“Lou, there’s something else I must tell you,” she said, following Lou into the kitchen. “The morning she left, a young man showed up and was talking with her. I couldn’t hear what they were saying—but seemed odd to me.”
“What was he like?”
“Blimey, if I didn’t know better, from a distance, I’d swear it was you—must be your ugly twin. I didn’t like the looks of him. About your build … scar down his face … ’orrible greasy hair. And his eyes … satanic—like one of them hyenas. His chin was crooked to one side, like this … Oh, and he had a limp.”
Lou got the picture.
“He came around here once or twice while you were away. Once, walking past and another time on a motorbike. Does he sound familiar?” Mrs. Jones asked.
“Nothing to worry about, Mrs. J. We're old friends.”
“Oh good,” she said, relieved. “Oh, yes, and a girl showed up. She’s been here with one of your crewmen. Don’t remember her name—nice looking girl.”
“Long blond hair?”
“Yes, that’s it, and a lovely face.”
“Probably Irene,” Lou said with a frown.
Everybody knows.
“Lou, there’s something else.”
“What?”
“Charlotte has cut her hair.”
Lou shrugged.
“No, I mean all of it. All that beautiful hair! I couldn’t believe it. I saw her from the window when she was pegging the sheets on the line.”
His heart sank. “You’re kidding me!”
When Mrs. Jones left, Lou made more coffee and ate the sandwiches. He hadn’t eaten all day. He was deeply saddened about Charlotte’s hair. She knew how much he loved her shining locks. He sat down to finish his letter, but couldn’t think of anything to say. He was lost for words.
Lou got up at 4:00 a.m. the following morning. It was Monday. He went to Cardington field where he assisted in the removal of Howden R100 from the mast and ‘sticking her back in her box.’ He returned home at 9 o’clock and put on his best suit, a clean shirt and a tie.
He went to the post office and sent a wire to his family in Virginia letting them know he was still in one piece. Next, he paid a visit to the bank to check their joint statement, not from a mercenary standpoint—he wanted to understand Charlotte’s frame of mind. He saw where she’d taken out fifty pounds on July 31st—about a quarter of the total. He pondered this.
She didn’t even take half of it—some women would have taken everything!
He left the bank and drove to Bedford Hospital, feeling like a cuckold and a sleuth on the trail of an unfaithful spouse. But maybe she wasn’t unfaithful, just devious and deceitful in planning her escape, which she’d carried out with precision.
Did I deserve this? Was I so bad? Perhaps I was …
He asked for the matron on Charlotte’s ward. After about ten minutes, a pretty nurse showed him to Matron’s office. She sat at a table in the corner of the room, her uniform stiff and white, like her personality. She gave him an accusing glare.
“This is—” the nurse said, giving Lou a furtive glance.
“I know who he is, nurse. Go out and shut the door. What can I do for you, young man?” she said unsmiling.
“I’ve come to speak to you about my wife, Charlotte.”
“I’ve been expecting you.”
“I got back from abroad on Saturday and Charlotte wasn’t home.”
“She gave me her notice three weeks ago, Mr. Remington.”
Lou almost choked. “Three weeks ago!”
“Yes. Said she was leaving Bedford.”
“Are you sure?”
“Of course I am. No, it was more than that.” She consulted her log book. “She gave in her notice on the 15th of July. Her last day was July 25th and it’s now the 18th of August. She’d been working nights.”
She’d given in her notice two weeks before he left and served her last shift while he was still with her. He was stunned. How did he not see this coming? He’d missed this and the fact that his father was dying. He was usually so perceptive. Matron sensed his terrible disappointment and self blame. Her attitude softened.
“Don’t be too hard on her, or yourself, son. She is a wonderful girl and she has really suffered—she had a lot of problems—believe me, I know. She was trying, in her own way, to be kind. Maybe one day, you’ll understand that. Not all these girls are cut out to be the wives of airshipmen, you know.”
But while the matron was speaking, all he could think about was how they’d made love the night he left. She’d even lit the candle for cryin’ out loud!
How could she do that?
What he’d learned about Charlotte’s actions over the past few weeks was the coup de grace. He got home feeling utterly betrayed. He sat down and read his unfinished letter and realized he had nothing more to say. If he put down what he thought at this moment, he’d certainly make matters worse. He signed the letter curtly, ‘Fondest love,’ addressed it to Charlotte’s parents’ home and stuffed it in an envelope. He walked to the pillar box on the corner and dropped it in the slot. At that moment, he realized how Julia must have felt.
Poor Julia!
75
SUNDAY PAPERS
Sunday August 17, 1930.
Thomson had a restful Sunday. He rose at 8 o’clock, donned his silk dressing gown and went to the breakfast room, which was bathed in morning sunshine. He opened the Sunday Sketch. He enjoyed these Sunday mornings, leisurely going through the newspapers while Gwen served him tea and toast with his favorite thick-cut marmalade.
Every newspaper had a photograph of Howden R100 arriving at the Cardington mast and some had pictures of him welcoming home the officers and crew. The articles were fair with the questions and his answers reported accurately, though he perceived the right-wing papers were a little snide in talking about the Cardington ship, whereas the rest appeared more objective, more even-handed.
He opened the Sunday Express to find a picture of himself shaking Burney’s hand—like best friends; they stood together smiling happily. The interviews with Burney and Norway he found annoying—they were crowing. But then he had to admit, they’d done what they set out to do—he had to give them full credit. Now it remained for him to drive the R.A.W. to better this achievement. A voyage to India and a safe return would do just that.
The caption read:
HOWDEN R100 AIRSHIP WELCOMED HOME
SIR DENNIS SAYS HIS SHIP PERFORMED FLAWLESSLY
THE BAR HAS BEEN SET—NOW IT’S UP TO CARDINGTON
Thomson scoffed out loud. “Huh! We’ll show you, Sir Dennis!”
He turned to the Sunday Telegraph.
HOWDEN R100 AIRSHIP BACK FROM SPECTACULAR TRIP
WILL CARDINGTON AIRSHIP BE READY IN TIME?
The Times, business-like, alluded to the ‘great competition.’
VICKERS FULFILLS CONTRACT WITH HOWDEN R100.
CAN ROYAL AIRSHIP WORKS COMPETE?
The Sunday Pictorial appeared more light-hearted:
HOWDEN AIRSHIP WOWS CANADIANS
WE DID IT. NOW IT’S YOUR TURN! SAYS SIR DENNIS
Overall, publicity was satisfactory. Thank God, no mention had been made of that damned fool’s question concerning morale. He considered the issue again. What were Irwin and Brancker up to? Was there still some undermining going on? Was Irwin demoralizing the whole damned organization? He went to the bedroom and, with Buck’s help, got dressed. Later, he sat in his new study overlooking the rear courtyard and worked on ministerial papers for the rest of the day. In the evening, he sat in his spacious living room at his credenza and wrote to Marthe, while listening to a sad violin on the gramophone. Marthe smiled down from her picture frame.
122, Ashley Gardens.
17th August, 1930.
My Dearest Marthe,
Thank you for asking, but I cannot get over to Paris this month. I could come in September if you’re there, say during the first week.
I have moved from
No.100 (as you can see by my new address) to a larger flat No. 122 with room for a comfortable study, a nicer aspect, a bigger kitchen—which pleases Gwen—and since I plan to keep it a long time—a longer lease. Now all that’s necessary is for you to bestow your blessings upon it, along with me and Sammie, who misses you almost as much as I. So, dearest, I hope we can be together before I leave for India so that you can work your magic upon my spirit and fortify my soul for the journey. Please let me know soonest.
Ever my devotion, Kit.
Thomson received Marthe’s reply a week later. She wouldn’t be available since she’d be in Romania attending a reception for a group of professors from America. After that, she’d be hosting a garden party for them at Posada. These arrangements had been made a long time ago. Marthe sent her love and best wishes, remarking that she’d been ‘outwitted by Fate.’ Thomson had a rash of unhappy thoughts about a herd of virile, good-looking American intellectuals in Marthe’s house. He hated the thought and tried to push it aside. He wrote back immediately.
122 Ashley Gardens.
25th August, 1930.
My Own Dear Princess,
No, it is I whom Fate has outwitted. I hope these headwinds we are up against abate soon. Though you are not actually with me, please know that you shall be forever present in my heart throughout my journey. Let’s hope we return from India in triumph, and that all our new days are glorious. If only we had a crystal ball to glimpse the future. Meanwhile I shall sit helplessly by, watching for hopeful signs.
Always and Forever, Kit.
76
QUESTIONS
August & September 1930.
Lou carried on with his life as best he could. He constantly wondered what Charlotte was doing and what she was thinking, not to mention where she was. He got home each evening hoping for a letter. But none came. He asked Billy to move in with him. Work would be nearer for Billy and Lou could keep and eye on him, as he’d promised Fanny. The lad would be company, too; he was miserable being in the house alone. Lou decided to write John Bull. Perhaps he had news of Charlotte. He dashed off a note.
58 Kelsy Street,
Bedford.
22nd August, 1930.
Dear John and Mary,
I don’t expect you have heard—or maybe you have? When I was in Canada, Charlotte left Bedford (and me) and did not say where she was going. I wonder if you have heard from her? As you can imagine, it came as a terrible shock. I guess it’s my fault. We are preparing the other ship to fly to India in September. Please drop me a line as soon as possible.
My Fond regards, Lou.
Lou received a letter from John Bull three days later.
Croft Cottage, Brough, Near Hull,
Yorkshire.
24th August, 1930.
My Dear Lou,
Mary and I are deeply shocked. We had not heard a word about this until your letter arrived. We have heard nothing from Charlotte. You are a wonderful couple and you know we love you both very dearly. We hope you can resolve everything and get back together soon. Please let us know if there is anything we can do. Anything at all!
Much love, John and Mary.
Lou spent the rest of August and most of September in Shed No.1 monitoring the alterations, as he’d done during construction. As the deadline loomed, a toll was exacted on everyone, nerves fraying, tempers flaring. Furious activity continued around the clock in an atmosphere of general panic. Morale and discipline sank to new lows.
A preliminary inquiry had started regarding the altercation between Lou and the drunken watch crewmen, but nothing of consequence was expected from it. The man Lou had knocked out was still off with a broken jaw—a reminder for Jessup to stay out of Lou’s way, which he did conscientiously. One afternoon, Lou tracked him down in the crewmen’s locker room lavatories. Lou had been worrying about Charlotte and brooding about Jessup’s visits to Kelsey Street all morning and was in foul mood. Lou worried that if Charlotte was in Ackworth, Jessup might go up there and harass her. He was also sore about the episode with Rosie. He’d not acted on any of this until now. Jessup was standing at the urinal trough. Lou came up behind him, grabbed his neck and slammed his face into the brick wall, causing Jessup to spray himself.
“Mr. Jessup. Question: I understand you were hanging around my house when I was away.” Jessup made babbling noises. Lou leaned against his ear and yelled. “What were you doing there, shithead?”
Jessup remained silent.
“Cat got your tongue, boy?”
“I was passing by, that’s all,” Jessup whimpered.
“I warned you to stay away from my wife,” Lou said, letting him go.
“She’s gone. She’s fair game now.”
“You stay away from her!”
“Don’t come near me. I’ll have you up for assault. I’m gonna lodge a complaint with my union. We’ll go on strike and you’ll be court martialed.”
Lou knew these things were possible, particularly the way the mood was in the shed just now. He didn’t get too rough. He’d bide his time.
“Watch yourself, Jessup,” Lou said, walking out of the locker room.
“Yes, an’ you watch yourself an’ all,” Jessup muttered.
During the last week in August, Thomson summoned Colmore, Scott, Richmond, Rope, Irwin, Atherstone and Lou to Gwydyr House for a progress meeting. Knoxwood took minutes. Thomson was showing his most affable side.
It was the first time Lou had been to the Air Minister’s office. The first thing that struck him was the Taj Mahal in its ornate gilt frame. He smiled when he saw Churchill’s airship and wondered who the ‘daubing fool’ was. The painting looked pretty damned good. He noticed Richmond studying it, too. He looked mystified—as though he was seeing things.
“Good morning, gentlemen. I have a few questions about your progress and the schedule. First of all, update me on the modifications, Colmore,” Thomson said.
“The work on the extra bay is almost complete, with the additional gas bags being installed and inflated. The bags with holes are being repaired.
“What about the padding issue?”
“Padding is almost complete—and monitored by the inspector.”
“The fellow who caused the rumpus?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Good. When do you expect to schedule the re-launching?”
“Hopefully mid-September—leaving two weeks for tests.”
“So, we’ll start for India before the end of September?”
“Providing the tests are satisfactory.”
Thomson glanced at Irwin, sitting behind the others. “What testing is required? I thought most of it was done last year?”
“Captain Irwin has drawn up a comprehensive schedule of tests. I’ll let him brief you,” Colmore said, turning to Irwin.
Irwin stood up. “First of all, I must stress this ship’s only ever flown in near-perfect weather. Initially, a flight of twenty-four hours will be conducted in moderately adverse weather, followed by forty-eight hours in adverse conditions—six hours of this flight at full speed, the rest at cruising speed. After that, the ship must be put in the shed for a thorough inspection.”
“This all seems rather extravagant, after all the flying this ship’s already done.” Thomson growled.
“After the insertion of the additional bay, she’ll be a different ship with different characteristics—we’ll need to start from scratch. These tests are required in order to be declared ‘fit to fly’,” Irwin said.
“Seems to me we’re asking an awful lot of the weather—we want conditions ‘dead calm’ to bring her out—‘windy and rough’ for seventy two hours, then ‘dead calm’ to put her back in the shed. What are the chances of that in your two-week window? Zero, I should think!” Thomson sniffed.
“We’ll have to play it by ear, sir and adjust the schedule, based on experience,” Colmore said, his eyes shifting to Scott.
Scott was glad to step in. “I’ll keep an eye on the situation, Lord
Thomson. We’ll make these decisions as we go along. We can be flexible, I’m sure.”
Thomson saw Irwin didn’t appreciate Scott’s accommodative tone.
Irwin is a spoiler!
“One request: I want you to lay a nice blue carpet from the bow to the passenger public area. The interior needs dolling up a bit,” Thomson said.
Colmore winced.
“What’s that for, Colmore? You don’t like blue?”
“It’s weight I’m worried about, sir.”
“Come on, Colmore! It won’t weigh that much. What’s the story with the cover?”
Richmond wanted to answer this one. “Most of the cover’s been replaced and waiting to be doped. The rest of the areas are under inspection,” he said.
After the meeting, Thomson left Gwydyr House where George Hunter from the Daily Express and Edmund Jones from the Daily Mirror were lying in wait outside. The Cardington R101 saga had become a drama closely followed by the public.
“Lord Thomson, do you mind if we ask a few questions?” Hunter asked.
Though caught off guard, Thomson smiled broadly. “By all means, gentlemen.”
“We’re getting reports Cardington R101 may not be ready in time for the voyage in September.”
“My staff from the Royal Airship Works informed me less than an hour ago, she will be ready to fly.”
“Will that leave time for testing, Lord Thomson?” Hunter asked.
“We’ll have to make time won’t we!” Thomson snapped, but then caught himself and smiled pleasantly.
“What about morale and discipline? Apparently, an inquiry is being held to look into brawling and drunkenness. Can you tell us about that, sir?” Jones asked.
“I’ve no idea where you’re getting all this. Morale, gentlemen, has never been higher,” Thomson said. “Good day to you.”
The next day the two newspapers carried headlines.
The Airshipmen: A Novel Based on a True Story. A Tale of Love, Betrayal & Political Intrigue. Page 59