A Kestrel Rising Read Free

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.”
    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