by Garry Ryan
Sharon slowed her steps. Sam’s tail wagged once. Sharon put her finger to her lips. Sam barked.
Sean’s eyes opened. He smiled at his sister, then wiped the drool away from his chin.
Sharon reached out with her right hand. He grabbed it, and she pulled him to his feet.
“You’ve grown another foot.” Sharon had to look up to meet his gaze.
Sean patted her on the top of the head. They shared the same shade of brown in their hair. Their eyes were blue. His shoulders were broader now, and he had a barrel chest. “I didn’t hear you arrive. Did you fly in?”
She nodded as she took him in. “Your voice is changing.” You sound just like our father. I can see Patrick in front of the hangar just before he was killed.
Sam stretched his paws out front, lowered his head, curled his tail, and yawned.
“Why are you crying?” Sean asked.
“You sound just like Patrick.” Sharon wiped a sleeve across her eyes.
“Really?” he asked.
“Really,” Sharon nodded. “And you look like him, too.”
“I can’t remember what he or my mother looked like. It’s been almost four years since they were killed.”
“Look in the mirror and you’ll see Dad,” Sharon said.
“So, what do I do about my mom? There weren’t any pictures left in the rubble, were there?” Sean began to walk in the direction of Honeysuckle’s home.
“Is right after supper okay?” Sharon looked at Honeysuckle.
“Perhaps before would be better,” Honeysuckle said.
Sharon frowned, saw Honeysuckle nod in Sean’s direction, and remembered Edgar’s airsickness. “Of course.”
Linda said, “Go on. Mother and I need to do some catching up.”
Sharon grabbed her goggles and helmet. “Think there will be any trouble with trigger-happy colonials this time?”
Linda shook her head. “This is West Yorkshire. There isn’t much in the way of air traffic around here. Most of that is on the east side of the country.”
Sean waited for Sharon to go out the back door first. She nodded and headed out.
“I have to tie up the dog or he’ll follow us.” Sean whistled for Sam.
For five minutes, the dog ran in circles around them. Each time Sean or Sharon would get close, he’d dart away. Finally he tired, and Sharon grabbed him by the collar. Sean tied a leash to the dog’s collar, tied the other end to a ring in the barn, and set a dish of water in front of Sam. “Now we can go.”
She let Sean lead her through the preflight checks on the Storch and helped with the finer points while explaining its handling characteristics.
“Sit up front.” Sharon climbed into the back seat.
She took care of the takeoff and took a good long look around for other aircraft before she said, “You have control.”
Sean took a few minutes to get used to the new controls before trying a few gentle turns.
Sharon figured they’d been able to squeeze in about fifty hours of flying time over the past three years. She tapped him on the shoulder. “Do you want to try a landing?”
Sean looked back over his shoulder, smiled, and nodded. He headed for home and took a careful look at the surrounding sky before preparing to land.
On short finals, Sharon leaned her head around to the right, then did the same on the left. She saw a person walking from left to right across the field next to the Townsend Farm. The walker and the Storch were on a collision course.
She tapped Sean on the shoulder. “I have control!”
Sean lifted his hands away from the controls to show her he heard and understood.
Sharon added power and leveled out at fifty feet. She looked down to see the upturned face of a woman who looked like her grandmother. The woman’s hair looked wildly unkempt. She wore a pair of Wellington boots and nothing else.
Sharon did another circuit. Cornelia had disappeared. Sharon did a short-field landing just in case Cornelia jumped out in front of them.
At supper, Sharon asked, “Have any of you seen Cornelia lately?”
Linda looked at Honeysuckle, who said, “It’s something we need to talk about. Cornelia, unfortunately, has not been well.”
“I saw an old woman out in the pasture. She was wearing nothing but her Wellingtons.” Sharon looked at Sean, who had taken a sudden interest in looking through the kitchen window. “It looked like my grandmother.”
“Most likely it was.” Honeysuckle put her hand on Sharon’s. “It looks like she’s suffering from dementia.”
“It happened suddenly?” Sharon asked.
“She hasn’t been feeling well for about four months. The last two weeks have been especially difficult.” Honeysuckle hesitated.
“What?” Sharon asked.
“Walter McGregor called when you and Sean were out. He asked to see you in the morning.” Honeysuckle used her fork to point at Sharon and Sean.
“What about?’ Sharon asked.
Honeysuckle shook her head. “He didn’t say.”
After supper, the cleanup, and a freshly brewed pot of tea, Honeysuckle and Linda settled into a catch-up session.
“Tell me more about this Milton,” Honeysuckle said.
Linda blushed again.
Sean stood up. “Sam needs a walk.”
Sharon looked at her friend.
Linda cocked her head to the left as if to say, “I can handle this; you go with Sean.”
Sharon stood and patted her full stomach. “Hang on, Sean. Mind if I tag along?”
Sean stopped at the door, turned around, and smiled.
As they walked out of the door, they could hear Linda when she said, “Yes, Mom, he was very nice. But I don’t think I’ll be seeing him again.”
Sean closed the door and went to the barn to get Sam. The dog had a bed in one of the empty stalls. Then Sam was straining at the end of his leash as he dragged Sean out of the barn. “Hold on, you daft twit!” Sean said.
Sharon grabbed Sam by the collar. “Sit!”
Sam cocked his head and gave her a puzzled look. She pushed his back end down until he assumed a posture more to her liking.
“What are you doing?” Sean asked.
“Unfortunately, dogs have a pecking order.” She looked at her brother. “And it doesn’t work very well when you’re at the bottom of the dog’s pecking order.”
“A class system, then?” Sean reached for the leash.
“Something like that.” Sharon walked west toward her grandmother’s estate.
“You sure you want to go that way?” Sean asked.
Without turning around, Sharon asked, “Why not?”
“Your Uncle Marmaduke is a wanker, that’s why.” Sean pulled up beside her with the dog in between.
Sharon smiled. “So you’ve bumped into him?”
“More than once.” Sean looked ahead to where a hedge ran along the edge of a pasture.
A woman stepped through a gap in the hedge. Her white hair was uncombed. She wore a floral print dress and Wellington boots. She lifted her dress and squatted.
“Grandmother?” Sharon caught the strong scent of urine on the breeze.
The woman looked their way. “I don’t know where my friend is.”
“Cornelia?” She sounds like a child. They were within fifteen feet of Cornelia, and Sharon saw the vagueness in her blue eyes.
Cornelia stood and let her dress fall. “Do you know where Agnes is?”
“Agnes?” Sharon asked.
“Yes, Agnes. My friend.” Cornelia bent at the waist to peer around Sharon and Sean as if she might find Agnes hiding behind them. “That’s a nice dog you’ve got.”
“His name is Sam,” Sean said.
“Do you want us to take you home?” Sharon asked.
“No!” Cornelia turned and walked through the gap in the hedge. Sharon followed.
Sam sniffed the pee patch. Sean pulled him away and followed his sister.
“Cornelia?”
Sharon asked.
“You might want to stay on this side of the hedge,” Sean said to Sharon.
“She’s my grandmother.” Sharon turned a branch to the side and pushed through.
In the clearing beyond the hedge, Cornelia was walking purposefully to the west.
Walking toward them was a man dressed in black hat, scarlet jacket, white jodhpurs, and black leather riding boots. Sharon recognized her Uncle Marmaduke’s hooked nose.
“Now we’ve had it,” Sean said.
Sam barked.
“Mother!” Marmaduke pointed his leather-gloved hand in the air for emphasis. “Where the hell have you been?”
“Looking for Agnes,” Cornelia said.
“Agnes died ten years ago,” Marmaduke said.
Cornelia began to cry. “No, she didn’t. Agnes is my friend. We go to school together. She said she’d meet me down there.” She pointed toward the gap in the hedge.
Marmaduke raised his hand. “You’re being ridiculous.”
Cornelia ducked her head.
“Hello, Uncle.” Sharon felt Sean grow tense beside her.
Marmaduke stared at Sharon, then at Sean.
Sharon saw his pupils narrowing, his nostrils flaring, and his head pulling back. He looks like a horse, she thought, and it made her smile.
“What’s so damned funny?” Marmaduke asked.
Sharon planted her feet and looked up at her uncle. “Well, you are, of course. It must be difficult for the other fox hunters to distinguish between you and your horse.” I’m not afraid of you, she thought.
Marmaduke’s eyes grew wide. He took a step forward and cocked his right arm.
Sharon moved closer to her grandmother. She sensed Sean moving closer to stand beside her. Sam strained at the leash and growled.
Marmaduke dropped his arm.
“Agnes?” Cornelia asked and walked past her son.
“You and your mongrel brother are trespassing on my land. Leave!” Marmaduke said, then turned to follow his mother.
Rage’s fire lit Sharon. She stepped forward.
Sean grabbed her arm. “Let him go.”
She turned to her brother, tried to reply, and found she could not.
“You know, you’re absolutely right. He does look very much like a horse.”
Sharon shook her head and smiled. “He does, doesn’t he?”
“Let’s go and see if Linda is still being interrogated by Honeysuckle.” Sean pulled on the leash, tugged Sharon’s elbow, and headed east.
“Do you see him around very often?” Sharon asked as she freed herself from Sean’s grip.
“Every so often.” Sean looked at Sam and smiled.
Ask him. “What do your friends think of him?”
“Friends?” Sean’s eyes locked on hers.
“Well?” Sharon asked.
He lifted his chin in the direction of the retreating Marmaduke. “It’s not a good idea for anyone around here to be my friend. Your uncle has made it clear that there will be a price to pay if anyone defies him by being seen with me. Besides, there aren’t many males around here. After all, there is a war on.”
“Is that why Honeysuckle decided to get Sam?” Sharon hurried to catch up with Sean, who was closing in on the gap in the hedge. He ducked his head and stepped through.
She found him waiting on the other side. “I thought you would be safe here. I thought Honeysuckle would be good to you.”
“She is. There aren’t many people who are willing to stand up to Marmaduke Lacey other than Honeysuckle, and for some reason, he’s afraid of her.”
“Michael told me something that might help you understand why he’s worried.”
Sean leaned to pick up a stone. He tossed it over Sam’s head. The dog gave chase. Sean looked at Sharon.
“Apparently, Marmaduke was known to be associated with Oswald Mosley in the early part of the war.” Sharon studied her brother’s reaction to the news.
“Who’s he?”
“A fascist. He thought Mussolini had the right idea about how to run a country and that England should follow suit.” Sharon put her hand on Sean’s shoulder. “You understand that this information is not to be shared?”
Sean nodded. “Yes. Of course. But I thought Italy surrendered. And besides, why are you telling me this?”
“It did, and Mussolini is finished. Marmaduke is afraid that people will find out he supported Mosley and Mussolini. It will make him look like a traitor to his country. So he leaves Honeysuckle alone because she might share that information with the people around here. Did you know that Townsend works for MI5?”
“You’re joking! Harry? Honeysuckle’s husband? He works for Intelligence?”
“So does Michael,” Sharon said.
“I knew that, but Harry? He’s so. . .” Sean was unable to complete the sentence.
“The polite word is ‘eccentric.’ And that’s why Marmaduke is afraid. He thinks Harry might let it slip at the pub during one of his visits home.”
Sean rubbed Sam behind the ears. “Dogs are much easier to get along with than people.”
CHAPTER 6
[MONDAY, JUNE 26, 1944]
Sean drove the Austin and Sharon sat in the passenger seat. He ground a couple of teeth off third gear as he shifted up from second. Skipton Road was on the south side of the River Wharfe. The tarmac road carried them along on its back into the town of Ilkley. The Cow and Calf rocks looked down on the town from their vantage point on the hill.
Sharon looked out the window, thinking about her mother, grandmother, and father. All three of them are gone. Well, Cornelia is still alive, but her mind is gone.
At the edge of town, the Austin’s brakes began to complain. Sharon looked ahead.
A man in a scarlet coat and white pants was perched atop a white stallion with an erection the length and girth of a baseball bat.
Sharon glanced to her right.
Sean blushed.
The rider stood up in the stirrups and blew his horn. A pack of hounds appeared, swirled around the hooves of the stallion, and disappeared into the brush on the other side of the road. More horses and riders followed. Some looked down on the Austin as they pranced across the road. Marmaduke brought up the rear, stopped in the middle of the road, looked down on them, then spurred his horse forward.
“Since you first pointed it out, I have to say that the resemblance between Marmaduke and his horse is remarkably accurate. It almost makes me think that, perhaps. . .” Sean revved the engine before releasing the clutch and jerking forward. “Sorry.”
She hung on. “Don’t worry. You’re getting the hang of it. Do you want to finish that thought?”
He blushed. “What did your grandfather look like? And what was he up to in his stables?” He pulled up in front of a tan-coloured three-storey stone building at the centre of town.
“I thought we were going to McGregor’s office,” Sharon said.
“He moved when his son came back from the war.” Sean shut off the engine.
“Which son is back?”
“The one who was in the Navy. He lost part of one leg in some navy battle. Now he works in the office with his father.” Sean turned to her. “Do you want me to come in?”
Sharon opened the passenger door. “Of course.”
Sean stepped out of the Austin and pointed at a door set in one corner of the ground floor. “We go this way.” Sean opened the front door for her. “It’s the first door on your left.”
Sharon saw McGregor and Son etched in the glass framed by the office’s oak door. She opened the door and stepped inside. She looked around at the reception desk. On either side were neat rows of books. Behind the desk stood three massive filing cabinets. The room proclaimed confident efficiency. She turned to her brother. “Are we in the right office?”
A man entered the reception area from one of the adjoining offices. “Who were you looking for?”
Sharon turned to face a man who was about six inches taller and pe
rhaps two years older than she was. His black hair was cut and combed. His suit was blue and his blue tie knotted with a double Windsor. She held out her hand. “I’m Sharon Lacey.”
The man smiled. “Of course you are. Father told me to expect you. My name is Rupert McGregor, Walter’s son.” He turned to Sean. “And this is?” Rupert offered his hand to Sean.
“My brother, Sean.” Sharon watched with interest as the two shook hands.
Rupert looked over his shoulder at an open door. “Father?”
There was the sound of a chair being pushed back, papers hitting the floor, and footsteps on wood. While his son was neatly groomed and trimmed, Walter McGregor wore a rumpled brown tweed suit. “Ah, it is you.” He smiled at Sharon and then turned to Sean. The lawyer’s eyebrows were as thick as a hedge. The hair protruding from his ears and nostrils was at least as overgrown. “Good, you’ve brought Sean.” Walter extended his hand and shook theirs in turn. He spun and gestured for them to enter his office. “Do you mind if Rupert joins us?”
“Not at all. I have very little time; I’m expected back this afternoon.” Sharon stepped into the office. A glance told her that Rupert had not yet been able to apply his organizational skills to Walter’s inner sanctum.
Walter shut the door behind them and cleared files piled on three chairs. “Please have a seat.”
Sharon watched as Rupert stood in front of his chair, grabbed the oak arms, and kicked his left leg out. With a creaking of leather and metal, he sat down and crossed his right leg over his left.
“I’ve asked Rupert to join us because he’s become my partner in the practice, and we work closely together,” Walter said.
“It’s okay with me.” Sharon looked at Sean.
He shrugged as if to ask, “Why are you asking me?”
“You are aware that your grandmother is ill?” Walter asked.
“Yes, she seems to be reverting to her childhood,” Sharon said.
“Three months ago, she came in to see me. She explained that she wasn’t feeling like herself. She had me draw up documents to make me the executor of her will and expressed a desire that I should have power of attorney over her affairs. In her words, she wanted me to ensure that both her son and her granddaughter were looked after. She was very clear that she wanted each of you to have a half share of her estate.” Walter leaned back in his chair. “I wanted to inform you of this new development. I expected to see you sooner, but the buildup leading to the invasion of France would explain why you haven’t been free to travel here.”
