Jan stretched out to stroke his sister’s cheek. “I am sorry, Sonia. Don’t worry. I am a survivor and will remain one. Look what I’ve survived already.”
Sonia knew that Jan had been in the thick of things in Poland when the German blitzkrieg had arrived. He’d been shot down twice, but had sustained only minor injuries. At one point a German patrol had captured him, but he had made his escape and then had found his way out of Poland. He had hooked up with his squadron a month or so before the Battle of Britain had begun. She knew that the squadron had been kept in reserve and that he was champing at the bit to get some action. She reached up to clasp the hand on her cheek and stroked it tenderly. She kissed the vivid burn-marks carefully. Jan flinched.
“I’m sorry, did I hurt you?”
“No, no. It hurts all the time. But it will be healed soon. It’s because of the burns that I was given the leave.” Jan stared up at the sky, whose azure clarity was punctuated by a few wispy white clouds.
“It doesn’t look like it now, but things are getting very hot up there – I hope our superiors allow the Kosciuszko to play its part.”
Sonia kissed Jan on the cheek. She didn’t know whether it was good for him to talk about his flying or for him to forget about it, however briefly, and in her uncertainty she asked no questions.
Jan looked at a pretty nurse who was passing, pushing a baby in a chair. She lowered her head demurely in response to his frank look of appreciation. Jan’s gaze passed over her head. “Ah, I see there’s some sort of mobile café there. Would you like a drink?”
“A glass of orange squash would be nice. They’ll let you bring it over here.”
Jan jumped up and ran off and returned rapidly with two glasses of squash. As he sat down, he spilled some of his own glass onto his trousers. “Ah, clumsy old me. Na zdrowie!”
Jan had been renowned for his physical awkwardness as a child and it had been something of a surprise to Sonia and their parents that he had become a pilot, let alone such an apparently excellent one. “Different type of coordination,” he had said without elaboration when Sonia had mentioned it on his last visit.
“And so, the policeman, he seems a pleasant fellow. Good-looking too. Is it love?”
Sonia’s cheeks reddened. “Maybe, I don’t know. He is a very kind man, I think. He has been a little sad also. I like to think that I cheer him up a little.”
“And why is he sad?”
“His wife died before the war and I think it has taken him some time to get over it.”
“How did she die?”
“I don’t know. He doesn’t really talk about it and I don’t like to pry.”
“Hmm.” Jan waved his hand at a wasp hovering over his now empty glass. “And will he go to war?”
“No. At least, I think not. He is a little old, but he wanted to join up. His superior said no. Told him he was too important to the police. He did fight in the last war and he is forty-three, and I think he is a very good policeman, so it is perhaps not so surprising. He is upset about it though.”
“You do not think that perhaps he is a little too old for you?”
Sonia wrinkled her nose at Jan. “No, I do not. Fifteen or twenty years’ difference in age is nothing between a man and a woman, provided the man is the older.”
“Oh. Why so? You mean I can’t find myself a little widow in her forties to keep me warm? Why not?”
Sonia pushed Jan’s shoulder playfully. “Oh, shut up, you idiot.”
Two air force officers walked past and Jan nodded to them. “Czechs. I met one of them at Northolt the other day. There are quite a crowd of Czech flyers, not as many as the Poles, but still a good number. And they know how to fly too.”
Sonia nodded. It was almost time to get back to work. She lay back and stretched out her arms and basked in the sun. Her brother did likewise. “Five more minutes, then I must return to the shop.”
“Hmm.”