eyes . . . the offer had just tumbled out. “I tried showing Seb how to play at that age, but he preferred bird books and model trains.” Ian smiled at the memory and Tony smiled too.
“Well, you made that little girl very happy.”
The self-same song that found a path through the sad heart of Ruth, Ian thought, the old line of Keats springing to mind. When, sick for home, she stood in tears amid the alien corn . . . That first impression still lingered: sick for home. No, Ian didn’t regret taking the time to make those eyes shine this afternoon. Even in the middle of tracking a murderess, one could take time to be kind to a child. Or else what was the bloody point of it all?
“I like Ruthie,” Tony said. “Sad little thing, somehow. But don’t turn down Jordan’s money when she offers to pay you for teaching her. We are already looking at an enormous telephone bill.”
Ian raised his eyebrows. “Since when is it Jordan and not Miss McBride?” Tony grinned. “Well, if you’re taking her out, see if you can get anything new about Kolb. And don’t step on any hearts in the name of information gathering.” Though Tony seemed to walk that line very well, just light enough with women that they didn’t seem to mind when he drifted away.
“You’re now the expert in not breaking hearts?” Tony lifted the telephone receiver. “You get to flirt with the next girl in the line of duty, then.”
“Certainly not.” Ian skimmed down the next page of addresses. “I’m a married man.”
“I thought you were divorcing.”
“I am. We are. When there’s time.”
Tony paused, then put the telephone back down with a tilted smile. “Ian, has it entirely escaped you that you’re falling for your wife?”
Ian glanced up. “Don’t be ridiculous.”
“Look, I was glad when you two started sharing more than just a name. You need something in your life besides war criminals and that violin, because whether you’ll admit it or not, you’re lonely as hell. And Nina’s just your idea of a good time, because underneath that starched collar you like to live dangerously, and your wife is the most dangerous goddamned female you or I have ever met in the flesh. But it’s more than just fun now, isn’t it?” Tony paused. “Because after five years of forgetting you even had a wife, you’re suddenly Mr. I’m a Married Man.”
Ian folded his arms across his chest, several replies warring. “I fail to see where any of this is your business,” he said finally.
“Because you’re my friend, you Limey bastard, and if your wife goes winging off into the clouds again when we’re done here, is she going to leave you in pieces all over the floor?”
Chapter 38
Nina
August 1944
Polish front
A lone voice lifted up into the sky, hushed, wobbling. Yelena’s voice from somewhere in the throng of pilots, singing the ancient cradle song from the shores of the Old Man, the song Nina had sung on the airfield that first night. Softly the other pilots took up the song, as Nina pressed her burning eyes shut. They knew. Whether by some whispered word of gossip or by the thread of communication that bound them like a shared radio channel, they all knew.
The quarter moon was still rising over the auxiliary airfield, the pilots awaiting the order to fly. Nina stood in the squelching Polish mud, sealskin cap dangling from one hand and knapsack from the other, a lump in her throat like a stone.
This cannot be happening, she thought.
The song trailed away.
With a huge effort, Nina looked up. Her fellow pilots had moved closer as they sang, as she stood head bowed denying the inevitable. They clustered tight around her, instinctively hiding the regiment’s distress from any outside eyes who might have been watching. Many cried silently, faces turned to her like flowers: dark eyes and blue eyes, red-haired and brown-haired and fair-haired. Nina took a shaky breath, inhaling the scent of engine grease and clean sweat, mud and navigation pencils. The perfume that belonged to women who lived for the sky. She couldn’t see Yelena, but in her mind she heard Yelena’s voice. Not the implacable voice of an hour ago, crying out You’re asking too much! The laughing voice of almost three years ago, as she grasped Nina’s arm and said Welcome, sestra!
Then the memory was blotted out by Bershanskaia’s quiet words. “To your planes, ladies.”