Trophy (28 page)

Noting his gaze, Hohendorf said: “Your brother is not so happy that we’ve spent so much of the evening together.”

“Oh don’t worry about Mark. He always worries about men who come near me.”

“I can understand that. I have told you about Johann and Erika.”

She nodded. “The navigator who married your cousin.”

“So you see, I know how he feels. He is right to worry about you. It is natural that he would want to protect you.” Hohendorf paused. “You are also,” he went on, “very beautiful.”

She gave a little smile of pleasure. “It took you all evening to say that.”

“But I have been thinking it. I thought it the moment I first saw you. When I saw you arrive with Palmer, I never imagined we would even have danced together. In the beginning, I almost wished I had not come.”

“Why?”

“What you have no knowledge of, you cannot desire.” He looked at her, as if again seeing her for the first time. “I think I am saying too much.”

“No,” she told him softly. “You’re not.”

At four o’clock, Antonia said to Jason: “It’s time I took you home.”

“Took
me
home? I thought I was supposed to be the one doing the escorting around here.”

“Yes, but I think I’m wearing you out.”

“You most certainly are not.”

“Oh good.”

What am I
doing?
Jason thought as he returned to the dance floor.

*   *   *

By five, those still mobile were eating a buffet breakfast. Nico and Bianca had long since departed with the Flachts, and Selby and Kim Mannon were out in the entrance hall, preparing to leave. Morven came out to them and announced that Hohendorf would be escorting her back to the hotel. Transport had been laid on, to avoid the need for the men to drive their guests back. Few were in a fit state to drive.

Selby said with quiet ferocity: “He’s
what?
And what about Palmer? You’re supposed to leave with the escort you came with. That’s the decent thing.”

Morven was not to be deflected. “I’ve already asked Richard and he’s quite agreeable …”

“Agreeable?
What do you expect the poor sod to say? You present him with a fait accompli …”

“Listen! Will you? Richard doesn’t mind.” She spoke slowly, emphasizing each word. “You don’t know what he’s told me. It’s very sad, really.”

“All right. What did he tell you?” Selby’s voice had all the tones of someone who was not about to be convinced.

“Richard, whom I happen to think is a pleasant sort of person, would much rather have brought someone else here tonight.”

“Then why didn’t he tell me?”

“He didn’t bother. The ridiculously old-fashioned traditions of the Service wouldn’t have let him.”

“Nonsense. What are you talking about?”

“She’s a sergeant, Mark. And that makes her the wrong sort for your Mess. I think it’s silly…. Gail Graham, he said her name was.”

“Good God. That’s the boss’s secretary. Sergeants have their own Mess….”

“There you are … but it’s not fair. But Richard doesn’t seem to mind. He says she’s applied for a commission and has a good chance of getting it. So don’t make a fuss, Mark. Don’t jeopardize her chances.” She saw her brother’s eyes focus on something across the hall. She turned and saw Hohendorf approaching. “Well, Mark?” she went on quickly. “We’re going now, OK?”

“I suppose so,” he answered reluctantly.

Just before six, Antonia said: “Time for Cinderella to go home. I’ve had a lovely time.” She gave him her most enchanting smile.

In the light of the new day streaming through the windows, he considered her the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen.

But she’s only a child, he told himself. “Thank you for being so patient with my dancing,” he said.

“Rubbish. You’ve got some good disco moves.”

He smiled. “Is that what you call my efforts? Wing Commanders don’t have good disco moves. They make fools of themselves if they try.”

“That’s not what I think.”

Jason knew he wasn’t going to win the argument. He didn’t want to. “I’d better get you home.”

The Station Commander’s car, complete with driver, was waiting for them outside the Mess. The driver got out and saluted.

“Group Captain Inglis said I was to wait for Miss Thurson and yourself, sir,” he announced.

“Thank you. Have you been waiting long?”

“Since 0400, sir.”

“My God, man. Someone should have told me.”

The driver waited as a pair of Super Tornadoes hurled themselves into the morning sky. November One did not sleep. Throughout the night, two of the OCU aircraft had been on quick reaction alert.

As the quiet of the morning returned, the driver said: “I was fine, sir. I was told not to disturb you.”

“Were you indeed. Have you had anything to eat?”

“Oh yes, sir. Plenty. One of the lads brought me …” the driver stopped, not certain whether he should say more.

“Good,” Jason said, saving his embarrassment. “Thank you for waiting. The Station Commander’s quarters, please.”

“Sir.”

When they reached their destination Antonia gave Jason a gentle kiss on the corner of his mouth before they climbed out. The driver looked firmly to the front.

Jason held the door open for her, then followed to the porch.

She stopped, turned, and kissed him again, this time lightly on the lips. “It was all very wonderful. I … I hope you’ll find the time to see me again soon.”

Before he could say anything to that she turned again, and went quickly inside.

He went slowly back to the car, then paused in the act of getting in. He shut the door, and went up to the driver. “I’ll walk back.”

The driver was surprised. “Bit of a walk, sir.”

“Don’t you think I can handle it?”

“You’ve had a long night, sir.”

Jason stared at the airman’s ID tag. “Rigby.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Think the Wing Commander’s drunk, do you?”

“Oh no, sir.” Rigby had the expression of one who wished he’d kept his mouth shut.

“Good. Because I’m not. I want to walk, and I want to think.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Goodbye, Rigby.”

“Goodbye, sir.”

In the Mess, McCann was still going strong. He peered out of a window. “Goddammit! Who turned on the lights?”

“Been daylight a long time, Elmer Lee,” another American voice said. “Go back to sleep.”

In his orange G-suit, McCann was swaying to a continuing beat which, while now subdued, still came out of the disco room. He leaned against the window. Then he stopped swaying, body going tense like a pointer’s.

“Hey, you guys. It’s the boss, out on a morning walk.”

People crowded to the window. They watched Jason’s distant figure silently.

Then McCann said, with the air of someone who believed he had stumbled onto a big secret, “Hey, guys.” He spoke the words slowly. “Maybe the boss is in love. He—”

“That’s enough, McCann.”

McCann turned to see Ferris. “Aw c’mon, Neil. I was just …”

“Can it. “

Behind Ferris, stood Caroline. As Mess residents, they had nowhere else to go. Their home was where the noise was.

McCann took another look at the distant figure before nodding, as if to himself.

“Consider it closed.” He looked at each of them in turn. “All right?”

“That’s just fine.”

“OK.” McCann staggered away, found an unattended young woman. “Let me tell you what it feels like to be only a poor navigator,” he began to her sadly.

Caroline watched him go into the disco room. “You can’t help liking him.”

“If you like itching powder,” Ferris said, but without malice.

Hohendorf was in his room, listening to the faint sounds of music from downstairs. He had come back alone in the small coach that had been laid on as guest transport, but he would be seeing Morven again later in the day. He didn’t know where her brother was, but he suspected that Selby had remained at the hotel with Miss Mannon.

He closed his eyes as he lay on his bed. He had been staring at the ceiling, wondering how best to deal with this latest caprice of Fate.

“Why, of all the men in the world,” he said into the silence of the room, “did that man have to be your brother?”

He fell asleep, the image of her face in his mind. It was six-thirty, and his last conscious thought was of how much he had wanted to touch her bare shoulders.

At midday, there was a discreet knock on Morven’s door. She was awake and already dressed in jeans and a soft blue, open-necked denim shirt.

“Come in,” she called, securing her hair in a ponytail with an elastic band. She turned on the dressing table stool. “Oh.”

“Expecting someone else?” Selby had entered.

“I thought it might be one of the hotel staff coming to tidy the room. What are you doing up? I didn’t expect to hear from either of you till the day was practically over. Is Kim up and about as well?”

“No. She’s sleeping like a log. I wanted to have a chat.”

Selby was in his dress shirt, opened-necked, with cuffs undone, and which was loosely tucked into his dress trousers. His feet were bare.

“A chat? What about?” Morven asked. “As if I didn’t know,” she added to herself, turning back to the mirror and reaching for her eye shadow.

“I heard that. And yes, you do know what I mean. Are you meeting him? Is that why you’re dressed to go out?”

“Yes, Mark,” she replied with heavy patience. “I am seeing him. He’ll be here in half an hour. We’re going for a walk along to the old fishing harbor, then perhaps for a drive. It’s a very flexible arrangement.”

“Are you out of your mind, Morven? The man’s married, for God’s sake.”

“Please don’t raise your voice. I don’t want the entire hotel to get the bulletin. Axel told me …”

“Axel told you what?”

“Axel told me,” she repeated with calm precision, “all about his marriage, and what really happened.”

“He did, did he? And he’s as innocent as a lamb, I suppose.”

Morven stopped what she was doing, and stared at her brother in the mirror.

“There are times, Mark,” she began in a voice that had lost its warmth, “when you can be very mean. I know what happened to Axel’s marriage. What his wife did to him is very sad. How he managed to fly properly after that is remarkable in itself. You’ve always told me how you’ve got to be aware all the time up there. No time for the luxury of a wandering mind. By rights, Axel should have made all sorts of mistakes. But he didn’t. Now, he’s got over it. He says his flying was never affected.”

“He’s a bloody good pilot,” Selby admitted grudgingly. “I’ll give him that. But that doesn’t mean I’m going to stand by and watch him hurt my sister.”

“He’s not going to hurt me, Mark. My God, we’re only going for a walk …”

“And a drive,” he reminded her. “Then, afterwards?”

She swung round. “What do you mean?”

“I’m not …”

“Exactly what do you mean?” She saw him eye the swelling of her shirt front. “Mark,” she warned, “don’t let me get angry with you. I’ll pretend I don’t know what you’re thinking at this moment.”

“For Pete’s sake, Mo …”

“Mark, if I want to sleep with him … I will. I don’t interfere with your sex life. Grant me the
same courtesy. We’ve always been straight with each other. Don’t let’s spoil it now.”

“Look, I don’t want …”

She tried conciliation. “I know you’re trying to protect me. You’ve always done that. You’ve frightened a few boyfriends away too. But do you really believe that if I’d thought any of them had been worth it, I’d have let that happen? Have I ever given you cause to worry?”

“No. Not really.”

She wanted a more positive answer. “No? Or not really?”

“No,” he said quietly.

“Well then.” She stood up. “I’m not going to give you anything to worry about. I like Axel. He’s actually a very gentle man …”

“Not in the air, he bloody well isn’t. He’s an aggressive sod.”

“Isn’t that what a fighter pilot ought to be?” She leaned forward and closed one of the buttons of his shirt. “You men. So possessive. You should be glad it’s Axel. If it had been McCann, he’d probably have made more than one try for my knickers by now.”

“And I’d have throttled him, back-seater or no back-seater.”

“Oh ho. As I said … possessive. You’ve got more than enough to keep you occupied with Kim on your hands. Don’t add more. And you’d better get back before she wakes up.”

Selby unconsciously glanced at the door. “Listen … the man’s married to a woman who’s got a whole bloody airline. He’s not going to give that up—”

“Mark.” Warningly.

“All right, all right. I’ll leave it alone for now, but I’m not happy.”

“I’ll take note of that. And don’t
worry.
Axel’s so correct, it’s bloody frustrating.” She stooped to check her face in the mirror. “God. I look awful.”

“You look stunning.”

“You’re a biased brother,” she said. But she was pleased.

“Naturally.” Selby kissed her on the cheek. “I’d better get back. Just be …”

“Don’t say it.”

He sighed, nodded slowly. “Fine. I won’t.”

As Selby left, she stood again to the mirror. “I know he’s the one,” she said to her reflection. “And it’s not me you should be worrying about, brother mine.”

They walked down the narrow, sloping lane to the harbor. Though the former fishing village now catered mainly for holidaymakers, there were not many people about that Sunday morning. Morven and Hohendorf came to the end of the lane, crossed the street that skirted the seawall, and wandered onto one of the small moles that formed a haven for small craft within. The firth was calm and the tide
was partially out. The few boats were lying on their sides where the water had retreated to leave moist, slate-colored sand. They were tethered by long ropes to stubby concrete posts set into the mole, and at the edge of the street.

Morven sat down on the warm, embedded stones of the mole. Tufts of grass sprouted between the spaces.

“Did you have any trouble?” Hohendorf asked her.

He had arrived at the hotel up on the cliffs soon after her talk with Selby. He’d left the Porsche there. On the way down they had not spoken, enjoying the walk and each other’s company.