Chapter 33
Have you seen the lights that smoulder on a cloud’s resplendent shoulder
standing out before a saffron-coloured sky?
Would you be in splendid places and illimitable spaces?
Well then do it, damn you, do it; learn to fly!
—Jeffery Day
The Call of the Air
Clarity had struck Ash like a single bolt of lightning, and she couldn’t bear to waste another second. She didn’t need to tidy up her classroom or even change back into a skirt. She didn’t want to pause and think or worry and talk herself out of it. She only wanted Rook.
Later, she would wonder why she hadn’t checked Temple Church or his flat first. But in that moment, like a homing pigeon following the compass in its beak, she made straight for Whitehall.
Surely he’d have reported to the Home Office straight away upon receiving word of the invasion, ready to begin his new role with old friends.
Darting through traffic the same careless way she’d once run through enemy fire, Ash took off racing down the street.
She ignored the stern looks from drivers and pedestrians alike, settling into her stride.
Her heart hammered like a howitzer as her feet pounded out each step of the three miles to Whitehall.
When she reached the rows of imposing white government buildings, the weight of the day began to sink in once more, for every entrance was guarded by severe-looking policemen who watched her like hawks, and no wonder—a short-haired woman wearing Plimsolls and men’s overalls running past Downing Street like her feet were on fire was bound to set their teeth even more on edge.
There was no way they were letting her inside.
Deflated, she continued to the end of the block and turned towards St. James Park.
Walking back up Horse Guards, she felt him before she saw him, standing on a set of stairs that ran between the buildings, looking smart in his dark jacket and waistcoat.
Taking the stairs two at a time, she made straight for him, leaping into his arms even as he stood amid a group of smoking, chatting men.
“All right, Little Bird?” he asked, face lined with concern.
“I don’t need time to think,” she gasped. “Tomorrow—can we marry tomorrow? If you still want to, I mean?”
“Tomorrow? Do you think they’ll grant a special license to just anyone these days?” he teased, withdrawing a paper from his pocket and unfolding it for her to see that they may not grant them to everyone, but they had indeed granted one to him.
“Cheeky.”
He grinned and pulled her in for a long, deep kiss, while the other men clapped and cheered with genuine joy. Ash looked around at them sheepishly as he tucked her into his side, and she realized they weren’t just any random colleagues.
Davies slapped Rook heartily on the back, while Dusty stubbed out his cigarette before picking Ash up and spinning her around, setting her down face to face with Stewart, who wore tinted glasses to shade his eyes.
A dog whimpered and licked her hand, and Ash looked down to find a border collie—her once black hair gone mostly grey around the snout and eyes of faded blue.
“Can’t be,” she whispered in shock. “Maxie?”
The collie whined again and thumped her tail against the ground as Stewart scooped Ash into his arms and squeezed her tight.
“Rook told us everything, you sly, wee devil,” he whispered.
Ash blushed all the way down to her toes, though she certainly hoped Rook hadn’t told them everything.
“Thank you for writing me. Your letters kept me going those first years back at home.”
“They were a lifeline for me too,” she whispered. “Even though it was murder not to tell you the whole truth, I felt as though you got to know the real me.”
“I always knew the real you, Ash the Flash,” he said, hugging her again.
“It’s so good to see you. And Max—but how…?”
Stew shrugged. “The whisky, I reckon.”
She laughed at the joke, but he didn’t crack a smile, and she glanced from him to Rook and Davies. “He’s teasing me, right?”
Rook raised his eyebrows as if to say, Is he?
“Right?”
The lads insisted they go round to The Old Shades, where they bought drinks for both Ashley and Rook.
Though he’d explained about her alter identity, Dusty and Stewart wanted to hear the whole story from her own lips, and they roared with laughter at how she’d pulled one over on all of them for so many years.
“And you kept his identity disc all this time?” Dusty asked, incredulous. “Blimey. I haven’t even kept mine.”
To answer his question, Ash pulled out the leather cord she wore tucked inside her top.
“A. Rook,” Dusty read. “Suppose that’s him all right.”
“Sure it’s not some other Rook?” Stew teased. “Andrew? Or Aaron?”
“Abernathy?” Dusty suggested. “Augustus?”
“Quite right,” Stew agreed. “You can’t be the only one, pal. Maybe you’re just a convenient replacement.”
“A lucky replacement, more like,” Rook replied.
In spite of the events that day, they joked and laughed, and Ashley’d never felt more at ease, more at home.
How had she ever doubted marrying Rook would be the next right thing?
They had always been stronger together, and her mother was right, of course.
She couldn’t ignore the luxury of a second chance.
War may come, but even if it parted them, even if it severed their twin souls she’d rather have him for whatever time they both had left.
The raucous group quieted down when Rook took the ring from his breast pocket and held it up so it sparkled in the light.
It was a slim gold band with inlaid chips of diamond and ruby, surrounded by finely etched stars.
She smiled as he held out his palm for her left hand.
Then he slid the lovely ring down her finger and held her tight. “No turning back now,” he whispered.
“Once more unto the breach, dear friend,” she replied, and kissed him, filling that kiss with every promise under the sun, the moon, and stars.
That evening, they traipsed tipsily back to her empty flat, and she searched through her wardrobe in dismay. “I’ve nothing at all to wear,” she observed, allowing a small twinge of girlish regret.
“I believe I made it clear I’d marry you in trousers,” he said, tugging at the shoulder strap of her overalls.
“I’m not wearing trousers. I’d never hear the end of it from the lads,” she argued, but the fact that he was willing had her slamming the wardrobe closed and showering him with kisses.
“What made you change your mind?”
“I spent the whole day telling children and parents to pretend they were brave if they had to, and I realized I was making the same stupid mistake all over again—keeping you at arm’s length for fear of losing you.”
“I would have waited.”
“I know. It’s one of the reasons I love you.”
“There are more?” he murmured in her ear, making her shiver.
“Hundreds more. An infinite number of reasons. And then I found this.”
She took Frau Wintter’s medallion from her pocket and placed it reverently in his palm, his initials staring up at them both: AR.
“What is it?” he asked.
“A sign,” she said. “Frau Wintter gave it to me in 1916. Somehow, I think it led me straight to you.”
The next morning, September the third, Temple Church was adorned with a sea of fresh hydrangeas when Ash entered wearing a simple, pale-green frock.
“You look lovely,” Davies greeted, kissing her on the cheek. “This is Reverend Haley,” he added, introducing the freckled rector, no longer TomTom’s double in his priestly robes.
“Miss Ashley, I quite enjoyed your lecture at the University of London last winter.”
“I should thank you, I think,” Ash said, shaking his hand warmly. “If not for you, we might never have been reunited.”
The reverend grinned, adjusting his glasses. “Love always finds a way. I’ll see you down there,” he added before heading to the front of the church.
“Ready?” Davies asked her.
Ash took a breath and nodded. She wished she’d come to her senses sooner so her mother and Frau Wintter could have been there, but having Stew and Dusty was perfect too.
“I never thanked you!” she realized. “For what you did—bringing my mother and Frau Wintter to Collingwood for the duration.”
Davies grinned. “Win-win-win,” he said, turning towards the altar and offering his elbow.
Rook played Bach on the organ as they walked, then stepped up to meet her the moment she arrived.
All the rest was a blur from The Book of Common Prayer. Memories past and present flicked through her mind like a moving picture—standing next to him inside a barn in France, target practice in the sunshine, every moment like a dotted line to this.
They’d not had time to sort out wedding bands, so Rook used the ruby ring—the only one Ash would ever need, if truth be told.
For him, she should have fashioned something simple from thread or wire, but they’d spent their evening wrapped up in other things.
Cheeks flushing, she took his hand in hers, looking deep into his dancing grey eyes, and she knew that she had never been more seen.
Then Davies took one step forward, a gold band upon his palm, and when Ashley glanced at him in question he merely shrugged. Whether it appeared in his hand by magic or once belonged to a baronet, she was happy to accept the gift for what it was.
Sliding the ring down Rook’s third finger, she repeated the words like a solemn prayer. “I, Charlotte Elizabeth Ashley, take you, Alexander Roland Rook, to be my husband, for better, for worse, to love and to cherish and always be true—”
“True as steel?” he murmured.
“True as Troilus,” she agreed with a grin. “From henceforth, every day—and twice on Sundays,” she added.
Ash couldn’t take her eyes off Rook’s crooked smile, but she could hear Davies huff with delight, while Dusty and Stewart snickered.
“For as long as we both shall live.”
She had sworn to herself she wouldn’t choke up, but the love beaming down from his eyes was overwhelming.
“Don’t cry, Little Bird,” he whispered when given permission to kiss the bride. And he kissed her with a warmth that promised ten thousand more tomorrows before they turned and ambled together up the aisle.
Their friends threw rice as they left the church, and pigeons swooped down to gobble up the grains as the sound of a radio broadcast drifted from some unseen open window.
A car was waiting to drive them wherever they wanted to go, and all down the street traffic stopped as though the world had paused for them, but from the bleak and silent expressions it couldn’t be so.
Then the words coming through the radio snapped to attention in Ashley’s brain.
It was the unmistakable voice of Prime Minister Chamberlain.
“This morning, the British Ambassador in Berlin handed the German government a final note, stating that unless we heard from them by 11:00 that they were prepared at once to withdraw their troops from Poland, a state of war would exist between us. I have to tell you now that no such undertaking has been received, and that consequently, this country is at war with Germany.”
A cold chill ran through Ash, and she began to tremble, but Rook pulled her close and brought her back to him. “Together,” he reminded her. “When you’re afraid, I’ll carry it for you.”
“Together,” she repeated.
“Where to?” the somber driver asked, and Rook tilted his head towards Ashley.
“Regent’s Park, please.”
“I think they’ve removed most of the animals from the zoo, ma’am.”
“Not the zoo. Queen Mary’s Garden. My husband proposed to me there.”
“Very good, ma’am,” the driver said, ushering them into the car.
Rook smiled an impish grin but had the decency to refrain from announcing how she’d declined that first proposal.
“Should I wait?” the driver asked when he let them out near the garden entrance.
“No, thank you,” she said. “We’ll be fine.”
With her hand tucked in Rook’s elbow, they strolled into the grounds to find another little flycatcher flitting from shrub to shrub, blissfully unaware of Chamberlain’s address.
“Ask me again,” she told Rook when they reached the bench where they had sat a few days prior.
Amusement plucked his lips, but he knew how to follow orders. “Will you marry—”
“Yes,” she interrupted. “Every day, from now until hereafter. My answer will always be yes.”