A Kestrel Rising (31 page)

I’m glad that you liked the photograph. I’m looking at your picture, as I write this. I hope that my namesake keeps you safe. Don’t worry about a memento. All I really want is for you to come back to me. You nearly made me cry with what you said about my photograph, but I pulled myself together and I thank you for saying such sweet things, I rather like that I make you feel like a sentimental fool, because you have the same effect on me, so I suppose it’s only fair. I keep thinking of you every time I hear, “I’ll Be Seeing You” and I sing it on my trips quite often.

I have a day’s leaving coming up on the sixth. I have no idea what I will do with it. A day’s leave without you in it seems wasted. I wish you were here.

I’m off out to post this now, and I’ll look at the moon and think of you.

Take care, darling.

Ilke

* * * *

Ilona sat on the edge of her cot, stared out of the window and wondered what to do with her day. It was too late to catch a bus to Newmarket to watch the horses and she didn’t feel like shopping in Bury St. Edmunds on her own. It had been two weeks since she had heard from Francis and she tried to push her worries aside as she looked at her shoes and wondered whether she should go for a walk. Anything had to be better than sitting and staring at her feet. She turned as the hut door swung open and one of the girls hurried in, clutching a folded piece of paper.

“This just came for you.” She handed the paper to Ilona with a grin.

It was just a scrap of lined paper from an office. Ilona opened it and wondered who would be sending her notes on scraps of office stationery. She stared at the familiar scrawl for a moment or two, her hands shaking.

Francis Robson requests the pleasure of your company for the day. You will find him waiting at the main gate. Just bring yourself and be quick about it.

“Where did you get this?”

“From your boyfriend.” She nodded toward the photograph. “Don’t just sit there gawping, Ilke. He really is waiting, you know.”

“Really?” She felt the familiar, delicious twist of her gut at the thought of seeing him again.

“Really and he looks even better in real life than he does in that photograph.” Another grin. “Now I’d better get back to the office before I get in trouble.” She disappeared as quickly as she came, leaving Ilona hurrying to sort out her hair before she rushed out of the hut.

Her blood sang when she saw him. His hands were in his trouser pockets as he paced the pavement beyond the main gate. He glanced up when she walked swiftly toward him and his smile made the worry and the heartache worthwhile. She never tired of the sight of him in that uniform.

“Darling,” he whispered against her throat as Ilona found herself swept up in his arms.

She clung to him, trembling. “I can’t believe you’re here.”

“Believe it.” He kissed her, bruising her lips before he stepped back. “It’s a lovely day and I’m taking you for a picnic.”

“You are?”

“Somewhere quiet and remote.” He kissed her again. “Where no one can find us. I brought the food and a blanket.” He opened the car door for her. “I can’t begin to tell you how happy I am to see you, darling.”

He slid in beside her and started the car. “You know the roads around here. Where should we go?”

“Head for Brandon.” She told him. “It’s not far and there’s some quiet spots up on the Brecks, provided we stay south of town. If we go too far north, we’re likely to get run over by tanks.” Ilona watched him as he turned the car out toward the main road. She touched his hand to reassure herself that he was real.

“Did you miss me?” He touched her cheek.

“Yes.”

“I hated being so far away from you. There were times when I wondered whether I’d get back in one piece. I hope I never have to go to Russia again.” He shifted gears.

Ilona winced at the grinding noise.

“Have I told you how much I hate Harry’s car?”

She told him to take a right turn onto a narrow lane south of Brandon. It soon turned into a rough track that led out onto a wild, untouched stretch of tall grass, heather and clumps of wind-blown trees.

“Well, this is certainly quiet and out of the way,” Francis said as the car bounced along the track, kicking up clouds of pale sand.

“It is, isn’t it?”

He pulled the car over at the top of a small rise crowned with a copse of trees. “Will this do? I don’t think the car can take any more.”

Ilona opened the door and stood in the high, yellow grass. The land was silent, apart from the warm breeze as it shifted through the grass and the trees. “It’s perfect,” she replied. The heather was alive with bees and their faint hum tugged at Ilona’s memory for a moment. She looked at Francis and knew that her mother was right. That there were different kinds of love, and she was weak with what she felt.

“It is.” He handed her a folded blanket and took a small box from the boot of the car. “Food,” he told her. “Don’t worry, none of it’s Russian. It’s all from the base.”

She spread the blanket on a flat patch of ground beneath a tree. High grass rose all round them and a robin chattered in the branches above.

“I’m getting rid of these.” Francis removed his jacket and wrestled with his tie. He rolled his shirtsleeves up and grinned at her. “Your turn.”

She was glad to get rid of the jacket and tie and she was aware that he watched her as she unfastened the top button of her shirt to free her neck from the eternal torment of the starched collar.

“I don’t know that I’m ready for anything to eat yet,” he said, softly. His hand strayed to her face. “How about you?”

“No, not yet.” Ilona closed her eyes when he kissed her. His lips trailed from her mouth to her throat and he slid his fingers beneath the buttons of her shirt. They yielded to his touch.

“Ilke.” He eased her back onto the blanket. “I’ve thought of no one but you. It’s been hell being so far away. I’ve run out of ways to say how much I miss you.”

Ilona looked at him, her hand on his face. “Then don’t.” She ached for him. “There’s no need for you to say anything.”

His answer was to cover her mouth with his own. Then, there was no need for words for some time.

* * * *

“The Russians are insane,” Francis said as they rested after lunch.

Ilona gazed up at the sky and watched a kestrel, a distant speck above the grass and the trees. Francis’ head rested on her stomach while she stroked his hair.

He turned and rested on his side, facing her. “I did have white bread and jam. But that was the only highlight of the trip. I can’t remember the last time I had white bread.”

“White bread was the high point of the whole trip?” She giggled. “What was the low point?”

“It’s a toss-up between running to the trench during an air raid in nothing but my shorts, or the armed soldier standing by the toilet block.”

“Oh dear, that sounds a bit rough.”

He kissed her stomach. “It was. You wouldn’t believe how the Russians dealt with the unexploded shells.”

“How?” She quivered as his lips moved across her skin.

“They shot them.”

“Good heavens.” She caressed his cheek.

He propped himself up on his elbows. “It’s all over and done with now. I’m here, with you, and that’s all I wanted.”

“That’s all I want too.” She rolled away from him. “Close your eyes.”

He laughed. “Why?”

“I want to give you something.” She climbed to her feet and tiptoed away from the blanket, searching through the grass. She glanced back. He lay face down, resting his head on his arms. “No peeping.”

“I’m not peeping.” His voice was muffled.

“Good.” She found a clump of heather and waved a bee away.

“Is it nice? Will I like it?”

“You might.” She knelt and carefully picked a long sprig, heavy with tiny flowers.

“Does it involve you taking your clothes off?”

She giggled. “No.” It was all she could give him. Words would have to wait until they were both free to speak them. She crept back and knelt before him. “You can open your eyes now.”

He sat up, blinking.

Ilona took another deep breath. “I know that there are things that you want to leave unsaid until we’re both free of this war. I understand that, darling.” She looked down at the flower in her hand. “But, I’ve learned the hard way that we can’t take anything for granted. It scares me that you could go on a mission tomorrow and never come back.” She wiped her eyes. “After Ian died, his friend gave me some things that he’d left for me, in case anything happened to him. There was a book of poems. One of the pages was marked with a flower, just like this. He must’ve picked it on the day he asked me to marry him. It was his way of remembering the day, I suppose.” Tears spilled down her face. “I want you to remember this day. I don’t have anything else to give you.” Ilona placed the heather into his hand and closed his fingers over it.

“Ilke.” His voice was hoarse. “You don’t have to give me anything. You’ve already given me so much. More than I deserve.”

She placed her fingers on his lips. “I want you to know how much you mean to me.” She sat back on her heels and looked at him. “How much I care for you. You have always said that I keep you sane, that I’m your sanctuary…” She managed a watery smile. “Now it’s my turn. When Ian was killed I was convinced that I would never be happy again. I was determined not to let myself get hurt. I just didn’t think I could bear the pain.” Her hand fell away from his mouth and she leaned forward and kissed him. “He made me promise to live and I didn’t think it was possible. You changed that. If I gave you sanctuary, you gave me a reason to enjoy life again.”

“Ilke, darling girl.” He reached for her and held her. “Thank you.”

He smelled of sunlight. She felt him tremble as his hands glided down her back then up to her face. She tasted her tears on his lips when he kissed her, a deep, languid kiss that left her boneless and clinging to him.

“Sweetheart,” he whispered against her mouth. “If there was ever a reason for me to get through this war in one piece, it’s you.”

Chapter Twenty-Five

“Lowe, there’s a message for you.”

Ilona handed in the lorry keys and looked at the desk sergeant, “Sir?” It had been a long day and she was tired. “A message?”

He took the keys and handed her a piece of paper. “A phone call, Lowe.”

She looked at the sergeant’s writing.

Please phone 1st Lieutenant Harry Deutch at USAAF Debden.

Her hands began to shake. “Is there a phone I can use, sir?”

“Use mine,” the sergeant told her, holding his chair out for her.

“Thank you, sir.” She sat down and dialed the number with some difficulty. She squeezed her eyes shut as the phone rang. After a few rings, someone answered and she asked for Harry. She was told to hang on and, in the background, someone yelled for Harry. After an agonizing wait, Harry picked up the phone. “Deutch here.”

“Harry? It’s Ilke. I had a message to phone you.”

“Yes, that was me.” He sighed and paused. “It’s Francis.”

“What’s happened?” She could hardly hold the phone to her ear. “Is he all right?”

“He’s safe but we had a little trouble today. We were on a strafing run over in France. Francis was climbing out of a low pass and he caught some flak. It came up through the wing and he was hit pretty badly in the leg and in his hip. The hydraulics were damaged too. He could have put down behind our lines, but he was insistent that we get back home. The problem was his wounds but, lucky for him, the shrapnel missed his artery. But he was cut up pretty bad and he was hurting. I had to keep him talking all the way back to keep him from passing out. He was close enough that I could see his head nodding a few times, so I’d have to shout at him to wake him up and keep him going. He dipped once or twice and I thought he was going to go down in the drink.” He halted

Ilona could hear him light a cigarette. She wished, for a moment, that she smoked because she wanted something to do with her hands, to stop them from shaking.

He continued. “Sometimes, Francis’ stubborn streak is a good thing. It got him home. When we got back to base, he realized that his landing gear was busted because of the damage to the hydraulics. It wouldn’t go down on the starboard side, so he had to fly around and dump as much fuel as he could, because he had to retract the other gear and land the kite on its belly. If he’d had too much fuel on board, he could’ve gone up in flames. I don’t know how he did it, Ilke, but he brought that plane in real good. He slid a bit and that was all. He was damn lucky. By the time he got down, there was an ambulance waiting, because I’d called ahead for one. When we got to the plane, he’d passed out. Honestly, I can’t figure out how he managed to keep that plane in the air all that time. He is one tough son of a bitch. We got him out of the plane, into an ambulance, and he was taken off to hospital.”

Ilona sat for a minute, trying to absorb the story. She trembled and clutched the phone with both hands.

“Is he going to be all right?”

“I think so. He bled a fair bit so he was weak, but they were going to operate and take the shrapnel out as soon as he got to hospital.”

“Where’s the hospital?”

“It’s up at Redgrave Hall, near Diss. It’s the 65th General Hospital. It’s where they send all the pilots if they get carved up. That’s in your neck of the woods, isn’t it?”

“It’s about thirty miles away, so it’s not far. I’ll get there, somehow. Are you sure he’s going to be all right?”

“He’ll be okay, they think, if they can get the shrapnel out and keep the wounds clean. He was real lucky. We lost nine men today. Someone was looking out for him, I reckon.”

“You were, for a start, Harry. You saved his life.” She looked at the ceiling and wanted to cry.

“Hey, I’m his wingman. That’s what I’m supposed to do, keep an eye on him. He’d have done the same for me.”

“I know.” She swallowed. “He would.”