by K. M. Peyton
Antony tightened up the straps and showed her the red ribbon of the ripcord. ‘That’s it then. We’ll be off.’
He fastened up his helmet, pulled down his goggles and went to start the engine. Its crackle sent the birds spinning out of the trees, shattering the peace of the morning and setting Lily’s blood racing. Now there was no going back: the little plane careered down its strip of mown grass and rose gracefully over the roof of the cottage where Gabriel and Squashy no doubt were coming to swearing life, cursing the young Sylvester and his new-fangled idiot contraption – Gabriel did not mince his words in his contempt for Antony and his way of life.
If only he knew – Lily laughed out loud. Twenty minutes and already her blood was throbbing with excitement and her hands trembled; she twitched and shivered in her seat, free of any straps holding her in, aware only of the weight of the parachute and wondering how it would feel when she made her move. It was a cumbersome thing, this giver of life. Climbing out might be quite difficult, dragging it with her. She would fall off the wing with no trouble.
Antony was making height, higher and higher. Usually he flew quite low, enjoying frightening what he called the peasants, not to mention the cows, the horses, the hens and the pigs, but now the fair earth was falling away at an alarming rate. Peering over the side Lily was terrified afresh at how far she had to fall. But the further up they were, the safer, so she understood, and – if all went well – she would enjoy it more. As it was, she could not even think of enjoying it, as the fear swelled inside her.
Antony turned his head and grinned at her and mouthed, ‘Nearly there!’
At last he levelled off and the plane flew smoothly on its way. Lily could see half of England and the sea that bounded it away to port, and tiny puffs of cloud below them, inviting, as if you could lie on them as on a gigantic cushion. Would they come to meet her, clammy and full of raindrops? She was shaking all over, half crying.
Antony’s head turned again and he made a gesture for her to start moving.
She lurched to her feet, reaching out for the wing strut to haul herself out. As she put her leg over the side of the cockpit she felt the wind tearing at it, and as she pulled herself after it the wind grabbed her like a human hand and pushed her backwards. She managed to crawl against it for a fleeting moment, then her hand on the strut gave way and without even willing it she was falling through space, head down. She had not decided to jump: the decision was made for her and afterwards she thought ‘how lucky’, so strong had been her instinct to stay with the plane.
Without even considering how clear she was of the plane she jerked desperately at the red ribbon of the ripcord and immediately felt a great lurch, her body coming upright and swinging violently at the same time so that she thought her stomach would fly out of her of its own accord. She looked up and saw the great flower of the silken chute billowing out against the pale, thin sky, as beautiful a thing as she had ever seen, holding her, comforting her: ‘You’re not going to die, dear thing.’ The words sung in her head. She was in love with her parachute, holding her so sweetly high above the amazing earth that seemed no nearer than when she had looked at it minutes before. So slowly, slowly she sank towards it, the amazement and the beauty of it making the tears spring into her eyes – or perhaps it was just the wind – she could not tell: the emotion was almost uncontainable. So she wept at the most heavenly thing she had ever done in her life, and through the tears watched the little fields grow into bigger fields and the little roads grow into cracks across the earth, higgledy-piggledy, and the white spots turn into sheep and the dark lines become the shadows of elms around the fields, long morning shadows cast by the morning sun that she was high enough to see, poking over the trees, making her blink.
Softly, softly she swung, as if for ever, and then, suddenly the field was no longer a sweet vision below, but a hard landing coming at her very fast. Antony had not said a thing about landing and she had thought it would be just a caress of her feet in the grass and a gentle subsidence of the body onto the dear earth. But actually it was a very sudden crash which jerked all her lovely thoughts into oblivion as the great folds of silk above her turned into a sort of flogging train dragging her willy-nilly across the field. For some moments she could not make sense of it and then, as it started to hurt, she managed to turn herself over and start to fight with the billowing silk. Or was there some release mechanism to cut her free? If there was she had no time to search for it.
An innate sense of self-preservation gave her the strength to overpower the now capricious chute, throwing her body onto it and stuffing its surges underneath her until all the wind was knocked out of it. Then she lay still, wondering where to find the release mechanism, but not caring very much, her thoughts more intent on realizing that the great adventure was now over. It was hard to believe what had happened, that all those weeks of fear and indecision, excitement and horror, were now behind her. She had done it. She was still alive. She had with her now a memory – what a memory! – to take with her till her dying day.
Dear God! She kissed the dew-wet grass and stopped crying.
And then Antony was beside her, holding her in his arms, hugging her and kissing her and finding the release without any trouble and pulling her free, gathering up the great heap of silk and telling her she was marvellous. ‘I love you, Lily! What a day! Here, drink this. You’re frozen. Sit up!’ Something from a flask that he held to her lips and a wonderful fire filled her trembling body so that in a little while her senses came back.
She started to laugh. ‘It was—’ But there were no words to describe it.
The parachute safely contained, Antony pulled her to her feet. ‘You’re a corker, Lily. There’s no one like you. Absolutely brilliant! What a pity the boys weren’t here to see it. They’d have died!’
‘You’re not going to tell them! No one must know!’
‘No, I know that. My father would flay me and so would yours, I daresay. No one must ever know. Just us.’
‘No. Just us.’
Flying home, Lily could not believe it had happened.
10
Neither of them said a word, yet Lily was aware of a strange reserve in the people around her, not saying anything, but just looking, or not saying and not even looking, eyes down, suddenly shy of her. She thought it was her imagination. Even her father, who did not ask, was strangely distant; his adage ‘see nowt, say nowt’ seemed to take on an extra tag: ‘know nowt’. He did not even mention being awakened by the plane so early, which he must have been, despite a growing deafness these days, nor curse as he usually did about ‘that idiot boy’. Lily kept out of his way, scared of his reaction should he find out.
But the days passed, and everything settled into normality. A month later Lily was sent up to the Butterworths’ farm with a message from her father and she met Cedric on her way back. He had stopped to water two carthorses at a pond and was waiting for them, chewing on a grass and looking very yokellish.
‘Hey, Cedric.’ Lily stopped, admiring the horses. The Butterworths kept their horses beautifully, turned out for work as shining and polished as if they were going to a show. ‘Which ones are these?’
‘Hector and Olly.’
‘They’re gorgeous. Do you do them?’
‘No. The men do them.’
Stupid. Of course, he was the farmer’s son, not a stable boy, although he worked as hard. Lily found him a relief from the other boys, easier to understand. She knew he was attracted to them for the same reason as she was: for their larks and the carefree world they represented. Like herself, Cedric was tied to the earth and its drudgery and, like herself, he had a severe father so there was little escape, but he had a patient nature and rarely complained.
‘Are you looking forward to this party of Antony’s?’ It was the only thing she could think of that might engage him. For herself, now the parachute jump was over, it was the only thing she had to look forward to.
‘No, not very much. It’l
l get out of hand, if all his friends are like he is.’
‘That’ll be part of the fun, won’t it?’ How stuffy he was.
‘All right, as long as Helena isn’t involved.’
‘But the party’s for her, isn’t it? She will be the star.’
‘You say so. But how will she know what’s happening? She might be terrified.’
‘She loves the lake. We’ve taken her.’
‘Quietly, just you and Ant. But imagine all those idiots, shouting and screaming around her, and she out where she’s never been, doing what she’s never done.’
‘But she’s deaf, she won’t hear a thing. Or see.’
‘But feel and sense, Lily – imagine it. She never goes out. It’s wicked the way they keep her.’
‘But this is to give her an outing, surely? To give her some fun.’
‘Yes, as long as they are gentle.’
‘Gentle’ was not a word Lily thought applied to Antony’s friends.
‘Well, I don’t know …’ She didn’t; she had never thought about it. A bit of fun for Helena, as Antony had said. She was puzzled by what Cedric was saying.
‘Anything might happen.’
‘But—’
‘For example – with Antony and you. Did you agree to do that thing with him, or did he trick you into it?’
‘What thing?’
‘You know what I’m talking about. He borrowed the Rolls to drive to Brooklands, to take the parachute back to be repacked. Tom told me. He said he saw what Antony was doing and Antony swore him to secrecy, but he couldn’t help telling me. And God knows how many other people he told.’
‘I wanted to do it. Antony didn’t make me do it.’
‘I bet it was his idea. He knows you’ll do anything he asks, even kill yourself.’
‘It was perfectly safe. I’m not so stupid. And besides, it was amazing, and wonderful, and the most glorious thing I’ve ever done, and I’ve Antony to thank for it.’
‘He should never have asked you. It was wicked. He knew none of us others would have agreed. He just uses you, to dance to his tune.’
‘Well—’ It was difficult to argue, for she knew what he said was the truth. The agony of thinking about it before it happened, the nightmares and the horrors of what her imagination had thrown up, were easily forgotten in the memory of the jump itself.
‘Don’t waste yourself on Antony. He’s not worth it.’
‘Oh, Cedric!’ She could not begin to tell him what part Antony took in her life. Cedric had no imagination, else why would he question what she had done? If Antony had asked him to do the jump he would have refused. How boring he was! Nice, but boring.
‘You’re brave,’ he said. ‘I’ll give you that. Brave, but stupid.’
She laughed. That was the two of them, brave but stupid, nice but boring. A good pair.
‘You’ll not be a wet blanket about the party though? There’s no danger there. Just a bit of fun. You’ll go along with that?’
‘Yes, as long as I can get away. It’s hay time.’
‘The party’s all night, Antony says.’
‘Yeah, good. But sometimes hay-making is almost all night too.’
Lily went on her way, thinking Cedric was not so bad really. He was a bit like a bale of hay or straw himself, golden brown and slightly gingery, slow-growing and inevitable. He would never take flight, move from the farm. He had never even been to London. (Nor had Lily, but that was different.)
The months passed, spring was burgeoning into midsummer and Mr Sylvester was packing his bags to go to South America. Antony was finalizing his date for the party. He wanted a full moon, and surety that Aunt Maud would not be around, which meant finding out the date when she made her annual trip to the French Riviera. By rashly inviting her for a later date – she had, after all, made noises about visiting while his father was away – he found the crucial dates of her French visit, and by these roundabout means fixed a date that, with Aunt Maud guaranteed to be away, agreed with most of his school mates’ itineraries: soon after they broke up from school at the beginning of July, and before they all went off with their maters and paters to their second homes in Monte Carlo, Lake Como, Montreux, Baden-Baden, etc.
Simon, John and Cedric were certainties and Lily was reassured that there was a place for her. Lily suspected that it was as a servant, but didn’t care, as long as she was there. She doubted if Antony dare ask any of the house servants to help. He said he was going to send them all off on holiday as soon as his father left so that the house would be clear of staff save for Rose and Violet, who were so far away in Helena’s rooms that they might not even notice. Getting Helena away from them, out for the night, promised to be the biggest problem and Antony was not ruling out force.
‘Lock ’em in ’ld be best, give them a bottle of gin each, that should fix ’em.’
Planning this outrageous escapade was obviously giving him a great deal to think about. There was little he could do until his father actually departed, and he was terrified that this departure might be delayed, for his father seemed to be in a nervous state of mind about it, spending much time humming and hawing on the telephone and rushing up to London at odd hours. It was not until his trunk was actually packed and carried out to the Rolls-Royce where Tom was waiting to take him to Southampton that Antony felt his heart lifting.
His father shook his hand formally and said, ‘Be a good man now, I’m trusting you.’
‘Yes, sir.’
Antony contrived to look trustworthy, knowing he was acting out a lie. But with luck his father would never hear about it. It was going to be impossible to keep the party secret from the village, but his father never had much to do with the village fortunately, save through the window of his Rolls-Royce.
‘Goodbye then.’
By the time he returned the party would be old hat. What was he going to do when it was over? Antony wondered. He stood with his hands in his pockets watching the car disappear round the bend in the drive, wishing suddenly that he was going too. To cross the Atlantic was quite something: it had never crossed his mind to ask his father to take him with him. There was little companionship between them, but seeing the world was something that surely a rich man should be offering his son? Pals at Eton were off all over the place. He had been offered trips with several, but it had never crossed his mind to accept, fixated on the amazing party.
When it was over … Antony felt the familiar abyss open before him. What was a mere party, after all, compared with the great void that lay ahead? He knew he had flunked all his exams, would never go to university, would never be part of whatever nefarious business his father was mixed up in. His father had never suggested that he should follow in his footsteps, learning how to make money, and Antony had a deep suspicion that it was because his father did not want him to know how he made his money, nor did he seem to want anyone else to know. Where were the congenial parties of fellow businessmen that other chaps’ fathers seemed to have, where the father-to-son conversations about his beginning to learn the ropes, why the secrecy, the long telephone conversations into the night, the nervous twitch that had started to operate at the corner of his father’s mouth? It was all very well for his father to say that he was trusting his son, but Antony did not trust his father.
Simon was going to Oxford to study classics; John was going (rather reluctantly) to theological college to see if he was cut out for the religious life, and Cedric was just working on the farm as usual, all perfectly straightforward. Friendly old people in the village who had only just stopped remarking, ‘My, how you’ve grown!’ were now asking him, ‘And what are you going to do now, dear, that you’re leaving school?’ and he had no answer. He made things up. ‘I’m going abroad for a bit’; or, ‘I’ve been invited to join an Everest expedition’; or, ‘I’m going to Newmarket to train racehorses.’ He liked seeing the surprise on their faces. If he’d stated the truth: ‘I’m going to die of boredom; I might kill myself,’ they would probab
ly be more surprised still.
Thank goodness the idiot child Lily still had faith in him. Her adoration always cheered him. She was a real nut, sharp as a needle in spite of having scarcely any education. She read and wrote with difficulty, but could add up the cost of a load of groceries in her head, in a trice, while he was still wondering whether to tender a note or would coins do? If she’d gone to Eton she could have been the first woman prime minister.
She was brilliant at planning the amount of food to order too, remembering all the basics while he was thinking caviar, foie gras, champagne … ‘Fresh bread – you must order it. Glasses – are there enough in the house or can we get some from the church hall? Meat pies from Fortnum and Mason – you’ve got to think ahead, get the order in, and the delivery. You can’t sack all the staff, we’ll need help to get it down to the grotto.’
‘The chaps’ll do that, if everything is delivered to the house. They’ll row it out to the grotto.’
‘It’ll be pandemonium.’
‘I’ll put you in charge, Lily. You can give the orders.’
‘But we have to get the grotto ready first. Tables, candles, all the drink down there. The food out of the kitchen will go last.’
‘We can get it ready before the chaps arrive.’
The date of the party was just a week after Mr Sylvester departed. It was early July, and the weather seemed set fair, but Lily could hardly take time off from her father’s bidding, as Antony required, just to set up the party.
Her father already had a premonition of what was going on. ‘Just keep that idiot lad from making a fool of himself, if you’re involved. Keep your nose clean, Lily. You owe it to Mr Sylvester, he’s your employer.’