The Oslo Affair (Shadows of War, #2) by CW Browning (best non fiction books to read txt) 📕

the work was classified. Her parents had accepted the story readily enough, but Rob never missed an opportunity to tease her.

“Top-secret,” she replied dryly. “Is it true you’ve been training non-stop since July?”

“More like August,” he said with a shrug. “I fly every day, and three nights a week. When Jerry comes, we’ll be ready.”

“I imagine you’ll be one of the first to know, flying Spitfires,” she said absently, her eyes darting to the left. Movement through the trees caught her attention and she frowned. “How do you like being at Duxford? Is it everything you thought it would be?”

“More,” he answered promptly. “The Spit’s a fantastic kite! Handles like a dream.”

They passed another hedgerow and Evelyn glanced through the trees again. The speck she had glimpsed before was on the other side of the field, moving quickly. Her eyes narrowed and her frown grew. Someone was riding a horse across the field towards Ainsworth Manor. She picked up her pace slightly.

“And your new CO? Do you like him?” she asked.

“He’s strict and keeps us in line, but he’s a bloody good pilot. I can’t ask for better than that.” Rob hesitated, then looked down at her. “And you? How do you like Scotland?”

“It’s cold,” she said promptly, drawing a laugh from him. “I’m doing something that makes me feel like I can contribute to this war, so I’m content.”

“I don’t know if this war is ever going to get off the ground, but if it does, the WAAFs are lucky to have you,” Rob said after a long moment.

Evelyn tore her gaze away from the speck in the field to look at him in surprise.

“Why do you say that?”

He grinned.

“Because you’re the type who never backs down, no matter what happens. You’re bloody-minded and stubborn, and God help any Jerry who gets within range!”

She laughed. “Speak for yourself! I feel sorry for the pilot who has to go up against you!”

Rob grinned, then sobered.

“We’re going to get through this just fine, Evie,” he said suddenly, his blue eyes meeting hers. “You’ll see. We’ll all be home by Christmas.”

The horse and rider came to an abrupt halt just outside the perimeter of the sprawling gardens stretching endlessly before the back of Ainsworth Manor. The original structure had been built in stone over three centuries before. Over the years, four separate wings were added and modern upgrades made, resulting in a massive labyrinth of corridors and stairwells. Two of the wings had been closed off twenty years before, after the last war had taken most of the servants from the estate. When the war ended and life returned to normal, Robert Ainsworth had left them closed, happy to occupy the remaining two wings and the original structure. They afforded more than enough room for his small family.

After giving the closed off sections a cursory glance, the rider directed his attention to a window on the lower floor, to the right of the stone patio facing him. He controlled his horse with a firm hand and they were both still. After studying the side of the house and the surrounding gardens, he slowly dismounted and tethered his horse, moving quietly through the immaculate lawns towards the house. The family would be back from the funeral soon, and it was now or never, as the saying went.

He slipped behind a large group of boxwoods and reached into his coat, extracting a battered old hunting cap and setting it on his head. He was under strict orders not arouse suspicion in the locals. After satisfying himself that he probably looked like a country squire out for a walk, he moved out from the shelter of the bushes, continuing through the maze of well-tended gardens until he was near the house.

The funeral would be just finishing up, and then there would be the condolences from the villagers. Silly things, funerals, arranged for the mourners to say goodbye to their loved ones. As if one could say goodbye to a corpse. Damned silly.

A sharp crack under one foot made the rider pause and look down with a frown. A thick branch had snapped in two under his boot. He should have been watching where he put his foot. Hopefully there wasn’t an over-eager gardener lurking around. After listening for a moment, he moved on.

Evelyn slipped past the stables where four horses were settled comfortably in their stalls. A quick check inside assured her that all were present and accounted for. The mysterious rider was not one of the grooms then, taking a horse out for exercise.

Crossing the stable yard, she moved around the east wing and scanned the scene before her. The South lawns were immaculate and still, the breeze barely disturbing the rows of flowers and artfully arranged hedges and bushes. Even the fountain at the bottom of the first lawn was still, water not pouring from the spout of the fanciful leaping unicorn. Everything was still and quiet. Too quiet.

She had left Rob and her mother in the house with the explanation that she wanted to go upstairs and splash water on her face. Once out of sight, she slipped out the door and went around to the side of the house facing the field. Looking around slowly, Evelyn moved forward. She didn’t know what she expected to find, but she knew that something wasn’t right. No one with any business being here would cut across the field on horseback when there was a funeral taking place in the village. It just wasn’t done.

A sharp pop from a branch brought her up short and she scanned the hedgerows nearby. Everything was silent for a moment, then she heard the unmistakable sound of a person moving through the garden towards the house.

She moved around the corner to conceal herself behind the wall of the terrace that stretched the entire length of the house. A few seconds later, she heard someone vault lightly over the balustrade and land on the