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Authors: S A Laybourn

Tags: #Romance Fiction

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BOOK: A Kestrel Rising
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“Francis, that’s his name?” She tightened the dress around her waist and smoothed out the skirt. “What’s he doing here anyway?”

“Don’t you listen to anything anyone tells you? He’s with the RAF. He’s a pilot. He’s Mama’s cousin’s son.”

“The one that lives in America?”

“That’s the one. He’s mad keen on flying and Lord Woodplumpton pulled all sorts of strings to get him into the RAF.”

Ilona stooped to look in the mirror. She ran her fingers through her hair and tried to fluff out the unruly waves. The dress made it look redder and she wasn’t sure she liked that.

“Are you ready?” Aislinn shifted from foot to foot. “That doorbell’s going to ring any minute and Mama will be beside herself if we don’t get down there.”

The doorbell rang, sending the dogs into a frenzy of barking. Cries of delight filled the foyer as the guests walked in. Ilona followed Aislinn down the stairs and into the whirlwind of dogs and guests.

“Here are the girls.” Father pushed the dogs aside to usher them forward.

Ilona was swept up into Mrs. Reardon’s fierce hug. “Welcome home, dear. It’s lovely to see you again.”

“It’s nice to be home.”

“Good heavens!” Her mother exclaimed. “You’re your father all over again. I can’t believe it. He’s the image of Jon. It’s like going back in time.”

Ilona noticed the other guest for the first time. He stood to one side in his dress blues and looked bored. She did see the resemblance that her mother was going on about, in his tousled brown hair and his eyes that were the color of strong tea. There were photographs in the sitting room of his parents. Anna, her mother’s cousin, was small and fragile-looking beside a tall, lean man with a haunted face. His son’s face lacked the ghosts, but he didn’t seem happy. She offered him a smile.

“I’m Francis,” he said, not returning the smile.

“Ilona.” It was bad enough that she had to give up a precious, quiet evening but his curtness annoyed her. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“He doesn’t look too thrilled to be here, does he?” Aislinn took her arm as they headed for the sitting room.

“No, he doesn’t,” she whispered back. “Too bad. He’ll have to drink cocktails and be polite like everyone else.”

Ilona had always loved the sitting room. It was at its best during the long, brilliant days of summer when sunlight fell through the tall windows and tumbled onto the floor. There were plenty of places to sit but, the evening was cold and everyone sought refuge on the group of chairs and settees clustered around the fireplace. Ilona listened while Aislinn tried to engage Francis in conversation. His replies were monosyllabic and he kept looking with obvious longing at the door. The others were too busy talking to pay much attention to the strained silence in the chairs farthest from the fireplace and Ilona itched to be away from there. She tucked her legs underneath her and gazed into the flames, wishing that she was back in her room with her book. Instead, she sipped her sherry until her mother decided that it was time to leave for the Woodplumptons’ party.

Everyone retrieved coats and umbrellas in a little flurry of activity. Her father announced that he would take the Reardons in the car and Ilona, Aislinn and Francis could walk.

“After all”—he grinned—“you’re all young and fit and a little stroll in the rain won’t bother you much.”

Ilona opened her mouth to protest. A sharp glance from her mother put paid to any objections. She shrugged into her coat and wondered if it was worth wrestling with an umbrella on such a windy night. Instead, she wrapped a scarf around her head and followed Francis and Aislinn into the darkness. She took her sister’s arm as they picked their way along the drive while their companion walked slightly behind them in silence. The wind roaring through the trees did little to encourage conversation. They hurried along the lane and through the quiet village. It was a relief to reach the warmth and light of the Woodplumptons’. Ilona hoped that Francis would be lost in the crowd because his silence unsettled her and she didn’t feel like working hard to get a word out of him. Aislinn had already spotted some friends of hers and disappeared into the noisy chaos of the drawing room.

Francis looked at her. “Would you like a drink?”

She hurriedly glanced around, searching for someone that she knew. There was no one and she mustered a smile. “Thank you, yes. That would be nice.”

Perhaps he’ll open up with a drink.

Francis handed her a sherry. “Are there any quiet rooms, do you think?”

“I doubt it. Lady Woodplumpton’s parties are usually noisy. I suppose we could try the conservatory.”

He walked altogether too close behind her while they squeezed past knots of people in the hall. Every now and then, someone would reach out, grab her arm and pull her into a conversation. Ilona tried to involve her companion but he hovered on the edge, gazing into his whiskey and saying nothing. She silently cursed her sister for abandoning her.

The weather had discouraged many people from lingering in the vast, Victorian conservatory. The blackout curtains didn’t stop the damp drafts but Ilona found a pair of old wicker chairs in the corner where it wasn’t quite so cold. She sat down and sipped her sherry.

“So,” she ventured. “I’m told you’re a pilot.” It seemed a safe enough subject, guaranteed to get him talking.

“I’m trying. I’m still in training at the moment.” His voice was gloomy.

“Have you flown at all?”

“Back in the states. I was in the University Flying Club, so I’ve flown trainers.” He sighed, shrugged and took a mouthful of whiskey. “Right now it’s all paperwork and tests. I’m a good pilot. I could do without the training.”

What an arrogant…
She took a deep breath. “What do you want to fly? Fighters? Bombers?”

“Fighters. I want to fly Spitfires.”

Ilona remembered the Spitfire with a chill. “They are beautiful planes.”

He looked at her. “What about you? What will you be doing?”

“Driving. I’m going to Driving School in a few days. I’d rather do that than sit at a desk, like Aislinn. Mind, she seems happy enough.” She studied her glass and realized that it was nearly empty. Getting it filled again would give her a chance to escape. There was something in him that would not let her get comfortable. She wanted noise and chatter, not the sound of the rain spattering against the glass.

“There you are!” Aislinn swept into the room. “I’ve been looking
everywhere
for you.” She hauled Ilona to her feet. “You have got to come with me. Lawrence Winters is home on leave. You would not believe the stories he’s telling.”

Ilona glanced at Francis. “Will you join us? Lawrence always tells funny stories. You’d like him.”

“Nah, I think I’ll just stay here and enjoy the peace and quiet.” He smiled. “Go on. See your friend. I’ll be fine.”

She felt a tug of guilt for abandoning him but she had tried and he wasn’t interested. She let her sister drag her away and tried to feel all right about it.

Chapter Two

 

 

 

“Are you going for a walk, dear?”

Ilona buttoned her coat. “It’s a nice morning, after all that rain. I thought I might take a walk down to the river.”

“Would you do me a favor first?” Her mother handed her a trifle bowl. “Mrs. Reardon wanted to borrow this. Would you mind dropping it off?”

“As long as I’m not expected to entertain her grandson, I’ll drop it off. I’m not stopping for a cup of tea, mind.” Ilona dreaded the prospect of yet another labored conversation. “He’s hard work, Mama.”

Her mother laughed. “Oh, Ilke, the poor lad, I think he only wanted a quiet Christmas. He wasn’t expecting to be hauled to one of Violet’s parties. I felt so sorry for him when I saw him sitting on his own in the conservatory.”

“He didn’t want to come with us. I
did
try.”

“Really, Ilke?” She raised an eyebrow.

“Yes, Mama, really.” She still felt a twinge of guilt and didn’t need her mother to rub it in.

“Don’t forget. We’re going there for dinner tonight, so you had better practice being nice to the poor boy.”

“We are?”

“It’s Boxing Day, in case you’d forgotten. We always go to the Reardon’s for dinner on Boxing Day.”

Ilona tucked the bowl under her arm and sighed. “All right, I’ll try. I promise.” She stepped out into the cold morning air. The rain had moved on, leaving the pale sky dotted with thin wisps of cloud. The icy wind rattled the branches in the dark and silent oak wood. Ilona shivered. The late morning light had a sweet clarity as it slanted through the trees and cast shadows across the drive. Starlings squabbled high up in the trees before taking flight, wheeling toward the open fields. Ilona walked up the Reardons’ drive, past the empty gatehouse. At the top, she paused when she heard the slow, sweet notes of an old ragtime tune being played on the piano. She stood for a while, straining to hear.

“Come in, dear,” Mrs. Reardon said. “We’re just about to have a cup of tea. Why don’t you join us?”

“Thank you. I’d like that.” Ilona set the bowl down, feeling it would be impolite to refuse, despite having previously decided otherwise. “Who’s playing the piano?”

Mrs. Reardon smiled. “It’s Francis. Go on in to the sitting room and have a listen. We’ll join you in a minute.”

Ilona crept into the room and sat in the window seat, hoping she wouldn’t be noticed. Francis was bent over the keyboard, absorbed by the music. The wintry light spilled across the piano, making the wood gleam. She couldn’t reconcile this Francis with the distant, arrogant Francis of Christmas Eve. His hands moved across the keys, playing a slow, sweet tango rhythm with the left hand and the melody with the right. She closed her eyes and listened. The music gave her a glimpse of somewhere else, somewhere unfamiliar. She thought of a warm and sunny place where dusty sunlight fell across a faded wooden floor and brilliant flowers nodded in a languid breeze scented with spice. She had never heard the piano played so well and was sorry when he finally finished. She wondered whether to say anything.

“Did you like it?” he asked, taking her by surprise when he closed the lid. “I heard you sneak in.”

Her cheeks flamed. “I did,” she replied. “It was lovely. I didn’t know you could play.”

“You never asked.”

She ignored the barb. “What was it, anyway?”


Solace
, it’s an old Scott Joplin rag. Mom plays it a lot. It’s one of her favorites and Dad’s, too. I remember hearing it from when I was very small and I guess that’s one of the reasons I wanted to learn to play the piano.” He smiled. “What brings you here? Dinner isn’t until tonight.”

“I had to drop something off for your Grandmother. She invited me in for a cup of tea.”

“It’s nice to see you again.”

Liar
. “Same here.”

The arrival of the tea tray and his grandparents saved her. The room was soon full of chatter and the clatter of china and spoons. The conversation turned to Christmas and a recap of the Woodplumptons’ party. Ilona itched to be out of there.

She set her cup down. “I should really go. I don’t want to outstay my welcome. I was just going for a walk when Mum asked me to drop the bowl off.”

“I’ll come with you, if you don’t mind.” Francis rose. “I could use the exercise.”

She could hardly refuse him in front of a room full of relatives. “Sure,” she replied, retrieving her coat and gloves from the hall.

Back out in the light, the breeze had quickened, hurrying clouds across a watery stretch of sky. Ilona wondered how to start the conversation. She supposed she had better take her mother’s advice. “Do you think you’ll get to fly a fighter soon?”

“If I don’t crash one of the trainers, I should hope so.”

They turned onto the lane. The wind whirled noisily through the trees, sounding like a roaring waterfall.

“When do you go back?”

“Tomorrow.” He paused at the foot of the drive and shivered. “It’s too damn cold for a walk. Shall we go for a drink?”

Ilona considered the invitation. She
had
promised her mother she would be nice. The high street was quiet, apart from the Wheatsheaf where the sound of laughter and the reek of stale beer spilled onto the lane. She paused at the door, feeling slightly awkward. “I’ve never been in a pub before.”

“It’s all right. They’re not dens of iniquity. This one isn’t bad, as pubs go. It’s a bit rough and ready, but it’s safe.”

The landlord didn’t bat an eye when they walked in. The regulars at the bar carried on with their conversation, much to Ilona’s relief. As her eyes adjusted to the dimness, she looked around at the smoke-yellowed walls between heavy, dark timbers. A few chairs were scattered around a large brick fireplace and she sat there while Francis ordered the drinks. He returned, moments later, with sherry for her and a pint of beer for himself.

Ilona perched on the edge of the seat and sipped her drink. “It’s not too bad here.”

Francis leaned back. “I’ve seen worse and it’s nice to get out of the house.”

“Yes,” she agreed. “It is.”

“The beer isn’t bad, either.”

Ilona sipped her drink and watched the flames dancing in the fire. She hoped that Francis would break the silence, but he seemed to be enjoying his beer.

“Where are you based?” she asked, finally.

“Duxford. It’s quite a big field.”

“Where’s Duxford?”

“Cambridgeshire. It’s flat as anything out there, sky as far as the eye can see, but it’s great for flying. We’re not far from the village and there are one or two good pubs there.”

“Do you get much in the way of leave?”

“At the moment, yes, but I guess that will change.” He sighed. “It’s the waiting for something to happen that’s the worst.

“It’s like waiting for a storm to break and, I suppose, that’s what it will be.”

“That’s a good way of describing it. It’s good that you’re with the WAAF, you know. At least you can be doing something and not enduring the wait and the worry. Who knows? We may end up running into each other. If you come to Duxford, I’ll take you to the John Barleycorn. It would be nice to know someone other than the guys in my squadron.”

BOOK: A Kestrel Rising
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