Complete Works of Nevil Shute

by Nevil Shute

  “It’s a good machine,” said Ross. “I never saw a better one for the job.”

  The girl stared round the cabin, and said nothing. It seemed to her like sitting in the engine room of a ship, or on the footplate of a locomotive. So far as she had thought about it at all, she had imagined that the aeroplane would be like a saloon car, or like a first-class carriage in a railway train. She had never travelled on an air line, but she knew that they were like that. This was very different. She would have to sit upon a little air cushion with a bare metal tank containing a hundred and fifty gallons of petrol at her elbow, already smelling strongly, filling the cabin with its tang. Everything she touched was bare metal, new and shining, slightly oily, and rather smelly. Clustered around the pilot’s seat immediately in front of her there was a vast array of dials and little handles, forty or fifty little things, perhaps. She did not know the name, or the function, or the purpose of one of them.

  For the first time she began to realise what this expedition meant to her. She was stepping from the world she knew into a world of different values. For the first time she appreciated the weight of what her uncle had said to her in Oxford. On this trip she would be adverse to its success; she knew nothing of what had to be done, or how it could be achieved.

  “It all looks very nice,” she said at last, a little weakly.

  Ross settled them in their seats, and saw that they were comfortable. Then he had the machine pushed to the head of the slipway. She started with a hand inertia starter; he had chosen that method rather than risk exhaustion of the batteries by electric starting. With run-down batteries they would have inefficient wireless; with inefficient wireless they might be in danger.

  He knelt upon the pilot’s seat awkwardly in the confined space, fitted the crank and began grinding away at the flywheel. By the time it was spinning sweat was pouring off him, that hot summer afternoon. The girl sat and watched him labouring at the crank, almost on top of her; she had not imagined it would be like this. The hum of the flywheel rose to a high whine; the pilot stopped cranking suddenly, pulled a little handle on the instrument board. The propeller in front of her started to revolve, the engine burst into life, and the airscrew was lost to sight. The pilot took out the crank and stowed it behind his seat, wiping his forehead.

  He smiled at her. “I shan’t be sorry when we get up North,” he said.

  “It looks terribly hot work.”

  Lockwood said, “You must teach me how to do that. I could give you a hand turning that thing, anyway.”

  “It’s not so bad,” said Ross. “Take it easily, and it goes all right.”

  He slipped into his seat, and sat for a few minutes warming up his engine. He showed them the oil pressure and temperature gauges, and explained what he was doing. The don was able to follow what he said; the girl sat watching the little needles move under the glasses without understanding. She sat silent, feeling rather lost.

  The pilot signalled to the ground crew and the seaplane was eased down the slipway. She took the water and floated for a few minutes while the men in waders cleared the beaching trolley; then Ross opened his throttle a little and moved out over the water Lockwood was in the seat beside him, watching his movements with interest, asking a question now and then. Behind him the girl sat stiff and rigid, worried and alert.

  Presently Ross turned the machine into the wind pointing down Southampton Water, and peered around in all directions. Then he glanced back over his shoulder at the girl. “All right, Miss Lockwood?”

  She moistened her lips. “I’m quite ready.”

  He smiled. “I’m going to take her off now. Just sit relaxed in your seat — there won’t be any motion.”

  The engine opened out with a roar; she saw him press his wheel forward, felt the machine rise and trim forward on the floats. Then they were running over the surface of the water; from her seat she could watch the port float, watch the feathery spray as it flew sideways from its midship section. The feather grew smaller; quite suddenly it was not there at all. She looked up, wondering; to her surprise the trees upon the bank were level now with the machine, falling below her. They were fifty feet up.

  In front of her, the pilot was playing a complicated fantasia upon his controls. He throttled back, and the harsh note of the engine sank to a lower tone. He wound a little handle in the roof above his head, felt the wheel, and wound the handle half a turn further. He wound another little handle on the floor between his feet; the machine yawed from side to side till he was satisfied. Then he turned to a thing like a gigantic fishing reel low down beside his feet; it started to rotate and the copper wire upon it rapidly grew less.

  Presently, to her alarm, the New Forest got up vertically beside the wing tip and began to revolve. In a moment it settled down again, and she found that they were heading westwards down the Solent.

  The pilot was delicately adjusting the condenser of his wireless receiver. He took the headphones from his head and passed them over to the don. “Radio Normandie,” he said. “It’s quite clear now.”

  Lockwood took the headphones diffidently and put them on as the Isle of Wight passed by below them. He heard the closing bars of a dance tune, the silvery notes of a bell. Then he heard a clear woman’s voice. “Mrs. Jones — I must tell you about my Elsie, three years old last March. Her tongue was dreadfully coated yesterday morning, and she was ever so listless and fretful. Mrs. Johnson advised me to give her Candy-Lax, the delicious children’s laxative that tastes just like Edinburgh Rock. My dear — it was marvellous. You really ought to—”

  The don removed the headphones from his ears. The pilot said, “There’s none of that ignition noise there now, is there?”

  Lockwood shook his head. “It’s very clear.” He did not know what ignition noise would sound like, but the wireless seemed to work all right. He handed back the headpiece.

  “I’ll just try the transmission again.” For a time the pilot busied himself with the tapping key, head down, intent upon the wireless. Uncontrolled, the aeroplane held a straight course, climbing slowly and heading out to sea. For a quarter of an hour they went on like that, the coast line gradually receding behind them. Lockwood and the girl gradually relaxed in their seats. In this noisy, motionless ascent over the sea there was nothing to disturb them; they found themselves capable of looking round, appreciating their situation. They noticed that it had grown considerably colder.

  Presently the pilot took the headphones off and hung them on a hook beside him. “It’s quite O.K.,” he said. “I was working Croydon and Bristol then.”

  Lockwood asked, “How high up are we?”

  “Seven thousand.” Ross showed him the altimeter.

  He glanced at the far line of the shore, fifteen miles away on his right hand, and swung the machine round. He throttled a little to prevent her climbing higher, took his hands from the wheel, and half turned in his seat. “Are you quite comfortable, Miss Lockwood?” he asked.

  She nodded. “It’s a bit cold.”

  “I know. I’ll bring her down in a minute. Does the noise worry you?”

  “Not now. It did at first.”

  “If you’ll remind me, I’ll get some cotton wool for your ears before we start. Are there any draughts round that seat?”

  “There’s one by my legs.”

  He nodded. “I’ll see if I can fix it when we get down. See if you can see where it’s coming in.”

  He turned again to his wheel and throttled down. The engine noise died away and a whispering rush of air succeeded it; the nose fell below the horizon and they sank down towards the sea. At two thousand feet, with the Isle of Wight before them, the pilot opened up again; he turned to the don beside him.

  “I think she’s quite all right, sir. Would you like to stay up a bit longer, or shall we go home now?”

  Lockwood said, “I’m quite comfortable here. But I should go back if you’ve got anything to do.”

  The pilot nodded his agreement, and began reeling in
the aerial.

  They passed swiftly over the Solent, over the New Forest between Lymington and Beaulieu, and round over Hythe at about five hundred feet. He throttled back and sank towards the water, flattened his glide, lifted her to the stall, and rubbed the heels of his floats gently into the surface. The seaplane sank forward onto the body of the floats, bit down into the water, and came to rest. Ross turned her, and taxied in towards the slip.

  The floats grated gently on the concrete, Ross switched off, and the men in waders busied themselves with the beaching wheels. Ross turned to Lockwood, and indicated two figures on the shore. “There’s your brother, sir, with Mr. Hanson.”

  The cable was attached, and the machine was pulled up to the hangar at the head of the slipway. Ross got out first, helped his passengers down onto the float, and so to the ground. Sir David came to meet them. “Well, Cyril — how do you like flying?”

  The don said, “I think it’s very pleasant. We seemed to go a long way in a short time.”

  “That’s what you do it for.” Sir David turned to the pilot. “I saw you make a very perfect landing.”

  Ross said, “She’s a very nice aeroplane, sir. She’s very stable, but the control’s there when you want it. They’re really very easy to fly, these things.”

  Her uncle turned to Alix. “What about you, Alix? Feel like going to Greenland in it?”

  She nodded. “It’s all right. But my feet got very cold.”

  Ross turned to her. “If you’ll show me where that draught comes in, Miss Lockwood, I’ll see if we can do something about it.” They got back into the cabin and bent over her seat. “Oh, I see — where that petrol pipe goes through. I’ll get a bit of soft leather put over that.”

  The Lockwoods went off together to the hotel; the pilot stood by the door of the hangar with Hanson. Wearily he pulled his cigarette case out, and offered one to the secretary. “Well, that’s the first part of the job done,” he said, and blew a long cloud of smoke. “I never thought we’d get the bloody thing through in the time.”

  Hanson said, “Is everything going all right now, Mr. Ross?”

  The pilot nodded. “I’m quite happy about her now. I’ll stay on and see her filled up tonight, and then we’ll be all ready to start in the morning.”

  The secretary looked at him keenly. “I’m afraid you’ve had a hard time over this thing, Mr. Ross. I never would have believed that there’d be so much work in it.”

  Ross nodded. “That’s so,” he said. “The hard work in a show like this is before you start.”

  “You’re feeling all right, yourself?”

  “Oh, I’m all right. I’ll go to bed early and get a good night’s sleep tonight, now that the machine’s ready. Then off we go in the morning.”

  The secretary made no comment. Presently he went up to the hotel, after the others. “I’ll see you up there, later on,” said the pilot.

  He turned back to the machine. With the ground engineer to help him he changed the engine oil, and cleaned the fuel and oil filters. They took off the engine cowling, opened the valve covers, and checked the tappet clearances of eighteen valves with a feeler. Then they replaced the cowling, had the machine pushed beneath the petrol hose, and filled in fuel for twelve hundred miles. They drained the sump of each petrol tank in turn.

  Finally they rested against the float. “That’s the lot then,” said the ground engineer. “She’s all ready for you in the morning, now.”

  The pilot nodded; he was very tired. “I wish we were starting next week,” he said. “There’s always too much bloody rush about these jobs.”

  “That’s so,” the man said. “Still, you got her through in time, and that’s the main thing. I don’t think you’ll have much trouble with her.” He stroked the float almost affectionately.

  “She’ll be all right,” said Ross. He went back to the hotel, got out of his overalls and had a wash, and went down to the lounge. He found Sir David there alone. “Have a drink, Mr. Ross.”

  The pilot said, “I’ll have a tomato juice, sir.”

  He lit a cigarette with quick, nervous movements and sipped his strange, unsatisfying drink. They talked for a short time about the expedition. The manufacturer said, “I’m sorry that you aren’t taking an engineer with you. It would have made things easier. I see that now.”

  Ross shook his head. “I shan’t need one. There’ll only be three stops before we get to Julianehaab — at Invergordon, Reykjavik, and Angmagsalik. I can manage alone for that length of time. Then when we pick up Jameson I shall have all the help I want.”

  Sir David eyed him keenly. “Now, are you really sure about that? I’m quite prepared to cut out Alix now and send an engineer instead, if you think that would be safer.”

  “I wouldn’t do that, sir. We shall be quite all right as we are.”

  “Is Alix behaving herself?”

  The pilot smiled slowly. “She didn’t much like it when I told her to take off her skirt.” He added a few details of the incident.

  Her uncle smiled with him. “It’s going to be good for her, this trip. I hope you won’t find her a difficult passenger.”

  The pilot yawned, and stretched himself. “There’s no such thing in transport,” he said drily. “The passenger is always right, like the customer. One time I took a goat in the machine from Churchill to Eastmain — and did he stink! But we got along all right.”

  Sir David eyed the pilot with new interest.

  They dined together in a party, talking about the route; the pilot would drink nothing but water. At the conclusion of the meal he turned to Lockwood.

  “I think I’ll leave you now, and go to bed. I’d like to have breakfast tomorrow at half past seven and get away from here soon after eight, if that suits you, sir. If we do that we should be up at Invergordon easily by tea time.”

  Lockwood said, “Make whatever arrangements for us you think best, Mr. Ross. We’ll do whatever you say.”

  The pilot smiled. “All right — I’ll tell them about the breakfast in the office. Good night, sir. Good night, Miss Lockwood.”

  “Good night, Mr. Ross.”

  He left them, and went upstairs. Alix followed him a little later. Sir David went out with his brother and walked a little way down the road with him as they finished their cigars.

  “I should keep an eye on that young chap, Cyril,” he said presently. “See that he doesn’t do all the work.”

  The don nodded. “I’m afraid he’s had rather a hard time in the last few days.”

  “Hanson was talking to me about that before dinner. None of us realised how much he’d have to do before the flight began.”

  “That’s very true. Do you think he ought to have a few days’ rest before we start?”

  Sir David shook his head. “He wouldn’t take it. He wants to get on. No, just keep an eye on him — and see that Alix makes things easy for him, too. He’s looking very different now to when we saw him first.”

  “He’s thinner, isn’t he?”

  The other nodded. “I keep on thinking that we should have sent an engineer with him. Still, it’s too late to make an alteration now.”

  FOUR

  IN THE WARM morning sunlight the machine moved down the slipway to the water. Knee deep in water, the men removed her beaching wheels for the last time, and she taxied out slowly from the shore. At the water’s edge Sir David and his secretary stood in city clothes waving to them with their umbrellas; from the cramped cabin of the seaplane Alix and her father waved in reply. The pilot opened his throttle a little and took the seaplane over to the far shore.

  The day was already hot; at that slow speed the heat was stifling in the cabin. None of them were wearing flying clothes. Lockwood and Ross wore tweed coats and grey flannel trousers; the girl wore her grey coat and skirt and a silk blouse. The back of the cabin was piled high with their sleeping bags, luggage, and emergency rations; the flying suits were on top, ready if they were wanted on the way. It would be possible for
Lockwood and his daughter to get out of their seats and put on flying suits in the air; the pilot would have to stay as he was till they landed.

  The take-off, with twelve hundred miles of fuel on board, went moderately well. There was a light southeasterly breeze blowing up Southamptom Water; the pilot headed into this and opened his throttle full. Then as she gathered speed slowly he worked with his elevators to rock her forward onto the step of the floats; she ploughed ahead, leaving a deep wash. Half a mile from the start he got her up onto the step; thereafter she gained speed quickly and finally left the surface after about a mile. For a few moments he nursed her upwards from the water, tense and alert; then as she gained speed he put her into a normal climb, and relaxed.

  Lockwood said, “We seemed to go a long way on the water.”

  “I know. She’s got fuel for twelve hundred miles on board. If we get her off with thirteen fifty, it’s all she’ll ever do. Of course, there’s not a lot of wind.”

  “How far is it to Invergordon?”

  “About seven hundred and fifty miles, the way we go. We’ve got to keep round the coast. Say six and a half hours. We ought to get there at about four o’clock, if all goes well.”

  He turned, and began flying eastwards down the coast of England, past Portsmouth and Brighton, on to Dungeness.

  It was about nine o’clock in the morning. Ross climbed the machine slowly to about four thousand feet; the temperature up there was moderate. He reeled out his aerial and tested his wireless again, then settled down to the flight. The weather was very perfect. The south coast of England, flat and uninteresting from the air, passed slowly by them. For the first half hour Lockwood and the girl were interested and asked many questions about the towns they passed, the speed of the machine, and the height. Then they fell silent; the seaplane droned monotonously on.

  The end of the first hour found them a little way past Dungeness, nearing Dover. He left the coast at Folkestone and cut across the end of Kent on a course for the Norfolk coast. They passed near Margate, and headed out over the Thames estuary.