by Janet Tanner
At the works he chatted with Frank Raisey, the general manager, and nothing that was said did anything to improve his humour. Raisey was raving about Adam and Max and their flying machine and the progress in powered flight in general. Since Bleriot had crossed the Channel in July, skimming a few feet above the water, losing his way for lack of a compass and finally landing in a meadow behind Dover Castle things had moved apace. A revolutionary new aero-engine had been designed in France and Raisey felt sure it would not be long before the £10000 prize for linking London and Manchester would also be won. And he believed Adam and Max with their home-grown version would not be far behind.
‘And with an engine made here at Morse Motors,’ he said, swelling with pride. ‘ Makes you proud to be a part of it, eh lad?’
Leo turned away. He did not feel proud. He felt bitter and envious. Reflected glory meant nothing to him. It was his own success he was interested in.
When Raisey mentioned that Sarah had left the works early today to go riding with Alicia Leo was puzzled – and suspicious. The girls despised one another. They would never have sought one another’s company unless they had very good reason to. The arrangement seemed to smack of a conspiracy of some kind and Leo did not like it one bit.
He left the works in a foul temper. Never the most sympathetic of drivers, today he drove fast and badly, crashing gears and swearing when he hit a pothole or bump in the road. Damn the Morses. Damn all of them. He’d show them yet!
He was almost back at Chewton Leigh when he rounded a bend in the lane and saw the two horses ahead of him – Alicia on Baron, Sarah on Sweet Lass. Another wave of fury roared in his ears. He put his foot down hard and rocketed towards them. Why the hell should he slow down for them? They could just get out of his way. As he approached them Baron sidestepped nervously and he honked raucously on his horn. Stupid animals. Stupid girls. He honked again, pulling out to pass them and roaring off down the lane. Faintly, above the noise of the engine, he was aware of Baron’s frightened whinny and the raised voice of one of the girls. Just ahead of him the road forked obtusely – left to Chewton Leigh House, right to the farms in the valley bottom. With a smile of grim satisfaction curling his lips Leo took the left fork and did not look back.
To lose control of the horse you are riding is a frightening thing. When sixteen hands of solid horseflesh and corded muscle decides to take fright and go its own way there is virtually nothing you can do about it. The very size of the animal, previously comforting, now works against you and you know you have no more chance of stopping it than Canute did of holding back the tide.
It was the highly strung Baron who was most upset by Leo’s thoughtless behaviour. For a few moments Alicia fought to steady him without success. Eyes wild, nostrils flaring, he took off, galloping madly along the road as if the devil himself were after him. And Sweet Lass went with him. Already upset by Leo, her foal’s panic communicated itself to her and she raced with him, shoulder to shoulder while Sarah vainly tried to stop her.
At the fork in the road the terrified horses veered to the right. Soon the lane narrowed, sloping steeply, but they galloped on. At the bottom it curved sharply, ahead of them was a hedge, six feet high and thick with the brambles of autumn. Baron leapt it like a cat, Sweet Lass attempted to follow, but her stride was all wrong. Her flailing front legs crashed into the branches and she fell back into the ditch. Her scream was one with Sarah’s and then she was still. In the quiet of the September afternoon the thunder of Baron’s galloping hooves echoed for a few minutes more before his panic began to subside and Alicia was able to bring him under control. Then the only sound was the distant phutter of Leo’s motor heading up the hill to Chewton Leigh.
‘Where is she?’ Adam asked. His voice was rough with anxiety; it carried across the great entrance hall of Chewton Leigh House and into the drawing-room where once again Sarah lay on the velvet covered chaise. Had she ever left it? she wondered. The fall had set her shoulder throbbing again. Dr Haley had been and prescribed complete rest for a day or so at least to ensure there was no further damage to the old injury and in any case once again movement was too painful to attempt. But the pain in her collarbone, coldly numbing and fiery sharp as it was, was nothing to the pain in her heart.
Adam appeared in the doorway, crossed the room in two strides. ‘Sarah!’
‘Hello,’ she said faintly. Her voice seemed to belong to someone else.
He dropped to his haunches beside her taking her hand and shaking his head. ‘ I don’t know what I shall do with you. If you’re not falling out of balloons, you are falling off horses!’
He had expected this riposte to spark off her usual quick retort. It was so easy to get Sarah going. But today she made no reply – seemed hardly to hear him even. She lay staring into space, eyes unfocused, and she was deathly pale.
‘Sarah,’ he said more seriously. ‘Are you all right?’
She turned her head slowly as if coming back from a long way off.
‘Me? Yes, I’m all right. Sweet Lass isn’t. She’s dead.’ Her voice was flat and the lack of emotion was chilling. Somehow one knew that it was all there, bottled up deep inside, grief too terrible to express.
‘Oh sweetheart!’
The longed for endearment passed unnoticed. ‘She broke her neck. That stupid Leo frightened the horses. Baron bolted and Sweet Lass followed.’
‘I know. The idiot. If I lay hands on him I’ll horsewhip him …’
Her brows knitted together. She looked merely puzzled.
Dear God, he thought, she is in deep shock, and anger at Leo de Vere coursed through his veins. If he could get hold of him now he would not merely horsewhip him but kill him. But that would not help Sarah. Somehow he had to bring her back from this strange world inside herself into which she had retreated or he did not know what would become of her.
He put his arms around her, turning her face into his shirt front. ‘Oh Sarah, Sarah, poor Sweet Lass! How you will miss her!’ he whispered against her ear. ‘She was always your horse, wasn’t she? When you were a little girl …?’
How long it took he did not know. Time had ceased to be of importance. But at last to his relief the dam burst. The tears she had not yet shed began to roll down her cheeks, slowly at first then hotter and faster and her whole body racked with sobs. He held her, distressed at the storm he had unleashed, yet thinking that anything, anything, was better than that awful remoteness, that lack of emotion. He took out his handkerchief, wiping the tears away as they rolled down her cheeks, and tenderness for her almost superseded his anger. Almost – but not quite. If Leo de Vere were to walk in now he would still like to kill him with his bare hands for what he had done.
Neither he nor Sarah noticed Alicia standing in the doorway. For a moment the tightness within her held her rigid, neither able to announce her presence nor turn to go. Jealousy consumed her, a jealousy so fierce it seemed to rage in her veins like a forest fire and the heat it generated burned on her skin. With difficulty she controlled her breathing, pushed the door open and went into the room.
‘Sarah, my dear, are you all right?’ she asked, her voice dripping honey.
Adam straightened. ‘She is very upset.’
‘Don’t worry,’ she said silkily, ‘I’ll look after her. I’m sure Max will be wondering what has become of you. But she will be all right with me.’
His hand was still on Sarah’s; Alicia wished she could tear it away.
‘Are you sure, Alicia?’ he asked.
‘Oh yes,’ she said and the grim determination sounded a fair imitation of concern. ‘You can quite safely leave Sarah to me.’
Time passed but the grief refused to go away. Sarah wondered how it was possible to feel such grief for an animal. Sweet Lass, the dearest horse who had ever lived, was gone. Never again would she nuzzle Sarah and poke an enquiring nose into her pocket in search of a sugar lump, never again carry her through the dew fresh fields. The loss ached in her endlessly; not Gilbert, not
gentle Annie, not even Adam could make it less. Life was going on. But something had gone from her world which was irreplaceable. Nothing would ever be quite the same again.
Chapter Twenty-Four
‘I am determined to get that aeroplane off the ground tomorrow,’ Adam said. ‘We have wasted enough time on taxiing trials. If we don’t make it tomorrow we never will.’
‘I agree. If the wind is in the right direction in the morning we’ll go for it.’ Max reached for Annie’s hand, squeezing it. ‘What do you say, Missie?’
Annie smiled. ‘If you think you are ready, Adam. Only don’t take any foolish chances, will you?’
‘Don’t worry, I won’t.’ Adam glanced at Sarah. ‘Are you coming out to the field to watch?’
The four of them had shared supper in Annie’s room and now Sarah was clearing away.
‘Yes, I think I will,’ she said, piling plates together, ‘ if you really think something is going to happen.’
‘I feel in my bones it is. Leave those things now and let’s go for a walk. I could do with a breath of air and I want to talk to you.’
‘Max and I will finish the dishes,’ Annie offered. ‘ Take Adam out and make him relax for heaven’s sake. He has a big day tomorow.’
Sarah fetched her wrap and she and Adam went down the rickety iron stairway that led from Annie’s room to the street below. It was a fine clear October evening with the smell of bonfires and of damp leaves in the air and in the cottage windows oil lamps shed their auroras of welcoming golden light. Sarah linked her arm through Adam’s.
‘Do you really think you can fly tomorrow?’
‘I do. I’ve felt her almost ready to lift several times already. If I can get up enough speed I’m certain I can take off.’
She glanced at him, anxious suddenly. ‘You will be careful, won’t you?’
‘Of course. Stop worrying.’ He looked at her seriously.
‘Now listen, once we have done what we set out to do and built an aeroplane that will fly I have other plans in mind. I mentioned them to you once before but I didn’t get much response. This time, when I am a successful aviator, I hope I shall merit serious consideration.’
‘What are you talking about, Adam?’
‘I intend to ask you to marry me. Correction. I intend to marry you.’
They had reached the end of the lane, cottages became fields and at the entrance to them was a five-bar gate. Adam leaned against it and pulled Sarah into his arms. His mouth sought hers, his hands encircled her small waist beneath her wrap.
‘Oh Adam …’ I love you, she wanted to say but somehow she could not. The words hung on her tongue like thick honey and she could not speak them. Then he was kissing her and she was whirling in the vortex of desire which was becoming familiar but none the less exciting for all that.
‘Well?’ he teased. ‘ What have you got to say for yourself, Miss Thomas?’
She tossed her head, happiness lending her the ability to tease in return. ‘ Fly your aeroplane tomorrow, Mr Bailey, and I’ll tell you!’
He laughed aloud. ‘ Very well, it’s a deal. And I shall hold you to it.’
She smiled. Her whole being was a shout of joy. So Adam thought he could fly tomorrow. Great heavens, she was flying now!
‘It looks as if tomorrow could be a momentous day,’ she said.
The box kite bumped and lurched over the rough ground as Adam taxied to the top of the rise. There in the vastness of the field she looked small and fragile, a child’s toy made of wood, fabric and bicycle wheels and held together with piano wire. But the wind was just right – when Max had held up a handkerchief to test it the fabric had barely stirred in the light breeze – and the engine sounded good and throaty. Listening to it Gilbert nodded his satisfaction.
There was no mistaking the tension in the air however, Sarah thought, looking from one to the other of the small group of watchers. In their own way each of them was so aware of the importance of the moment and the vulnerability of the aeroplane that it was almost unbearable. Max was bobbing up and down like a cat on hot bricks, Gilbert was tight-coiled as a wire, and although Annie’s expression was serene as always her tightly clasped gloved hands betrayed the tension she was feeling. Only Alicia appeared to be enjoying herself. Her eyes were glittering, her lips parted in an expression that was almost feline. She had no fear for Adam’s safety, no dread of disaster, for the failure would not be hers, though she would not hesitate to grasp her share of any triumph. Sarah looked away quickly, concentrating on the aeroplane which was now silhouetted against the cold clear blue of the sky.
She could never remember feeling quite this way before, not even before her very first parachute jump. Then she had been at the centre of the action and the danger had been her own. Now she could do nothing but watch, wait and pray. Silently her lips moved.
Please God let it fly. Don’t let them be disappointed. And please God keep Adam safe. Most of all keep Adam safe …
From the top of the rise the view was stupendous. Beneath him the valley was laid out in a patchwork of green and the trees, russet and gold for autumn, made splashes of brilliant colour against the brittle blue of the sky.
There was a tension in him, pumping with the adrenaline through his veins yet at the same time he felt calm and utterly controlled, more determined than he had ever been in his life before. If willpower alone could take the box kite into the air then she would certainly fly – but mere willpower would not be enough. This was the moment to put to the test all their hard work and theorising, the design they had dreamed up together, the modifications they had agonised over. And they had it right. In his heart he was certain of it. Now it was all up to him.
He completed his turn so that the box kite faced down the slope into the valley. He could see the small group of watchers standing near the shed, he waved to them and saw Max raise his arm in reply.
I have to do it for Max, Adam thought. The aeroplane is his brainchild and he has backed it with every penny he is ever likely to have – now, it has to be said, almost all gone. If I can make his aeroplane fly it will make it all worthwhile – and he and Annie will be able to get married at last. And Sarah. I have to do it for Sarah too …
The thought gave added impetus to his determination. He drew his goggles down over his eyes and jammed his cap down firmly on his head. Then he set the nose of the aeroplane down the slope and opened the throttle wide.
The box kite began to move, slowly at first, bumping over the uneven turf, then gathering speed. The twin propellers were whirring now, scarcely more than a blur in the clear air; the ground raced by beneath the wheels and the wind blew the breath back into his throat. The sheer speed made him feel alive as never before, his brain sharp and crystal clear, his nerves and muscles ready for instant response. The moment of decision was his and his alone. He was taxiing now as fast as was safe. There was nothing between him and disaster except … flight!
His hand was steady on the stick, his grip firm. Now! He pulled back hard and felt the front of the machine rise. Excitement made him rash, too late he realised he had lifted too sharply. The nose was pointing skyward, his weight wrongly distributed. For a moment it felt as if he would tip over backwards and the force seemed to attach his stomach to his spine. For brief seconds he fought to control the bucking aircraft then he heard the sharp crack of splintering wood and felt himself falling. The aeroplane hit the ground again with a devastating crash and disintegrated around him. For a moment he knew nothing but a sense of shock, then, as he climbed gingerly from the wreckage, he realised the extent of the damage and felt sick with horror. The aeroplane lay like a broken bird, framework smashed to matchwood, fabric torn, propellers twisted. Gone – all gone – months of painstaking work and loving care now reduced to splinters.
Sarah was leading the others in a charge up the field, skirts bunched up to free her flying feet.
She threw herself at him. ‘Adam! Are you all right? Oh my God!’ Her voice was shaking
, her face ashen.
‘I’m fine.’ He held her briefly, then as Max came panting up he put her aside. ‘ Max, old man, I’m sorry. I took her up too sharply …’
But Max was not looking at the devastation. His rubbery face was wreathed in smiles and he clapped Adam on the back.
‘Never mind that! We can build it again. The thing is you flew. You realise that? You flew!’
And suddenly Adam was laughing with him.
‘I did, didn’t I? Great heavens, Max, we did it! Our aeroplane flew!’
Like a pair of whirling dervishes they grabbed one another, capering madly. And Sarah, trembling still from the tension and the shock, clasped her hands together and thanked God that her prayers had been answered.
Their elation was short lived. All very well to know that the aeroplane they had designed was capable of flight. All very well to relish those heady moments when the wheels had left the ground. All very well to be grateful to have escaped unhurt and knowing how to prevent a recurrence of that fatal but wholly understandable error in manipulating a giant man-made bird for the first time. The indisputable fact was that the aeroplane had been damaged beyond repair and there was no money left for building another.
‘I think we have come to the end of the road, my friends,’ Max said gravely as they sat around the huge old table which dominated Annie’s little room glumly eating the meal that she had prepared as a celebration supper.
‘But you can’t give up now when you are so close!’ Annie protested.
‘We have no choice, my dear. The money left in the bank will barely support our living expenses for a few more weeks. It simply will not stretch to buy the things we should need to start rebuilding.’
Annie looked pleadingly at Sarah, who nodded gently.
‘It’s true, Annie.’ Since she had become adept at book keeping she had taken on the settlement of accounts and she knew as well as Max did the paltry amount still lodged with the bank – and the pile of invoices for goods still waiting to be paid. ‘Short of a miracle I’m afraid it’s all over. We shall be bankrupt in a matter of days rather than weeks.’
