Inherit the Skies (59 page)

She stood aside, still afraid to trust herself to speak. He came past her into the kitchen. The lamplight shone on his hair making it molten gold; in his uniform he looked very broad, very strong.

‘Why are you here?' she asked. There was a catch in her voice.

‘You know why.'

Another moment and she would have been in his arms. A feeling of something like panic assailed her and she turned away, bustling a little to hide her discomfort.

‘Would you like a cup of tea? Or perhaps a glass of brandy? You have eaten, have you? I've just finished but I could rustle you up some biscuits and a nice piece of Stilton …'

‘I didn't come to eat.' There was an amused tone to his voice but also a slightly hard edge. It made nerves flutter in the pit of her stomach.

‘No? Come and sit down then!' She crossed to the fire, taking the poker and stirring the logs so that a shower of sparks flew up the chimney. He stood behind her on the hearthrug, arms folded, legs splayed, watching her speculatively. A pulse leaped in her throat. She replaced the poker and slid into the wing chair beside the fire, forestalling any move on his part to pull her onto the sofa with him. ‘Well,' she said brightly, ‘you have a new command, I hear.'

‘Yes.' He sat down, facing her.

‘Are you pleased?'

‘As pleased as one is about anything in this damned war.'

‘Where will you be stationed?'

‘Somewhere in France. It's not going to be any picnic. Sometimes I think I am too old for this game, Sarah.'

‘Old? You?' Her eyes betrayed her adoration. ‘ Max is working very hard on a new design,' she said. ‘Have you seen him?'

‘I tried to but the door was locked. I presumed that was to prevent people from disturbing him.'

‘Oh Adam, I'm worried about him. He really is behaving very strangely. I went to see him a week or so ago and invited him here any time he likes but he hasn't taken me up on it. I haven't seen hide nor hair of him. He is going to crack up you know.'

‘Sarah,' Adam said. ‘I didn't come here to talk about Max either, even if he is my oldest friend. I came to talk about us. What are we going to do?'

‘Do?' she echoed faintly.

‘Yes – do. We have already wasted some of the best years of our lives. Are we going to waste the rest?'

‘I – I thought we had agreed,' she said helplessly. ‘We are both of us married. There is nothing we can do.'

‘I didn't agree to anything.'

‘But we
are
married.'

‘At present. There are ways.'

‘You mean … divorce?'

‘I suppose I do.'

‘But Adam, that is impossible.'

‘Not impossible.'

‘Well – wrong, anyway.'

‘And certainly not wrong. I love you, Sarah. You love me. How can that possibly be wrong?'

‘Because we are not free.' She twisted her head in anguish. ‘ What about Eric? And Alicia?'

‘Alicia forfeited any right to consideration long ago and there is nothing left between us anyway. I am sorry about Eric. I do feel badly about him. But he has had years of you which he wouldn't otherwise have had – years I have lost. And to be honest fighting has made me selfish. When life expectancy is so short it does wonders for concentrating the mind.'

‘Oh Adam, don't say that …'

‘It's true, none the less. There is no point running away from facts. I love you, Sarah and I want to be with you for however little – or however long – is left to me.'

She swallowed hard. There was a lump in her throat. Oh dear God, she loved him – had loved him for so long. Had there ever been a time when she had not loved him? If so she could not remember it. Ever since the day they had found one another again she had been trying to tell herself that it was wrong, that it could now never be, tried desperately to put him out of her mind and out of her heart – and failed. He had still been there for all her efforts, too much a part of her to be cut out by circumstance or by design or by sheer act of will. She loved him with a love too sweet, too strong, to deny and she knew that in all honesty she had continued to hope secretly that one day they might be together. Now he sat there talking not only of loving her but of dying and the sudden shock of realising that he was speaking nothing but the truth was like a knife thrust through the deepest part of her.

‘Adam …' Her throat convulsed, choking off breath.

He sat forward, reaching for her hands. ‘I have only two more days then I have to go to help with the setting up of my new squadron. I don't know how long it will be before I am home again – maybe not until this damned war is over.'

She nodded. At least now he was talking about coming home – not if, but when. His eyes held hers.

‘Will you be waiting for me?'

The pull of love magnetised her. She felt unreal, as if she were dreaming, and in that dreamlike quality was a magic, powerful and potent as any alchemy, and as old as time.

‘You know I will.'

He drew her towards him. In the firelight the lines of his face were clean and strong, a familiar face made different by shadows. Beneath his touch her flesh tremored, sweetly sensitised, and her limbs were weak, fluid and unresisting. His lips found hers, kissing her with an edge of desperation that only heightened her longing.

Oh Adam, Adam … she wanted him so. Had wanted him through all the lonely nights …

‘You are so beautiful,' he said softly into her neck and the breath whispered across her flushed skin. ‘So beautiful – and you are mine …'

‘Oh yes,' she murmured back, and it was close to a sob. ‘Yes, yes …'

They had gone, she knew, past the point of no return. Right and wrong had ceased to matter now; there was an inevitability about what was going to happen and she was no longer afraid but soaringly glad. Then, as their embraces grew more urgent, they were jerked suddenly back to reality by a hammering at the door, and they drew apart, looking at one another.

‘It sounds as if someone is rather anxious to see you,' Adam said. His voice was ragged.

Sarah extricated herself and crossed to the door, patting her hair into place with hands that trembled. She opened it and her eyes widened.

‘Max!'

‘I hope it's not inconvenient. You did say to come round at any time …' His voice was hesitant, a parody of his old jovial tones and his thin mobile face was troubled. Somehow he looked a little like a naughty child standing there, dishevelled and expecting a scolding, but that impression too was humour of the blackest kind, for Max had aged so much in the last year. Pity for him overcame Sarah's frustration – she had, after all, invited him. She could hardly now turn him away just because she was aching for a few more minutes of privacy with Adam.

‘Of course it's not inconvenient, Max,' she said warmly. ‘ I'm really glad to see you. I'd almost given you up for lost. Adam is here. He will be pleased too. He came to see you today, he said, but you were too busy to let him in.'

‘Yes … yes … always busy …'

Sarah led Max into the living-room. Adam's face told her that he felt just as she did – frustration mingled with relief that Max had knocked when he did and not a few minutes later and determination that at all costs he must not realise that his arrival was less than welcome.

‘Max, my friend! Good to see you!'

‘I shall put the pan on to cook your bacon, Max, just as I promised,' Sarah said. ‘And I will leave you two alone to talk while I do it.'

When she returned half an hour later with a plate of crispy bacon, eggs and bubble and squeak, made from potato with the cabbage she had cooked for her dinner and not wanted, the two men were deep in conversation, another hour and it became crystal clear they were set to make a night of it.

Sarah smiled ruefully but she was glad to see Max a little more like his old self. If anyone could snap him out of his black depression it was Adam. And there was always tomorrow. Two more days, he had said. Thank goodness for two more days – perhaps the only ones they would ever have.

It was midnight before Max made a move. By this time he had drunk a good deal of Sarah's brandy and was a little unsteady on his feet.

‘I'll drive you home, Max,' Adam offered.

‘No, old boy, you want to stay here with Sarah …' Max was sufficiently rosy to have forgotten that Adam was a married man – and his wife was not Sarah!

‘It's all right, you'll need someone to take your boots off and put you to bed by the look of you,' Adam said good humouredly. Except for the fact that he had not had nearly long enough alone with Sarah he had enjoyed the evening enormously. Now he took her aside, pulling her into the dimly lit hall and kissing her.

‘I'll see you tomorrow. Is it really necessary for you to go to work?'

‘I expect I could find an excuse to stay at home for the day.'

‘Good. Do that. I'll come over after breakfast.' He kissed her again, then pulled away, whistling through his teeth. ‘No more now. Don't you know what you do to me?'

‘No,' she teased. ‘What?'

‘If you don't know now you never will,' he retorted. ‘But I will give you a clue. It is liable to make me stop behaving like a gentleman.'

‘Oh Adam, get along with you!' She gave him a little push. ‘I believe you are as tiddly as Max!'

‘No, it's just the effect you have on me.'

‘Adam?' called Max. ‘Adam – where are you?'

‘I'm just coming.' He grinned at Sarah. ‘ Goodnight, my love.'

‘Goodnight. Take care.'

When they had gone she stood at the door of her cottage staring out into the velvet darkness, at the trees silhouetted against the sky and the myriad of stars which studded it. And for a moment the magic returned, taking away all guilt and frustration, imbuing her only with warmth and love.

Perhaps Adam would soon be going away again. Perhaps the time they would have together would be all too short – a few brief stolen hours. But Sarah believed in that moment that she had never been happier in all her life and wondered if she would ever be quite as happy again.

Unusually for him Adam overslept. Day after day, month upon month of rising before dawn had instilled in him a habit that he had begun to believe was unbreakable – however tired he might be he was awake at precisely the same time. The first day of his furlough had been the same – his body clock was ignorant of the fact that there was no compulsion to leap out of bed and begin the day, and he had been torn between enjoying the luxury of lying for as long as he liked between the sheets and annoyance that he was seemingly unable to take advantage of the opportunity to sleep, sleep, sleep.

Today however was an exception. When he awoke daylight was streaming in through the curtains, daylight several hours old, not the first cold crack of dawn. He stretched, enjoying the sense of well being, and the memories of the previous evening's pleasures came flooding back and with them anticipation for the coming day. He got up, crossed to the window and drew back the curtains to let in the full beauty of the morning then poured cold water into the basin on the wash stand and splashed it over him. Here at Chewton Leigh he could have hot water if he wished – a pull on the bell rope and as much as he required would be brought to him. But he preferred the invigorating cold he was used to.

He was dimly aware of the telephone bell shrilling in the distance but he took little notice and was surprised when there was a tap at his door and the considerate Evans called softly: ‘Mr Adam – are you awake?'

He pulled on his shirt and crossed to the door, buttoning it as he went.

‘What is it, Evans?'

‘Telephone – for you sir.'

‘For me? At this time of day?' For some reason Sarah had flashed into his mind. Perhaps something had happened to Eric.

‘I think it may be your aerodrome,' Evans said in his curiously pedantic way.

Adam ran down the stairs and into the hall. Sunlight was making bright patterns on the polished stone floor. He took the telephone.

‘Adam Bailey.'

‘Bailey – Major Marchment here. Look, I'm sorry to interrupt your hard-earned leave, old man, but we have a problem here. Farrant was killed last night.'

Farrant had joint command of the new squadron with Adam, Major Marchment was the ‘desk man'.

‘Farrant was!' Adam exclaimed. ‘Christ! How?'

‘Bit of a mystery. Took up a plane and … well, you'll hear the details when you get back. But I'm afraid it's going to have to be sooner rather than later. Can't leave the baby without a nursemaid.'

Adam swore. ‘ You mean …?'

‘I mean you will have to cut your leave short, old man. I know it's a bother but there is no alternative. How soon can you be here?'

Adam passed a hand over his eyes, thinking. ‘ By lunchtime – as long as the jalopy doesn't let me down.'

‘Good. It had better not. I need you here, Adam – and quickly. There are things that need sorting out.'

‘I'll be there,' Adam said.

He replaced the telephone and stood glaring at it. Damn and blast. Farrant dead, the whole thing cloaked in mystery. Without knowing a single fact he could hazard a guess as to the reason. Farrant was a brilliant pilot and a daring leader. But on occasions he drank more than was good for him and when he did he could become reckless, juvenile almost. Perhaps there had been a party in the mess last night – and a wager of some sort. If Farrant had taken a plane up for a lark it was unforgiveable, the sort of damn fool thing even a raw recruit should know better than to do. But it was that streak of recklessness that made good fighter pilots. In all likelihood Farrant had been showing off. Now he was dead. The new squadron would have to be reorganised and Adam's leave was to be cut short.