The Flyer

by Stuart Harrison

  Christopher appeared wearing a shirt open at the neck with the sleeves rolled back. ‘Sorry I wasn’t here to meet you, old man. I’ve made a start clearing out one of the garages for us to use. Has somebody taken care of your things?’

  ‘Yes, I think so. Your butler said he’d have them fetched from the car.’

  ‘Jolly good.’ Christopher looked at his watch. ‘Lunch will be at one. Can you wait until then or would you like something now? A drink perhaps.’

  ‘I’m alright at the moment.’

  ‘Come on then, I’ll show you around. You’ll see my mother at dinner, by the way, I think she’s out at the moment. Henry’s about somewhere though.’

  ‘Is that your brother?’

  ‘Yes. He’s home from Eton. There’ll only be the four of us. My father’s in London. He spends most of his time there actually, though he usually comes up for a few weeks during the summer.’

  ‘Where are your sisters?’ William asked. He recalled Christopher mentioning them, though he couldn’t remember their names.

  ‘They’re in Italy for the summer with David’s family... he’s Mary’s fiancé, the eldest of the two.’

  William tried to imagine four people sharing a house of this size. It was quite conceivable that they might never run into one another. He was given a quick tour of the downstairs rooms. There was a library and a smaller drawing room than the one they’d come from, a games room and a study that was used by Christopher’s father, and also a ballroom that wasn’t used very often at all.

  ‘You must make yourself completely at home,’ Christopher told him. ‘Everything’s quite informal. Breakfast is laid out from about half past seven, but feel free to come down anytime. Lunch is pretty casual. I suppose the only time we make an effort is in the evenings. Dinner’s at eight, but we usually meet for drinks around half past six.’

  ‘I wanted to ask you about that,’ William said a bit awkwardly. ‘I’ve only the one suit, I’m afraid.’

  ‘Oh don’t worry. We’re about the same size. I can lend you something. We’ll sort it out later when I take you to your room.’

  They continued towards the back, past a door that led to the kitchens and servants areas. ‘You won’t need to go there, of course. If you want anything, just ring from one of the rooms.’

  Behind the house there was a yard and stables, as well as buildings where the carriages had once been kept, though now they’d been converted to garages where a Rolls Royce and a Daimler were parked next to Christopher’s Fiat. Furthest from the house was a large, empty building, with two sets of double doors at the front which could be pulled right back if needed.

  ‘I thought we’d work here,’ Christopher said. ‘It’s where I used to keep my plane. I had these doors installed so that I could get her in and out easily, and there’s plenty of room behind for taking off and landing.’ He flicked on an electric light switch. ‘We should have everything we’ll need here I think.’

  Just then, a youth of about seventeen appeared from around the corner pushing a motorbike.

  ‘Hello, there’s Henry,’ Christopher said. ‘I wonder what’s happened to him.’

  Christopher and his brother were almost exact opposites in terms of their physical appearance. Henry was shorter, with a stocky frame, his pale skin and fair hair a direct contrast to Christopher’s.

  ‘This is the chap I told you about, Henry,’ Christopher said, making the introductions.

  ‘I’m very pleased to meet you, Mister Reynolds,’ Henry said as they shook hands. ‘I hear that you and my brother are going to be building an aeroplane?’

  ‘Henry’s keen on becoming an aviator himself,’ Christopher remarked. ‘Though I told him that if he’d been here to see what happened to poor old Wentworth he might not be so keen.’

  ‘Oh, that’ll never happen to me,’ Henry proclaimed, with the arrogance of youth. ‘Anyway, you managed to come out of it alright didn’t you.’

  ‘Yes, but only thanks to William here. Anyway, what’s the matter with your bike?’

  Henry frowned with displeasure. ‘I don’t know. I told that damn Hedges to make sure it was running properly, but I only got as far as the gate when the thing conked out. I’m just about to go and look for him and give him a piece of my mind.’

  ‘I’m sure it isn’t Hedges’ fault, Henry,’ Christopher admonished mildly.

  ‘Well if it isn’t I don’t know whose fault it can be,’ Henry said irritably. ‘After all, it’s meant to be his job isn’t it? If you ask me the man is simply idle. If it was up to me, I’d have sacked him long ago.’

  ‘Hedges is our chauffeur,’ Christopher explained. ‘Despite Henry’s opinion of him he manages to keep the Rolls and the Daimler running pretty well. But then I suppose nothing much goes wrong with them.’

  ‘I could have a look at your bike for you,’ William offered at which Henry brightened.

  ‘Could you? I’d be jolly grateful. I don’t suppose Hedges would know what’s wrong anyway.’

  ‘I’ll have a look now if you like.’

  The problem turned out to be nothing more than a dirty sparkplug, and as soon as it was removed and cleaned the bike started easily and ran smoothly.

  ‘I say, thanks awfully,’ Henry said, as he sat astride the machine again and pulled on his goggles. ‘By the way, when your plane’s finished, I wondered if you’d teach me to fly?’

  ‘You ought to ask your brother. After all, it was Christopher who taught me.’

  Henry looked at Christopher. ‘Well, will you?’

  ‘We’ll see,’ he said. ‘We haven’t even started yet. By the time it’s ready you might have gone back to Eton.’

  ‘Oh well, perhaps I’ll see if there’s anybody at Sywell who’ll teach me.’ Henry revved his machine and put it into gear. As he roared off, Christopher gave William a wry look.

  ‘It’s lucky for Hedges that you were here. I’m afraid Henry can be a bit heavy handed with the servants sometimes. I can’t help feeling sorry for whatever poor chap is fagging for him at school.’

  Later, Christopher took William to his room, which was on the first floor, with two windows overlooking the view at the front of the house. After Christopher had left him to unpack his things, William took stock of his new home. The room was large and airy, with a desk where he could work on his drawings and a pair of chairs beside the window where he could relax to read a book, or simply gaze at the view of the countryside. He’d even been provided with a decanter of whisky and some glasses.

  He thought back to when he’d first arrived in Northampton a little over four years ago, comparing his current surroundings with his room at Mrs Hall’s and then later the room he’d shared when he worked at Ballantynes. It all seemed so long ago, made unreal by where he sat now. He was happy, he thought, perhaps happier than he’d ever been, and it was because of his friendship with Christopher, and of course Elizabeth. It struck him as ironic that he was only there because he’d gone to Oundle, and yet his school years had been miserable and lonely.

  He looked around at the comfortable furnishings, the thick carpet and the paintings on the walls. He admitted he liked the comforts that money could bring, and yet he felt a little like an imposter being there, as if he didn’t really belong and that if he was found out he would be ejected. He didn’t know why he’d never told Christopher or Elizabeth the truth about himself. He didn’t see what difference it would make to them. They knew he had no money, and he’d never pretended to be something that he wasn’t. He was afraid the real reason for his secrecy, or his mysteriousness as Elizabeth liked to call it, was that he was ashamed of his background.

  That evening, before dinner, William met Lady Horsham again. She was pleased that he had come to stay with them. He was to her, apart from anything else, the young man who had saved her son’s life. She was an intelligent woman, who managed to give the impression of being utterly informal and down to earth without really being either.

  ‘Anyway, I trust you
’ll be quite at home here, William, and if there’s anything you need you must ask Morton and he will see to it for you, won’t you Morton?’

  The butler to whom she was referring brought her a glass of sherry on a silver tray. ‘Yes, Lady Horsham,’ he said.

  ‘Everything that takes place in this house does so under Morton’s watchful eye,’ she said. ‘Without him there would be chaos. Incidentally, Morton, did you see the painting I brought home today?’

  ‘I did indeed, My Lady.’

  ‘What did you think of it? I wondered if it might go quite well in the library.’

  ‘I believe it would look very well there.’

  ‘Good. I wanted to be sure you approve. Perhaps tomorrow you could arrange for somebody to hang it?’

  ‘Of course.’

  When Henry appeared, Lady Horsham asked what he’d been doing.

  ‘I took my bike for a spin out to Sywell to see about flying lessons.’

  His mother was distressed to hear this, and would have forbidden it if Henry hadn’t told her that there was nobody there giving lessons anyway. It had evidently put him in a bad mood.

  ‘By the way, where the devil is that fool, Hedges? My bike packed in today, but I couldn’t find him anywhere.’

  Lady Horsham behaved as if she hadn’t heard him and turned instead to Morton. ‘I meant to ask you, I wonder if there is a bottle of something special in the cellar to mark Mister Reynolds’ first evening as our guest?’

  ‘I’m sure I can find something, My Lady.’

  ‘Thank you, Morton. I knew I could rely on you.’ When he’d left the room she gave her youngest son a withering look. ‘Please do not speak like that about the servants in front of Morton, Henry. If you have a complaint you must speak to me first in private, and if necessary I will take the matter up with Morton and he will deal with it.’

  ‘Yes, mother, I’m sorry,’ Henry said, but added sulkily, ‘though I really don’t know why you tolerate that fellow, Hedges.’

  There was a rigid hierarchy in the house, William discovered, both above and below stairs, and everybody was expected to know their place and keep to it, though it was maintained on an understanding of mutual respect that Henry evidently hadn’t mastered.

  At first William found it unsettling to live in a house where everything was done for him, and where the servants outnumbered the Horshams and himself many times over. Wherever he went he seemed to encounter maids or footmen busily dusting and polishing and cleaning. They served him breakfast and dinner, laid out his clothes and laundered them, polished his shoes and even turned down his bed in the evening. Outside the house, there were gardeners and stable hands and Hedges the chauffeur, and throughout the day a constant parade of tradesman delivered supplies of all kinds. William was amazed that it took so much effort by so many to keep a handful of people in comfort, and yet as time went on he got used to it.

  During the day, he and Christopher would work on their plane. They had decided to start by building the frame for the fuselage and wings while they waited to hear from the French engine manufacturers. In the evenings after dinner they would sit and talk and listen to music, just as they had before the airshow, though now they dressed for dinner and afterwards drank brandy from French crystal. Sometimes William missed the mixed smells of sawdust and the dope they used to stiffen the canvas, and also the quiet fields in the purple twilight. The thing he missed most of all though, was Elizabeth. He half expected her to turn up at the end of each day, but for two weeks he hadn’t see her.

  One evening after dinner they played a game of snooker, even though it was a game Christopher didn’t like very much, and when Henry invited himself along Christopher told him plainly he wasn’t wanted.

  ‘I was thinking we ought to go for a picnic at the weekend,’ Christopher remarked casually as he set up the balls. ‘I’m sure Liz would be keen if you wanted to ask her.’

  There was something speculative in his tone, William thought, as if he was curious to see how William responded. ‘You mean the three of us?’

  ‘Actually I was thinking of asking somebody else to join us.’

  William took his shot. There had been several occasions when Christopher had disappeared in the evenings lately on some pretext or other. William hadn’t thought much of it. He’d been happy to use the time to read or work on his design plans, but now he thought about it, he wondered if Christopher was seeing somebody.

  ‘You like Liz, don’t you?’ Christopher asked.

  ‘Yes, of course I do.’

  ‘No, I don’t mean that. I mean you’ve fallen for her. I could see it in your face when I mentioned her just now.’ Christopher shook his head and smiled. ‘I don’t know why I haven’t noticed before. Have you said anything to her?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Perhaps you should. Anyway, I’m glad, because now I know you’ll understand how I feel.’

  ‘How you feel about what?’ William asked, completely lost.

  ‘About Sophie.’

  For a moment William had no idea who he meant, and then he realised. ‘Do you mean Sophie Yates?’

  ‘Yes. We’ve seen one another a few times lately. I would’ve said something to you earlier, but I wasn’t sure how you’d feel about it.’

  ‘I don’t know what you mean.’

  ‘Because of that Hawkins chap, I mean. You know he rather likes Sophie, don’t you?’

  ‘Yes, but I wasn’t sure his feelings were reciprocated.’

  ‘Apparently they weren’t. Not in that sense. Sophie says she only thought of him as a friend. I gather he had other ideas, but I’m afraid they were all very one-sided.’

  ‘I see,’ William said. ‘To be honest I’m not surprised.’

  ‘You don’t mind then? After all, you’re quite friendly with Hawkins aren’t you?’

  ‘Yes, I suppose I am, but it’s none of my business if Sophie doesn’t return his feelings.’

  Christopher looked relieved. ‘Good, I’m glad to hear you say that, because the truth is I think she’s a wonderful girl. I thought so the moment I saw her, but as I’ve got to know her better I’m even more convinced. Of course she’s a stunning looker, and I don’t deny that’s what attracted me at first, but she’s very sweet too and damn plucky. She’s done marvellously well to achieve what she has, given her background.’

  ‘Does Elizabeth know?’ William asked.

  ‘Not yet. That’s why I thought it would be good if we all went for a picnic somewhere. It would be a chance for them to get to know one another.’

  ‘Yes, I see. Alright then,’ William agreed, though he wasn’t certain how Elizabeth would feel about it. He recalled her expression at the airshow when she had seen Christopher and Sophie together. Whatever Elizabeth claimed about her relationship with Christopher, sometimes William wondered if Elizabeth truly understood her own feelings.

  On Sunday morning the household attended services at the church in Pitsford, where the Horsham family had their own pew. The vicar read a passage from Corinthians, his sonorous tones filling the space to the high, arched roof. It was cool in the church, though outside it was already hot. Elizabeth had driven over early that morning and she and William shared a hymn book as the congregation stood to sing Come All Ye Faithful, to the wheezing breath of the organ. Now and then their eyes met, and she smiled.

  When the service ended they waited outside while Christopher and his mother chatted with the vicar and one or two other prominent local landowners.

  ‘Are you enjoying your stay at Pitsford?’ Elizabeth asked.

  ‘Yes. Though to be honest I miss the evenings we all used to spend together.’

  ‘They were rather fun, weren’t they,’ she agreed neutrally.

  He thought of the time they’d gone for a walk together, when he’d almost kissed her. He’d felt that she wanted him to, but since then they had hardly ever been alone together, and he wondered if that was by design or merely chance.

  ‘I thought you might ha
ve come over to see us,’ William said.

  ‘I would have. It’s just that things have been rather hectic lately. How are you getting on with Henry?’ she said, changing the subject. ‘He’s quite different from Christopher don’t you think?’

  ‘Yes he is.’

  She looked at him questioningly. ‘You say that as if you don’t like him.’

  In fact, Henry reminded William too much of some of the boys at Oundle. Perhaps it was Henry’s age, but he had an air of supercilious arrogance that William disliked. ‘As you said, he’s not like Christopher.’

  ‘I think it must be difficult for him having an elder brother like Christopher. It doesn’t seem fair really. Christopher will inherit everything of course, but not only that, he got more than his fair share of good looks. Henry thinks very well of you anyway. I was talking to him earlier.’

  ‘Does he?’

  ‘You sound surprised.’

  ‘I am,’ William admitted. He’d assumed Henry looked down on him a little, though there was no real reason for him to think so. Another hangover from Oundle.

  ‘You saved Christopher’s life,’ Elizabeth said. ‘I imagine Henry and his mother wouldn’t mind if you wanted to stay at Pitsford for ever.’

  She meant it as a joke, William knew, and yet somehow it made him uncomfortable. ‘I’m not a charity case,’ he said lightly, though it came out more sharply than he’d intended.

  Elizabeth was taken aback. ‘Of course you’re not. That isn’t what I meant at all.’

  A few moments later Christopher joined them. He’d suggested earlier that they should go to the reservoir at Ravensthorpe as it was such a nice day, but when they set off in his car he turned onto the main Northampton road.

  ‘Where are we going?’ Elizabeth asked.

  ‘Didn’t William tell you? We’re picking Sophie up first,’ he replied casually.

  ‘Sophie?’ She looked at William questioningly.

  ‘Sophie Yates,’ Christopher said. ‘You remember her, she was at the airshow with that chap who bought William’s garage.’