“It’s all right.” He brushed his lips across her forehead. “I understand. No more second thoughts, I hope.”
“No, far from it.”
He pulled her to him until her face rested against his chest. He traced lazy spirals along her arm. “I’m glad to hear it.”
Ilona felt boneless and exhausted. She rested her hand in the hollow of his throat, wanting to remain as close to him as possible. It seemed that he wanted the same as his arm tightened around her and his deep, even breathing told her that he had fallen asleep.
* * * *
Ilona woke to a warm tangle of limbs and blankets. Even in sleep Francis sought to possess her, his leg thrown over hers and his arm wrapped around her waist. She couldn’t move. She didn’t want to. Outside, the rain continued in the gathering gloom of dusk. She watched Francis for a while, wanting him, willing him to wake. He had put on some much-needed weight since Christmas and the once sharp lines and angles of his face were softer. He was beautiful, especially when his eyes were open—those magnificent, rich brown eyes, full of secrets and light. She bit her lip and followed the curve of his eyebrow with her finger. He stirred, blinking in the gloom.
He blessed her with a slow smile. “How long have we been asleep?”
“Quite a while. It’s starting to get dark.”
He glanced over her shoulder at the windows. “Hmmmm, so it is. Mind you, it is winter and the days here are ridiculously short”—he slid his hand to her waist—“which is why we come up with good things to do with each other in the dark.”
She felt him stir against her. “I can’t imagine what.”
“Let me explain.” He covered her mouth with his.
* * * *
They ate bread and cheese and shared a bottle of wine as they sat in the fire-lit darkness of the sitting room. Francis turned on the wireless and they talked quietly while the music played and the ever-present rain splattered against the windows. Ilona had closed the curtains to shut out the gloom, leaving the room a warm haven from the night. They finished their meal and sat side by side on the settee. She rested against him while he put his arm around her shoulders and idly played with her hair.
“I can think of worse places to be right now,” he said.
“Out in the rain, for a start.”
“Or trying to sleep on a cot in a barracks, when half your bunk mates snore. It’s like trying to sleep in a sawmill.”
“I know what that’s like.” She sipped her wine. “This is much, much better.”
“You don’t snore, do you?”
“I don’t think so. I don’t know.”
He nibbled at her ear. “It doesn’t matter. I don’t care.”
She shivered. Whispering Grass came on the wireless. Francis took the glass from her unresisting hand and pulled her gently to her feet.
“You know,” he whispered, “we’ve never danced.”
“No, we haven’t.” She let him lead her into the dance, leaning against him as he carefully threaded his fingers through hers and rested his other hand on the small of her back. Although the song was short, he kept her dancing while the announcer talked and led into Harbor Lights. He held her close and she looked at his face. He kissed her fingers and they danced to the sound of the radio and the whispering rain.
When the first notes of Moonlight Serenade crept through the room, foolish tears burned her eyes and she hid her face, her throat tight.
“Ilke?” Francis’ hand was on her face, finding the tears there. “Are you all right?”
“I’ll be fine. Don’t worry.” Part of her wanted to push him away, to keep that one memory untouched. She bit back a sob but held her place. She owed it to Francis not to give in to tears.
He sighed. “You still have your ghosts, don’t you?”
“I guess I do. I’m sorry.” Something twisted inside when she saw the hurt in his eyes.
“Don’t be,” he said softly. “I’m here, if that’s any help.”
“It is,” she replied. “It really is.”
“Shall I turn the wireless off?”
“No, I want to dance with you. I loved this song before. I still love it now, and I want keep loving it, for all the right reasons.” Ilona kissed him, wanting to drive his pain away. “I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t want to move on, if I didn’t want to be with you.”
“Let me help you,” he whispered, between kisses.
“Yes.” She closed her eyes as he eased her down onto the settee.
His touch was all the help she needed. For the moment, the memories he made for her would be enough.
* * * *
Ilona peered out of the bedroom window at the water laying on the fields and the drive. She could not recall having ever seen so much rain. She was glad of it because it gave them the excuse they both needed to remain indoors and not be distracted by sightseeing or errands. In the three days that they had been in the cottage, she realized that they had made love in every room in the house.
“Is it still raining?” Francis asked, still half asleep in the tangle of sheets.
“Yes, it’s pouring.”
“Thank God, it’s only Tuesday. We don’t have to go anywhere, do we?”
“No.” Ilona did not want to go anywhere. She could not get over her relentless need for him. Even now in the early morning gloom, she wanted him. “Shall I fetch you a cup of tea?”
“That would be lovely.” He pulled the covers back to his chin. “You’re wearing me out, Ilke.”
She giggled. “It works both ways.” She put his shirt on and slipped out of the warm bedroom.
The range fire was burning low. Ilona added some more wood and put the kettle on. She could make a decent cup of tea. She pottered about the kitchen, listening to the rain as she put away the dishes from the night before and spooned tea leaves into the pot. Ilona loved the novelty of being in a place that was entirely their own, if only for a handful of days. They had to answer to no one but each other—no planes to fly, no lorries to drive, no canteen meals. She smiled as the kettle boiled. It was too easy to get used to this life.
“Here you go.” Ilona edged into the bedroom carrying a tray with the tea things.
“We’ll domesticate you yet.” Francis made a bank of pillows against the headboard.
“How do you plan to do that?” She handed him his tea and poured one for herself before climbing back into bed.
“I’m going to teach you to cook. I can’t imagine it could be harder than teaching you to play the piano.”
“You are?”
“Starting today. It’s your turn to make dinner.” He sipped his tea. “We’ll start easy, a cheese omelet. I don’t think even you could mess that up.”
“Don’t be too sure about that.”
He kissed her cheek. “You’ll be fine. You have an excellent teacher.”
She had to admit that his skills in the kitchen were admirable. He had turned their simple rations into good meals and she had watched him work, fascinated as he deftly chopped and stirred and sautéed. His hands, his long, elegant fingers and the simple, easy grace by which he moved even when he was engaged in the most prosaic of chores fascinated her.
“All right, if you say so.” She finished her tea.
“I say so.” He glanced out of the window at the rain. “But, we have plenty of time before your cooking lesson needs to start.” He set his cup down and gathered her up, fitting into her curves as if he’d always belonged there. “There are better things to do.”
* * * *
“Break these eggs into this bowl,” Francis told her.
It was early evening and they stood in the kitchen. Ilona picked up an egg and tapped it against the edge of the bowl, as she had seen Francis do. To her surprise, it worked and she opened the shell and the egg fell into the bowl, as intended. She did the same with the other three. He handed her a cup with milk in it. “Now pour the milk in with the eggs and beat them with this fork.”
She complied, watchi
ng the eggs break apart and leave milky, pale goo that clung in strings to the fork. “Now what?”
He put the frying pan on the range and tossed a generous lump of butter into it. “When the butter melts, pour the mixture into the pan.”
She waited then poured the contents of the bowl into the pan. As instructed, she worked her way around the edges of the eggs with a spatula until everything had solidified. He threw in a handful of cheese and she folded the omelet in half and waited until the melting cheese began to seep through the fold.
“Well done.” He kissed her hair. “Now we can eat.”
They retreated to the front room with their plates and their wine. She watched him, anxiously as he took his first mouthful.
“Very nice,” he said. “I’ll make a cook out of you yet.”
They finished their meal in companionable silence. He took the empty plates away and washed them. When he returned, Ilona had poured more wine. Francis turned on the wireless. She sat down next to him and they held hands listening to the news. It was a brief intrusion before the evening music started.
“I’m going to miss this.” He sighed.
“Me too.”
His fingers drifted to the nape of her neck. “So let’s not think about it. We still have tonight and tomorrow night.”
She smiled at him. “Long may it last.”
* * * *
“I can’t believe it’s nearly over.” Ilona curled up against Francis, pulling the covers up to her chin. The basket next to the fireplace was full of wood and the rain had finally retreated, leaving a cold, damp, still night, lit by a large moon that turned the pools of water in the surrounding fields to silver.
“Neither can I.” He kissed her. “But it’s been good, hasn’t it, Ilke?”
“It’s been wonderful.” She brushed a lock of hair from his forehead, now as easy and familiar with every part of him as she was with herself. “I don’t want it to end.”
“Really?”
“Yes, really.” Ilona propped herself up on her elbows and looked at him. “Is everything all right?”
He followed the line of her jaw with his thumb, his eyes dark. “I guess so. I watch you sometimes and you have a faraway look in your eyes…as if you’re not entirely here. Has it really been wonderful, Ilke?”
“Yes, it has. I wish we could stay here forever. Are you sure you’re all right?”
“I suppose I’ve just got the blues now, that’s all.”
She wished that, for once, he would let the veil slip. “Save those for tomorrow, please.”
“Oh, don’t worry. I’ll have these blues for a long time, what about you?”
“I’m trying not to think beyond tonight.” She kissed him. “Tomorrow night will be a different story when I’m back on that cot, listening to the girls snore.” She didn’t want to think about being without him. It had been too easy to slip into the luxury of being alone with him.
His hand strayed to her hair. “Would you do this again?”
“In a heartbeat,” she replied, wondering what she could say to erase the doubt from his eyes.
“Ilke,” he whispered, his lips warm against her neck. “Thank you.”
She closed her eyes as he sought to possess her once more, leaving fire in his wake.
* * * *
Francis pulled the car up in front of the main gates. The morning sun fell through the windows and turned his hair to fire, veiling his eyes in shadow. “Here we are.” He opened the door. “I’ll get your bag.”
Ilona climbed out, shivering in the chill. The brilliant light made her eyes hurt and reality waited beyond the gates in the jumble of buildings, lorries and planes. He stood before her and she watched thoughts move across his face.
He took her face between his hands. “Ilke, you have given me five wonderful days, days that I will never forget, not for as long as I live.” He paused and looked up at the sky for a moment. “I hope that you don’t either.”
“I won’t.” Something in his tone warned her. Made her dread what he was going to say next.
“But you have your ghosts, still. I know you tried and I know you gave everything you could to me, so much more than I ever had a right to expect and, for that, I will always be grateful. You have to let those ghosts go, darling, for both of us.”
She gazed steadily back at him, her eyes swimming. “I thought that I had. I held nothing back, Francis.”
He kissed her, a hard, bruising, breathtaking kiss. The pounding of his heart was like an old, familiar song. When he finally let her go, her tears were cold on her face.
“Take care, Ilke. Look after yourself, for me.”
“I will. Please be careful, Francis.” Ilona touched his face one last time. “You’re wrong. There are no ghosts.”
“There are,” he replied. “Your face hides nothing in sleep. I know this because I’ve spent a long time these past few days just watching you. I need some time to myself now. I want to keep all that was so good about these days to myself for a while.”
“Francis.” A sob wrenched from her throat and, as he walked back to the car without looking back, she wanted to call out to him that it was not just that she needed him, or wanted, him. It was that she loved him.
Chapter Nineteen
Ilona stared at the papers with numb disbelief as she sat on her cot.
“Ilke? Are you all right?” Lily sat on the other cot.
It had been a week since Francis had left her at the gate. “No,” she replied, her voice barely above a whisper. “I’ve been given my new posting.”
“Where? Can it be that dreadful? You look awful!”
“Catterick, bloody Catterick of all places.” She wiped her eyes. “I suppose Francis has got his wish. I have no choice but to confront my ghosts, now. Why do we have to hand this place over to the Americans? I would’ve given anything to be able to stay here and of all the bloody places that the RAF has, they send me back to Catterick.”
Lily sat beside her and put her arm around her shoulder. “Oh, I’m so sorry. How dreadful for you. Can you ask for somewhere else? You have a good record and you’ve been offered promotions. Surely they’d send you somewhere else, if you wanted.”
She shook her head. “No, I need to do this. I don’t want to, but I have to go.”
“What happened with you and Francis?”
“Perhaps you were both right that it wasn’t a good idea, this no strings, promises or vows notion. I don’t think it’s possible to spend that much time with someone without something happening. You can’t give away that much without feeling something.” She looked at Lily and sniffed. “It seems that everyone who knows me knows me better than I do myself. I fell in love with him and I didn’t realize it until he walked away from me, having just told me that I have to let my ghosts go. Ghosts that I didn’t even know existed.”
“He said what?”
“He said that I still had ghosts that I needed to let go of. He’s right. I never realized it but he said that he could see it when he watched me sleep, which, apparently, he did for hours. That’s why going to Catterick, as awful as it will be, will be a good thing. I do need to say my goodbyes, because I ran away before I really had the chance.”
“Oh, Ilke. What a strange thing for him to say. I’m not sure that it wasn’t just an excuse.”
“An excuse for what?”
“I don’t know. Maybe he’s in love with you and he doesn’t want to tell you. After all, didn’t you tell us that the no strings was because of the war? Perhaps he doesn’t want to hurt you in case anything happens to him. He doesn’t want you to go through all that heartbreak again.”
“It’s too late for that.”
“It’s just a thought.” She shrugged. “You don’t spend hours watching someone sleep if you don’t feel something for them.”
“It doesn’t matter. Even if he did, I don’t think he’d tell me, for whatever reason. It’s probably best that I go far away from Debden. I don’t want to spend my
Saturday evenings in the pub watching the door and hoping that he’ll wander in. Those five days were wonderful but I suppose there’s a price to be paid and I’m just about to pay it.”
* * * *
Dear Francis,
I had not intended to write, until I had heard from you, because I guessed that you still want your time to think, but there’s some news I have to share with you.
It seems that you will get your wish. I received word of my new posting a few days ago and, for my sins, I am being sent back to Catterick. How ironic and well timed is that? Now I can confront my ghosts and bid them goodbye. Luckily, I’m spared a long and tedious train journey because I am taking a lorry full of parts with me, and another driver, so at least I shall have company. One of the other girls here is also being transferred, which makes it not quite so bad.
I’m sorry those glorious five days ended the way that they did. It was never my intention to hurt you, far from it. I tried very hard to push the past aside, because it is over and done with. Yes, there is still pain but when you lose someone that you love, in whatever way, the pain can linger for a long time. I don’t regret a single minute of those days that I spent with you, Francis. I hope that, one day, you can dismiss your resentment as surely as I will dismiss my ghosts.
Regards, etc.
Ilke
She posted the letter before she had a chance to change her mind and climbed into the waiting lorry. She had not put a forwarding address, deciding that if he wanted to get in touch with her that badly, he would find a way. Nonetheless, in spite of the anger she felt, she was glad that the other girl was taking the first few hours at the wheel because she could not see the road through her silent tears.
* * * *
Ilona didn’t know how she felt when she drove the lorry through the gates of Catterick. It was a bitterly cold and gray day and the moors and dales were dusted with snow. She was glad of the company because Helen’s chatter stopped her from thinking too much. They were both silent when she pulled up to the gate and reported to the guard. He waved her through and she noticed the Bleinheims parked alongside the runway. She took a deep breath and headed for the depot, wondering if Corporal Harris was still in charge. It seemed so strange to be back after an absence of nearly three years, and she realized that, three years previously, she and Ian had been in the throes of their romance. There were no ghosts lingering along the roadways or between the buildings, just staff going about their everyday business, hunched against the biting wind that swept off the moors. She pulled up in front of the depot and climbed down from the cab, road weary and numb. She climbed the familiar steps, remembering all those other times, the hope and the happiness, Ian and the joy. The fear and the waiting all hurried back and whirled around her as she opened the door and was embraced by the warmth. It seemed right that Corporal Harris would be sitting behind his desk.
A Kestrel Rising Page 18
