Triskellion 3: The Gathering (11 page)

“It’s from our grandmother,” Rachel said, staring at the postmark.

The letter was stamped
TRISKELLION
and dated a little over two years earlier.

They found a booth in a diner two blocks away and ordered Cokes and all-day breakfasts.

“Open it,” Adam said.

Rachel looked around nervously. No one was paying them any attention. She glanced at Gabriel, who looked as eager as Adam to see the contents of the package.

It was thick and fastened with Sellotape. Rachel used a knife to slice it open and slid the contents out: a letter and a black and white photograph.

The photo was of three people: a man and two women, one of whom was in an air force uniform, with a large aeroplane on a runway behind them. The woman in the uniform was glamorous and curvaceous. Rachel knew from the hairstyle and the lipstick that this was her grandmother, Celia Root. The other woman was also striking, but taller and more stern-looking. Rachel did not recognize her. The man was handsome with a strong jaw and nose.

“That’s Commodore Wing,” Adam said.

“Our grandfather,” Rachel said, as much to remind herself as Adam.

In front of the three adults were two young boys. One was smaller and wearing shorts, the other was a more all-American kid: taller, with a flat-top and long trousers. Both boys were staring intensely into the camera, their faces unsmiling.

Rachel unfolded the letter. It was dated August two years previously. It had been written while they were still in Triskellion.

Clutching the photograph, Rachel began to read. The opening lines of her grandmother’s letter made her heart thump against her ribs and filled her mind with vivid sights and sounds which grew in detail and colour, until they felt as real as her own memories…

C
elia Root crossed the hot airstrip of Alamogordo Air Force Base and took the last few steps towards the house of her old sweetheart, Gerald Wing.

The day was getting hotter still and Celia’s blue service tunic felt rough against her clammy neck as she walked across the neatly cropped dried-out lawn to the house with the big blue Packard parked outside. She took a deep breath and walked up to the door. She rapped decisively, so that she knew there would be no turning back.

The door was opened by a woman wearing civilian clothes. “Hello?” she said. She was American.

Was she Gerry’s housekeeper? Celia wondered. His secretary?

“I’m so sorry to disturb you,” Celia said. “I was looking for Squadron Leader Wing.”

The woman smiled at the formality of Celia’s request. “I’m afraid the squadron leader isn’t here right now,” she said. “But he’ll be back soon. Do you want to come in and wait?”

“Thank you,” Celia said. “I’m Airwoman Celia Root.”

The woman smiled again and held out her hand. “How do you do. I’m Eleanor Wing.”

Celia fought to recover her breath, and tried her best to smile at the woman she now knew to be Gerald’s wife.

The house was modern inside, with spindly furniture in brightly coloured upholstery and lamps that looked like parts of a spacecraft. Celia followed Eleanor into an open-plan living room and sat down on a long red sofa. She was still in a daze, trying to come to terms with the fact that Gerald Wing had married.

“Have you been at the base long?” Eleanor said. “I think I would have remembered you.”

“I only arrived today,” Celia said. “From England.”

“So are you here to see Gerald on air force business?”

“Not really. I mean to say, I am in Alamogordo on RAF business, but I know Gerald from back in England. We come from the same village.”

“How delightful,” Eleanor said, sounding genuinely pleased. “Gerry will be so thrilled to see you.”

Suddenly Celia was not sure that Gerald would be thrilled to see her at all, but before she could say anything else, two boys came running into the room.

“Mommy,” the smaller boy squealed, “Rudolph’s hitting me and pinching me.” The boy was wearing shorts and a grey jumper. He had tears in his eyes and held his forearm out to show his mother the pinch mark.

“He did it to himself,” the bigger boy whined. He was a couple of years older, and to Celia looked somehow more American, with long trousers, a plaid shirt and his hair cut in a military style called a flat-top. “He’s just trying to get me in trouble again.”

“Is this true, Hilary?” Eleanor looked sternly at her younger son. The small boy fixed his mother with bright blue eyes.

“He’s lying, Mommy. He hurt me.”

“I’ll talk to you both about this later,” Eleanor said. “Now go to your rooms. Your father will be home in a minute and he will not be pleased.”

Both boys turned and left the room. Hilary glanced back at Celia as he went and poked out his tongue.

“I’m sorry about that,” Eleanor said. “I’m afraid an air force base is not the best place to bring up children.”

“Have you been married to Gerry long?” Celia coloured, suddenly feeling she was becoming a little too personal, but Eleanor’s face registered no surprise.

“Oh, just over seven years,” she said. “Rudi’s my son from my first marriage.”

Seven years, Celia thought. Just about the length of time since Gerry had last written to her. “I’m sorry,” she said. “Rude of me to pry.”

Eleanor went up to the window and pulled a curtain aside. A military Jeep had rumbled up to the front of the house and Celia heard a door slam.

“Speaking of Gerry,” Eleanor said, “here he is now… Keep quiet; this will be such a surprise!”

Surprise was not the word Celia would have chosen to describe the look on Gerald Wing’s face when he saw her standing in the middle of his sitting room. Horror, perhaps, or confusion. Rage, even.

“Celia?” he said.

“Hello, Gerry.” She could see that he was trying to contain himself, to conceal from his wife whatever emotion he was going through.

“Let me fix some drinks,” Eleanor said, walking towards the kitchen.

As soon as his wife had left the room, Wing turned on Celia. “What the devil are you doing here?” he whispered hoarsely. “Are you mad?”

“I thought you’d be pleased. I didn’t know you were married.”

“Well, I am,” Wing said. “And that’s that.”

“Why did you stop writing?” Celia’s voice was beginning to crack.

“How could I write?” he said. “I was married! Besides the authorities wouldn’t allow it. No contact with home was permitted.”

“Do you love her?” Celia blurted out. She didn’t care about the authorities – or his work.

Wing’s head dropped, and when he raised it again to look at her, the anger had gone from his eyes. “You know you and I could never have married, Celia … and you know why.”

Against her better instincts, tears began to prick at Celia’s eyes. Wing looked away and saw his stepson eavesdropping at the bottom of the staircase. The boy darted back upstairs.

Wing handed Celia a large handkerchief. His voice soft-ened. “Chin up, old girl. Eleanor will be in with the drinks in a moment and I don’t want her thinking I’ve made you cry.”

But the softening of Wing’s voice did exactly that and, mumbling an apology, Celia rushed to the front door and stumbled into the street. Gerald followed and pulled her back, and there was no more than a momentary resistance before she was in his arms and they were kissing each other.

Lost in their embrace, neither saw the two boys watching them from the upstairs windows…

I
t had begun to get dark and Gabriel suggested that they find somewhere to spend the night. Somewhere to relax and work out what their next move would be.

“Let’s go stay at some swanky hotel,” Adam had suggested.

Rachel had agreed, as desperate as her brother for a hot shower and the space to relax and take in what they had read and “seen” of their grandmother’s past.

They had checked in to the Waldorf Astoria. The twins’ powers of “persuasion” meant that money was no object.

Now, while Gabriel sat centimetres away from the vast television set in the corner of their suite, happily flicking from channel to channel, Rachel and Adam lay sprawled on the bed, both wrapped in white towelling robes.

Rachel looked over at her brother. She knew without asking that he was thinking the same thing as her and had been since the visit to their old apartment – although neither of them had been brave enough to say it out loud.

“You think they’ve got Dad?” Rachel said.