A Kestrel Rising (3 page)

Ilona thought it highly unlikely that their paths would cross again but offered him a polite smile. “That would be nice.”

He took a long draw of his beer and studied the lace of foam that clung to the glass. “You don’t say much, do you?”

“No, I don’t.”

“Most girls would giggle and blush if I said that to them.”

She regarded him coldly. “I’m not most girls.”

“No,” he chuckled. “You’re not.” He drained his glass and took her empty one. “It’s getting a bit chilly in here. I suppose we’d better leave.”

They strolled back in silence. Ilona pretended to study the hedgerows while Francis moodily kicked a stone along the lane, hands in pockets. She guessed he was used to having girls making a fuss of him. He wasn’t bad looking with his carelessly tousled dark hair and almond eyes the color of tea. She supposed she should have been flattered that he considered her worthy of flirtation, but it just made disliking him easier, because he assumed that she would fall for his charms.

He paused at the foot of the Reardons’ drive and muttered a farewell, not mentioning anything about dinner later. Ilona continued her walk home with a smile on her face, feeling as if she had won an important battle.

* * * *

Ilona was glad to get out of the rain. Everyone had left their umbrellas in the foyer while Ellie, the Reardons’ housekeeper, had taken their wet coats before ushering them to the sitting room. A blazing fire in the hearth warded off the chill of the evening and the Christmas tree in the corner glittered under its garlands of tinsel. Ilona sought refuge on the window seat, paying more attention to the sound of the rain whispering against the window than to the conversation. She glanced across the room to where Francis stood talking quietly to her father and was annoyed that they appeared to be getting along well.

Ilona was even more annoyed to find herself facing Francis across the table.

He even moved the candelabra out of the way. “It’s easier to talk without flickering candles in the way.”

She managed a thin smile as she picked at her trout pâté. “Yes, I suppose it is.” Beside her, Aislinn was telling Mrs. Reardon one of the stories she’d heard at the party. She wanted to join in but politeness compelled her to struggle for something to talk about with Francis, yet again.

“I should think you’ll be glad to get back to work.”

“It’s been a nice break.”

Ilona wondered why he’d made such a deal about moving the candelabra when he was making the conversation such hard work. “Yes, it has.”

“Where’s your driving course?”

“North Wales.” A piece of melba toast snapped in her fingers. She abandoned the pâté.

His dark eyes glittered in the candlelight. “Quite a journey then.”

“Yes.” Ilona pushed the plate away and took a long sip of wine. It was tempting to return the candelabra to its original position.

“Have you driven before?”

“I’ve driven my father’s car a few times.”

“Driving a truck will be different, you know.”

She took another drink of wine. “So will flying a Spitfire after flying a trainer.”

He raised an eyebrow. “
Touché
.”

Ilona had never been so pleased to see the arrival of a main course in her life.

* * * *

The rain hadn’t relented. It seemed even heavier and Ilona opened her umbrella, suddenly tired and wanting the warmth and peace of her bed. In the hubbub of farewells, Francis caught her hand. He held it for a moment then kissed her cold cheek and whispered, “I think you might learn to like me one day, Ilona.”

He turned and walked back into the house, leaving her staring, slack-jawed, at the light spilling though the open door. Aislinn tugged, gently, at her arm as final goodbyes from the others echoed into the night.

Chapter Three

“ACW Lowe, the two-one-nine crews need taking out to their planes. I take it you can drive a bus?”

“Yes, Corporal Harris, sir.” Ilona saluted the depot corporal, hoping that the bus would be easy to drive, although she believed her driving instructor at RAF Penrhos when he’d told her that she would be able to drive anything.

“Excellent, Lowe. Off you go, then. The men will be waiting outside the briefing room.”

“Yes, sir,” she gathered up her gloves and fastened her jacket. One of the advantages of being a driver, she’d learned, was that it was acceptable for girls to wear flight overalls and the warm, sheepskin lined jackets that the aircrew wore. Catterick in January was not a hospitable place when the east wind roared off the North Sea and over the moors.

Ilona hurried toward the garage, found the bus—an elderly Bedford—and managed to start the engine at the first attempt. She backed it out of the shed and headed for the briefing room. It had taken her a few days to find her way around the huge airfield. She still could not get used to the bustle and scarcely contained chaos of the place.

After one wrong turn, Ilona pulled up in front of the briefing room. A small crowd of aircrew waited at the front of the building. She opened the door and stared straight ahead while they piled on, chattering among themselves. A few breathy wolf whistles broke through the murmured conversations and a distinctly Scottish person observed, “This wee driver is far bonnier than old hatchet face.”

Ilona’s cheeks burned and she dared a glance in the rear view mirror, wondering who the culprit was. She put the bus in gear and headed toward the runway. Conversation behind her was quiet and if they were still commenting on their new driver, Ilona did not hear them. She stopped by the first plane and opened the door to let the three-man crew file out. They thanked her cheerfully and headed toward their plane. She worked her way along the row, swarming with ground crew, until only two crews remained. The final two aircraft were quite close to each other and she halted between them and waited for her last passengers to file off. They gathered their gear and walked along the narrow gangway. One by one, they clambered down the steps saying thank you and goodbye as they went.

“Bye now, lassie.” The last man departed, turning back to smile at her. The cold wind lifted his fair hair. “See you later, God willing.”

Blushing, she smiled back. “Goodbye, sir.” She had found her culprit.

* * * *

Ilona retrieved the bus and parked a safe distance as the bombers returned. The setting sun glinted off their glass canopies and touched their wings with fire as they’d touched down and taxied along the runway. She’d waited until the propellers had stilled and the crews had climbed down before starting the bus.

The passengers were quieter, the cockiness of morning washed away by exhaustion. Ilona smiled as she collected each crew and they, in turn, smiled back.

“It’s nice to be greeted with a smile for a change,” someone muttered from behind her. She reached the last two planes and the fair-haired Scot was waiting with his crew. She felt something inside her lift a little at the sight of him when she opened the door.

“Afternoon.” He winked as he walked past.

Ilona felt her cheeks color once more. She stole a glance in the mirror and watched him take the last seat. One of his colleagues whispered something and, to her surprise, he blushed. A few low chuckles spread along the back rows. Blushing herself, she turned her attention to getting the bus off the runway and her passengers back to the briefing room.

* * * *

“It seems,” the corporal told her the next morning, “that the lads like a friendly smile when they head off for and return from their mission. Flight Lieutenant Carstairs was in here last night with several of the flight officers, demanding that you are kept on as their regular bus driver.”

“They did?” Ilona stared at him. A warm flush returned to her cheeks.

“Our lads need all the morale boosts they can get,” the corporal replied. “I’d be flattered if I were you, ACW Lowe. You must have made a very good impression.”

“I am honored, Corporal Harris, sir. It’s very unexpected and welcomed news.”

“Well done, Lowe. Now go and fetch your lads and take them to work.”

She wondered if Flight Lieutenant Carstairs was her Scottish friend who, once more, winked at her when he stepped onto the bus. Today, he sat slightly farther toward the front of the bus. He wasn’t bad looking, Ilona decided. His hair was a deep, silky gold and looked like it would be soft to the touch and his wide-set eyes were the clear, brilliant blue of an autumn sky, framed by a web of laughter lines below sandy eyebrows and pale lashes. He had a fine jaw and a vague dent in his chin. His slightly crooked nose just added to the charm and she guessed that his cheeks would be scattered with freckles. As before, he was the last off the bus. He paused on the bottom step and turned around. “What’s your name, ACW?”

“Ilona Lowe, Sir.

He gave her a sudden, brilliant grin and saluted. “It's nice to meet you, Ilona Lowe. Flight Lieutenant Ian Carstairs at your service, I’ll see
you
later.” He shouldered his gear and walked off to join his waiting crew.

* * * *

“I hear you have an admirer,” Faith said.

Ilona glanced up from polishing her boots. Faith was in the bunk next to hers and they had become friends in the three weeks she had been at Catterick. “I have?” She knew what was coming, because Faith had been going out with one of the other Blenheim pilots.

“Flight Lieutenant Carstairs,” Faith said. “My Sandy says he’s quite keen on you.”

Ilona grinned. “He is?” She hoped she sounded nonchalant.

“He’s trying to pluck up the courage to ask you out on Saturday. It’s funny, isn’t it? These men think nothing of climbing in a plane, flying for miles in hostile skies, yet they’re all wobbly when it comes to women.” Faith examined a loose button on her tunic and threaded a needle. “But, according to Sandy, Ian is terribly shy when it comes to these things.”

“So am I. Shall I accept, if he asks? Is he nice?”

“He’s adorable,” her bunkmate replied. “You’d be a fool not to.” She glanced up. “Do you like him?”

“He seems very nice.”

“He is. So, when he asks you, say yes. We always have a great time and you’ll enjoy yourself. I promise.”

“All right then. I’ll say yes, but don’t tell Sandy.”

“Don’t worry, I won’t ruin the surprise, but I’d give a good deal to see Ian’s face when you accept.”

* * * *

Every trip that week brought Flight Lieutenant Carstairs ever closer to the front of the bus so that, by the time she picked the crews up on Friday afternoon, he was in the seat immediately behind hers. He remained behind when the others disembarked.

“Can I help you with something, Flight Lieutenant?” She turned in her seat to look at him.

“Are you busy tomorrow night?”

She was aware that his crew lingered at the bottom of the steps, grinning and waiting. “I had nothing planned, Sir.”

He smiled and confirmed her suspicions about the dimples. “A few of us usually go into the village on a Saturday night, to a pub. I was wondering if you’d care to come along.”

She paused for a moment or two. He looked at her so hopefully. “Yes,” she replied. “I’d like that.”

“Good.” He grinned. “Sandy’s lass will show you where we all meet and I’ll see you tomorrow.” He picked up his gear and ran off the bus. As she drove away, she smiled when she glanced back in the rear view mirror and saw his colleagues laughing and patting him on the back, as if he had just accomplished one of the most difficult missions of his life.

* * * *

“You look perfect.” Faith observed as they walked with the other girls from their hut, to the gates where the bus would take them into the village.

“Really?”

“You’ll be fine. Remember, he asked
you
.”

The bus idled outside the gates, exhaust smoke rose into the cold night air. The men were waiting and Ilona found Ian standing with Faith’s boyfriend, his hands in his pockets, deep in conversation. He glanced up as the chattering group of girls approached and something inside Ilona did a slow flip when he spotted her and smiled.

Everyone else seemed to fade away. “Hello, Ilona Lowe,” he said, softly.

“Hello.”

He took her hand and tucked it in the crook of his arm. “Shall we go?” he asked. “I promise that you won’t have to drive the bus.”

She laughed. “That makes a change.”

He leaned close and whispered, “The bus driver isn’t half as pretty as you. I think she has chin hairs which, luckily, we can’t see in the dark.” He guided her along the bus then sat beside her and took her hand, lacing his fingers through hers. It felt completely right to her, while the bus rumbled toward the village. The land was in darkness because of the blackout, the only light came from the moon as it passed between the gathering clouds. It seemed strange to be away from the artificial world of the airfield and Ilona realized it was the first time she had seen the village since she’d arrived at Catterick. The bus pulled up in front of a white building that stood on the edge of a green.

“It’s lovely here in the warm weather,” Ian told her. “You can take your drinks and sit out on the grass.”

Ilona peered into the dimness. She made out the vague outline of an old stone cross and a large tree, before her companion led her into the warmth and brightness of the pub. The landlord had pulled several tables together in front of the fire. Ian grabbed two chairs at the far end and helped her with her coat. “What would you like to drink?” he asked, when she sat down.

“Sherry, please.”

When he returned with the drinks, he pulled his chair closer to hers. He raised his glass to her. “Thanks for coming, and here’s to a nice evening. The first of many, I hope.”

“I hope so too.” She sipped her sherry.

“It’s an unusual name, Ilona,” he said. “Is it a family name?”

“It’s Hungarian.”