by Max Hennessy
She bit the thread off and sat winding the cotton in and out of her fingers for a moment uncertainly, then she put it down and looked up at him frankly.
‘Don’t go yet, Ira,’ she said. ‘I get scared when I’m alone. Sometimes I feel I’ve got lost in the darkness and I’m never going to get back to the light.’
She was sitting very straight on the floor beside him now, her head down, the black hair falling forward over her face, and he suddenly found he wanted to grip her shoulders tightly, to feel her flesh and bones through the thick fabric of that shapeless jersey.
She turned to look up at him and he saw there was a faint grateful smile on her lips. ‘You’ve done me more honour tonight than I’ve ever been done before,’ she said slowly.
He didn’t answer and she lifted her head and gazed at him anxiously with wide poignant eyes, suddenly looking like a little girl, well washed and ready for a party.
Then he saw she was trembling, her whole body shaking, and, as he leaned forward with a sympathetic movement, she shook her head. ‘No! Leave me alone,’ she said quickly. ‘It’s all right. It’s nothing. I’ll get over it. You help, Ira. By God, you don’t know how much you help!’
She was still trembling and behind her eyes there was also a suggestion of doubt. The trembling stopped at last and she lifted her face to his, staring straight into his eyes. ‘I’m in love with you, Ira,’ she said unexpectedly. ‘I have been for some time. I tried not to be. I didn’t want to be. I was in love with a flier once before and I always swore I never would be again. But it didn’t work out that way. There was nothing I could do about it.’
She spoke quietly, in matter-of-fact tones, her voice steady, her eyes fixed on his, her face as pale and smooth as marble. For a long time, Ira didn’t reply, conscious of the undercurrents of emotion flowing between them. She was still staring at him, her eyes burning themselves out in her head, a sudden trace of fear in her expression.
‘Aren’t you going to say something?’ she demanded.
He put out his hand and her thin fingers curled round it fiercely. ‘Sometimes when I was on my own,’ she said, ‘I used to hold my breath and think of you, because I felt so – so homesick.’
As they rose to their feet, she was trembling again, staring at him with eyes that were dangerously bright now and challenging.
‘This is an age when morals don’t seem to matter much,’ she said slowly. ‘After the war, they handed people like me this lousy world, all knocked to pieces and coming apart at the seams, and wondered why we didn’t get excited about it. Because of that, I used to take a pretty easy-going attitude to things and I thought it was the right way to live. But it isn’t, Ira. I know it isn’t, so that’s why I’m saying what I am. I told you I’m in love with you. I am.’
She turned away from him and he became aware of the emptiness of the house, the weight of darkness spilling thickly out of the corners to the centre of the room. There wasn’t a sound about them beyond the drip on the leaves outside, steady like the soft beating of a heart.
She was standing with her arms at her sides, her back to him, and he took a step forward and standing behind her, folded his arms over her bosom. She lifted her hands and laid them over his and they stood like that for a long time and he felt her draw a deep shuddering breath. Then she moved in the circle of his arms and turned to face him, surprisingly still and quiet. As she lifted her head in one of the bewildering changes of mood that made up her character, he saw she was smiling mischievously at him.
‘My father always used to say that I’d have to be careful with men because they’d only want me because I had money. Makes sense, I guess. People do have an objective attitude towards sex these days.’
Ira smiled. ‘Nobody’s objective about that,’ he said.
She flashed him a grateful look that contained the hint of a smile, as though she appreciated that he was helping her. ‘Do you want me, Ira?’ she asked. ‘I have no money now.’
He grinned. ‘You don’t need money,’ he said. ‘You’re quite a dish without it.’
She gave an unexpected gurgle of laughter, all her uncertainty gone. ‘Hand on heart?’
‘Cross my throat. You’d stir a bishop.’
She took his hand and led him from the room. Eventually, she faced him again, her arms slack, her shoulders hunched, staring at him with an appeal in her eyes in the subdued light. Then she stepped out of her shoes and it came as a shock to him to see how small she was, standing before him. As he moved towards her, she sat down on the bed, close to the edge, her feet and knees close together, and looked up at him, her face pale and expressionless.
When she reached up for him, they fell back together, and he banged his forehead on the bedpost, and as he swore, they burst into unexpected noisy laughter. Then, suddenly, abruptly, they stopped, staring at each other, and in one movement, almost as though they were both actuated by the same emotion, the smiles died and they reached out, their mouths seeking each other, their hands desperate in their urgency.
Chapter 4
The watery sun penetrating the mist that persisted over Long Island had an impermanent look about it, as though it hung indecisively in the sky, glowing uncertainly through the opaque whiteness that lay over the land. Behind the house, the hollows were filled with little purplish swirls and the grass was heavily beaded with dew that left dark marks as the first workmen heading for the truck farms trailed their feet through it.
As the light caught his face, Ira stirred, dragging at the sheet that was twisted round his shoulders, and as he opened his eyes the first thing he saw was Alix, sitting on the edge of the bed, with a blanket wrapped round her, barely covering her, one slim naked arm outside it, staring down at him. She looked bewildered.
He smiled. ‘What’s wrong?’ he asked.
She gave a sad puzzled movement of her shoulder. ‘I was just looking at you.’
‘What was I doing?’
‘Nothing. Just sleeping. I’ve never looked at a man sleeping before.’
‘Never?’
‘Not just looked.’ She paused. ‘I guess I’ve seen it before but I’ve never looked.’
She paused and the corners of her mouth lifted uncertainly.
‘Last night…’ she began.
‘What about last night?’
She gave a little shiver and managed another small smile. ‘Fine training for flying the Atlantic,’ she said with a shaky laugh.
He pulled her to him gently and for a moment he felt her shivering, then she released the blanket and slipped down into his arms again. For a moment, she lay with her forehead against his, then she buried her face in his neck and he felt her shudder. After a while she lifted her head again and this time the smile was sure, bold and unabashed, belonging to the old confident Alix.
‘The female when properly constituted,’ she said, ‘always sobs out her troubles on the staunch male shirt-front.’ She drew a deep luxurious breath. ‘I guess I’m a properly constituted female. I sure as hell feel like a properly constituted female.’
* * *
Ever since their arrival in New York, the first thing Ira had done every morning on waking was to stare out of the window at the sky. He and Sammy had done this every single day at Erwin’s Hotel before telephoning the Weather Bureau for a forecast.
Now as he turned over, he smelt coffee and saw Alix standing in the doorway. She threw the New York Times at him.
‘Sky’s bright,’ she said shortly.
‘It is?’ He sat up abruptly, and began to turn the sheets of the newspaper quickly, crumpling it in his hand as he looked for the weather report.
Alix had disappeared again and she returned with a cup of coffee which she pushed at him. ‘Radio says it might be showing signs of improving,’ she said.
She helped him spread the newspaper on the bed. Sensing the excitement hanging over what had long since become known as the New York–Paris Derby, the Times had taken to printing regular forecasts compiled from se
agoing ships, and for the first time in a week the prospects suddenly looked healthy.
‘The lows are dispersing,’ Alix said.
Ira grinned up at her. ‘You may be flying sooner than you expect.’
He grabbed for the telephone, then he remembered that it was out of order. Slamming it down, he threw Alix a cigarette and, forgetting his coffee, he dragged on his clothes and hurried outside through the clearing mist to find a telephone at a garage. The report from the Weather Bureau sounded more promising than anything they’d had for days.
‘It may be clearing,’ he was told. ‘Reports suggest that a high-pressure area might be building up over the Atlantic. We don’t know when, but we suggest you might start preparing.’
Alix was waiting on the porch for him, holding out his coffee, when he returned at a run.
‘What do they say?’ she asked eagerly.
He grinned. ‘That it’s time we got down to the field,’ he said.
When they reached the hangar, the light was being picked up by the hangar roofs and the wet tonneaux and hoods of automobiles parked alongside the airfield buildings, giving the morning an unearthly glow, a diffused light that didn’t seem to come from above at all, but from behind the sheds and houses, even from among the parked vehicles and from behind the dim moving figures of workmen.
Woolff was standing by the Courtney, looking exhausted, his cap more drunken than ever. ‘I was here at five-thirty,’ he said. ‘I thought I’d better be. I woke early and it looked good enough to check with the Bureau. They thought there might be some good weather starting any time.’ He had hardly finished speaking when the telephone rang. It was Sammy, telephoning from Mae Minter’s.
‘Ira, have you seen the forecast?’
Ira grinned. ‘Why do you think we’re down here this early?’
‘Are you going?’
‘If the weather turns up, yes. All we have to do is inform the airfield manager and the police and get hold of the petrol and oil people.’
‘I’m coming down.’
Sammy appeared in a cab soon afterwards, giving Ira a curious look as he climbed awkwardly to the ground. ‘You’ve got a look like a cat that’s been at the cream,’ he observed.
Following Ira into the hangar, he gestured at the old Chevrolet standing outside and the pair of slender overalled legs hanging out of the cabin of the Courtney. ‘I wondered if you’d put my idea to Alix,’ he said. ‘Looks like you did.’
‘Yes,’ Ira nodded. ‘I did.’
‘And?’
‘She will.’
Sammy chuckled softly. ‘It musta taken you some time to persuade her,’ he said. ‘Mae rang the Bureau for the forecast last night and we telephoned Erwin’s three times to warn you. They said you hadn’t got back. So I rang this morning. You still hadn’t got back.’
Sammy’s first meeting with Alix was awkward and they were both a little uncertain with each other, then he grabbed her impulsively with his bandaged hands and pulled her towards him to kiss her. ‘I’m glad it’s you who’s going, Alix,’ he said. ‘I can’t think of anybody better!’
She seemed startled by the gesture, then she flicked a glance at Ira, her eyes shining with pleasure, and she put her arms round Sammy and kissed him back wholeheartedly. ‘And I can’t think of anybody whose place I hate taking more,’ she said.
Sammy gave her a shy look. ‘Think nothing of it,’ he said. ‘It’s all part of the service.’ He grinned and, a little embarrassed by the unexpected show of emotion, he turned away. ‘I’d better get somethin’ done,’ he muttered gruffly.
But although he’d arrived to offer himself for anything they wanted from him, his hands were too clumsy in the big bandages, and in the end, after fidgeting in restless frustration for a couple of hours in the office with performance and maintenance sheets, he set off for the Ryan hangar. ‘P’r’aps I’ll find out how he flies without a forward view,’ he said.
Since the reporters had long since given them up and their interest lay at the moment in the Ryan hangar, they remained untroubled, and Alix stayed unnoticed at the hangar all day, studying the lists of figures and the charts they’d prepared, sharing a meal of hot dogs and coffee with them, interested and excited and absorbed.
During the afternoon, Boyle’s car appeared. ‘Ira,’ he said. ‘Where the hell did you get to last night? I waited for you.’
Ira grinned and glanced at Alix. ‘I got held up,’ he said. Boyle gave them a suspicious look, his yellow eyes boring into them, then he gestured with his thumb over his shoulder. ‘I’ve got that pilot outside,’ he pointed out.
Ira grinned again. ‘We don’t need him now,’ he said.
Boyle looked startled. ‘We don’t?’
‘Alix is going in Sammy’s place.’
‘Alix?’ Boyle’s jaw dropped. ‘But I told you, we’ve got a pilot.’
‘Send him away again,’ Alix suggested.
Boyle looked defeated. ‘I can’t, Alix! He’s out there now in the hangar looking at the plane. You’ll have to see him.’
The man he ushered in was small and withered with a deeply wrinkled face. He looked a little like Boyle himself.
‘Ed Blower,’ Boyle said. ‘He’s been working on the Chicago–Detroit mail run.’
Blower gestured with his thumb. ‘Nice ship you’ve got out there, son,’ he said condescendingly to Ira, in a dry rasping voice like the rustle of dead leaves.
Ira studied him dubiously for a while. ‘How old are you, Mr Blower?’ he asked.
‘Forty-nine.’ Blower grinned. ‘I got to fly DH4s in France, but I guess I altered my age a bit.’
‘You flown long distances before?’
‘It’s four hours Chicago to Detroit. Going by way of Fort Wayne.’
‘I mean like the San Antonio–New York flight.’
Blower shrugged. ‘I fly, son. I don’t migrate.’
‘How about instruments?’
‘Son, birds don’t fly in fog. Neither do I. When the fog comes rollin’ in, I get down – quick.’
Alix stared at Boyle. ‘You can’t get down over the Atlantic, Lave,’ she said quietly.
While they were still arguing, Courtney arrived. He stopped in the doorway, his eyes pouchy and tired, his face haggard with strain. He glanced at Blower.
‘Who’s this?’ he demanded.
‘Ed Blower, Felton,’ Boyle answered. He glanced at Alix. ‘I guess I hired him to take Sammy’s place.’
Courtney spoke to Blower for a while, then he gestured to Boyle.
‘Ask him to wait outside a minute, Lave.’
Blower disappeared and Boyle gave Courtney a curious stare. ‘Did you raise any dough, Felton?’ he asked.
Courtney shrugged. ‘Never mind the dough now,’ he said. He gestured with his head at the door. ‘That guy’s no good,’ he said. ‘I’m no expert these days, but you don’t have to be a Billy Mitchell to see he hasn’t got the sort of experience we need.’
Boyle glanced at Alix and she opened her mouth to speak, but Courtney drew a deep breath that seemed to come from his boots, heavy and slow, as if it were painful.
‘So what do we do about Sammy Shapiro?’ he asked, staring at Ira as though it was his fault that their chances had been affected by Sammy’s injuries.
Alix dug out a cigarette with quick nervous fingers. ‘I’m going instead, Pa,’ she said.
Courtney’s jaw dropped. ‘You are?’
‘Sure! Why not?’
Courtney gestured angrily. ‘For God’s sake,’ he said. ‘A girl!’
‘What’s wrong with a girl?’
‘Alix, you’re crazy! You can’t go off on this tomfool trip!’
Alix’s eyes flashed. ‘It wasn’t so goddam tomfool when Sammy was doing it, Pa!’
Courtney gestured again, the movement strangely weary under her briskness, his eyes as numb and expressionless as oysters.
‘There are plenty of other pilots around – men – who’ll do the job.’
‘Where? We haven’t found any. Only that old bum outside.’
Courtney looked a little desperate now. ‘Maybe if Ira ran through things with him…’
Alix sliced the air with the flat of her hand in a derisive gesture. ‘He’s no damn good,’ she said. ‘You know he’s no good. You said so. He probably can’t navigate without beacons.’
‘He doesn’t have to. That’s what Ira’s for. We just want him along to spell him when he’s tired. Ira can tell him what to do.’
‘He can tell me what to do!’
‘You haven’t the experience.’
‘Pa, you know damn well I’ve got the experience! More than Ed Blower, for all his talk. He’s well named.’
Courtney turned to Ira with a small condescending smile. ‘You know Alix, Ira,’ he said, running a hand through his untidy hair. ‘She was always one for excitement.’
‘Don’t apologise for me, Pa!’ The words exploded across the room in a harsh shout. ‘I can do the job! I’m doing the job!’
Courtney’s objections seemed to crumple before her anger. As though he were too tired to argue, he waved his hand exhaustedly. ‘OK,’ he said. ‘OK.’ He paused and went on slowly. ‘You could always fly,’ he admitted. ‘I taught you myself. I guess it just makes a difference with a thing like this when it’s one of your own family who’s taking the risk.’
‘You don’t object?’ Alix’s anger had dissipated abruptly and she was watching him with anxious eyes now.
Courtney shrugged. ‘How the hell can I object? It seems to be settled. I guess we’d better tell Fred Loerner about it and let him get it out to the press.’
‘No!’ Alix’s eyes were hot. ‘There’s been enough ballyhoo around Curtiss Field just lately and they’ve written us off anyway. Let’s leave it as it is until we’re certain.’
Courtney eyed her. ‘They’ll want to know who’s taking Sammy’s place,’ he said.
‘Let ’em want!’
‘They won’t let you alone.’
‘We’ll tell ’em Sammy’s not as badly hurt as we thought and that he’s still flying.’
‘They’ll never believe you.’