The Flyer

by Stuart Harrison

  Christopher threw William a wry look. ‘In case you haven’t noticed, old man, Liz tends to be of the sort who does not suffer fools.’

  ‘I won’t apologise for that,’ Elizabeth retorted. ‘I told you that girl had every intention of marrying you the moment she laid eyes on you. She let everyone know that you had as good as proposed before you went to France, and then that picture appeared and made her look rather silly.’

  ‘Which wasn’t true, by the way,’ Christopher said. ‘I never said anything to make her think I was going to marry her. Anyway, I told her the first night we met that I’d already promised to marry you.’

  ‘Yes, but you probably also mentioned that I was only eight at the time, so I shouldn’t imagine she took much notice.’

  They laughed, but William wondered if there had been something more between them once, however innocent. He knew from experience that first love left a lasting impression. He still thought of Emmaline occasionally. There were other occasions when Christopher joked about girls he’d known, comparing them unfavourably to Elizabeth, as if she were the standard by which he judged them. It was very light-hearted, but underneath it all there was an undercurrent like a shared secret and William always felt a prickle of envy that he was excluded.

  One evening Elizabeth came to the barn, and after the three of them had eaten the supper she’d brought, Christopher put on a gramophone record and lay on his back listening to the scratchy notes drifting across the field.

  ‘It’s such a beautiful evening, I feel like going for a walk,’ Elizabeth announced. ‘Who wants to come with me?’

  ‘Alright,’ William said, though Christopher only waved a languid hand.

  ‘I think I’ll stay here.’

  They walked through a field of long grass flecked with poppies like sparks, not hurrying, relishing the swish of grass and the chatter of birds in the trees gradually falling quiet as the twilight faded. Their hands brushed accidentally and Elizabeth glanced at him, smiling, her eyes a deeper green in the dying light

  ‘How are you getting on with your plane, you two? Will you be finished in time for the airshow?’

  ‘Yes, I think so.’

  ‘Christopher says he couldn’t have done it without your help, you know.’

  ‘I expect he could have found somebody if I hadn’t happened along.’

  ‘Perhaps. But he likes you. And he says your ideas will make a big difference. He thinks you’re very talented.’

  ‘I didn’t realise the two of you spent so much time discussing me,’ William said, not sure whether he was pleased by the idea or not. He decided he was.

  ‘Christopher talks about you a lot,’ Elizabeth said. ‘You’ve become good friends, haven’t you?’

  ‘Yes, I suppose we have,’ William agreed. ‘I hope that you and I have become friends too.’

  ‘Of course we have.’

  ‘Can I ask you something?’

  ‘If you like.’

  ‘How long have you and Christopher known one another, exactly?’

  ‘For ever. We practically grew up together. I remember as children we used to climb trees in the woods. I fell out of one once when I was seven and broke my arm. I’ve been afraid of heights ever since.’

  ‘Is that why you won’t fly?’

  ‘Yes.’

  She was quiet for a moment. ‘Is that what you really wanted to ask me?’

  He was surprised at her intuitiveness. ‘I’m not sure what I wanted to ask really. No, that’s not true. It’s just that I’m not sure how to, or if it’s even any of my business.’

  ‘Why don’t you tell me what it is, and then if it isn’t any of your business I won’t answer you.’

  He saw she was joking and smiled. ‘Alright, I suppose the truth is, I wonder sometimes about your relationship. Yours and Christopher’s I mean.’ She didn’t comment and he wished he’d never said anything. ‘Are you offended?’ he asked her eventually.

  She shook her head. ‘Of course not. I suppose I was trying to think how to answer you, that’s all. The truth is, Christopher and I are friends. Very good friends. But we’ve never been lovers. That’s what you meant, isn’t it?’

  ‘I told you it’s none of my business.’

  ‘I don’t mind,’ she said, and as if to prove it linked her arm through his. They didn’t speak again for a little while, though the silence between them was comfortable.

  ‘You’re very different from Christopher, aren’t you?’ Elizabeth mused eventually.

  ‘You mean that Christopher is rich, and that compared to my life, Christopher’s life is exciting and glamorous?’

  ‘You’re being flippant, and no, that isn’t what I mean.’

  ‘Sorry.’

  ‘Christopher can be impetuous. When he gets excited about something he pursues it with all his attention, whether it’s motor racing, or aeroplanes or even women. He gets caught up in things, and then something new comes along and suddenly everything changes. But you’re not like that are you? You’re more steady. More serious about things.’

  ‘You make me sound dull.’

  ‘No, no you’re not at all. Of course you’re not. I didn’t mean that. I like the way you are. I’d bet that if you say something you’ve thought it through and you mean it. I imagine that once you’ve decided to do something you see it through to the end. I think those are admirable qualities. I admire them anyway.’

  William was pleased by her compliment, though he wasn’t sure everything she said was true. What she’d said made him think of the garage. He couldn’t avoid the fact that ever since he’d met Christopher he’d neglected his business, and certainly his expansion plans had been put to one side. But then a degree of flexibility was important. His goal remained the same, which was to make his own way in the world and become successful, but he was no longer certain of the means.

  ‘You know, I think that’s the reason you and Christopher get on so well,’ Elizabeth said, evidently having thought about it. ‘You’re opposites in many ways, and yet very alike in others. Two sides of the same coin. Perhaps that’s why I feel so comfortable with you. I feel as if I’ve known you for years.’

  ‘I’m glad you feel that way,’ he said.

  They had reached the far side of the field. The gramophone had stopped playing and the evening was hushed. They could hardly see the barn anymore. William wondered how Elizabeth would react if he tried to kiss her. He had the felling she wouldn’t object. For a moment it seemed like the most natural thing in the world to do. He knew he was falling in love with her, but at the same time he didn’t want anything to change. He wanted life to go on like this for ever. The three of them listening to music and talking and laughing at the end of the day.

  He knew that wasn’t possible. In a few weeks the plane would be finished and then there would be the race and afterwards… What, he wondered? What happened then? Elizabeth had just told him that Christopher’s life was a series of adventures and passions, one after the other. Had she been warning him? After all, their lives were very different. He had the garage to think of - his future. All of these thoughts went through his mind, and he realised there was no point in wanting everything to stay as it was. Nothing ever did.

  They were standing very close to another, Elizabeth’s face pale in the darkness folding around them. His heart was thudding. He moved closer to her, but as he did a sound reached them from across the field, the faint, scratchy beginning of a tune and suddenly the moment was lost.

  ‘We ought to get back,’ Elizabeth said.

  ‘Yes.’

  Several times a week William and Christopher would drive to Sywell, and William would have an hour’s lesson using Wentworth’s machine. After a few attempts at piloting with Christopher sitting behind him, William took his first flight alone, and soon afterwards applied for his license from the British Aero Club. Elizabeth sometimes came to the aerodrome to watch, and it was there one day after William had taken a forty minute solo flight that Christoph
er suggested they ought to go to Brooklands.

  ‘What do you think, William?’

  They were sitting outside the clubhouse on deckchairs. It was late afternoon. William was watching the way the sun struck the tops of the trees in the hedgerows so that they seemed almost to be ablaze. He came to, realising belatedly that Christopher had asked him something.

  ‘Sorry, I was miles away.’

  ‘There’s no use trying to get anything out of William when he’s like this,’ Elizabeth teased.

  ‘What do you mean?’ he asked.

  ‘You always go off into this dreamy state after you’ve been flying. It makes me quite envious.’

  ‘Do I? I hadn’t realised. I suppose it’s because when I’m up there I can appreciate how beautiful everything really is. You know what it’s like when you look at something closely… I don’t know what… a flower perhaps, like those, what are they called?’ He gestured to a clump of pale mauve wildflowers growing nearby.

  ‘Mallow, I think.’

  William went over and picked one. ‘You see these all the time. So often that you hardy notice them. From any distance they appear to be one colour, but if you look closely you can see they have these dark purple veins. See how delicate they are.’

  Elizabeth smiled. ‘Yes, they’re actually rather beautiful.’

  ‘Well flying is like that, only in reverse. Suddenly you have this entirely different perspective. You see all the places… villages, towns, roads and so on… as a small part of the countryside as a whole, and all at once you realise that there is so much more to it than you appreciated.’

  ‘William’s right, you know Liz. You ought to see for yourself,’ Christopher said. He was always trying to persuade her to go up but she never would.

  When William sat down again he noticed that Elizabeth kept the mallow, and every now and then he saw her gazing at it thoughtfully. He had the feeling she was thinking about what he’d said about seeing things with new eyes. Since that evening when he had almost kissed her something had changed between them. A subtle difference existed in their relationship - an awareness or perhaps even an expectation of things to come. The world changes, William thought, whether we want it to or not.

  ‘Anyway, what I was saying before was that we ought to go to Brooklands,’ Christopher continued. ‘We could see what Tommy Sopwith and all those other fellows there are doing. We’re bound to learn something we can use to make sure we beat Wentworth here in the race.’

  ‘I say, that’s not very sporting of you,’ Wentworth protested mildly.

  ‘Why don’t you come with us? Any number of firms have set up to build aeroplanes there now. There’s a real push on to try and catch up with the French.’

  ‘Let me know when you’re going and I’ll see what I’m doing.’

  ‘What about you William, what do you think?’

  ‘I think it’s a good idea,’ he said.

  ‘Good, we ought to go soon. What about this weekend? You could come too, Liz, if you like.’

  ‘I can’t,’ she said. ‘It’s Joanna’s birthday on Sunday and I can’t miss it,’ she said referring to her youngest sister.

  ‘I can’t make it either, I’m afraid,’ Wentworth said. ‘Prior engagement with Maureen Hampton.’

  ‘Looks as if it’s just us then, William. I’ll find out what time the trains are and let you know tomorrow.’

  The following morning, when Arthur arrived for work, he said that a man had come in the previous afternoon to say he had broken down on the Wellingborough road.

  ‘What did you tell him?’ William asked.

  ‘I said he’d have to leave his car and we’d fetch it today. I couldn’t do it on my own, Will,’

  ‘No, of course,’ William agreed guiltily. There were already three cars waiting for repair besides the one Arthur was working on, and though Arthur hadn’t complained, William thought he must feel resentful at being left to cope alone such a lot. ‘We might as well go and get it now then,’ he said.

  They took the lorry to tow the broken-down car back with. On the way, William asked Arthur how Sophie was, as he knew they’d been seeing one another occasionally.

  ‘She’s alright.’ Arthur said glumly.

  He didn’t seem willing to talk about Sophie, and William wondered if things were going alright between them. When Arthur had first begun seeing her - after they met on the day of the suffragette march - Arthur had talked about her constantly, but lately he’d barely mentioned her. William had to admit he wasn’t really surprised. He’d never believed Sophie was the sort who would settle for somebody like Arthur.

  When they found the car that had broken down at the side of the road, they attached a chain to the front axle so they could tow it back to the garage. Arthur barely spoke and seemed distracted.

  ‘Will,’ he said finally. ‘There’s something I want to ask you. Are you still thinkin’ about opening another garage like you talked about?’

  ‘To be honest, I haven’t had time to think about it lately,’ William said. ‘Why do you ask?’

  ‘I just wondered because you ‘adn’t mentioned it, that’s all. Do you want me to drive the lorry?’

  ‘Yes, alright.’

  William thought about what Arthur had asked him on the way back and brought the subject up again when they arrived. ‘Have you thought about what we talked about if I did open another garage? That you might run this one?’

  ‘Yes,’ Arthur said immediately. ‘If you thought I could do it, I’d like the chance.’

  ‘There’s no question of that. You’re already running it more or less by yourself.’ William had the feeling there was something else on Arthur’s mind, and asked him what it was

  ‘You said something about me buying a share in the business.’

  ‘That’s right,’ William agreed.

  ‘Do you think the bank would lend me the money to do that if I asked?’

  ‘I don’t see why not,’ William said, surprised. ‘You seem very keen all of a sudden.’

  ‘I’ve just been thinkin’ about it, that’s all. When do you think you’ll decide what you’re going to do?’

  ‘We’ll talk about it again when I get back from Brooklands,’ William promised.

  On Saturday morning, Christopher arrived to pick William up and they caught a train from Northampton to London, and from there took another to Weybridge, which was the closest station to Brooklands. A taxi took them the rest of the way, and as it turned out there was a motor-race meeting on that afternoon. When they arrived there were already crowds of people in the stands opposite the finishing straight. Near the track itself bookies were taking bets on the afternoon’s programme.

  ‘It could almost be a meeting at Ascot,’ William observed. There were even changing rooms for the competitors and a clubhouse and restaurant.

  ‘Yes, I suppose you’re right,’ Christopher agreed. ‘The thing is, nothing had ever been built like this before, so I suppose they had to model it on something.’ He looked at his watch. ‘Why don’t we have something to eat? We can watch the first race if you like.’

  ‘They went to the Blue Bird restaurant to see if they could get a table and found they were in luck. The table they were given offered a view of the track and the crowds of people, and they could hear the sound of powerful engines being given a final tune-up before the first race.

  A waiter bought their menus, but after a glance at the wine list Christopher put it aside. ‘I don’t know about you, but drinking wine at lunch makes me awfully sleepy. I think l’ll stick to whisky and soda.’

  ‘I’ll have the same. Have you eaten here before?’

  ‘Yes, a couple of times. The food’s not bad really.’

  After they’d ordered they lit cigarettes, and Christopher pointed out the landing strip in the middle of the track. ‘This is where I had my first flight, did I tell you? I was racing my Renault here about a year and a half ago. Tommy Sopwith had set up a flying school the year before, after he wo
n four thousand pounds for flying a British made machine the longest distance from England to the Continent. He travelled a hundred and sixty nine miles in something like three and a half hours.’

  ‘Yes, I remember reading about it,’ William said. He’d been at Ballantynes then.

  ‘The flying school is still operating as far as I know, though I suppose they don’t operate while there’s racing on.’

  The first race of the day took place while they were eating lunch. About fifteen cars took their places at the start line, all of them great, powerful machines like Christopher’s Fiat, with long bonnets to accommodate their huge six litre engines. When the flag dropped and the cars roared off, the noise even in the restaurant was deafening, and they could see a pall of smoke drift across the spectators.

  The track was two and three quarter miles long in total and a hundred feet wide, with thirty foot high banked corners at either end. The longest straight ran alongside the London to Bristol railway for half a mile, and it was there that the drivers got the fastest speeds out of their cars. After two laps the field was well spread out, and several cars had been forced to pull out altogether with engine trouble, but there were three cars at the front all competing closely for the lead. First one would be in front, and then another would edge ahead, finding a moment to get on the inside as they roared out of a bend, only to be beaten on the straight by the third. It was clearly a duel of driver skill as much as it was a competition between the cars themselves.

  ‘That’s Kerridge in front now,’ Christopher said as the cars came out of the banked turn onto the long straight. ‘He’s driving a Bentley. He’s a marvellous driver. I raced against him once myself, and I don’t mind admitting he was impossible to catch. He takes enormous risks, but he’s got the skill to carry it off.’

  ‘Who’s that coming up behind him now?’ William asked as one of the two cars closely following, gained quickly. They seemed to be going at a fantastic speed, the sound of their engines shattering the tranquillity of the countryside.

  ‘Clarke,’ Christopher said, looking at his programme. ‘I don’t know him, but he’s driving a Peugot. It looks very fast. I’d say he’s got the edge on the straights, but Kerridge is holding him off on the curves.’