Billy Boyle (23 page)

Before I could even think about the fact that with a bad ticker, in exile, with all his family dead and gone, Kaz was content and happy while I was miserable here, we both heard the click-clack of Daphne’s heels coming down the hall.

“Ah! Daphne, and her heels are hot, right, Billy?”

“Don’t you know it, buddy.” I resisted the impulse to say it wasn’t just her heels. Kaz’s story must’ve softened me up a little bit.

“As usual, my dears,” Daphne said, standing in front of us, “you men lie about while I do the real work.” She flashed a sheaf of official papers at us.

“Daphne, are these orders all for us?” I asked in astonishment at the multitude of sheets in her grasp.

“Of course they are. In triplicate, of course, a full set for each of us.” She handed Kaz and me our copies. There was a cover sheet describing the issuing office—U.S. Army Command, European Theater of Operations—the effective duration of the orders, which was thirty days in this case, as well as the priority designation AAA.

The second sheet went into detail about the orders, numbered one through four. The first granted Daphne and me permission to enter the Southwold base. The second directed the base commander to make Lieutenant Rolf Kayser available to assist us, which was a nice way of saying we needed to question him. The third order directed the base commander to allow me to draw supplies from the quartermaster as needed. The fourth order was the longest, detailing Kaz’s duties in London at the request of the Imperial General Staff, as ordered by Major Charles Cosgrove.

The orders spilled over onto a third page, with a final directive to all Allied personnel to assist us, named individually, in pursuit of our specific orders. Below that item were the scrawled signatures of Majors Harding and Cosgrove, as the authorizing parties. Pretty impressive.

“Looks like these could get us into Buckingham Palace,” I said. “Nice work, Daphne. Let’s hit the road.”

Kaz took Daphne’s bag and grabbed his own. As I headed out the door I heard him ask Daphne, “Explain to me, why must we hit the road? Has it been unruly?”

As I turned around to explain what I meant, I caught Kaz winking at Daphne and stifling a laugh.

“Oh, it’s time to make fun of the Yank and the funny way he talks, is it?”

“What do you mean, Billy?” Kaz said, almost dissolving into laughter, “we’d love to assault the roadway with you!”

OK, I thought, as I dug down into my memory of gang talk from South Boston, you asked for it. “Look, I may be tooting the wrong wringer, but if we don’t take a powder quick and tighten the screws on this jasper, it’ll be a trip for biscuits.”

I winked back at them and went out to the car, hoping indeed that this wouldn’t be a trip for biscuits: a trip somewhere with no clear purpose and no results.

CHAPTER
FIFTEEN

“B
ILLY, WAKE UP
,
WE
are almost there!”

I had been stretched out in the backseat sawing logs when I awoke to Kaz hollering up front. I sat upright and rubbed my eyes. We were in the country, driving down a tree-lined lane with green fields and low rolling hills on either side. The sun was out for a change, lighting up the sky to a deep blue and reflecting off clumps of white puffy clouds moving swiftly above the landscape. It was a beautiful day.

“Here we are,” said Daphne as she turned the staff car onto a gravel driveway. Ahead, a fair-sized stone cottage sat on the left side of the road. A line of white fence came from behind the cottage and ran down the length of the driveway beyond.

“Nice place, Daphne,” I said.

Kaz turned and smiled at the look on my face.

“Yes, it is, but that’s the gatekeeper’s house. Closed up for the duration right now.”

“Daphne, are you a princess or something?” I asked as we passed two horses on the other side of the fence running or galloping or doing whatever horses do out in the country.

“No, silly,” she answered. “You won’t find any royalty here. Father has his knighthood, but that’s not hereditary.”

“Your father’s a knight?” Images of a man in armor riding one of these horses floated through my mind. The Black Knight galloping across the pages of a picture book Danny loved to look at with me.

“Sir Richard Seaton,” Kaz explained, “was knighted for his lifelong service to king and country. He was a captain in the Royal Navy in the Great War, now retired.”

“If your father’s a knight, what does that make your mother?” I asked.

“Mother died when we were quite young. Father raised all of us here, taught us how to ride and shoot, and tell right from wrong. It’s been too long since we’ve all been together, Diana, Thomas, and I. I do miss them terribly.” Daphne trailed off into silence and I decided to follow her example rather than ask another stupid question. The gravel crunched beneath our tires as I watched Daphne in the rearview mirror, her eyes staring at the road and maybe beyond, to images of children at play, when the world had been a far safer place.

We slowed to cross a stone bridge arched over a small stream and through the trees I could see a house up ahead. “Seaton Manor,” Kaz announced, as if he had produced it from thin air. The house was long, whitewashed brick, two stories high, with a slate roof and tall chimneys at either end. Around the left side a low gated wall encompassed a courtyard with a stone barn at the opposite end. The white fence ended at the barn, and there were more horses gathered there, standing with their necks craned out over the fence, staring at us as we pulled up to park.

It was a warm day and I left my uniform jacket in the car. As I got out, I checked my reflection in the window and tightened up my tie, made sure it was tucked into my shirt properly, and adjusted my fore and aft cap at the jauntiest angle possible, just teetering on the edge of falling off. I knew I was no Beau Brummell, but with Daphne’s father being a knight and a captain and all, I figured a little extra effort was required.

“Daphne!” A high-pitched scream came from the barn, followed by a figure running out with arms widespread. “Daphne!” she repeated as she flew through the gate, long blonde hair falling down past her shoulders as a tweed cap hit the ground.

“Diana! Oh my goodness!” The two sisters embraced, laughing and clinging to each other.

“I didn’t know you’d be here—”

“—just for a couple of days… how long?”

“—pick up the Imp.…”

“You look wonderful!”

“How’ve you been?”

“… the same. Father?”

“Fine. Working terribly hard.…”

It went on like that for what seemed a long time. Bits of sentences, phrases and expressions, laughter and arms intertwined, the shorthand of close siblings. My kid brother and I could catch up with each other after a month with a few mumbled exchanges and a punch to the shoulder. It was like that with Daphne and her sister, just more genteel, English, and feminine. It made me homesick.

“Oh, Piotr,” Diana exclaimed, finally noticing us leaning up against the car. “It’s so good to see you!” She grasped Kaz’s hands and kissed him with genuine affection.

“Diana,” Daphne said, taking her sister by the arm and turning her toward me, “This is Lieutenant William Boyle. Billy—my dear, sweet, quite impetuous younger sister, Diana.”

I held out my hand and looked into her eyes. They were deep blue, and a shock of her bright blonde hair draped itself down one side of her face. She was wearing blue coveralls with the sleeves rolled up and rubber Wellingtons, probably for working in the barn. There were beads of sweat on her forehead. Horse manure and straw were stuck to her boots, and the general odor was of, well, a barnyard.

She took my hand and I felt her soft, warm skin, as well as the strength in her handshake, almost like a man’s. I could see a faint ripple of muscle in her forearm and I held on to her right hand as she wiped her forehead with the other.

“Please forgive me, Lieutenant, I’ve been shoveling a mountain of horse shit for the last hour.”

“Diana! What did I tell you about foul language?” an angry, stern voice said from behind the gate.

“Father!” Daphne said as she ran over to him. His sternness dissolved as she kissed him. “Is Diana still cursing like a trooper?”

“Yes, she is. A terrible affliction in an otherwise wonderful daughter. Now, tell me, what are you doing… ah, Baron, so good to see you!” Sir Richard walked over to Kaz and extended his left arm. His right sleeve was empty, pinned up at the shoulder. He had a full head of white hair and a short white beard, very neatly trimmed. He was tan and looked in good shape for a one-armed retired naval officer. He was wearing the same outfit as Diana and had also obviously been at work, one-handed.

“Sir Richard,” Kaz said, with a slight bow as he shook his hand, acting every inch the aristocrat. “Allow me to present my associate, Lieutenant William Boyle.” For a second I didn’t know what to do, whether to bow or which hand to shake with. Then I noticed I was still holding Diana’s hand. I could feel myself redden as I let go. She smiled and Daphne laughed. Sir Richard’s forehead wrinkled up as his eyes darted between Diana and me. I tried to gather what few wits I had.

“Very glad to meet you, sir,” I said as I gripped his offered left hand somewhat clumsily. “Most folks just call me Billy.”

“You see, Father,” Diana said, obviously picking up the thread of a previous argument. “See how informal Americans are, offering their first name right off. Billy probably feels more at home having someone curse around him, don’t you, Billy?”

“Well, we don’t shovel much horse… manure in South Boston, Miss Seaton, and not every American is as friendly as I am.”

Diana’s smile vanished, her attempt to rally me to her side having failed. She tossed her hair back and turned toward the barn.

“I just need to finish up a few things. Daphne, dear, come chat with me while I clean up. Father, will you show our guests inside?” Without waiting for a response, Diana and Daphne went off, arm in arm, whispering to each other, ignoring the three of us.

“Well, gentlemen, I am glad to welcome you to Seaton Manor,” Sir Richard began, “but would you mind telling me the reason for this unexpected visit?”

“Daphne wants to take the Riley Imp out,” said Kaz. “I need to get to London and Daphne has to drive Billy up to Southwold. It is a matter of some urgency—”

“The Imp hasn’t been driven in months,” Sir Richard cut in, “what with rationing and the petrol shortage. I put her up on blocks and drained the crankcase. She’s under a tarp in the barn, waiting for better times.”

“These are hardly better times, sir,” I said, “but it would really help us out to have the use of another vehicle.”

“I take it this is a military matter?” Sir Richard asked Kaz, cocking an eyebrow in my direction.

“It is indeed, Sir Richard. Perhaps we should explain—”

“Explanations can wait,” Sir Richard said, the authority of a former captain easily asserting itself. “We need to get to work on the Imp. Follow me.”

Within minutes Sir Richard had us in coveralls and was pulling the tarpaulin off the Imp. It was a bright red two-seater sports car, slung low to the ground and as sleek as a Spitfire.

“It’s a beautiful car,” I said.

Sir Richard smiled. “Yes, she is. Ships and fast cars, they have their own certain beauty, don’t you think? Now man that jack, will you?”

We worked for an hour or so, mounting the tires and adding engine oil. Sir Richard brought in a can of gasoline and we poured it into the fuel tank as he ran a clean rag over the hood where we had left some fingerprints.

“Well, shall we start her up? Baron?” Sir Richard handed him the keys. Kaz slid into the driver’s seat as Sir Richard walked to the barn door to swing it open. The Imp started up smartly and Kaz shifted into first gear, rolling forward toward the door, the engine rumbling with a low, sustained growl.

“Switch off, Baron!” Sir Richard held up his hand, as heavy raindrops started to splat across the dusty courtyard. Kaz cut the engine and we watched as thick, gray clouds blew across and obliterated the blue sky.

“Looks like a storm blowing in from the northeast, probably a North Sea front. Could be nasty. Just leave the Imp there for now. I must see to the horses.…”

His eyes scanned the fenced fields beyond the barn as we heard the growing sound of hoofbeats coming toward us. Daphne came into view, dressed in one of the blue coveralls that seemed to be the uniform of the day at Seaton Manor, astride a brown horse—chestnut, I think they called that color at the racetrack. She was leading about a dozen horses, or ponies maybe, by their size, to the safety of the barn. We walked over to the fence and watched them draw near, satisfaction showing on Sir Richard’s face. I saw Diana riding a jet black horse at the rear of the little herd, when suddenly a thin slash of bright light seemed to hurl itself into the trees to our right, followed by a loud crack of thunder that split the sky above us. I jumped. The horses began to swirl in an agitated mass. One of them reared up on his hind legs and let loose a terrifying sound, all teeth and wide fearful eyes. He took off from the herd crazily and ran back the way they’d come, tail flicking wildly in the electric air. Diana turned her horse on a dime, pulling down on the bridle with her right hand, leaning in the direction she wanted to go, kicking her heels into him at the same time. The horse responded as if he knew exactly what she wanted. Diana galloped past us after the stray, her long blonde hair flowing behind her, as another bolt of lightning arced through the sky. She turned her head for a split second and smiled at me, so fast that I wasn’t sure it had happened. I climbed the fence and watched her vanish over a rise, her horse’s hooves sending clumps of dirt and grass flying as if a machine gun was chewing up the ground behind them. My heart was pounding. It was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen. Everything about the moment—Diana, the black horse, her hair, the lightning—was burning itself into my mind. I stepped down from the fence and saw Sir Richard fixing his gaze on me as the rain began to beat down harder. Kaz was shaking his head wearily.