Free City of Jasmine by Deanna Raybourn Page A

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 went on as if he had not spoken. “And I