow, sweet, deliberate kiss. “Very good terms.”

  “Are you going to tell me or are you just going to sit there and stare into space?”

  Ilona took a deep breath and began.

  * * * *

  It was still raining by the time they left for the party. Her father took the car to pick up the Reardons and Ilona, Aislinn and Charlie walked. It was cold, the lane was awash with puddles and the rain whispered on the verges, spattering on the dead leaves of autumn. Charlie was chattering about something that had happened to him one Christmas and Ilona let his talk wash over her like a soothing balm. She made sure that she laughed or commented in all the right places and decided that her mother was right, that his being there was a good thing this year. After all, he was part of the family now. They turned up the drive and there were as many cars parked along it as there had been the previous year, in spite of the petrol rationing and the war and the weather. She sighed and braced herself for the onslaught of kindness from Lady Woodplumpton and the memories.

  “I wonder if the buffet will be all chicken and eggs again this year,” Charlie mused as they found refuge on the front porch. “I don’t mind either, in moderation, but I don’t think I could face another devilled egg.”

  Ilona laughed. “I know. Lady Woodplumpton has always been a little over the top in everything she does.”

  They shook off their umbrellas as the footman opened the door. He took their coats and their hostess appeared out of the dining room, all smiles and hugs. She exclaimed over Aislinn’s size, made a fuss of the proud father and hugged Ilona warmly, tears in her eyes. “Hello, my dear. How are you doing?”

  “I’m fine, really.” Ilona wondered if she could find a quiet corner where she could sit and get drunk.

  “Well, that’s good, all things considered.” Lady Woodplumpton took her arm. “Come and help yourselves to the buffet. It’s been another good year for the chickens.”

  Ilona tried to avoid her brother-in-law’s eyes and bit back a giggle.

  They carefully picked over the buffet, avoiding the pickled and deviled eggs, and retreated to the sitting room where their parents chatted to Lord Woodplumpton. The Reardons were nowhere to be seen.

  “They decided to stay at home,” her father, told her. “As you can imagine, they didn’t feel much like socializing.”

  “I can’t say I blame them. I can’t even begin to imagine how they must be feeling.”

  “If only we had some news, anything.” Charlie picked a piece of egg out of his sandwich. “That’s the worst, not knowing.”

  “It is,” she agreed. “It’s been a horrible three months.” She refused to cry. She took a long sip of wine and glanced around the room at the guests, faces from her childhood now older, and acquaintances from the hunting field. When she finished eating, she made an effort to talk to as many people as she could, exchanging stories and talking about being with the WAAF. No one would really want to hear about driving lorries all day and few people associated her with Francis, apart from one or two who enquired, in all innocence, where her piano playing friend was. She avoided any fuss by telling them that he was unable to be there this year and they seemed content with that answer. She wandered from room to room and found herself in the music room. She sat down at the piano and let her fingers wan
der across the polished keys. The tone was still as sweet as it had been the year before, but her limited repertoire would do it no justice. She rested her chin on her hand and picked out the melody to These Foolish Things. She was surprised when Charlie joined her and sat down. “I can play a bit, if you want,” he said.

  “Why not?” She stood and let Aislinn sit beside her husband as he began to play the song properly. It was good to sing along and, as before, people heard the music and wandered in. It was too easy to see Francis sitting there, elegant in an evening suit. His hair tousled and falling across his forehead, hiding brown eyes full of mystery and promise. She was relieved when, by popular request, Charlie began to play Christmas carols. By the end of the evening, he had exhausted his repertoire and they were all glad to head out into the relentless rain and go home. The wine and the nostalgia made Ilona tired and she was grateful to crawl into her bed and fall into a deep and dreamless sleep, soothed by the endless lullaby of the rain.

  * * * *

  Christmas day brought more rain. The Reardons were coming for brunch and dinner and had sent word that they still intended to do so. Ilona wasn’t looking forward to it and felt guilty for even thinking like that. She knew that everyone would be doing their best to be brave and cheerful. She retreated to her usual place with her book which lay, untouched, on her lap as she rested her chin on her hand and gazed at the rain. She tried to convince herself that it was good to be home and not in the cheerful noise of the WAAF’s hut where they’d hung paper chains and decorated a small tree with bits of tinsel. She glanced at the book, but even the promise of the lunatic in the attic could not tempt her. It was too easy to stare at the rain.

  The tumult of dogs heralded the arrival of the Reardons. All the dogs, apart from Maeve, ran barking from the sitting room. The cat hissed, growled and retreated to the windowsill. It licked its tail and she tried to soothe it. Maeve sighed at her feet. Ilona could hear her mother saying, “She’s in her usual place in the sitting room. You know what our Ilke’s like when she’s got her nose in a book. We’ll be there in a minute.”