For Matthew Jayne and Ben ...Dancing with Angels is a work of fiction. It is not intended that the characters portrayed bear any relation to any real persons living or dead. Except that I hope they reflect the characters of the pilots who fought in the Battle of Britain. Also 505 Squadron as portrayed never existed. Neither did RAF Brierly Heath.
SYNOPSIS
In July of 1995, a young man, David Kendal and a young woman Rebecca Summers, are requested to visit a solicitor, Mr Pickering.
When they visit him, he informs them that the visit concerns the last will and testament of their grandfather, Mr Peter Geoffrey Fallon. David insists that there must be a mistake, both his grandfathers are dead, he has never heard of Peter Fallon. Rebecca did know her grandfather, Peter Fallon. They were close.
Later, David and Rebecca have lunch together to discuss things. Rebecca tells David that Peter Fallon was a Battle of Britain fighter pilot. Peter says that his grandfather John Kendal too fought in the Battle of Britain, but was killed toward the end of September 1940. Talking together, it transpires that John Kendal and Peter Fallon were on the same squadron (505), they would have known the same people, the same girls. David says, perhaps John Kendal wasn’t my grandfather, perhaps Peter Fallon was.
Both David’s and Rebecca s parents are dead. Rebecca has no living relatives. David’s only living relative is his grandmother, Celia. His grandfather, John Kendal’s widow, to whom David is close. To try to solve the puzzle they decide to visit Celia to see if she can explain things to them.
During two consecutive Sundays Celia relates to them all she can remember about the summer of 1940. David and Rebecca are attracted to each other, and during the week between the two Sundays they spend a lot of time together. They are falling in love.
Celia tells them everything she can remember about the summer of 1940. How she and John met, fell in love, and married. The opposition she encountered from her parents, especially her father. The things that she still remembers about 505 squadron, and it’s pilots. She also tells them about the death of her husband John, David’s grandfather; and how Peter came to see her some days later, how tired he looked, John’s death had hit him extremely hard. She says that she doesn’t know quite how it happened but she and Peter made love. She says that she has always been convinced that David’s father was John’s child, but in fact she is not sure. He could have been Peter Fallon’s
Because of their relationship growing closer David arranges, through his GP a private DNA test. The test shows that he and Rebecca are not related. As he is not Peter Fallon’s grandson. He must be John Kendal’s.
Chapter One David and Rebecca (1995)
David Kendal glanced at the sign above the door, G A Pickering, Solicitor. He pushed the door open, and stepped inside Out on the street the July morning was hot and sticky, but on the counter of Mr Pickering's front office the receptionist had set up a fan. It oscillated from side to side, ruffling papers and giving an illusion of coolness.
David could see, by the worn carpet and tired paintwork, that Mr Pickering's office had seen better days. A number of plastic chairs, one occupied by a young woman, were grouped round a low table which was scattered with out of date magazines.
The receptionist looked up, smiled and said, 'Good morning.'
'Hi,' David smiled back as he walked across to the counter 'David Kendal. I've an appointment with Mr Pickering at eleven.'
The receptionist checked the book on the counter. 'Right. Would you like to take a seat? Mr Pickering won't be long.'
David took a seat opposite the girl. She looked to be about the same age as him, mid-twenties. She was slim and pretty, with fair hair drawn back in a ponytail. Her flowered summer dress made a pleasing flash of colour in the rather drab office. She looked cool and together as she leafed idly through a magazine.
David had never met Mr Pickering. The only dealing he had ever had with a solicitor had been when he bought his flat. But he had received a letter a week ago requesting him to contact Mr Pickering. He had rung the office and asked the receptionist what it was that Mr Pickering wanted to see him about. She had been either unable or unwilling to tell him, but they arranged a time and a date and here he was.
It was three minutes past eleven when the door of Mr Pickering's office opened. Mr Pickering, tall, grey haired and bespectacled was shaking hands with a middle-aged couple. They crossed the room, spoke to the receptionist and left.
'Miss Summers and Mr Kendal?' said Mr Pickering. 'Would you like to come through?'
David and the girl exchanged glances and came to their feet together.
'Both of us?' David asked.
'Yes,' Mr Pickering smiled. 'Both of you.'
David followed the girl into the office. Mr Pickering shook their hands and moved round behind his desk. 'Please,' he said, 'take a seat.'
As David sat down, he looked again at the girl. She turned to him, raised her eyebrows slightly and then turned back to Mr Pickering.
He adjusted his glasses, cleared his throat and said, 'This concerns Mr Peter Geoffrey Fallon's, your grandfather's, last will and testament.'
'I'm sorry,' David broke in. 'You said, our grandfather's last will and testament?'
'That's right.'
'There must be mistake. Both my grandfathers have been dead for years.'
Mr Pickering looked at him over the top of his glasses. 'You are David Kendal?' he said. 'Son of Robert and Fiona Kendal? Born in Sevenoaks on the 3rd of October 1969?'
'Yes.'
'Well, there's no mistake as far as I'm concerned. Whether Mr Fallon was or was not your grandfather, under the terms of his last will and testament you are a beneficiary.'
'I still don't understand,' David said. 'My paternal grandfather was killed in 1940. My maternal grandfather died in 1972 I've never heard of this man Fallon, is it?'
'Yes, Fallon. Peter Geoffrey Fallon. Well, be that as it may, you are still a beneficiary under the terms of his will.' Mr Pickering paused and adjusted his glasses. 'I believe your parents are dead?'
David nodded. 'Yes, they are.'
Mr Pickering turned to the girl. As yet she had said nothing. 'I believe your parents are dead too, Miss Summers?'
'Yes,' she said. they are.
'Well, under the terms of Mr Fallon's will, your respective parents would have been the beneficiaries. But, in the event of them predeceasing him, which unfortunately they have, you two become the beneficiaries.'
'This still doesn't make sense,' David said. 'I told you, both my grandfathers have been dead for years and I've never heard of Mr Fallon.'
'I take it that you two have never met before?' said Mr Pickering.
'Not to my knowledge,' David answered.
Mr Pickering looked at the girl. She shook her head. 'Likewise,' she said. 'We've never met as far as I know.'
'But you did know your grandfather, Mr Fallon?'
'Oh yes, I knew him. I hadn't seen him for several months before he died. As you know, I was working in Italy. I'm afraid I wasn't even at the funeral. By the time I got back to England it was all over. I really am very sorry about that; I would have liked to have been there.'
'Uum,' Mr Pickering murmured. 'I agree. This does seem somewhat strange, but as far as I can see, it doesn't alter anything. I acted for Mr Fallon a number of times over the years and,' he smiled, 'I can assure you; there was nothing wrong with his brain.'
David turned to the girl, Miss Summers, and said, 'I think we need to talk.'
'Yes,' she said. 'I think we do.'
'I don't know your first name.'
'Rebecca.'
David held out his hand. 'David,' he said.
Mr Pickering coughed quietly. 'In his will your grandfather stated that he wanted to be cremated. Also, he didn't want a religious ceremony. He wanted everything quiet and low key.' He paused and looked at Rebecca. 'As you weren't here and I was the sole executor of his will and I had no way of knowing when you'd be back, I thought it best to take it upon myself to arrange things. That's why, when you arrived back, it was all over. I am sorry that you missed the funeral, but I did act with the best of intentions.'
Rebecca raised her hand. 'That's all right,' she said. 'I'm sure you did the right thing.'
'Thank you. Well, there's the question of Mr Fallon's affairs. The main asset is the cottage in Wenham Green. That is to be sold, unless either one of you wants to buy it, in which case that person would have to purchase the other's share of the property. There are one or two other things to be settled and three small bequests.' He paused. 'I can tell you, that when all other matters have been dealt with, you should both inherit something in the region of £150,000. I'm unable to tell you the exact amount at the moment.'
David and Rebecca sat in a stunned silence for several seconds. David’s first thoughts were, understandably, selfish. My God, £150,000 I could clear the mortgage on the flat. Change the car and have a decent holiday. Then secondary thoughts came through.
He said, 'My God, a £150,000.' He shook his head. 'I didn't even know him. It doesn't seem right. I mean - all that money from someone I didn't know.'
Rebecca was staring at Mr Pickering. 'Wow,' she breathed. 'I expected something when granddad died, but not this. I'd never really given it a lot of thought. £150,000. Wow,' she breathed again.
'This is quite a shock,' said David. He paused, shaking his head. 'I don't know what to think.'
'Well,' Mr Pickering continued, 'as I said, under the terms of Mr Fallon's will, the cottage in Wenham Green is to be sold. I'll leave it up to you to put it on the market. It shouldn't take long to sell; it's a very desirable property. The cottage will of course have to be emptied. I'm talking about the furniture and Mr Fallon's personal effects. Nothing, so far, has been touched. Again, that's something that you'll have to do. Then there are the other things I mentioned to be dealt with and that's it. I'll be in touch with you both in due course. If in the meantime you have any questions, or anything else at all, please feel free to contact me. Call in at the office or give me a ring.'
'About granddad's furniture and things,' said Rebecca. 'When do you want it sorted out?'
'There's no desperate rush,' said Mr Pickering. 'Neither of you live locally, do you?'
They both shook their heads.
'Well, take your time. Decide what you want to do. What you want to keep and what you want to part with.' He glanced quickly from one to the other, then said, 'You can engage a firm that will clear the cottage for you. They'll send everything to auction and you get the proceeds. But as I said, there's no rush. I would advise that you take your time.' He turned to Rebecca and said, ‘I don t suppose you have a key to the cottage?’
‘No,’ Rebecca answered.
Mr Pickering took a key out of his desk drawer, and handed it to her. ‘You’d better have this one.’ He came to his feet, smiling and holding out his hand.
David and Rebecca too stood up. They shook hands with Mr Pickering in a somewhat dazed silence. He moved round his desk and opened the door.
In the outer office, the receptionist was speaking on the telephone. As he and Rebecca walked over to the door, David asked, 'Would you have lunch with me? We do need to talk, at least I do. I'd like to know about your grandfather. I'd like to know where I fit in.'
'Okay,' Rebecca answered. 'That would be good. I think I need to be quiet for a while. I'm still in a state of shock.'
'I don't know Cheltenham,' David told her, 'but I noticed a small restaurant just along the High Street. Will that do?'
'Yes, fine.'
They walked along in silence, entered the restaurant and found a table for two near the window. A waitress came across, handed them each a menu and took their orders for drinks. They each had mineral water.
As David studied his menu, Rebecca studied him. He was a little taller than she was, perhaps five eleven. He looked wiry, as if he needed a good meal. Dark hair, green eyes. Not bad looking, she thought.
Rebecca's eyes flicked down to her menu as David looked up. 'I'm sorry about this,' he said.
'Sorry? - About what?' she asked.
'Well I feel . . . guilty. Your grandfather dies and I appear out of nowhere and take half the money.'
'You didn't take it. He left it to you.'
'I know, but if I were in your place I don't think I'd be too pleased.'
'Well I'm sorry if I'm disappointing you, but I don't feel like that,' Rebecca snapped. 'It was his money. You might not have known about him, but he obviously knew about you.'
'Sorry,' said David again. He was feeling uncomfortable. He had wanted to get to know Rebecca. He had wanted to get to know about her grandfather. But perhaps this was not such a good idea. Perhaps he should have let things cool for a while.
Rebecca lay the menu down and grimaced. 'It's not your fault,' she said. 'I feel guilty too. He died suddenly and I wasn't there. I hadn't seen him for several months. I used to speak to him on the phone every couple of weeks, but I didn't even manage to make it back for his funeral.' Tears sparkled on her eyelashes. She sniffed and blew her nose on a tissue.
'Were you very close to your grandfather?' David asked.
Rebecca nodded. 'Yeah, fairly. We lived in Cirencester. Mum and dad both worked, so grandma and granddad looked after me a lot. Yeah, I suppose we were quite close.'
'I'd like us to be friends,' David said. 'Can we start again?'
Rebecca nodded and smiled. 'Yeah,' she said.
'You don't live in Cheltenham do you?' he asked.
'No,' she said. 'London. I share a broom cupboard in Camden Town with two other girls.'
'Oh, right. You said you'd been working in Italy.'
She nodded. 'After uni' - Fine arts - I got a job with a museum. I was very lucky. I hadn't been with them long when they sent me to Italy for a year, part working, part studying. That's how I came to miss grandad's funeral. I haven't been back long.' She hesitated a moment. 'Where do you live?' she asked.
'Sevenoaks, Kent,' David told her. 'I've got a flat there.'
'What do you do?'
'I'm a journalist. I work for the local paper and I host a chat show twice a week on the local radio.'
The waitress arrived and served their lunch. Apart from the occasional comment, they ate in silence. When they had finished David ordered coffee. 'What happened to your parents?' he asked.
They were killed in a car accident two years ago.' ...