‘That’s as may be,’ Stan said. ‘But I’d just like to reassure myself.’
‘Go on then. Oh, and when you meet up with Mum over by the treasure hunt, we’ve just had a bit of a barney.’
‘Tell me something that I hadn’t already guessed.’ Stan patted her shoulder. ‘When she told me she was coming up here I knew she’d bloody ferret. Dug a bit too deeply, has she?’
‘Just a bit.’
Billie watched him go and felt lonely again. Her stomach looped the loop. Her mouth was dry. It was all getting far too close. The first of the three barnstorming displays was due in five minutes.
‘Ready?’ Jonah suddenly marched through the crowds towards her. ‘I thought you’d done a runner. I couldn’t find you in the warehouse. I found about three million other people, though.’
Billie looked at Jonah’s thunderous face. ‘My – er – parents are here . . . My dad was looking at the plane. He er – thinks it’s great . . .’
Jonah nodded his head curtly. ‘Nice to know at least one member of your family can appreciate something to do with aviation. Did you watch Estelle?’
No, not really . . . I was talking to Miranda and –’
‘God Almighty!’ Jonah sighed and strode towards the Stearman. Billie, trying to keep up, looked hopefully for Stan but he’d already gone. The Whiteacres ground crew had cleared everyone back behind the perimeter fence.
Booming over the tannoy above their introduction selection of ‘Eight Miles High’ and ‘Something In The Air’, Malcolm Bletchley was giving the crowds a brief history of the Stearman. He moved on to building up the tension no end with graphic descriptions of what they were about to see as Billie clumsily scrambled into the cockpit and strapped herself into the biplane’s seat.
Jonah, seated behind her, tapped her on the shoulder. ‘You OK?’
Mightily relieved that he was feeling better-tempered, she turned and smiled. ‘Yeah, fine, thanks.’
‘I wasn’t enquiring about your health. I mean for safety purposes, are you up to this?’
‘Of course I am,’ she said, her teeth chattering as she pulled on her gloves and fastened her helmet. ‘And I really, really hate you.’
‘Good – it’s so important that we have a well-balanced airborne relationship. And why the hell didn’t you tell me about Barnaby?’
Oh God, why hadn’t she? Who had she been fighting with at the time?
Jonah started the engine and the judder rattled her bones. The roar and the shudder should have been familiar, but Billie could hear new noises: strange knockings; little gaps in the smoothness . . . She tried hard not to listen as the propeller swirled into life, cutting through the afternoon heat.
She attempted to work some saliva into her mouth. ‘Look, it’s none of my business, but are you sure the engine’s OK? It sounds funny . . .’
‘Thank fuck something does. I could do with a laugh.
The engine sounds perfect. Now just sit back and stay there . . . at least until you have to get out . . .’
Releasing the brakes, Jonah steered the plane towards the runway. They were going to go up to four hundred feet for the first aerobatic sequence, climb to a thousand, then do loops, rolls and stalls, before swooping down as close to the crowd as possible. They had worked out a ten-minute routine in the shed. It had all seemed like a lot of fun. Billie wished fervently that they were in the shed now so that she could shake off her harness and run.
Malcolm had stopped talking and kick-started the display music. It blasted from the speakers, still audible above the Stearman’s powerful growl. Billie wished she’d remembered to go to the loo. ‘I’m Alive’ thumped into the idyllic June afternoon. Billie had the feeling that she might not be for very much longer.
The plane was gathering speed, bouncing across the grass and, belatedly, Billie remembered to lean from the cockpit and smile and wave . . . smile and wave . . . She had never felt less like smiling in her life. God! There were millions of people all smiling and waving back! She turned and looked at Jonah, hoping for some sign of approval.
Shit. Jonah was rigid and ashen-faced. The plane was still careering across the grass, the music was still pumping, and Jonah had had a heart attack!
‘Jonah!’ She screamed and leaned backwards. ‘Jonah! What’s happened?’
He muttered something, his lips rigid. Christ! Billie couldn’t hear, couldn’t move. They’d take off at any minute – and nose-dive a minute later!
‘Jonah!’
She tried to read his lips and couldn’t. His head was jerking downwards. Epilepsy? Did he have epilepsy? No, of course he didn’t. He couldn’t be a pilot if he did.
‘Jonah!!!’
God! Reuben had spiked the plane! That was it! He’d cut something – like a throttle or a brake cable or a fuel line – to ensure that she was killed in the tangled wreckage. Bastard . . . They were belting across the grass towards the airport buildings at about five hundred miles an hour and Billie knew she was going to die.
‘Jonah! For God’s sake! Take off!’
Just in time, the Stearman soared over the fence, above the heads of the shouting, cheering, waving crowd, who obviously thought this last-minute close call was part of the stunt. Billie, more relieved than she’d ever been in her life, laughed hysterically down at them and waved back.
Christ – now what? They were airborne and Jonah was still sitting there in some sort of catatonic shock, completely out of control. Was she going to have to do a Fay Wray stunt and crawl backwards into the cockpit and save the plane? Not a hope. She didn’t even know which lever was up and which was down. God, all those months that the Stearman had been in the shed and she didn’t know the first thing about how it worked!
She jerked her head round again. ‘Jonah!’
His mouth formed one word as his head motioned downwards again. Billie frowned. What was he trying to say? It sounded like – looked like – ‘Spider’ . . .
Billie followed the jerking motion and almost laughed aloud. A large, brown, eight-legged monster was ignoring the pace of the plane and crawling leisurely up Jonah’s dashboard. God, was that all? Did Jonah think it was an Australian springing spider, something that was going to leap and go for the throat?
Shaking her head, still horrified at the speed at which they were travelling, she wriggled round, hindered by the straps, and scooped the spider up, dropping it over the side of the plane. Superstitiously, she hoped it would float to earth and land gently.
‘OK?’ She had to mouth the word. The wind flapped at her lips.
Jonah was instantly back in control, although still pale. He almost smiled and mouthed back. ‘Thanks . . . and it’s time to go . . .’
‘Yummy Yummy Yummy’ was punching out the rhythms as she moved from the plane to the wing and fastened herself into the rig as though she’d been doing it for ever. She was concentrating too hard to be terrified any more. She was still alive. She hadn’t died. Flying wasn’t scary at all. Nothing could faze her now.
As they swooped and looped and rolled at over a hundred miles an hour, Billie waved and grinned and high-kicked like crazy. Even the inverted flying, which had given her such palpitations, was like a dream. It was so different, seeing the upturned faces, knowing they were watching her and Jonah, envying them maybe, maybe thinking: Never – not even for a million pounds. It didn’t matter. It was the greatest high in the world.
Ten minutes later, with the strains of ‘Eloise’ still roaring from the speakers, the Stearman touched down. Billie, still waving, still smiling, soared again at the roar of applause. God, this was heady stuff. Easy to get hooked . . . Thank goodness she’d got at least two more stints. She really couldn’t give it up. Not now. Not ever.
Jonah stood up in the cockpit beside her, and, as they’d practised, they swept rather comical theatrical bows to the grinning crowd which stretched as far as the eve could see. Then he stepped out onto the wing and, jumping down to the grass, held out his arms. Billie, who wa
s still flying, leaped into them.
He immediately let her go. She wasn’t surprised. Her face was probably snotty.
His voice was gruff. ‘Er – thanks again. For the wingwalking. And for the spider. And I’d really appreciate it if you didn’t tell anyone.’
‘It’s our secret.’ She didn’t smile at him. He had withdrawn from her completely. She tried not to care. As long as they could work together on a professional level, what the hell did it matter?
The crowd were bearing down on them and amongst them she saw her parents, and the warehousers, and Miranda, all with ear-to-ear grins. And there, just behind them, was Claire, looking plump but stunningly gorgeous in a floaty caramel-coloured dress, her dark curls glossy and bouncing.
Claire pushed her way to the front of the crowd, and ignoring Billie, threw her arms round Jonah. ‘Jo! Darling! That was simply the sexiest thing I have ever seen! You were so amazing!’
‘Thanks.’ He didn’t try to disentangle himself. ‘Er – and you look pretty good, yourself.’
Claire simpered and preened. ‘So, I should, darling. I’m off the stuff – and the ciggies and booze. This is a whole new me, darling! A whole new us! Jo, sweetheart – it’s so exciting! I’m pregnant!’
Chapter Forty-one
Jonah glanced at the date on his desk diary. July 4th. Independence Day. He gave a hollow laugh and pushed his chair back until it made solid and metallic contact with the filing cabinet. After today, he’d probably never be independent again.
He’d been in the Sullivanair office since dawn, and had watched the sun fade through the airfield mist, spreading molten gold amongst the dew prisms. Today, by an ironic twist of fate, he would be interviewing the three potential candidates for Estelle’s job, had an appointment with the Whiteacres Aviation Incs at board level for their final decision, and was also meeting Antony Archibald, together with Claire, to discuss their future.
Pushing the chair back further and discovering there was nowhere to go, Jonah stood up and walked to the window. Life, which he’d thought would be so easily sorted by the success of the air pageant and the purchase of the new planes, had become spectacularly complicated. He could even pinpoint the moment when it had started to fall apart: it had been on the day of the show when he’d bounded into Billie’s warehouse, full of enthusiasm, and been confronted by her and that slick Reuben Wainwright. From that minute on, everything had turned inside out.
He’d wondered a dozen times since why seeing Billie and the man she purported to hate – her alleged stalker - together had incensed him so much. Billie was nothing to do with him, was she? They were friends and colleagues, and enjoyed each other’s company, and worked surprisingly well together, but never once had that friendship strayed into even the outer fringes of anything deeper. But what Jonah had felt, seeing her and Reuben together, had been a bolt of raw and irrational jealousy.
It was ludicrous to feel like that. He knew that Billie disliked Reuben intensely; he knew Reuben was shacked up with Miranda; he was sure there was nothing between them. But he’d grown fond of Billie. The closeness had grown out of his admiration and her unconditional friendship over the months they’d known each other, but why the hell should he have felt so jealous? And why the hell had he behaved like such a complete git?
Maybe, he thought, it was just the fact that Billie and Reuben had been together when he’d wanted her to be alone for the build-up to the display – which was, after all, something only they shared. Maybe, too, it was because of that ridiculous explanation about Reuben knowing Billie had been seeing a married man . . . He shook his head. He didn’t believe it for a moment. There had to be more to it than that, surely?
Billie had been as snappy with him as he had with her - which, with hindsight, was understandable. Billie was feisty and certainly not the sort to waffle apologies for saying what she thought. And then there’d been Barnaby not turning up in time for the Slingsby slot, and that bloody spider, and then, to ice the cake, Claire.
He sighed, leaning his forehead against the windowpane.
Claire was still at his flat. She’d even gone as far as signing on at Whiteacres Health Centre to continue her antenatal classes. She had the bedroom, while he was sleeping – or trying to – on the excruciatingly uncomfortable sofa. Sleep had been something that would have eluded him even in the most luxurious of beds these past nights.
Claire was having a baby . . . His baby ... It didn’t matter how many times he said the words, it still seemed completely impossible. Throughout the time they’d been married they’d talked of having children – one day. But it was always too soon. At that time he was enjoying his RAF long-haul flights and Claire liked her office manager’s job, and she had always said she didn’t want to be a part-time mother. There’d be plenty of time for babies later.
He’d wondered at first if the pregnancy was a figment of Claire’s imagination, just another ploy to complicate the issues that were already tangled enough, but it definitely wasn’t. Claire was a blooming, gorgeous picture of pre-motherhood; nearly seven months pregnant now. The baby, she’d told him, would be born in September. She was as sweet and placid and loving as she’d been when he’d first met her, and that had thrown his emotions into total turmoil. He’d always thought he wanted children, he probably still did. The awful thing was, he certainly knew he didn’t want Claire.
He’d even clutched at the straw of it not being his child. Claire had looked shocked that he should think such a thing ‘The dates darling. I didn’t sleep with Antony in January. I wasn’t with him. I was here. With you!’
‘Then why the hell didn’t you say anything before?’ He’d it asked a million times. ‘You must have known for ages!’
And she’d smiled and said, of course she’d thought she might be, but her periods were always up and down, and sometimes she didn’t eat properly, you know, which threw you out, and then there was the stuff . . . and she hadn’t been sure, so she hadn’t done the test until it was ever so late . . .
‘And does Antony know?’
Claire had curled herself around him and said, silly – why should he? He just thinks I’m getting fat. It isn’t his baby, it’s ours, Jo . . . and I’ve come back to you so that we can be a proper family. But maybe we should tell him, just to be fair . . .’
And so there had been various frantic phone calls to Aerobatic Archie, who was, understandably, distraught about the whole situation. Claire had remained calm and smiling throughout, and now seemed to have moved her amphetamine addiction onto one for buying up Mothercare.
The phone rang in the empty office. Jonah turned away from the window and stared at it. It still seemed strange that Estelle wasn’t here to answer it. Hopefully, one of the three shortlisters today would fill her shoes, if not her skin-tight denim. He’d let Estelle go to Luton early so that she could start work on the new EasyJet fleet. There was no point in making things difficult for her. They’d had a tearful parting, and as she’d walked away, Jonah had wanted to run after her and beg her to change her mind. But he hadn’t, and would probably wonder for the rest of his life if he’d made the right decision. Barnaby and Vinny, he was well aware, were loudly and pointedly convinced that he hadn’t.
The phone still rang. Jonah snatched it up.
‘Jo, it’s Barnaby. You’ll have to do without me on the Aviation Incs board – sorry. And I’d hoped to be there to offer a helping hand on the office interviews too, but I’m afraid I’m not going to be back until late.’
Jonah groaned – but not too loudly – because Barnaby had, since arriving back from Paris on the night of the air show, shovelled vast amounts of money into the Sullivanair coffers. The National Trust had snatched greedily at the Derbyshire stately home, the horse-owning had been pared down, and Barnaby was currently resident in Amberley Hill’s Four Pillars and seeking out a suitable house to purchase in the area.
Since he’d been back he’d not mentioned Miranda, had been shocked rigid to hear of Claire’
s pregnancy, and visibly upset by Jonah’s rift with Billie. However, the success of the air pageant, and his now almost certain seat on the Incs board, seemed to have cheered him up, although Jonah was pretty sure that there was still something else on his mind.
Exactly who had kept him away from Whiteacres after Miranda’s rejection, Barnaby hadn’t said. But as she seemed to involve a lengthy Paris stopover, and several long and secretive phone calls to France since, Jonah hoped that she was chic and long-legged and fun, and had made Barnaby a happy man.
He shrugged. ‘It’s OK. The Incs should just be a formality. We’ve both already put everything in writing anyway. And Vinny and Pam are coming in to give the job candidates the once-over and offer me moral support, so I should cope. You’re all right, though? No problems?’
Barnaby’s chuckle was rich. ‘Quite the opposite. I’m at Orly again - buzzed over late last night - and when I come back this time, I won’t be alone.’
Jonah’s grin was the widest it had been for weeks.
‘I knew it! That’s great news! Hey - she wouldn’t be wanting a job running the Sullivanair office by any chance, would she?’
Barnaby chuckled again. ‘Doubtful. She’s a fairly independent lady. Oh, it looks as though she’s ready for me, and I can’t keep her waiting. We’ll see you tonight . . .’
Jonah hung up, still grinning. At least someone was cheerful. And Vinny and Pam, he was sure, would be more than adequate company for grilling the interviewees. He’d spaced the interviews half an hour apart, and all three candidates seemed equally well qualified. Choosing one wasn’t a task he was relishing.
‘Not a dog’s chance,’ Vinny said, pulling wheelies in his chair, as the second would-be Estelle-replacement closed the office door behind her. ‘She’ll have her no thank you letter in the post by lunch time. She was far too high-powered for us, anyhow. You could almost see her come over faint when you mentioned the salary.’
Walking on Air Page 44