Trophy (17 page)

“I’d like to think my friend died for rather more than that.”

Mannon looked at Selby with the barest hint of pity. “I have no doubt my daughter believes she is in love with you. I shall not interfere in her relationship with you, any more than I interfere in her anti-nuclear work. I allow her that, because to actively oppose her would only increase her stubbornness. But I ask you to consider this. You have yourself just indicated what a high-risk profession you follow. If you marry she will always be wondering when she may become a widow. Barham-Deane, on the other hand, will always be there. He’ll be good for her, and good for the company.”

“With respect, sir, we have not spoken of marriage. I happen to agree with you about the risks involved in my work. I am personally of the opinion that fast jet pilots should not marry. I don’t say it’s the right opinion … but I was the first to see Sammy’s wife after it happened. I’ll never forget the look on her face. Others think I’m wrong. Many commands, as a matter of fact, prefer married men.
More stable, less prone to taking chances, so the thinking goes.”

Mannon said: “I’d have thought that by now you’d know that when Kim puts her mind to it, she gets what she wants. Your views on pilots marrying won’t stand a chance once she’s made up her mind.”

“Are you asking me to discourage her, so that Barham-Deane can fulfil your game plan?”

“Oh no. If you behaved out of character, she’d smell a rat in an instant. She’s my daughter and she’s inherited certain attributes that I recognise only too well. I’ll handle Reggie. He’ll have to be patient, just as I’m going to be.”

“You would marry your own daughter to a man you yourself have called a shit?” Selby was appalled.

“In terms of humanity, he is a shit. In terms of marriage, however, he will be biddable. And in business terms, he is the brightest star on my horizon.” Mannon waved a hand. “Take a look at all this. It has produced the young woman who now enthralls you. She is a product of her environment.”

“And you would waste her …”

“Not waste, young man. Not waste. I’m proud of her, despite her apparent eccentricities. She’s tough, and quite clever. She’d be more than a match for Barham-Deane, within a marriage. This house, and those like it, were built by the Barham-Deanes of this world, but held together by women like my daughter. It’s an unfair equation, but true. A harsh reality.”

Selby took his time before speaking. “She won’t let you, you know. I may not be the one she eventually marries … but it won’t be Barham-Deane. She’s like you. She won’t back down.”

Mannon was quite unperturbed. “We shall see. You know, it’s a pity. You’re right. She is like me, and she knows how to choose. You’ve got spine. None of the gadflies she’s tagged to herself from time to time would have stood toe to toe with me. Even Reggie watches his step. But you …”

“Your money may buy the aircraft. It does not buy me.”

“Doesn’t it? Who pays your salary if not we, the taxpayers and moneymakers?”

Before Selby could reply that to receive a salary was not the same as being bought, Kim entered. “You two have had enough time to get acquainted,” she said cheerfully. “Mark, I’ve saddled a horse for you, and there’s some riding gear that I’m sure will fit; so if you’re up to it, a quick gallop’s in order.”

“I’m not so sure about a gallop. A leisurely walk will do.”

“Baby,” she accused, then went up to her father to kiss him on the cheek. “Well? What do you think?”

Both men had stood up and now Mannon’s eyes held Selby’s briefly before he turned to smile at his daughter. “A man not easily frightened.”

“Mm hm.” She turned to Selby. “In case you’re
wondering, that’s a major compliment. Right. Come on. Let’s get you on that horse.”

The two men’s eyes met for another brief lock, before Selby turned to leave with Kim.

“Did you bring evening wear?” Mannon called to Selby as they went out.

Selby glanced back. “Yes. Kim warned me.”

“Good. Then I shall see you at dinner.”

Mannon flexed his knees, as if secretly amused by something.

“The gear’s in your room,” Kim said as they walked away. “I’ll meet you at the stables.”

“And where’s that?”

“Jarvis will show you. You seem thoughtful. What did Daddy actually say to you? You appear to have got on quite well.”

“He gave me a lesson in reality. I hope he’s wrong.”

“Care to tell me?”

“No.”

The dark eyes looked at him anxiously. “We’re not going to have a bad weekend, are we?”

He smiled at her. “Whatever gave you that idea?”

While Mark Selby was being introduced to the delights of Buckinghamshire, Nico Bagni was having a difficult time in Florence. He stared past his companion, unenthusiastically out of the restaurant window, at the Piazza della Signoria.

It was a bright, warm day, and the sun’s rays fell starkly upon the square, fortress-like shape of the Palazzo Vecchio, its castellated clock tower a proud sentry standing guard. Bagni’s displeasure was not for the tall arches of the Loggia, nor for the great statues, the silent onlookers of the square. He was as proud a Florentine as any, of his city’s history. It was the droves of tourists filling the cobbled square that had briefly distracted him from the girl at his side: the coaches parked like airliners, the horse-drawn open carriages awaiting camera-laden passengers.

He told himself wryly, he was being unfair. People came to Florence because his home city was beautiful, and ancient. History spoke to you here.

His eyes wandered, pausing to study the open-air café beyond the Loggia. Every table was occupied. At last, he returned his attention to his companion. She was staring at him, face pale, eyes with a hint of moistness.

“So,” she began softly, “that’s your last word on it?”

“I don’t have a choice, Bianca.”

“Of course you have a choice. Everyone has a choice.”

“You know I cannot leave the Service.”

“Why not?”

“And what will I do? Come to Milano with you and join the fashion world?”

“That was unkind, Nico.”

After a pause, he said: “I didn’t mean it to sound that way. But you must understand. I am a fighter pilot. That’s what I want to be until they tell me I am too old, or no longer fit. You’re following the career you want. Why shouldn’t I?”

“Mine is not dangerous. It will not kill me.”

“You could walk out of here and be hit by one of those tourist coaches.”

She sighed. “You know what I mean.”

“What I do is less dangerous than driving a car. The statistics prove it.”

“And now, you’re going away, and won’t tell me where.” She decided to ignore casualty statistics. She smiled, ruefully. “Who would have thought we’d be sitting in this place one day, feeling so miserable? We’ve known each other for ten years, Nico, since we met for the first time here in the piazza. You were staring at the Rape of the Sabine.”

He smiled, remembering. “And a sixteen-year-old girl came up to me to ask what I thought of it.”

“I wasn’t really interested in the statue.”

His smile widened. “It took me a while to work that out. I went into a boring explanation.”

“You were shy. I liked that.”

“Not a macho Italian.”

“Enough of those around.”

“And now?”

“A lot of my women friends think you’re a macho fighter pilot and are crazy about you. But I
know you’re still the Nico I met all those years ago. You don’t have to impress me.”

“I’m not trying to impress you. I simply want to remain a pilot. I love flying, just as you love designing clothes. Your name appears in the glossy magazines. People buy your fashions in New York and Paris and London. When you decided you didn’t want to get married, I understood and let you follow your career, and I followed mine. You travel to London, Paris, or New York, and I go where the Aeronautica Militare sends me. We each have our responsibilities.”

She stared at him. “I’m afraid, Nico.”

“Of what?”

“I’m afraid for the future.”

“Because I won’t tell you where I’m going?”

“You’ve always told me before. How do I keep in touch? How can I write to you? Can I telephone?”

“I’m sure I’ll be able to tell you. I’m not authorized as yet. That’s all it is. There’s nothing to worry about.”

“And your parents? Do they know?”

“Not yet.”

“I went to Fiesole to see them last weekend.”

He nodded. “They told me.”

“Your mother’s worried too.”

“She’s always been worried about my flying, for as long as I can remember. I’ve never crashed, even in training.”

“Never an emergency?”

“There are always possibilities. There are emergencies in everyday life.”

“You didn’t answer the question.”

“Bianca … we are not here to talk about emergency situations in flying. I am here today, with the most beautiful, most elegant woman in all of Tuscany, and I intend to enjoy her company in every way I can. Are you going to let me?”

“Since you put it like that…” She smiled, but her eyes were guarded.

In Schleswig, Hohendorf was on stand-by duty. His navigator was still Ecker. Ecker now knew of Hohendorf’s impending move to the new unit and though each was unhappy with the enforced change, they had come to terms with it.

Hohendorf had recently carried out several missions with Wolfgang Flacht in the back seat and had found the younger navigator as proficient as had been expected. For his part, Ecker had gone on a few sorties with Willie Beuren. He worked well with Beuren, and had told Hohendorf so. Despite this, Hohendorf found himself unable to lose the feeling of uneasiness; but he had still not told Wusterhausen about it.

Now, however, as they sat in the squadron lounge with the two other crews on duty, they were discussing a forthcoming visit to Nellis air force base in the States, for participation in a Red Flag exercise. It was to be a joint visit, with two Marineflieger
aircraft in company with two RAF IDS Tornadoes. The crewing would be Hohendorf and Flacht, Beuren and Ecker. Hohendorf was pleased, despite the crewing. It still meant he would be flying on one more tough exercise with Ecker before it was time to leave for Scotland.

Ecker said: “Two weeks, and we’ll be in Nevada. I’m looking forward to showing them what a Tornado can really do.”

Hohendorf smiled. “I think we’ll have a few surprises for them, Johann.”

That evening at Grantly Hall, the reason for Sir Julius Mannon’s sly amusement became clear. He had invited Reggie Barham-Deane for dinner. Kim was furious and throughout the entire meal said as little as possible, her face pale with anger, her dark eyes cold. The seating had been so arranged that Barham-Deane was next to her, while Selby had been stuck at a far end between a mother and daughter, neighbors of Sir Julius, who were driving him to distraction with silly questions about flying.

From time to time a look of mutual sympathy would pass between Kim and himself, and, on one such occasion Barham-Deane leaned intimately towards her and murmured, “Must be terribly frustrating for you, darling. He’s over there between the harpie and her daughter, while you’re here with me. Sir Julius has a sharp sense of humor, don’t you think?”

Kim brought her head close to his, smiling sweetly. Seeing that, Selby felt gloom descend upon him and wished he had not come. It was going to be a miserable weekend, after all.

Barham-Deane glanced at Selby in triumph as Kim put her lips against his ear.

“Fuck off, Reggie,” she told him, still smiling.

His head jerked away, and he went a bright red.

Selby noted it and felt immediately better. Sir Julius had also seen the brief drama at his table. He glanced at each of the three in turn, noting their expressions. His own expression gave nothing away as he returned his attention to the guests closest to him, and smoothly continued his conversation.

At last, the dinner came to an end. Some guests were staying the night and as soon as he decently could, Selby retired to his room. Mannon took Barham-Deane into his study. Clearly, Barham-Deane would also be staying the night.

Selby lay shirtless on his bed, annoyed with himself. For someone who had always been careful not to become seriously involved with a woman, he wasn’t doing very well. He could no longer deny that Kim Mannon had become important to him.

“You’re an idiot, Selby,” he now said aloud. “You understand airplanes, not women. Mach 2 at 40,000 feet is your territory. That’s where you live. Any day now you’ll be talking marriage, and that’s simply not on. Make what you can of the weekend, then get the hell away. Go back to what you know.”
He paused for long reflective moments. “God, but she was beautiful tonight,” he added softly.

He must have dozed, because a soft knock made him start.

He sat up. “Come in.” The bedside light was still on. He glanced at his watch. Two in the morning.

Kim entered, pushing the door shut and locking it behind her. She stood against it, and watched him. She was in her dressing gown, a deep blue affair that gleamed darkly and added luster to her eyes. Her face was still pale, as if from a continuing anger.

He returned her gaze. Even in anger, she was beautiful.

“I’m sorry for tonight, Mark,” she said at last. “It was inexcusable of Daddy to invite Reggie without first warning me. He knew how I felt. I think he realizes now that he overdid it tonight. After you came up I told him what I thought of him for springing Reggie on us like that.”

“And what about the man himself? What did he say while you were telling your father off?”

“He had the grace to keep out of it and look sheepish.”

Selby was skeptical. “Reggie Barham-Deane wouldn’t know how to be sheepish if it bit him on the nose. He was probably smirking, just as he did all through dinner.”

“Oh Mark. I’m so sorry you had to sit through that. I wanted this to be such a good weekend for us.”

“It won’t be spoiled,” he said.

“Promise?” She seemed to brighten.

“Promise.”

“I’m all tense and angry.”

“I have a cure for that … but not if you stay over there.”

She tilted her head to give him a sideways look then slowly, she began to remove her dressing gown. “You’ll have to be patient and gentle with me.”