‘Well, hello, there,’ I said, cheerily.
He stood there for a moment, not speaking. A kind of apoplexy seemed to have set in (this often happened to a man who found himself unexpectedly face to face with a female pilot. It was the shock, you see). I decided to wade straight in with an apology. Farmers could be ever so touchy about aircraft landing in their fields without invitation. It was best to take the wind out of their sails with a smile.
‘I’m so sorry for the …’ I glanced towards the cows. Their backsides lumbered from side to side as they began to disperse. Tails flicked with annoyance ‘… disturbance. I meant to land in front of a large house, up the way there.’ I paused to look in the direction of the house. ‘It’s the one with the four gables and twelve chimneys … or is it four chimneys and twelve gables, I can never remember …? Do you know it?’
‘Lanyon?
‘Yes.’
‘Of course. But look here …’
My bright smile and humble apology fell on blind eyes and deaf ears. He began to chide – really chide – something about the utter irresponsibility of landing an aircraft in a field full of cattle … could have killed myself, etc. etc. He went on for quite some time about all kinds of things that might possibly have happened had luck not been on my side, but I really couldn’t concentrate because he was just so damn gorgeous and to top it had a slight American twang in his accent, too, and I had a very definite soft spot for a soft American accent on a man, probably because of all the movies we watched in those days.
I was just trying to work out what an American was doing working on a Cornish farm when he stopped preaching and returned to his preoccupation of staring at me. I realised he was waiting for me to respond to his disciplinary lecture, but not knowing quite how to respond, and rather than answer and annoy him further, I simply kept quiet and ran my fingers through my tangled mop of thick hair, just as the cold wind nipped at my face and turned my nose into a dripping tap. I wiped my nose with the cloth and we stood in a kind of ‘what now?’ silence while the Tiger Moth rocked on its wheels in the wind. He was obviously going to wait it out until I spoke. There was nothing left to do but to shrug and apologise again.
‘You’re absolutely right, of course,’ I said, adding a suitably big enough sigh. ‘Landing on a cliff in a field full of cows was not my finest spot of airwomanship, but to be fair, I didn’t see the cows and if you think about it, nothing bad actually did happen so I wonder, could we start again because, you know, ’tis done now, and what else can I do but say to that I’m so very – very – sorry.’
I tried my best to look remorseful.
He took a deep breath. His eyes were cold, steady.
‘I’d say that was a perfunctory apology.’
‘Perfunctory?’ I repeated.
‘Yes, perfunctory.’
He had more.
‘You think that because you’re a beautiful woman you can do whatever you want – gallivant around, hither and thither …’
Hither and thither? An American saying ‘hither and thither’?
I let him rant on again, completely unaware of what he was saying because frankly, he could say what the hell else he liked. No person on the planet (other than my parents) had called me beautiful before – even my fiancé had never called me beautiful.
‘Listen,’ I interrupted, eventually, ‘we seem to have got off on the wrong foot.’ I turned towards the cows again who were quite a way away now. ‘You’re absolutely right in everything you say. Perhaps we could shake hands on the matter and start again – shall we?’
I removed my right flying glove and held out my hand. He hesitated, as if some kind of trickery might be involved, but then my hand was in his, being held for what seemed to be a couple of seconds ever so slightly longer than necessary, despite the chiding.
He pulled away.
Silence again, except for the whistle of the wind across the cliff tops. The void needed to be filled.
‘And hey! As a thank you, how about I take you flying this week sometime?’
He tilted his head to one side. He was suppressing a smile, I was sure of it.
‘A thank you? A thank you for what?’
I glanced towards the barn.
‘Well – and I know it’s ever so cheeky – but for allowing me to store my aircraft in your barn for the week.’
He turned to look at the barn.
‘The thing is, I can’t leave the old girl out here all week. I’m a guest at Lanyon for Christmas, you see, and I’m sure they would vouch for my good character – although it seems you’ve made a decision about that already.’ I added, with a side-eye towards the dog, who looked unconvinced. ‘I’ll pay for the inconvenience, obviously, although you’ll probably simply accuse me of throwing money at the problem …’
He braced his back against the breeze. His expression was unreadable. Was that a smile, though?
‘Which one?’ he asked, finally.
‘Which one, what?’
‘Which Lanyon are you the guest of?’
‘Er …’
Now, I know I should have said, Charles, I’m his fiancée, but the angel sitting on my right shoulder went into all-out battle with the devil on my left and the devil won. I should also have added, ‘We’re getting married this week, on Christmas Eve in fact. Do you know him?’
But I didn’t. Instead I went with …
‘Oh, I went to school with the daughter of the house. Lottie Lanyon?’
He nodded a kind of understanding.
‘The cove was the most perfect navigational landmark, what with the mounts …’ I touched my hair far too often as I spoke. ‘But the lawn at Lanyon – where I was expecting to land – was not at all suitable – trees, you see – and then there was the most terrible downdraft from the cliffs. So, it was either put down in your field or bust the old girl up in a hedge. And as I said. I didn’t notice the cows. I’m so very sorry.’
Just how many times would I need to apologise to the man?
He sniffed, considering. I wasn’t sure quite just what he was considering, exactly. We glanced in unison at the cows again, who were slowly being funnelled through a gateway into the next field.
‘Are they very upset by it all, do you think?’ I asked. ‘Is that what the problem is? Should I go and, I don’t know, pat them all and apologise or something.’
Finally, he laughed. Even his dog glanced up at him with an amused eye roll.
‘I shouldn’t think an apology is necessary.’ He patted the aircraft, visibly relaxing. ‘They would have eyed this machine of yours as an excellent scratching post. They’re most likely annoyed to have missed a good look-see. Cows are inquisitive beasts. Don’t you think so, Miss?’
‘Caron,’ I answered brightly. ‘Miss Caron.’
What the hell was I doing? The man was a rude and sanctimonious ass. And, oh, yes – I was getting married.
‘Caron,’ he repeated, softly. ‘Is that a French name?’
‘Yes. My mother was the Caron. She was French. She insisted that Papa took her name. Papa was English through and through, though.’
‘How very …’
‘Modern?’ I offered.
‘I was going to say, “good of him”. They sound like a progressive family.’
Gaining just a little of the sense I was born with, and not wishing to talk about my parents, I took control.
‘But back to the barn,’ I said. ‘I know it’s such an imposition, Mr …’ I paused and waited for him to finish my sentence.
‘Nancarrow – Edward, Nancarrow.’
A Cornish name? But the American accent? Intriguing.
‘… Nancarrow, but as I said, do you think I could put my aircraft in your barn overnight. Only, the wind’s getting up and an aircraft like this isn’t very sturdy – it’s not much more than a few planks of wood nailed together, really – just a wing and a prayer, as my mother always said. And the thing is, I’m here for the whole of Christmas week – I think I told
you that already – so I’ll need somewhere safe to stow her and I’d be ever so grateful if I could pop her into the barn, really I would.’
Edward tightened his scarf against the wind. ‘I should think that would be all right,’ he said, turning towards the stockman who waited by the far gate, looking back at us, probably still scowling. ‘But you’ll have to check with Jessops over there, first.’
He glanced across to the stockman. I took the opportunity to examine Edward’s face. The afternoon light highlighted golden flecks in his hair and the wind reddened his cheeks to a marvellous healthy glow.
He noticed you looking at him. He bloody-well noticed.
Edward returned his attention to the aircraft and stroked it this time, rather than patted.
‘But you shouldn’t call this lovely old Tiger Moth a few planks of wood, she’s beautiful. Absolutely beautiful.’
I adopted an expression of surprised amusement. ‘You actually know what type of aircraft it is?’
‘Ah, you think I don’t know one end of a magneto switch from another?’
Handsome and a flyer …
‘But seriously. You fly too?’ I pressed.
‘Now and again, a bit of joy riding. Nothing much more than that. And there’s the feed to consider …’ The change of tack confused me.
‘Feed?’
‘For the cows. Jessops may have to check with your Mr Lanyon first, before you put the aircraft away. This is Lanyon land and they’re his cows, after all. But as you’re their guest … I’m sure it will be fine.’
I wanted to say, ‘Don’t be silly, he’s not my Mr Lanyon,’ but then remembered that, of course, Charles was exactly that – my Mr Lanyon.
‘His cows? I thought they were your cows.’
He shook his head. ‘My cows!? No. I was walking my dog along the cliffs and I’d stopped to talk to Jessops when we saw your aircraft coming in.’
He glanced around, realising the dog had wandered off while we were talking.
‘Speaking of your dog, where is she?’
He whistled. Moments later the red-and-white Collie dog appeared from behind a Cornish hedge. She had one ear up, one ear down. Edward ruffled her head. His face was a picture of fatherly pride. I knelt down to fuss the dog who jumped backwards and had absolutely no interest in me, just as Edward decided to turn tail towards the far field in the direction of Jessops.
‘Wait here a moment, will you …?’ he shouted back, already dashing across the field.
The dog ran after him. I shivered. The breeze really was frightfully cold, and I hadn’t been able to warm up since the flight. I danced on the spot and waited for Edward to come back.
‘All sorted,’ he said, slightly out of breath having run across the field with the dog, whose name I would later learn was ‘Amber’, barking at his heels. ‘You can leave it in the barn for the week. No need to check with the big house. But perhaps you could arrange for some kind of gift to be sent to Jessops – some beer or cider perhaps, as a thank you. It’s quite an inconvenience for him.’
You’d have thought the man was my father!
‘Of course. I’m not a completely inconsiderate oaf, you know!’
Edward’s face fell.
‘Fine. If you’re all sorted, I’ll be on my way.’ And with a curt nod of the head, he began to walk away.
‘Wait!’ I said, running in front of him, forcing him to stop. ‘Sorry, sorry to impose – again – but if I show you how, could you turn the propeller for me to get her started?’ I spun my arm in a clockwise direction. ‘I would do it myself, but it’s much easier with two, and it would be better to taxi her across to the barn under power than to push her all the way.’ I glanced down at Amber. ‘You might want to tether the dog first, of course.’
Edward took a deep breath. For a moment I think he considered walking away – it seemed he also had a devil and angel on each shoulder, too!
The angel won.
He changed his mind.
‘I know how to spin a propeller.’
He strode back to the Tiger Moth ahead of me.
But then, from nowhere, his face softened and his eyes danced when he noticed the paint work on the side of the aircraft.
‘The Incredible Flying Fox?’ He turned to me, smiling. ‘That’s never you?’
I shrugged. ‘Once upon a time, yes.’
‘You’ve got to be kidding? But you’re too young, surely.’
He was genuinely shocked. My heckles started to twitch.
‘Kidding? Not at all. I’d take you up, take you through my routine, but I doubt you’ve got the stomach for it. Few do.’
My ‘I dare you’ expression set off a further glimmer of amusement in his eyes. He took the bait and ran with it.
‘Oh, I’ve got the stomach for it, but only if you truly know what you’re doing. I’ve no wish to die young.’
‘Ah, I see.’ I turned away and knelt to duck under the aircraft to remove the chocks while talking. ‘You’re one of those men.’ He followed me.
‘Those, men?’
‘Yes, the type who can’t believe – or cope with – a woman doing anything outside of the ordinary drudge they’re usually stuck with. I grew up with a thoroughly modern and fair father – progressive, as you said – and I’m simply not used to being around men like you.’ I glanced up at him.
He raised his brows into a question mark.
‘Dinosaurs,’ I said.
I expected a smirk. But he smiled. A soft smile. He stepped towards me.
‘I was joking. Truly. I’m not at all one of those men.’
It was my turn to take a deep breath. I’d been overly nice to this man long for enough. I put on my helmet, goggles and gloves with sharp snatches.
‘So, will you help? Because I can manage on my own if not.’
‘I’ll help,’ he said.
‘And you’ve started a propeller before, you say?’
He nodded. ‘A few times, yes.’
‘I’ll jump in and leave you to it, then.’ I paused. ‘But only you’re sure you know what you’re doing?’
‘Of course, I do.’
‘Good.’
‘Good.’
I climbed into the back seat and prepared the Moth for taxi. He turned the propeller and then …
‘Contact?’
‘Contact!’
And off the little Tiger Moth went.
Chapter 5
Juliet
Lanyon
I grabbed my bag and ran away from the field, sharpish, arriving at Lanyon half an hour later to find a concerned Charles on the drive pacing outside the grand front door.
‘Oh, hello, darling,’ I said, blundering my way into the hallway ahead of him. ‘Sorry I’m late. I had to put down in a field and ended up having a bit of commotion with some cows, but it’s all sorted now.’ I pecked him on the cheek. ‘Where’s Lottie,’ I asked, taking off my flying helmet while glancing in the hall mirror. God! Had I really looked like that in front of Edward? I quickly tidied my hair and tried to rub a smudge of oil away with the back of my hand. ‘Only I’m desperate to catch up.’
Charles didn’t answer but took my hands.
‘But … Darling,’ he paused. ‘Before you see Lottie, I really do think we need to talk about, you know, the arrangement … only, Pa wants to iron a few things out. Details, you know.’
I shook him off with a peck on the lips.
‘Yes, I suppose we do. But not now though.’ I smiled my brightest smile and patted him on the arm. ‘I’m desperate to get in front of the fire and warm up, it was absolutely freezing up there today. Oh, and I’m afraid I rather upset those cows when I landed. Do you think you could send a thank you to your man … Jessops, is it? Perhaps some cider or something? He was ever so helpful, moving the cows to another field. And I’ve left the Moth in a barn.’
Charles laughed.
‘Poor Jessops. Yes, of course I can. I’m visiting him tomorrow. I’ll take something to him then.�
��
I kissed Charles again, with a little more enthusiasm this time, before striding across the hallway and placing my hand on the sitting room door handle. ‘Is Lottie in here?’
Charles nodded. Smiling, I slipped off my muddy flying boots and turned the brass knob on the large panelled door.
Lottie was dozing on a large sofa by the bay window. A King Charles Spaniel lay by her feet. An embroidered shawl, the most perfect shade of russet red, was wrapped around her shoulders.
‘Juliet!’
Lottie, stirring at the sound of the door, threw her legs off the sofa and crossed the room to hug me. ‘I’ve been waiting for you all afternoon. We saw you fly past ages ago. Charles imagined you dead in a ditch somewhere, although why a ditch always has to be involved whenever anyone goes missing is beyond me.’ She took a step backwards to look me up and down. ‘But looking at the state of you, I think you really have been in a ditch!’ She turned to Charles who had followed me into the room. ‘Do leave us to catch up in peace, Charles! And perhaps arrange for some tea?’
Charles shook his head in mock disapproval, crossed the room to kiss me once more before turning on his heels to leave us alone. Lottie returned to the sofa while I mothered around her, straightening her shawl around her shoulders. It was Lottie’s comfort shawl from school, the thing she always turned to in moments of distress (that and a book of Christina Rossetti poetry). This wasn’t a good sign. If the shawl was out, before you knew it the poetry books would also be out and Lottie would spiral into a depression that could last for weeks. The door clicked shut.
‘Good, he’s gone!’ Lottie said, lounging back into the sofa. ‘So, tell me, what have you really been up to all afternoon?’
I was just about to sit down myself and launch into a watered-down version of the truth when the door clicked open again and Charles’ mother rushed into the sitting room carrying a bed sheet.
‘Ah, Juliet. You made it. Jolly good …’ She glanced at my clothes and then at the bed sheet. ‘It’s because of the oil, dear,’ she said kindly, before laying the sheet across a chair.
‘Sorry, Ma,’ (Lottie insisted I called her this, although Mrs Lanyon and I both seemed to wince every time I said it) ‘But I did take my muddy boots off in the hallway.’
The Last Letter from Juliet Page 4