Ilona picked up the book and opened it, deciding that it was probably better to be found reading than gazing forlornly out of the window. She kept her attention on the book, imagining Grace Poole’s dreadful laughter.
“Ah, Ilke, will I ever find you without your face hidden behind a book?”
She lowered the book as something inside gave way.
“Francis?” The book dropped, unheeded, to the floor as she stood, trying very hard not to burst into tears. He was there, very real, flesh and blood, thinner and his eyes were impossible to read, but he was there, smiling at her. Ilona tumbled into his arms. He held her tightly, not saying anything. For all she knew, their families could have been peering through the doorway, but she didn’t care.
He was home. He was alive, and he was whispering her name, his lips warm against her ear.
“I missed you.”
“I’ve missed you too.” Her voice shook.
His hands strayed to her hair and to her face and he kissed her, taking her back to a cool summer evening and the cries of swifts swooping through the silvery dusk. His trembling fingers trailed across her cheeks.
A polite cough from her father shattered the moment. Blushing, she stepped back but Francis kept hold of her hand.
“I can see that the two of you are getting on famously,” her father observed.
“I’m sorry, sir,” Francis replied. “I guess I got a little carried away, it being Christmas and all.”
“I think it’s understandable under the circumstances.”
The sitting room was suddenly full of people, all chatting and laughing as they sat around the fire. No one asked Francis about the time he was away and Ilona suspected that she would be the only one to know the full story, in time. In the meantime, she was content to sit beside him with his fingers curled tightly through hers. She kept looking at him. His shoulder touched hers and, every now and then, he drew lazy circles on her palm with his thumb. Brunch passed in a haze and she couldn’t remember eating much. She was surprised when her mother suggested that they might like some quiet time to catch up.
“It’s clear to me that you two have a lot to say to each other and I know Ilke won’t eat or settle to anything unless she gets her way in this. I’m guessing that this is all a little overwhelming for you, Francis, darling. Take as long as you need.”
“Thank you, ma’am. If you don’t mind, I really would like a little peace and quiet. It’s been a busy few days since I got back.”
“I’m sure it has, son.” Her father patted him on the shoulder. “It’s a lot to ask, to be thrown into the middle of the usual family chaos.”
“Thank you, sir. We’ll try not to be too long.”
Ilona gave her parents a grateful smile. She took Francis’ hand and led him along the shadowed hallway to the small sitting room at the front of the house, a crooked, wood-paneled remnant of the oldest part of the house. A fire had been lit and someone had turned the lamps on to fight the gray and rainy gloom of the day. The room smelled of beeswax polish and evergreen boughs and was silent, apart from the crackle of the fire and the whisper of the rain against the window. They sank into the soft cushions of the settee and Ilona rested against Francis when he put his arm around her shoulder.
“That was very kind of your parents,” he said, after a few moments of silence.
“It was.”
“And they’re right, it is a bit overwhelming. I’ve been debriefed to screaming point and I just want peace and quiet and you.” His breath ruffled her hair. “I can’t even begin to tell you how much I’ve longed for this, Ilke.”
She was full of questions but she knew better than to ask them. He would tell her in his own time. “I honestly never thought this would happen, having not heard anything for so long. I thought you were lost for good.”
“I’m so sorry.” His lips brushed her temple. “Everything had to be kept quiet. No one knew the whole story. It would have been too dangerous for everyone.”
“I know.” She closed her eyes while he followed the curve of her cheek with his fingers, which came to rest at the hollow of her throat.
“I didn’t mean to put you through so much. I can’t imagine what it must have been like for you, stuck over here not knowing anything.” He kissed her jaw and she shivered. “Did Harry do what he promised to do?”
“Yes, he did. Did you let him have his record collection back?”
He laughed. “He told you, did he? Yes, I let him have them back. He said that you were very brave.”
“I tried.”
“I’m back now and, for the moment, that’s all that matters.” He rested his head against hers and sighed. “It’s only for a few days, but it’s more than I could have ever hoped for.”
“When did you get here?”
“I managed to catch the last train out of London last night. Of course, no one knew I was coming so I walked from the station in the pouring rain. Poor Gran nearly had a heart attack when she opened the door and saw me standing there, soaking wet.”
“Do your parents know that you’re all right?”
“Yes, they got a telegram.”
“I kept thinking of your mother, thinking how awful it was that she had to go through it all again, after what she went through with your father.”
He pulled her closer. “Yes, that kept going through my mind too—and you. I hate to think what I put you through, as if you haven’t been through enough.”
“I managed.”
“I’m sorry,” he whispered and covered her mouth with his.
Ilona gave in as he breathed her name between kisses. She was certain that her mother hadn’t had this in mind when she’d suggested they spend some time catching up. When Francis finally released her, with a long sigh of regret, she could do nothing but stare helplessly at him, struggling for breath and for words.
“Now, that”—he gave her a quick and sudden grin—“was worth the wait.”
She blushed. “Yes,” she gasped. “I do believe it was.” Her lips felt bruised from the onslaught.
“As much as I’d like to stay here, I suppose we should get back to the others.”
She nodded, still weak and stunned. “Yes.”
He rose and held out his hand, “Merry Christmas, Ilke.”
She took it. “Merry Christmas, Francis.”
* * * *
“I haven’t eaten so much in months,” Francis observed, as they retreated to the sitting room after tea. The centerpiece of the dinner had been a haunch of venison. No one felt much like talking as they sank onto chairs and couches. Ilona closed the blackout curtains while Aislinn turned on the lamps and someone switched on the radio. The excitement of Francis’ homecoming had quieted to a calm contentment. He joined Ilona on her couch. Aislinn collapsed with Charlie on the other one, and even Charlie declared himself tired after the meal.
“Why do we do it?” he groaned. “Why do we always eat too much at Christmas?”
“Because it’s there.” Francis yawned. “And so we have an excuse to have a nap afterward. It always drives my Mom crazy, Dad and I falling asleep after Thanksgiving Dinner and Christmas Dinner. Every year she threatens to give us bread and water and says she doesn’t slave in the kitchen all day just so she can hear us snoring all evening.”
Ilona giggled. “I don’t blame her.”
“Would it be rude if I slept?” he asked.
“No, I think you could probably get away with anything today.”
“Perhaps not everything.”
He closed his eyes and, before long, was asleep, just as Charlie had fallen asleep against Aislinn’s shoulder, snoring. Her parents and the Reardons were talking by the fire and the rain still spilled down the windows. Ilona let her fingers wander through Francis’ hair, aware that her sister watched her.
“What a wonderful Christmas present,” she said, quietly. “You’ve really missed him, haven’t you?”
Ilona nodded and rested her cheek against his hair. “Yes.”
* * * *
Francis was still dozing when the Reardons left. It was considered sensible that he stay the night after all, her mother pointed out, there was plenty of room and it seemed a shame to wake him, given all that he had been through in the past few months. Ilona was tired herself but she didn’t want to move, even when everyone else had drifted off to bed. She was left alone in the fire-lit darkness, listening to the rain and to Francis’ deep, even breathing. She shifted so that his head rested on her lap so, at least, she could watch him sleep. She ran her fingers lightly through his hair once more and he stirred, murmuring something before sitting up.
“Where is everyone?” He rubbed his eyes.
“Your grandparents have gone home and everyone else has gone to bed.”
“They left me here?”
“No one wanted to wake you. There’s plenty of room here. Papa has found you some spare pajamas.”
He smothered a yawn. “I suppose that makes sense.” He smiled at her. “I don’t suppose, by any chance, that he’s laid those pajamas out on your bed.”
She giggled. “No.”
“It’s probably just as well. I’m sorry I fell asleep on you.”
“It’s all right. It’s understandable in the circumstances.”
He yawned again. “If I wasn’t so damned tired, I’d tell you about those ‘circumstances’, but I will tomorrow. I’d like you to know everything.” He squeezed her hand. “You had better show me where I’m sleeping before I fall asleep on you again. Pleasant as that prospect is, I think I need a bed.”
She led him up the darkened staircase and along the hall. Someone had left the light on in one of the remaining guest rooms, across the stairwell from her own. The pajamas were on the bed, as promised.
“It’s handy that your father is the same size as me.” Francis leaned against the doorframe. “Goodnight, Ilke.” He kissed her and grinned. “Do I get a cup of tea in bed in the morning?”
Chapter Sixteen
Ilona climbed the stairs, careful not to spill a drop of tea and tapped on the bedroom door, before opening it and peering inside. The room was still in darkness but, in the gloom, she could see Francis sitting up in bed. “I brought your tea, as requested.”
“Thank you.” He took the cup and set it on the bedside table.
“Shall I open the curtains?”
“That would be nice. I’d like to see the kind person who brought me my tea.”
She pulled the curtains back to reveal a still, gray morning. Pale light flooded into the room and fell across the bed, touching Francis. He ran his hand through his sleep-tousled hair and smiled. “Damn! I thought you’d at least still be wearing your nightie.”
“You never said but, in any event, I don’t think I would be able to get away with that.”
He took a sip of his tea. “No, I don’t suppose it would go down well with your parents.” He patted the empty space on the other side of the bed. “Can you sit for a while? I’m not ready to be sociable just yet.”
She complied, propping the pillows up against the headboard. She stretched her legs out and leaned back. “Did you sleep well?”
“I did, thank you. If you weren’t home this Christmas, I probably would spend the entire time sleeping.” He set the empty teacup down and put his arm around her shoulders. “That would have been a bit rude.”
“I think you would have got away with it.” She rested against him.
“It was a very long four months. Every day felt like a lifetime.” His breath ruffled her hair while he caressed her shoulder. “I’m so glad to be back, even if it means getting back into a plane and flying again. I just wanted to be back here.”
“You’re not scared of flying again?”
“Not at all. I can’t wait, which reminds me…” He grinned. “I’m no longer Flight Lieutenant Robson, RAF. I’m now Captain Robson, USAAF. I guess they got rid of the 71st while I was away. So, when I’d been back a day or two, I joined the Yanks and I got a promotion for my sins and…” He touched her cheek. “No more scratchy wool uniform.”
“Will you still be at Debden?”
“I should think so, for the time being.”
“That’s good.”
He kissed her. “Now, you had better leave, before I forget where we are. The whole notion of you and me and a comfortable bed is getting a little hard to resist.”
* * * *
Ilona and Francis sat side by side on Anna’s bench and stared out across the empty fields, after Boxing Day lunch. No one else had wanted to take a walk after the lavish meal, declaring it too cold and too damp. It was too muddy to walk anywhere except across the lawn, to the garden beyond the wall.
“Bear with me,” Francis told her. “This may take a while.”
“That’s all right. I don’t mind.”
He opened his coat and gathered her into it. “I guess Harry told you about the dog fight. I don’t know what genius decided that planes near the limit of their range were capable of fighting with planes fresh from nearby airfields, but it was a stupid decision, even though I usually love a good scrap. Still…” He grinned. “I took one of the buggers down. Then another one came after me. I tried to climb, but he got me.”
He sighed and held her closer. “I thought I was done for. I prayed I could get out of that plane in one piece, especially when flames started to come out of the fuselage. It started to get a bit warm. I opened the canopy, flipped her over and away I went. Luckily, the ’chute opened and I was a fair bit away from the action, so no one saw me land. I came down on the edge of a small wood. The only problem was the tree. One side of the ’chute got caught up in a tree and I dislocated my shoulder. Given the alternative, the shoulder was a small problem. I worked my way free. I was in such a desperate hurry that I didn’t really feel the pain, not until later. I thought it was probably best to hide in the trees until it got dark. I didn’t really know what else to do. It’s not like there’s anyone standing around waiting to rescue us. I buried the parachute, smeared dirt on my face and hoped that no one would see me. I saw planes go over, mainly the krauts heading back to their fields to get more fuel, so they could go back and shoot a few more of us down. I still can’t believe how stupid that whole business was, or it would be stupid if it wasn’t so damned tragic.”
“It was a mess.” Ilona inhaled the comforting scent of him. “I listened to the reports on the wireless. I was so scared.”
He brushed her forehead with his lips. “I wouldn’t want to put you through that again.”
She closed her eyes and settled more comfortably against him. “It’s all right, it’s not like you did it on purpose.”
“That’s true enough.” He chuckled. “Now, before you distract me from my story, I’ll continue. It started to get dark and my shoulder was hurting like buggery. I heard something squeaking along the lane that ran alongside the woods so I watched and waited. There was this little girl, she couldn’t have been more than eight or nine, and she was on a bike that was much too big for her. She had blonde hair in braids and blue eyes, and she was an angel. She must have known all along that I was there, because she stopped, more or less, just where I was hidden. She looked straight at me and put her finger to her lips. Then, she had a good look ‘round and hurried into the trees, dragging that ridiculous bike with her. I haven’t a clue what she whispered. Of course, it was all in French, all I caught was Monsieur and Anglais, so I just nodded.
“It was clear that she wanted to wait until it got dark. We waited, not saying a word and me biting my lip until it bled because of my shoulder. I think she must have known that I was in pain, because she patted my good arm, smiled and said something that was meant to comfort me. When it was dark, she got up and crept back to the road. Then she beckoned me to follow. It was good to be on the move. It had been a long day sitting there in those trees, waiting and hoping. We walked along the edge of the road, staying close to the trees. We must have gone for a good mile or so and we reache
d a dirt track. The girl whistled and we waited, and then someone whistled back.”
He paused. “For all I know, she could’ve been leading me into a trap, but it wasn’t as if I had a choice. I figured that, at worst, I’d be turned over to the krauts and sent to a POW camp for the rest of the war. This man appeared out of the darkness, just an ordinary man, a farmer. He spoke with the girl and she got back on her bike and headed off down that the track. The man spoke to me. He spoke a little English. ‘Don’t worry’, he told me. ‘You are safe. Come with me’. I followed him and we ended up at a farmhouse. Not much of one, it was small, but the girl was there with her two little brothers, all goggle-eyed at the sight of this dirty pilot with the lopsided shoulder. They followed me into the house and, once the door was closed, they all started chattering at once, like little birds. Amelie, Jean-Paul and Etienne, they were beautiful little things and not sure whether to hide from the stranger or stand and stare. The farmer introduced his wife, Josianne, and shook my good hand. His name was Alain and I don’t think I will ever find a way to repay him.”
His hand strayed to her face and remained there, warm against her cheek. “They had a little room, off the cellar and I was bundled off down there. It wasn’t much—a cot, a lamp and a chair—but it was safe and hidden. Alain worked out that I’d hurt my shoulder. He sorted it out himself. I guess that wasn’t the first time he’d done something like that. He put it back where it should’ve been and took some strips of linen to hold it into place. I just about fainted from the pain. I really did see stars.”
“Which shoulder?”
“The one you’re resting so comfortably against.” He tightened his arm around her. “And, no, it doesn’t hurt. In fact, it feels rather pleasant at the moment, and you’re distracting me again, when you look at me with those big green eyes of yours.”
A Kestrel Rising Page 15