City of Jasmine. Deanna Raybourn

his credit, Halliday looked more amused than shocked. “It sounds terribly romantic.”

      “That’s very kind of you. I think it sounds mad.”

      Something shrewd stirred in his eyes. “The song you danced to the night you met Gabriel Starke. Wasn’t ‘Salut d’Amour’ by any chance?”

      He gave me a kindly smile and I returned it. “Got it in one.”

      “Ah. Pity, that. And here I thought I was sweeping you off your feet,” he told me with a rueful lift of his silky brows.

      I laughed. “Don’t give up so easily. Just because I’ve learned to keep my feet on the ground doesn’t mean I can’t be wooed.”

      “But you don’t really keep your feet on the ground, do you?” he countered smoothly. “You’re always dashing off in that aeroplane of yours. I must say, I’ve done a bit of flying myself, and it’s a devilish thing for a lady to try. You astonish me, Evie.”

      “But there’s nothing astonishing about it,” I protested. “It was the most logical thing in the world. I worked at a convalescent hospital during the war. I brought them tea and read their letters from home and played cards with them. They were pilots, most of them American and terribly young and so sweet it broke your heart just to see them all swathed in bandages and aching for a chance to get back into the action before it all went away. I adored them, but I could only read so many letters and play so many games of cards before I wanted to scream. So I made them teach me about flying instead. It gave them no end of a thrill to talk about it, you know, and they were terrifically good teachers.”

      Halliday smiled. “You liked them.”

      “Immensely. They were just boys, really. Like brothers to me.”

      He shook his head. “Surely not all of them. I imagine more than a few found themselves smitten with you.”

      I shrugged.

      “You surprise me. I would have thought the dash and romance of a pilot would have turned any girl’s head.”

      I grinned. “Well, there was the odd kiss or two, but nothing more. There was only one I almost lost my head over, but it would never have worked.”

      He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. “Aha! Intrigue at last. Was he a pilot?”

      “Yes. He was the one who took me up the first time.”

      “One of those daring Yanks, no doubt,” he said, pulling a face. I laughed.

      “Almost. He was Canadian by birth but brought up in Africa.”

      “Good God. Colonials,” he said with a shudder.

      “And Ryder was more rustic than most,” I told him. “He helped form the flying corps in British East Africa. He was shadowing the highest ranking ace in our flying corps when the fellow was shot down. Ryder came with him to Mistledown while he recuperated, but he was bored out of his mind. He amused himself by borrowing a pal’s Sopwith and getting me in the air.”

      “A direct and dashing way to a lady’s heart.”

      “True. I might have been smitten by any man who taught me to fly. But Ryder was something special.”

      Halliday’s voice was soft. “You were in love with him.”

      “No. Not even halfway. But I was grateful to him. He was the one who got me airborne, convinced me I could do it. He flew like a buccaneer and he taught me everything he could before he was sent back to Africa.”

      “Did you keep in touch with him?” Something like jealousy tinged Halliday’s voice, and I enjoyed that.

      “The occasional postcard. It’s all very polite and respectable,” I said with a prim mouth.

      Halliday leaned closer still. “It’s no business of mine, but I wonder if I should believe that.”

      “It’s the truth,” I assured him. “Ryder never laid a finger on me. Of course,” I said, slanting him a wicked smile, “I put considerably more than a finger on him, but that’s a different matter.”

      Halliday’s eyes widened and his mouth dropped open, but his expression was not entirely disapproving. “You seduced him?”

      “I tried, but bless him, he wasn’t having any of it. He understood why I did it and he turned me down so sweetly I couldn’t even be angry with him.”

      “Oh, dear.”

      “I wanted him for all the wrong reasons.” I shrugged. “He reminded me of Gabriel. I don’t know why—entirely different men. But there was something fine about Ryder, something deeply good, and that was what I thought I had seen in Gabriel once. It brought up feelings I thought I had buried.”

      “No man wants to be a woman’s second choice,” he said, his voice low. His gaze was intent, his eyes searching, and after a moment, perhaps not seeing what he wanted in my face, he sat back and adopted a lighter tone.

      “And how did you go from student pilot to world-famous aviatrix?”

      “I started barnstorming. I thought I could make a living at it, but Aunt Dove’s money dried up and suddenly I had her to take care of. And so many girls had taken up barnstorming it wasn’t enough just to be a woman pilot anymore. I had to do something to set myself apart. It got so competitive the manager of one aerial circus wouldn’t even give me a try-out, so I stole an aeroplane and pulled a barrel roll over his head. He screeched like a monkey, he was so furious. He threw me off his airfield and swore he would make certain I never got another job flying anywhere. He was as good as his word. Every other outfit refused to see me after he told them what I’d done. It wasn’t long before I didn’t even have enough money for a cup of coffee at a corner house. I was feeling desperate, horribly so, and suddenly the walls of our little rented room just seemed to close in on me and I had to get out. I went to the park—Kensington Gardens. I wandered for hours, not even paying attention to where I was, until finally my legs gave out and I just sat. And do you know where I was?”

      His expression was rapt. “Where?”

      “At the foot of Peter Pan himself. I was sitting at the base of the statue. And I looked up at him and thought of that last night with my parents at the theatre and I thought of Gabriel always dashing around after adventure and never really growing up and I began to weep. Not a pretty, dainty little cry but an absolute storm of sobs. It was appalling—I make the most awful noises when I cry, and my eyes go very small and my nose runs like a tap. But I couldn’t seem to stop. I just sat there, bawling my eyes out until I couldn’t cry anymore. It was a relief actually. I had never cried properly over Gabriel. But I cried that day, and when I was done, I looked up at the statue again, and everything suddenly made sense.”

      He cocked his head. “How so?”

      “The last gift Gabriel ever gave me was a copy of Peter and Wendy. The frontispiece has an illustration of all the most important characters—Peter, the Darlings, Tiger Lily—and looming from the left is Captain Hook. Well, an aeroplane is rather like a sailing ship, isn’t it? I decided if Hook could have a Jolly Roger, so could I. I could remake myself as a sort of modern-day pirate and adventurer. I looked up Wally, a friend from the war who happened to be an ace mechanic. He gave me the money to buy the Strutter and we christened her. I painted a skull and crossbones on her tail and let it be known I would fly anything for a price. I hauled important papers and the occasional passenger, although it’s entirely illegal. I even ferried a pig once. And I flew a case of champagne from Paris to London for a French breeder to celebrate winning Ascot. My name was in the newspapers enough that I began to attract sponsors. When I had enough, I arranged the Seven Seas Tour.”

      “Crossing the seven seas of antiquity in a modern ship,” he said admiringly.

      “Just so. Like a pirate of old.”

      “Only rather prettier,” he said, his cheeks blooming pink.

      I