by Janet Tanner
‘I only hope you can pull the venture off, Eric,’ Gilbert said. He seemed oblivious to the atmosphere which had arisen between the two younger men. ‘The publicity will be invaluable to the new airline and to the success of the new South African division. We need that new business to get us over this sticky patch.’
Adam turned his back on Eric, speaking directly to Gilbert.
‘How bad is it?’ he asked.
‘Bad.’ Gilbert’s expression was grim. ‘But I am trusting you two not to mention that fact outside these four walls, not even to the other members of the Board. There is nothing like loss of confidence to make things worse.’
Adam’s eyes narrowed. ‘You don’t mean we are going to go to the wall?’
‘We wouldn’t be the first.’ Gilbert drew himself up, summoning the determination that had helped him build his companies into institutions of which he was rightly proud. ‘Don’t worry. I don’t intend to let that happen. We can weather the storms, gentlemen, and the time will come when the name of Morse Bailey will be synonymous with aeroplanes. And I believe this record attempt will herald the beginning of a new chapter in our history.’
By the end of the month everything was well under way. The whole of Chewton Leigh was bubbling with enthusiasm, and the glamour of the project had temporarily eclipsed even talk of the proposed airline. Curly Bowden, an old friend of Eric’s from his RFC days, who was anxious to find a niche in commercial flying now that the new RAF was streamlining to meet the needs of peacetime, had agreed to be his navigator and the press came in their droves to interview the pair of them and photograph them beside the Condor.
‘We shall never be ready if they don’t stop hindering us!’ Eric grumbled to Gilbert. But Gilbert was more philosophical.
‘Every reporter who comes here bothering you is equal to another few inches of newsprint and the name of Morse Bailey is hammered home yet again,’ he pointed out.
‘I suppose you are right,’ Eric agreed, but he found the constant bombardment infuriating and the lack of privacy worse. Before long one of the newspapermen had unearthed the fact that not only had he shot down a Zepp during the war but also that he had once been a balloonist – and that his wife had been Sarah Thomas, Sweetheart of the Skies. Old photographs of Sarah in her ballooning costume appeared alongside new ones of Eric, Curly and the Condor and the clamour for interviews extended to her.
Sarah could not help enjoying the fuss. It seemed a very long time ago since she had been the centre of attention. And at a hastily arranged meeting Gilbert came up with a suggestion which would satisfy the reporters’ interest in Sarah and at the same time exploit it.
‘We’ll put on a demonstration flight for them,’ he informed the other members of the board. ‘That way they will get all the pictures they want and we will reap the benefits of the publicity they generate.’
‘And how exactly do you propose to do that?’ Leo drawled. Since losing the vote on the formation of the airline he had become more and more obstructive, each and every suggestion that was put up Leo was certain to oppose it with such vehemence that he sometimes persuaded one or two of the others to his viewpoint.
‘As you know Eric and Curly will actually begin their record attempt by taking off from Brooklands.’ Gilbert’s eyes were narrowed against the thin stream of smoke from his cigar. ‘It is about the closest we can get to the Channel coast. But the Condor has to get there from Chewton Leigh. Now what I suggest is this – we make a big set piece of the departure from here and invite along the press, but instead of Curly in the co-pilot’s seat, we put Sarah! Husband and wife setting off on the first lap of the great adventure – it’s the kind of story they’ll lap up, especially in view of the fact that they used to balloon together. We might even let Sarah take the controls for the benefit of a headline now that she has her licence.’
‘Isn’t that a little unfair on Curly?’ Adam asked. ‘After all, he is the one risking his neck along with Eric.’
‘Curly will have his share of glory if the flight is successful,’ Gilbert said. ‘Just look at the reception Alcock and Brown got – mayoral receptions, flags, speeches and cheers in this country and tickertape in New York. If it works out this could be even bigger. But we have to be practical about this. If something goes wrong and they don’t make it, Morse Bailey still needs all the publicity we can get. And whether you like it or not Sarah is news. Take a pioneering spirit, a measure of danger and a pretty face, mix it all together and the resulting cocktail will be very potent, I promise you.’
He looked at Leo, throwing out a silent challenge, but surprisingly the younger man said nothing. He sat thoughtfully rolling a pencil between his fingers and it was Adam who voiced dissent.
‘Frankly I am surprised at you, Gilbert. The whole idea strikes me as being incredibly cheap.’
‘But think of the glut of orders the publicity will produce,’ Gilbert said evenly, then broke off, not wanting to mention in front of Leo just how close to the brink they were sailing. ‘Perhaps I have become something of a showman in my old age,’ he added after a moment. ‘Whatever, my mind is made up. When Eric takes off from Chewton Leigh, Sarah will be with him.’
Sarah stood at the window of her office looking out towards the air strip where the Condor stood ready and waiting to leave on the first leg of its historic flight. At this distance it looked so small – incapable of leaving the ground almost, let alone covering thousands of miles over land and sea, and she shivered at the thought of the risk Eric was taking. For years now she had lived side by side with danger and the men who courted it, so that she had thought she had become impervious to the fears that accompanied each new venture. But somehow this was different, resurrecting the anxieties that had haunted her through the years of the war.
The mechanics were buzzing around the Condor like bees around a hive but Sarah knew their activity was show only – all the necessary checks and preparations had been made the previous evening in the privacy of the shed. Today belonged to the press – already reporters were bustling around with their notebooks open, interviewing anyone who would stop to talk to them, and photographers were taking countless shots of the Condor, the mechanics and even the Morse Bailey works. Tomorrow the newspapers would be full of them – together with the photographs of her and Eric. Again the imp of nervousness tugged at her and she wondered why. Perhaps because in the old days the achievement had been her own. This time she was window dressing only.
‘Half an hour, Sarah. Are you ready?’ It was Eric. Sarah was surprised to see him – she had thought he would be out on the runway with the mechanics.
‘Yes. Are you?’
‘Uh-huh.’ He joined her at the window and gesticulated towards the throng on the tarmac. ‘What a carnival! It’s as well everything was checked last night, isn’t it? If it had been left till this morning anything could have been missed.’
She was aware of another of those tiny pricks of apprehension.
‘They are sure everything is in order?’
‘Oh yes. I watched the check myself. You can be quite certain that you will be safe on your leg of the journey at any rate.’
‘And what about yours?’
‘That, of course, is infinitely more risky.’ His eyes met hers, his mouth lifted in a quizzical half smile. ‘Never mind, Sarah, you never know, I might not come back.’
‘Eric!’ she exclaimed, shocked. ‘What ever do you mean?’
Again the half smile. ‘It would solve everything if I didn’t, wouldn’t it?’
She felt sick suddenly. ‘What on earth are you talking about?’
‘Oh Sarah, don’t pretend with me any more.’ His voice was even. ‘I’d like you to know that if anything should happen to me, you and Adam have my blessing. Though whether you will have Alicia’s is another matter.’
She stared at him, speechless.
‘I’ve known for a long time how it is between you and Adam,’ he said quietly. ‘If you think I didn’t you must al
so think I am a fool. But I didn’t say anything because I didn’t want to lose you. You mean more than anything in the world to me, Sarah. Without you I wouldn’t want to go on living.’ He paused, then continued. ‘I have thought about it a good deal, I can tell you, thought about it until my head spun. I’ve considered every possibility – even setting you free so that you and he … But I couldn’t do it. Not even knowing you don’t love me. I simply couldn’t do it. But of course if I didn’t come back there would be no problem, would there? And I have this feeling that I am not going to come back.’
In spite of the heat of the room Sarah was suddenly icy cold.
‘Just one thing I would ask of you, Sarah,’ he continued in the same level tone. ‘ Don’t make it too soon, you and Adam. I know it is stupid of me but please … would you mind leaving me a little pride?’
‘Oh Eric, don’t say such things! Of course you will come back!’ She was trembling, desperately wanting to tell him he was wrong but knowing instinctively that to lie to him would be to add insult to injury.
‘It would have been better, wouldn’t it, if I had died along with the crew of that Zepp I brought down,’ he said softly. ‘At least then I would have died believing you loved me.’
‘But I do love you!’ As the words burst from her she knew it was no more than the truth. In her own way she did love him – a totally different love to the passion she felt for Adam but no less real for all that. ‘I do love you, Eric, and I will always be grateful to you for all we have shared. It’s just that …’
‘I know,’ he said. ‘I am not Adam.’
Tears pricked her eyes. There was no way she could deny it.
‘Well,’ he said, ‘I dare say it is time we were going.’
She nodded, reached for him and put her arms around him. He held her briefly, then put her away and she realised the bitter truth. Her touch was hurtful to him now. As long as they were at arm’s length he could say these things to her – touch him and his defences were in danger of breaking down.
A wave of dizziness swept over her.
‘Ready?’
She nodded. She wanted to say: ‘Eric, please take care. In spite of everything, come back safely.’ But she could not speak.
He turned and left the office, she followed on legs suddenly gone weak. Along the corridor, deserted because everyone was out on the airfield, towards the head of the stairs. They spiralled down, those stairs, and suddenly she was dizzy again. She caught at the bannister as her knees buckled – too late. It was not her head that was going round now but the whole world.
In all her life Sarah had never before fainted. She fainted now, her knees giving way, her whole body folding up, then bumping in an untidy bundle down the length of the stairs.
As she came slowly back through the layers of consciousness the voices came at her in waves.
‘Sarah! Wake up, Sarah!’
‘Is she all right?’
‘She fainted. She went from top to bottom of the stairs …’
Someone was pressing a handkerchief, cold and wet, to her forehead; there was pressure of a different sort on her lips and her protesting stomach caught the smell of the brandy fumes the instant before she tasted it, burning her tongue, running a trickle of liquid fire down her throat.
She opened her eyes. Eric and Gilbert were there. As consciousness returned she was aware of a feeling of acute embarrassment and struggled to sit up.
‘Lie still, Sarah.’ Eric’s voice, not bitter now, just loving and concerned. ‘You took a bad tumble.’
‘I’m all right…’ She tried to move and knew she was not. The whole of her body felt as if it had been run over by a steam roller and the dizziness made her head swim again. The voices became a buzz; when they cleared again she heard Gilbert asking: ‘ Has the doctor been sent for?’
‘Yes. He is on his way.’
‘I don’t need a doctor!’ she said weakly.
‘Don’t argue, Sarah,’ Gilbert said sternly.
The door opened and Leo came in.
‘What the devil is going on? What’s the delay? The press are getting restless …’ He caught sight of Sarah and broke off. ‘Good grief, Sarah, they are all waiting for you!’
‘They will have to wait then!’ Eric said irritably. ‘ Can’t you see Sarah is ill?’ He turned to Gilbert. ‘What are we going to do?’
Gilbert took out his watch and checked it. ‘Leo is right. We can’t keep them waiting much longer. But there is no way Sarah can make the flight.’
‘But they are expecting her!’ Leo protested.
‘Good grief, man, surely you can see she is in no fit state.’
‘I’ll be all right,’ Sarah began but he brushed her protest aside.
‘Don’t talk foolishness. You most certainly will not be all right. No, there is only one thing for it. I shall go in your place.’
Leo drew a sharp breath. From where she lay he was directly in Sarah’s line of vision and she saw him whiten.
‘But that won’t do at all! The whole point, surely, is for Sarah to be the passenger …’
‘It can’t be helped.’ Gilbert’s tone was firm, brooking no argument. ‘The press will have to be told Sarah is ill. I am Chairman and Managing Director of Morse Bailey. That should be worth a paragraph even if it does not have quite the same impact as a beautiful young woman in the cockpit. And at least I shall be demonstrating my faith in my aeroplane.’
Leo caught at Gilbert’s arm. ‘ I really don’t think you should.’
Gilbert shook him off a trifle impatiently. ‘I am afraid that is the way it is going to have to be.’ He turned to his secretary who was hovering anxiously. ‘Will you stay with Mrs Gardiner, Hazel? See she is all right until the doctor gets here? Now, Eric, if you are ready we had better get out there and make our excuses. The longer we keep them waiting the less gracefully they will accept the new arrangements.’
He strode to the window, pausing for a moment to look out at the milling crowd of reporters. In the bright sunlight his hair shone silver – in the last years the wings had spread so that there was no trace now of the brown. But neither was there any trace this morning of ageing. He looked older, yes, but still handsome and dignified, still very much in control.
‘Ready, Eric?’ He crossed to the door and stood waiting.
‘Yes.’ Eric looked down at Sarah and his expression tore at her heart. Love, sorrow, regret … she could see them all there. Then he bent to kiss her lightly on the cheek. ‘Take care, my love.’
‘And you.’ Her throat was aching. The goodbye had come before she had expected it and she felt empty inside, torn apart by a mass of conflicting emotions. Then he was gone, pausing in the doorway for just one backward look, then striding away after Gilbert and the emptiness spread until it was a physical pain.
Oh Eric, I have hurt you so and I didn’t mean to. But what could I do, when I belong body and soul to another man?
‘Don’t upset yourself, Mrs Gardiner.’ Hazel joined her, looking as if she was enjoying her new-found role of nurse. ‘It won’t be any time at all before he is back again. And just think how proud you are going to be of him!’
Sarah could not reply and her only consolation was that the secretary had not the slighest inkling of her true feelings.
‘They are getting ready for take-off!’ Hazel said. She was standing at the window watching what was going on outside and relaying the information to Sarah. ‘Yes, the propellers are turning. They will be going at any minute.’
‘I want to see them go.’ Sarah swung her legs off the chaise and Hazel, realising protest was useless, hurried across to help her. Leaning slightly on the secretary for support she made it across the room to the window and saw that the aeroplane was indeed already moving along the runway. At this distance she could not see Eric and Gilbert clearly, just the brown shapes of their flying helmets as they sat strapped in the cockpit.
The aeroplane moved forward, gathering speed, then the wheels left the grou
nd and she saw it rise slowly until it was above the heads of the spectators. Eric took it around the field in a gigantic sweep, dipping his wings, in salute and then turning away towards the rolling skyline.
As the aeroplane shrank to a speck on the horizon the reporters began to leave the field, eager to rush their stories to their newspapers around the world, and Sarah turned away from the window. She felt weak and sick again and there was a curious emptiness around her heart. She crossed to Gilbert’s drinks cabinet – perhaps another brandy would help settle her stomach.
‘They are coming back! Why are they coming back?’ Hazel had remained at the window; now her puzzled voice arrested Sarah.
‘What?’ She turned, the brandy bottle in her hand.
‘They’re coming back!’ Hazel sounded really agitated now. ‘They’re very low. You don’t think something is wrong, do you?’
Still clutching the bottle Sarah ran to the window and felt her blood run cold. The Condor was approaching erratically – even at this distance it was obvious Eric was struggling to control it. On the airfield people were running here and there in panic, shouting and waving their arms to clear the runway. Sarah stood mesmerised.
‘Oh my goodness!’ Hazel cried. She was close to tears. ‘ They are going to crash!’
The Condor came in low, like a great wounded bird. It tilted crazily as Eric fought to lift it above the line of trees which separated the airfield from the fields beyond, but he could not get even that little extra height. The Condor hit the first of the trees, broken branches and shattered wings and bits of fuselage flew through the air. There was a blinding flash followed by a huge ball of orange flame and a pall of thick black smoke. The screams of the watchers mingled with the fierce crackle of burning wood and Hazel sobbed aloud, almost hysterical with shock. But Sarah stood silent, her hands pressed against her mouth, stunned into a trance of horror.
