The Flyer

by Stuart Harrison

  ‘Oh, yes of course. I didn’t know that you knew each other so well, William.’

  ‘I don’t,’ he said. ‘It was Christopher who invited her.’

  Elizabeth looked surprised, though she didn’t say anything.

  Sophie was waiting for them by the side of the road near the last tram stop on the edge of town. She seemed nervous until Christopher jumped out of the car and kissed her.

  ‘Hello, Sophie, you look absolutely wonderful. We’re not late are we? You’ve met Liz haven’t you? And of course you know William.’

  They all said hello, and then Sophie sat in the back next to Elizabeth as they set off. William had wondered if they would get on together, but they were soon chatting easily and complimenting one another on their outfits. A few minutes along the road they passed the garage that was now owned by Arthur. His name was on the sign at the front, but otherwise nothing much appeared to have changed. It was closed and there appeared to be nobody about.

  When they arrived at the reservoir, Christopher turned down a narrow road that led to a wooden building that housed the sailing club.

  ‘Have you done any sailing, old man?’ he asked William.

  ‘I’m afraid not.’

  ‘Never mind, Liz has. I’ve arranged for us to borrow a couple of dinghies.’

  The door of the boatshed was open but there was nobody around. The surface of the reservoir rippled in the breeze and glittered in the sun like shards of glass. At the far end there was a public area and a kind of beach where people came to swim and picnic. They could hear the shouts of children playing. Half a dozen boats could be seen out on the water, their white sails dipping as they tacked to and fro.

  ‘We ought go across to those trees I think,’ Christopher said pointing to a line of willows on the distant shore. William helped drag a pair of wooden dinghies down to the jetty on trolleys, and then Elizabeth set about rigging one of them with a single mainsail while Christopher did the other.

  ‘We ought to have a race,’ he said. ‘Sophie and I against you two.’

  When the boats were ready Elizabeth showed William where to sit, and then she tightened the sheet so that the sail caught the wind, and with a smooth motion they began to move away from the shore. A few moments later Christopher followed, and Elizabeth allowed the sail to flap so that he could catch up.

  ‘Are you ready?’ he called out.

  ‘Whenever you are.’

  At once they tightened their sails and both boats caught the wind and quickly gathered pace. William was content to sit where he was told and watch Elizabeth work the tiller with one hand and the sheet controlling the sail with the other. She had taken off her hat and the sun was on her face, her eyes constantly going from the sail to the water as she judged the breeze. Occasionally they had to tack to change course, which meant that they had to duck under the swinging boom and move from one side of the boat to the other. Each time, Elizabeth managed it smoothly and quickly so that the dinghy barely lost any speed, and they began to edge ahead of the other two.

  ‘When did you learn to sail?’ William asked.

  ‘We used to race like this when we were young.’ She glanced back at the other boat and William caught a sudden wistful look in her expression, and wondered what she was thinking. He pictured her as a girl of twelve or thirteen, sailing here with Christopher, her arms and face brown from the sun, free of the emotional eddies and currents of adulthood.

  They heard Sophie shriek, and looking back saw that as Christopher tacked, their dinghy had tipped violently as if it might capsize.

  ‘He’s doing that on purpose,’ Elizabeth said. ‘He isn’t trying to win.’

  It was true, William thought. Christopher was far more intent on playing the clown and he and Sophie slipped further and further behind, their laughter carried away on the breeze.

  For a little while Elizabeth concentrated on sailing the boat, until it was clear that the others couldn’t catch up even if they wanted to. Neither of them spoke and William was happy to watch her. She caught his eye. ‘How long have they been seeing each other?’

  He knew who she was referring to. ‘Since the airshow, I gather. Though I think they’ve only met a few times. Christopher only mentioned her to me the other day.’

  ‘He seems to like her.’

  ‘Yes, I think he does.’

  ‘What happened to your friend, Mister Hawkins?’

  ‘I don’t think he and Sophie were really seeing each other in that sense.’

  A few minutes later, as they approached the shore, Elizabeth dropped the sail and William rolled up his trousers and climbed out into the cold water to pull the dinghy up to the bank. Christopher and Sophie were still some way off, in no hurry at all.

  William carried a blanket and the picnic basket onto the grass. Elizabeth poured them both a glass of wine, while William took several bottles to the shallows, where they would keep cool.

  ‘I’ve never been here before,’ he commented. ‘It’s really quite beautiful.’ It was the combination of the water and the shady fringe of willows, the sound of a cuckoo in the woods nearby. But perhaps in the end these things only created a mood, or helped to. It was because he was there with Elizabeth that he felt the way he did. But when he looked at her she was lost in her own thoughts, and he followed her gaze out onto the water where Christopher was standing up now, acting the fool as he dropped the sail. The boat rocked precariously, and Sophie laughed as she gripped the sides, and then abruptly Christopher lost his footing and fell into the water. For an instant he vanished, and then reappeared in a burst of spray.

  When they finally reached the shore, Christopher had to change into his swimming costume and hang his clothes on the trees to dry. His body was pale and slim.

  ‘Do you know, we ought to have brought a gramophone with us,’ he said. He was lying on his back with his head on Sophie’s lap. Twisting himself around, he looked up at her. ‘What kind of music do you like, Sophie?’

  ‘Something with a bit of life,’ she said. ‘A foxtrot, or that American ragtime. I don’t like anything dull.’

  ‘We should go out one evening,’ he suggested. ‘The four of us. There’s always one hotel or another where there’s a band. What do you think?’

  ‘Yes, lets!’ Sophie replied eagerly. ‘I love dancing.’

  ‘We’ll go next week then. What do you say you two?’

  Elizabeth smiled. ‘Yes, alright,’ she said though William thought she didn’t sound very enthusiastic.

  Christopher didn’t notice though and began making plans. He said he’d find out from some people he knew where the liveliest places are. ‘Harry Thwaites will know.’

  As the sun reached its zenith the breeze died away, but in the shade of the trees, with the sapphire reservoir beyond, William thought there was no more perfect place to be. They ate the picnic prepared for them by the cook at Pitsford House, and drank the wine that William had put in the water to chill. After they’d finished it was too hot to be bothered speaking about much. The heat and wine made them heavy limbed and drowsy. Christopher resumed his supine position with his head in Sophie’s lap, and dozed while she gazed lovingly at his smoothly aristocratic features. They made no attempt to disguise their new intimacy. William was surprised at how close they were, as if they’d known each other for months. Elizabeth was reading a book of poetry, though he noticed she rarely turned a page. She seemed distant.

  Eventually, William decided he would go for a swim. He walked along the bank underneath the hanging branches of the willows, and when he was out of sight he got changed and waded into the water. It was freezing cold, but it cleared his head, and once he was over the initial shock he swam fifty yards out and then turned and came back again. When he was close to the shore he saw Elizabeth sitting beneath the trees where he’d left his clothes, watching him.

  ‘Is it cold?’ she asked.

  ‘Yes.’ He came ashore and began to towel himself dry.

  ‘I’m worried,’
Elizabeth said.

  ‘Worried? What about?’

  ‘Sophie.’

  ‘Why are you worried about her?’

  ‘Because I’m afraid Christopher will hurt her. Not intentionally perhaps, but he will nevertheless. Christopher doesn’t take things seriously. He races his cars and flies aeroplanes and goes to parties.’

  ‘Perhaps Sophie doesn’t take things seriously either.’

  ‘She does though, can’t you tell? There was a girl he was seeing two years ago. I won’t say her name because her family is well known. She was in love with Christopher, and she thought he was in love with her. He didn’t mean to deceive her. When she realised he wouldn’t marry her she tried to kill herself. And then there was that business with that girl last year after she saw his picture in the paper, the one you saw in town that day.’

  ‘I thought you said it was her own fault.’

  ‘It was. But the point I’m making is that the same thing is going to happen to Sophie…’ Elizabeth broke off, aware at last of his expression. ‘Why are you looking at me like that?’

  ‘Are you in love with Christopher yourself, Elizabeth? Is that what this is about?’

  She was taken aback. ‘What on earth are you talking about? Of course I’m not.’

  But William didn’t believe her. ‘I’ve seen the way you look at him.’

  ‘You’re being ridiculous!’ She said angrily. She stood up and began to walk away, but then stopped and turned back to him. ‘How on earth can you presume to know what I feel?’

  ‘Perhaps because I’m in love with you.’

  Her eyes widened. ‘I wish you weren’t,’ she said, then turned and went back through the trees.

  He wondered why he had told her how he felt when he hadn’t planned to. He wasn’t even sure he was in love with her until the declaration spilled from his mouth, but now that it was out in the open he realised it was true.

  Late in the afternoon they loaded everything into the boats and sailed back across the water. Elizabeth barely spoke the whole time and avoided looking at William.

  When they reached Pitsford, Christopher pulled over and asked if they minded walking the rest of the way so he could drive Sophie home. Sophie waved as they drove off.

  ‘Bye, see you soon,’ she called out.

  The sound of the engine faded, leaving William and Elizabeth to walk in awkward silence. The lane shimmered with light streaming through the leaves of the trees, and as they walked a thin layer of dust covered their feet. They reached a bend from where Pitsford was visible, standing magnificently alone in emerald parkland, and William paused to admire it. After a moment, Elizabeth realised he’d stopped and turned back to him. For a few moments they regarded one another.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she said at last, and then she turned and walked on and left him wondering what exactly she was sorry about. When he caught up with her she gave him a wan smile, and though they continued in silence it felt a little easier than before.

  CHAPTER 15

  A few days after the picnic at the reservoir, William had to go to Northampton to see about some parts he wanted engineered, and on the way back he stopped at the garage to see Arthur, who told him there were some letters for him.

  ‘I’ve been meanin’ to send them on,’ he said.

  They were from the French engine manufacturers that William had written to, and he was irritated that they had been sitting unopened for a week, though his irritation became dismay when he saw the disorganised mess of paperwork cluttering Arthur’s desk. There were letters addressed to the garage that were also unopened, and incomplete work sheets that ought to have been used to make up invoices. Some of them were from a fortnight ago.

  Arthur made a vague gesture. ‘I’m a bit behind. It’s just we’ve been so busy I ‘aven’t ‘ad the time.’

  ‘You can’t afford to let it pile up like this,’ William told him. ‘If you don’t get your invoices out people won’t pay you on time and then you won’t have the money to pay your bills.’

  Arthur regarded the confusion of paperwork with a dispirited look. ‘I never were much good at writin’ and figures and all that. I thought Sophie would help me, but I ‘aven’t seen her lately. Not since the airshow.’

  For a moment William thought of Sophie sitting by the reservoir with Christopher’s head in her lap. It annoyed him to see things in such a state at the garage, but he supposed he felt a kindred sympathy with Arthur since they were both in love with people who didn’t return their feelings. But at the same time there was no use in Arthur allowing his disappointment to destroy him.

  William looked about his old living quarters. Without his few possessions; his books and a picture or two to make it feel more homely, the place had a mean, wretched air. The bed was unmade, and the remains of a meagre meal of bread and cheese had been left out. At least the garage appeared to be busy. There were cars outside, and the mechanic Arthur had taken on was busy hammering away at something or other underneath a Ford in the workshop.

  ‘If you don’t think you can manage the paperwork you ought to hire somebody to help you,’ William suggested. ‘A few hours a day would do it. What about the landlord’s wife at the pub? You could ask her.’

  ‘You’re right, Will. I’ll do what you say. Anyway, things aren’t as bad as they look, I’ve got your money ‘ere, see.’

  He went to a drawer and took out some notes and counted out the first month’s instalment of the money he owed William. Though William was glad of the money he worried that Arthur couldn’t afford it.

  ‘Are you sure this leaves you enough to keep up with your bank payments?’

  ‘I already paid the bank,’ Arthur assured him.

  ‘Alright, thanks.’ William put the money away and then gestured to the paperwork. ‘Look, I’ll sort out this lot and then you can have a fresh start. So long as you promise me you’ll get someone to help you.’

  ‘You’re good to me, Will, an’ I appreciate it. I’ll see the landlord’s wife later.’

  Having sent Arthur off to his work, William settled down at the desk to wade through the backlog of invoicing and bills. Though it took him most of the rest of the day to get things up to date, at least by the end he was reassured that the garage was still getting plenty of work. Nevertheless, before he left, he sat Arthur down and did his best to impress upon him again that it was no good getting the work if he didn’t manage the financial side of the business.

  ‘You could have a hundred cars out there, but it won’t make any difference if you don’t get paid. You have to keep the money coming in so that you can pay your bills, otherwise you’ll go under before you know it.’

  Once more Arthur made him a faithful promise that he wouldn’t allow things to fall behind again, and reassured that Arthur would keep to his word, William promised to look in again when he had a chance.

  It was late in the afternoon by the time William arrived back at Pitsford House. After he’d taken a bath and changed he went downstairs and found Christopher in the drawing room.

  ‘There you are, old man,’ Christopher said as he poured a drink. ‘I wondered what had happened to you. Whisky?’

  ‘Yes, thanks. I’m sorry I was away so long. I dropped in at the garage on the way back from the engineers.’ He related what he’d found and that he’d spent most of the day sorting out the accounts.

  ‘I must say he didn’t strike me as the sort who could manage a business very well. Presumably he’ll take your advice and hire somebody to help him now?’

  ‘Yes, I think so. Anyway, there were some letters waiting for me from the French engine manufacturers I wrote to. We ought to talk about what they had to say.’

  ‘I’m all ears,’ Christopher said as he lit a cigarette. ‘Is it good news?’

  ‘In a way.’ William had written to four firms, all of whom had replied offering him their latest engines and had included specifications, delivery times and pricing. ‘My pick would be the Rhone,’ he said once he’d outl
ined the salient points.

  ‘That’s a radial type, didn’t you say?’

  ‘Yes. It has seven cylinders and produces eighty horse-power, which is slightly more than the Clerget. But what I like most about it is that the previous models have been quite reliable, which is pretty important of course. Apparently a lot of the French Air Service machines have them.’

  ‘What about availability?’

  ‘They say they can have one here in about six weeks.’

  ‘That doesn’t give us very long does it?’ Christopher said doubtfully.

  ‘No, that’s true, but we’ve got all the specifications. We can go ahead and build the rest of the plane, so that when the engine does arrive all we have to do is fit it.’

  ‘Unless it’s late for some reason, and then we risk missing the trials.’

  ‘Yes, I know. It’s tighter than I’d like,’ William admitted. ‘And there’s another thing, the Rhone is the most expensive option.’

  ‘You know that needn’t be an issue,’ Christopher said.

  ‘It is for me. We agreed we would be equal partners and I want to keep it that way.’

  ‘I only meant that I can loan you some of your share if you need it.’

  ‘I appreciate the offer,’ William said. ‘But I’d rather not. It’s nothing personal, it’s just a matter of pride I suppose. Besides, I think I can afford it so long as nothing untoward happens.’

  ‘In that case, I agree with you. We should plump for the Rhone. We can send them a telegram in the morning.’ Christopher emptied his glass and began to pour another. ‘Now that’s settled, there’s something I want to ask you.’

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘It’s about Sophie. Would you mind not mentioning her to mother or Henry? The thing is… my mother is very keen for me to find myself a wife. She thinks it’s time I settled down to my responsibilities as the eldest son and all that rot, and I’d rather avoid a lot of unnecessary questions at the moment.’

  ‘Yes, of course.’

  ‘Thanks, I knew I could rely on you. Oh, and by the way, I spoke to my chum Harry Thwaites earlier. Apparently there’s a dance at the Royal Hotel on the Bedford Road this Friday. I thought we might all go, what do you say?’