by Tessa Arlen
“Nah, mate.” It was almost a sigh of pleasure as Keith reverently gathered up two strips and held them up to the daylight. “We develop all our film after shooting so we can check it. That’s why we call them dailies.”
“But it’s all cut up!” I said, devastated with disappointment.
“An hour in the editing room will have this little lot sorted in no time. Look.” He lifted his arm and we all peered upward at what appeared to be a group of people.
“That’s it, all right enough: the ruddy missing film. Not only nicked, but someone tried to ruin it,” said Keith. “So, Captain, wotcher going to do now, ay?”
“I’m going to fly a Spitfire!” Griff said. His voice almost squeaked with pleasure. “The countess is going to take me up for a joyride in that beautiful plane.”
“No, Griff.” I was so horrified I picked up a bundle of fish-oily newspapers without even noticing the thick grease on my hands.
“Oh yes, Griff,” he said with his eyes shining, “Yes, yes, and yes.”
* * *
* * *
“THIS WASN’T IN the plan,” I said as we walked back to the Alvis to store the book and the envelope of film.
“I know, I know, but it is a perfect way to flush out our murderer. And you agreed to keep a cool head and go along with whatever happened, didn’t you?”
Had I used those words when Griff and I had planned to search for one of June’s books and the missing film before the dustmen arrived to empty the mess kitchen and office bins? I turned to Keith and Huntley, who had decided that the last thing they would do was leave Didcote now that something worthwhile was finally on offer.
They were standing by the main door to the mess, smoking cigarettes, when Zofia swept by them. Her head was held high and her eyes were glittering with excitement.
“Ah, Captain. I see you are waiting to fly the Spitfire. I have cleared everything with Commander Abercrombie.” She gestured up the drive. “As you can see, everyone is turning out to watch an American Mustang pilot take up Britain’s most revered fighter plane.” Grable and Annie were walking up the drive, looking like two schoolgirls let out of math class early for a spree.
I wasn’t too sure that I liked Zofia’s tone and the challenging look in her eye. There was a slight wildness to the countess’s personality this morning, as if unpredictability simmered beneath the surface of her outward composure, and at any moment she would act on an inner whim that could be anyone’s downfall.
I gazed down at my feet and held my breath as I heard Griff say, “Well, I would love to, er . . . Countess. How very kind of you! Are you quite sure that Commander Abercrombie has given us the all clear?”
“You can ask her yourself.” Zofia jutted her chin in the direction of Vera’s house on the other side of the mess. Coming toward us were Vera and Sir Basil, and in an informal mood too: Vera was without her clipboard, and Sir Basil had loosened his tie.
“I’ll go and check with the Met Office, just to make sure this beautiful weather will continue for us.” Zofia swaggered into the mess, the tails of her Polish flag dancing behind her in the breeze.
Griff ran his hand through his hair.
“Of course I didn’t really expect that Vera would give us permission . . .” he said ruefully. “But I am sorely tempted.”
I bet you are, I said to myself. We drew together so no one could hear us. “How easy is it for a Mustang pilot to fly a Spitfire first time around?” I asked.
The face that turned to me was surprised by my question. “Easy, really easy,” he said. I held my breath while he rattled off some pilot jargon about throttles, maximum boost, and I don’t know what else.
“What are you going to do up there, exactly? You have the controls, right? Is that how it works with trainer planes? You have the controls, but if something unfortunate happens the other pilot can take over?”
“No, not always; depends on the plane. Depends how far Supermarine have gone with their prototype.”
“Well, you will be at the controls, though, won’t you? I mean, that is the point of this joyride?”
“Yes.”
“And if Zofia goes bonkers, you will still have full control of the plane, right?”
“I should damn well hope so.”
I nodded. I didn’t like this one little bit. Supposing I had it all wrong? Another moment of agony.
“All right, I’ll go along with it. What do I do?”
“Poppy.” He put his hand on my arm, and I felt my knees weaken. “This is your show; tell me what you want me to do.”
I had to clear my throat, but when I spoke my voice was firm with the decision I had made. “When you are comfortable up there at the controls, can you do what they all seem to do, fly overhead and waggle your wings?”
He drew closer and took my hand. “Do you remember that movie we saw together, Mrs. Miniver?” I would never forget it.
“Do you remember what Vin did?” I nodded, too stricken to speak. “When he returned from aerial combat he would fly over his parents’ house and ‘blip’ his engine briefly, to signal that he was safe?”
My eyes filled with tears and I blinked them away, embarrassed at my show of weakness. It was Griff’s life that might be in danger, not mine.
“Do you remember?”
“Yes.”
“Good, then that will be my signal that all is well. Don’t muff it, okay?”
TWENTY-EIGHT
WELL, CAPTAIN, SO YOU FINALLY GET TO FLY ONE OF BRITAIN’S greatest achievements in aviation!” Sir Basil came toward us like a sleek ocean liner breasting through the water, with its attendant tugboat nosing at his heels. He inclined his immaculate silver head toward Vera. “The commander has given her permission, haven’t you, Vera?”
Vera smiled as she nodded her acquiescence. “Whyever not? Today is a holiday before the real work begins again tomorrow!”
Sir Basil was already striding out toward the Spitfire. “I’ll be your groundman,” he called over his shoulder to Zofia. “Miss Redfern, put your dog on a lead, please.”
“I have control, then?” Griff asked Zofia, and she smiled her most dazzling smile.
“Yes, of course. You will be flying solo. I will just be there because the ATA is responsible for this plane. She’s all yours, Captain!”
Griff bent his head and grazed my ear with his lips. “When I blip the engine, that’s your cue! Okay?”
Vera beamed at Zofia; she looked ten years younger. The ATA Accident Committee had found in Didcote’s favor: death by pilot error for Edwina and death due to illness for Letty. I watched her glance at June and smile, and the Australian travel writer beamed back. Harmony, or something like it, had been restored to the team.
June came over to me. “The only thing he is going to find really different is how fast she is. Mustangs are fast, but in comparison the Spitfire is like lightning and probably far more responsive. She’s dead easy to fly, though. And it will only take him a minute to adjust. Then he’s going to love every moment.” We watched wind ruffle Sir Basil’s silver hair. “Chocks away!” she said merrily as Sir Basil started to run back toward us.
“Giving her a bit of a warm-up,” she explained as the Spitfire’s props spun into a blur.
The Spitfire started to move forward toward the head of the airstrip.
“Have you ever seen him fly before?” Grable asked as she and Annie arrived to join us.
“No, I haven’t.” I dug my hands deep into my pockets so no one would see them shaking.
“Perfect afternoon for Griff’s first flight in a real fighter,” said Annie, and gently pinched my arm, her stern expression gone in the delight of an afternoon free from duty.
I couldn’t take my eyes off the plane, but it was astonishing how quickly everything happened: one moment they were on the ground and the next they were circling a
bove the airfield. “Nice smooth takeoff!” said Huntley as Keith took off his cap and waved it in the air.
“Huntley has become an expert.” Annie smiled at him, all criticism of disrespect toward women pilots forgiven.
“No, I’m the bloomin’ expert,” Keith said, looking at me to see if he could work out what Griff and I were up to. “I’ve looked down my lens at more planes than I can count in the last few days.”
I wanted to tell them all to shut up. Until I got the okay from Griff, I was a bundle of nerves. But despite my fear that something terrible would go wrong, I felt a silly thrill of pride as I watched the Spitfire circle the airfield and bank elegantly to the right to stay within our sight. Griff climbed, leveled off, banked left, and climbed again. And then down he flew toward us, as Edwina had done just days before, and Zofia this morning. As he flew over us he gave two short blips of his engine.
Grable cheered and waved both her hands above her head. And Annie turned to me with a kind smile and said, “We open and close the throttle to make that signal,” as if I were one of her little girls on visiting day.
I cleared my throat and lifted my voice—it was time. “Anybody know anything about datura?” I asked loudly as the Spitfire disappeared in a wider circuit.
“Sorry, what did you say?” Vera asked me.
“What sort of plane is that?” Huntley asked, and was shushed by Keith, who had been watching me closely ever since Griff and Zofia took off.
“Datura,” I repeated. “I think it’s a sort of plant: a herbal cure, apparently.”
“Dat . . . what?” Grable’s aristocratic voice was loud in the silence now that Griff’s plane was a speck in the sky.
I felt June stiffen next to me; her hand was shading her eyes. “I hope he doesn’t go too far . . . there’s a limit how far out to sea we may go. I’m sorry, what did you say?”
Keep calm, don’t scare them. I took a breath.
“Griff was given some sort of herbal remedy the other evening by a pilot from South Africa. He said it was good for coughs and asthma.”
“Surely he doesn’t have asthma?” Vera asked. “He looks so fit!”
“No, but in this damp weather he coughs at lot, especially at night. He’s not used to our seasonal mists and fog.” I glanced at June and Grable; their faces were set. Grable stared fixedly at the sky.
“It’s just that Griff tends to overdo things—you know, if one is good, two is better, and I thought I heard this pilot say that if you took too much of the stuff it made you see things!” I laughed. It was a terribly forced laugh. Annie looked at me as if I were potty.
“What are you talking about?” June asked, and Annie’s head whipped round at her tone.
The Spitfire hove into view and did several victory rolls.
“Showing off already!” Grable said. “Men!”
“Excuse me, American men,” replied Annie and then shot a glance at me. “Are you sure he should be flying?”
I shrugged. It was meant to be a careless shrug, but my shoulders were rigid with tension. Sir Basil had his hands on his hips and shook his head. “Zofia will tell him to rein it in, in a minute,” he said as Griff showed off some more.
I glanced at Vera. She still had her hand shading her eyes.
I felt a strong, hard hand on my shoulder. And a voice close in my ear. “I asked you what you were talking about!” Fingers like iron dug into my shoulder. I turned to face June. We were so close I could feel her breath in my face. I raised my voice, half turning my head. “I am talking about datura. If it is taken in excess, it causes strong hallucinations, doesn’t it?” I asked her. Her hand dropped from my shoulder. I stepped back and turned to look June in the face. Her jaw was clenched, and there was a little muscle jumping in her cheek.
“Hallucinations,” cried out Vera, as Griff threw the Spitfire across the sky and then went into a dive. “He’s flying a plane that costs thousands of pounds—and Zofia is on board!”
“Christ.” Sir Basil was staring at the Spitfire. “Has he been drinking?”
“No,” I said as their horrified faces watched the Spitfire plummet. “He was given a hallucinatory drug. You know all about datura, don’t you, June? You know, from your travels in North Africa. Of course, there it’s used for—”
I got no further; June stepped forward, brought back her right hand, and hit me squarely on the jaw. She didn’t knock me off my feet, but I staggered backward. I completely understand what people mean when they say they saw stars. My little dog, dozing in a patch of sunlight a second or two before, was on her feet, her teeth bared.
“June, what on earth are you doing?” Vera threw herself between us, her face horrified, as Grable scrabbled for Bess’s leash and pulled her away from June. I am glad to say Bess got in one good nip before some sort of order was restored.
“That bloody dog bit me!”
I felt Annie’s arm around my waist. Her face was white. “Stop that at once, June,” she shouted. “Have you gone completely mad?” But this was no nursery tiff.
“What the merry hell is going on?” Sir Basil, oblivious to the violence on the ground, pointed up at the sky.
I heard Annie cry out, “Pull up, for God’s sake, pull up,” as Griff put the Spitfire into a steep nosedive.
“Jesus Christ.” Sir Basil’s complexion was dark with his rising blood pressure. He gazed around at us all, his eyes bulging, as the Spitfire screamed toward us. “I think the bugger’s going to crash!”
“What are you talking about, Poppy?” It was Grable, the only one of my witnesses who had kept her head. “What is happening here? What did you say someone gave him . . . some sort of drug?” I could have kissed her for having the presence of mind to keep the conversation fixed where it needed to be. If you could call what we were having a conversation. Grable put a deeply ruffled and still growling Bess into my arms and I felt her warm tongue curl around my swelling jaw.
Vera was hanging on to June’s arm, sobbing. “You didn’t, June? Please say you didn’t?”
Sir Basil, still unsure where his attention should be directed, demanded to know what the hell was going on, his face was almost purple. The shriek of the Spitfire’s Merlin engine was deafening now.
With a supreme effort I lifted my voice. “Yes, she did, Vera—now, how will you explain the death of two more pilots to White Waltham?” I could barely get the words out: my lower lip was beginning to swell, and the sound of the Spitfire’s shrieking engine set off a thrum of pain in my jaw.
“June!” Vera cried.
June stopped staring at the Spitfire and turned on her. “Shut up, Vera. Don’t say a thing. You’ll wreck everything.”
Sir Basil’s fury was exceeded only by his confusion. “Wreck what, for God’s sake? Vera, what the hell is going on?” The Spitfire banked and roared up into the sky.
I took in a breath, taking care to stand well out of June’s range. “June put a hallucinogenic drug in Edwina’s thermos of coffee before she flew on the day she crashed the Spitfire, didn’t she, Vera?” The commanding officer of Didcote ATA started to shake her head. “And you knew about it. You saw Zofia ask Edwina for some of her coffee. You stopped her from drinking it because you knew what was in it.” I drew in a deep breath through my nose and swallowed down the pain. It didn’t hurt too much if I spoke without moving my lips. I glanced up at the sky. The Spitfire was doing a lazy circuit above us. “You don’t have to say anything, either of you. Keith has it all on film, don’t you, Keith?”
“Gordon Bennett,” said Keith.
“Yes, he does.” Huntley was smiling. “God I wish we had this on film,” he said to Keith. “We’d make a bloody fortune.”
“It’s a trap. Vera, don’t say anything.” June took Vera by the arm and shook her, hard.
“We don’t you know what you mean.” Vera gasped, righting herself with difficulty
and reaching for June’s arm to steady herself.
“You both worked together to get rid of Edwina,” I said.
“No, no . . .” Vera whispered, clinging like a child to June’s arm. “No, we did nothing.”
June growled something unprintable and Bess started to struggle in my arms, her lips drawn back in a snarl.
Grable, God bless her, stepped forward. “So that was it,” she said. “That was what happened. You”—she stared at June—“you gave Edwina some sort of poison, and she crashed her plane, just because she stole your stupid husband? Just because of that?”
June shook off Vera. “Edwina knew what she was doing—she did it to hurt . . . like everything else she did.”
“The letters, the anonymous letters,” said Annie, her eyes beseeching us for the truth. “June, did you write those terrible things?”
I heard the Spitfire give two blips as it flew overhead. I thought my knees were going to give out, I was so relieved. “June wrote them. She did it to unnerve Edwina,” I said. “That’s why Edwina was drinking so heavily, and when she crashed her plane everyone was convinced that . . . she was probably drunk, or that her nerve had gone,” I said to Grable, who was staring at me.
“How do you know all of this?” she asked me.
“I probably wouldn’t if Griff hadn’t been so surprised by the way Edwina flew that plane before she crashed. And then when Letty died the next day when she was flying the Walrus . . . I decided to look into things.” I put my hand up to my face. After the first shock, the pain was beginning to ease. I opened and closed my mouth gently.
“Look into things?” Vera looked as if she was going to be sick. Her voice took on a begging note. “But we didn’t, we didn’t.” She turned her head. “You don’t believe her . . . June?”
Sir Basil had finally managed to bite back the only thing he had uttered in the last five minutes. “Vera.” He put his hands on his hips and glared at the woman he sometimes slept with when he was at Didcote. “You said Letty died of a brain seizure!”
