As if by Magic

by Dolores Gordon-Smith

  I bet you are, thought Jack.

  ‘Very shortly you will be invited to see the Pegasus. I would be lacking in my duties as a host if I failed to point out what a huge step forward the aircraft represents. It is a completely new departure in civil aviation, one that will surely both pioneer and set the standard for trans-oceanic flight for years to come.’ Nigel Lassiter’s voice took on a sorrowful note. ‘You will all have heard of the tragic and premature death of Mr Alexander Culverton. I may say that it is in some degree because of his vision that this unique aircraft, the Pegasus, exists at all.’

  And that, commented Jack to himself, was true enough.

  ‘His generous and unstinting support was valued more highly than he could ever have known. Mrs Culverton, who has, I am sure, the sympathy of everyone here, has graciously consented to come here today to see what can only be regarded in very large part as a memorial to her husband.’ He stooped down, picked up a glass from the table beside him and raised it high. ‘Ladies and gentlemen, I give you Alexander Culverton.’

  Jack drank the toast, wondering how many others in the building felt as hypocritical as he did.

  ‘My most grateful and sincere thanks are also due to our other two principal supporters, Mr Martin Ridgeway and Dr Roger Maguire. Mr Culverton is beyond the reach of such petty considerations as a just and generous return on his investment. Mr Ridgeway and Dr Maguire are, I am glad to say, on the verge of seeing a very tangible reward for their faith and vision in bringing into existence the Pegasus, the aeroplane of the future. Ladies and gentlemen, the future is here.’

  On which exit line and to a burst of applause, he climbed down from the ladder and led the chattering group out of the factory towards the new hangar. It had been nicely done, Jack reflected, as he walked round the testing field in the company of the others. Just the right amount of very respectful pressure on Peggy Culverton and a heroic interpretation of the role of money-lender.

  They followed Nigel round the bulk of the building towards the inlet of the Thames. And then he saw it. In that moment nothing but the aeroplane existed. Riding at anchor was a huge, graceful biplane. The sun, which had been fitfully hidden behind scudding clouds, shone down as if it, too, had been orchestrated by Nigel, turning the dull Thames into a shimmering lake supporting the shining craft. The wood of the pontoons glowed a deep rich chestnut in the fleeting sun and the varnished fabric of the wings over the water caught the light and lanced it out in glittering, dancing darts.

  Jack swallowed. The workman at the gate had said the Pegasus was a beauty and she was. Behind that beauty lay obsession, unfairness and greed, and yet it was still beautiful. Nigel Lassiter made little appeal to him, but there was no doubting what he’d achieved. Perhaps his very aloofness was essential to keep his dream intact. Jack had heard often enough that the Pegasus was a breakthrough in civil aviation but, confronted with the actual craft, the phrase was hopelessly inept. This aircraft could leap oceans and it was as if a new world had dawned.

  Then, as always when confronted with a new aircraft, came the questions. How did she handle? Had Nigel Lassiter solved the problems with the wing? Did she – although this seemed an unnecessary question when he looked at the four meaty Rolls-Royce Condor engines – have enough power to support the enormous weight?

  A gang-plank was laid from the shore to the pontoons and various guests were ushered aboard. Jack found a baulk of timber and sat on it, back to the hangar wall. Safety; he was glad David Lassiter, at least, was concerned about safety. He’d trust David Lassiter. He knew how dangerous aircraft could be. He grinned to himself and unconsciously patted his lame leg, souvenir of a long-ago flight when safety had been the last thing on his mind. By God, he’d been lucky. The sky had been full of Germans, his propeller was smashed and his petrol tank had been hit. One stray spark from an incendiary bullet or the magneto and he’d have been toast, not sitting here grumbling about his dodgy leg. He lit a cigarette and sat back, soaking in the impressions. People were coming and going from the craft, but he just wanted to sit and look.

  Peggy Culverton, with Nigel and David Lassiter in tow, came down on to the shore and walked up the path towards him. ‘I’ll let you know soon, Mr Lassiter,’ Mrs Culverton said to Nigel. ‘I’m very impressed. The Pegasus is a wonderful machine but there are other considerations to take into account.’

  Nigel’s eyes narrowed, then he swallowed, nodding his head stiffly. ‘In that case, I await your decision, Mrs Culverton.’ He turned and walked along the path, stopping as he noticed Jack for the first time. ‘Major Haldean? What do you think of the plane?’

  ‘I think she’s superb,’ said Jack, rising to his feet. ‘I must congratulate you, Mr Lassiter. It’s an extraordinary achievement.’

  ‘Would you like to be part of it? I understand you’re a successful author. We’re looking for new investors, you know.’

  Jack laughed. ‘I only wish I had the money. If I had . . .’ The sentence finished abruptly as Nigel Lassiter walked away. Jack stared after him, taken aback by this monumental display of bad manners. Although the sun still shone, some of the gloss seemed to wear off the plane.

  He walked back along the gleaming railway track to the factory. Before he turned the corner he looked once more at the Pegasus. It was still beautiful but the beauty was marred by the crass behaviour of its creator. Damn Nigel Lassiter, thought Jack. He wanted another drink.

  Back inside the factory George was standing by one of the tables, champagne in hand. He looked ill at ease. ‘What’s the matter?’ asked Jack, picking up a glass from the tray.

  ‘I don’t know if I should mention it,’ said George awkwardly. He paused, obviously hunting round for something to say. ‘What did you think of the plane, Jack?’

  ‘Terrific. I don’t think much of Nigel Lassiter, though. He’s just snubbed me for not being rich enough to invest in it.’ Jack took a drink. ‘What shouldn’t you mention?’

  George wriggled uncomfortably and looked round. The nearest people they knew were Anne Lassiter, Roger Maguire and Stella Aldryn. They were standing by the ladder of the crane a few yards away. Anne was pointing upwards, indicating the board-walk. No one was paying either Jack or George any attention. George drew closer and lowered his voice. ‘Look,’ he said. ‘You know Culverton was murdered?’ Jack raised his eyebrows in puzzled enquiry. ‘Well, you haven’t told me much but I gather that you and Inspector Rackham are trying to find someone with a motive for bumping him off. Is that right?’

  Jack looked sharply at his friend. ‘That’s absolutely right. Why?’

  ‘It’s all a bit awkward. You see, Jack, I’m sure there’s nothing in it but if it got out I can see how things could be misinterpreted.’

  ‘What on earth’s happened, George?’

  George sighed. ‘The only reason I’m telling you is so you won’t hear it from someone else. It must be all right and quite honestly, if I was the only one involved I probably wouldn’t have said anything.’ He hesitated, then plunged on. ‘The four of us, myself, Stella, Anne and Dr Maguire, walked round the side of the hangar and . . .’ He paused once more and his voice sank to a whisper. ‘Well, we saw Mrs Culverton and my Uncle David. They didn’t see us right away. He had his arm round her and they were completely absorbed in each other. Then she looked up and they sort of sprang apart. Mrs Culverton looked horrified. Anne said “Sorry” and we all pushed off.’

  Jack mentally kicked himself. He should have guessed. After lunch on Sunday he knew there was something he had missed and this was it. When Peggy Culverton heard the police were searching for anyone with a motive she’d looked stricken. She’d accused herself but that was a deliberate blind. She’d put herself forward, dragging a broken wing across the trail to protect David. She knew exactly what the police would think if they knew she and David Lassiter were having an affair.

  ‘I could see that beggar, Maguire, putting two and two together, working it out,’ added George unhappily. ‘This could mean troub
le for Uncle David somehow or other, but it can’t be true, Jack. He can’t have bumped off Culverton. I like him, really like him, but I know what it looks like.’

  ‘It looks as if he had a motive,’ said Jack quietly.

  ‘This is my uncle we’re talking about,’ George hissed fiercely. ‘I don’t care if he did have a motive. He wouldn’t hurt a fly.’

  Jack looked at George. ‘Didn’t you tell me he once tried to throttle Nigel?’

  George’s face twisted. ‘Good God, Jack, he thought Nigel was responsible for his son’s death. Can you imagine how he must have felt? He’d been provoked beyond endurance. This is different.’

  Jack was silent. Peggy Culverton hadn’t simply disliked her husband, she’d been terrified of him. That alone could be enough provocation for David Lassiter. And Peggy Culverton had lied about how she spent the night Culverton died. He’d never really believed in Peggy Culverton acting alone, even when her alibi was shown to be false, but if she was working with David Lassiter? That was different.

  Anne glanced round and saw the two men. ‘Come and join us,’ she called, with a wave of her hand. She brushed her brown hair away from her face. ‘We’re talking about cats.’

  ‘Cats?’ asked George with assumed cheerfulness. ‘What about cats?’

  Stella Aldryn’s smile faded as George and Jack walked towards them. George wasn’t particularly good at concealing his feelings and his supposed jollity wouldn’t have fooled anyone. ‘Never mind about cats, George,’ she said accusingly. ‘You haven’t told Mr Haldean, have you?’ George didn’t answer and she looked at Jack. ‘Do you know what happened? With Mrs Culverton, I mean?’ Jack nodded. ‘That’s rotten of you, George,’ she said indignantly. ‘It’s none of our business.’

  George looked acutely uncomfortable. ‘I’m sorry, Stella.’

  Stella tossed her head. ‘I don’t think it’s fair.’

  ‘What’s this about cats?’ asked Jack, trying to smooth things over. Cats were a safer topic than David Lassiter and Mrs Culverton.

  Maguire pointed up to the board-walk, eighty feet above their heads. ‘We’re wondering if there’s a cat on the roof.’

  ‘I can’t see it,’ said Anne. ‘I really should wear glasses but I don’t need them all the time.’

  Jack looked upwards. The low autumn sun glinted through the glass roof making it difficult to see. He narrowed his eyes in a squint. ‘I can’t see it, either.’

  George gave him a puzzled look. ‘Can’t you? The poor creature must be terrified.’ He swung himself on to the iron-runged ladder. ‘Don’t worry, I’ll get it down.’

  Stella looked up anxiously as George swarmed up the ladder. ‘I hope he’s all right.’

  ‘He’ll be okay,’ said Jack reassuringly. After all, if George wanted to impress the girlfriend by saving cats, that was his affair. He just hoped he actually found an animal to save, otherwise he’d look pretty silly.

  George reached the top and gave them a cheery wave from the platform at the top of the ladder. The board-walk, guarded by a handrail, ran above the chains of the crane-hook to the operator’s cab at the other end. Stella Aldryn drew her breath in anxiously. ‘I hope he’s all right.’

  ‘Relax,’ said Jack easily. He knew George had a good head for heights and chasing cats was probably as good a diversion from David Lassiter and Peggy Culverton as any other. ‘It’s perfectly safe up – My God!’

  For as he watched George slipped, stumbled, and, with a despairing scream, fell.

  Chapter Ten

  George’s scream ripped out, echoed by a gasp from the people below. Arms flailing, he clutched air and found the chains of the crane. Hanging by one hand, he swung above their heads.

  For a fraction of a second Jack stood frozen with shock, then, with an explosion of movement, raced up the ladder, ran along the board-walk and flung himself out at full length on the walk above George, looking into his friend’s white face. He stretched out, trying vainly to touch him, but the distance was too great. George was a full three fingers out of reach. ‘Get your other hand on to the chain,’ Jack commanded.

  ‘I can’t.’ George’s voice was a thin whisper of despair. Jack looked at the clutching hand so frustratingly close. George’s hand only just encircled the link of the chain. To get his other hand up would mean shifting his weight and if he did that he would certainly fall. George’s fingers tightened convulsively on the link. ‘I’m going, Jack.’

  ‘No, you’re not.’ Jack wrapped his legs round one of the metal struts of the guard-rail and flung his body out from the board-walk, his fingers clawing forward. He grabbed George’s wrist with both hands. George’s body swung forward. Vaguely Jack heard the shouts from below and then with a rattle the chain started to move. George clutched at his arm with his other hand. With a feeling of sick horror Jack felt himself being pulled over the edge. His leg screamed a protest as he tried to force the tortured muscles to obey him. His arm was cracking, but it was his leg, his damned useless damaged leg, that was giving under the strain. Underneath him flash-bulbs flicked like lightning as the press caught the agonizing moment. He shut his eyes, trying to hold on by sheer willpower, when a voice, calm and controlled, sounded beside him and the intolerable weight was gone.

  He hung limply for a moment then with a shudder clutched on to the guard-rail, heaved himself back on to the board-walk and, eyes shut, lay without moving. Gradually the noise of his harsh breathing was replaced by other sounds and he flickered his eyes open. In a sharp focus that filled all his world he saw the dust and the grain on the wood of the planks, and beyond them, a pair of boots. A hand awkwardly encircled his shoulders, helping him to sit up. It was Benson, the foreman, a large, kindly man. Jack slumped against his rough jacket, deriving enormous comfort from the man’s solid bulk. ‘What happened?’ he managed to say at last.

  ‘It was Mr David who did it, sir. He got up the other ladder to the cab of the crane and was coming with a rope, when we saw that you’d got Mr George’s hand off the links. So Mr David stood on the hook of the crane and I sent him along underneath Mr George and he was able to catch his legs and take the weight off you. I think we were just in time as well, sir. Begging your pardon, sir, but do you think you can climb down the ladder? I’ll help you, of course.’

  Jack nodded, and with a hand from the foreman, stood up, clutching the guard-rail. The man looked critically at Jack’s dragging leg. ‘Done some damage to that, haven’t you, sir?’ Jack tried to take a step forward and his knee buckled. The foreman caught hold of him. ‘Hold up, lad! Let me help you.’ He put his arm under Jack’s shoulders and helped him limp to the ladder.

  With Benson below him he made a slow and jarring descent, wincing every time his foot touched metal. As he reached the ground, he turned and faced the circle of people crowding round the foot of the ladder, screwing up his eyes to avoid the jabs of light from the flash-guns.

  Mr Lassiter, his face white, shook his hand. ‘Major Haldean, thank God you’re in one piece. That was one of the bravest bits of work I’ve ever seen. If you hadn’t held on to George I dread to think what would have happened.’ He stopped and swallowed. ‘Thank God you were able to get to him in time.’

  Jack took a deep breath. ‘It was just as well David came along when he did, sir. He deserves a good deal of the credit.’

  ‘He’s getting it, don’t you worry. He showed marvellously quick thinking.’ Mr Lassiter turned to the foreman and held out his hand. ‘And you too, Benson. I saw what you did. Thank you.’

  The foreman smiled shyly and shook the outstretched hand. ‘It wasn’t anything really, sir. Not put against what this gentleman did.’

  ‘It won’t be forgotten, Benson, I can promise you that. Can I get you anything, Major Haldean?’

  ‘I’d like my stick, sir,’ said Jack tightly. ‘I don’t usually need it, but just now I could do with it.’

  Mr Lassiter picked up the stick Jack had flung at the foot of the ladder in his dash upwards. ‘Her
e you are.’ He turned to the crowd pressing round them. ‘Make a bit of room there, please. George is over here, Major. If you come this way, you can sit down.’ The crowd parted and, leading the way, Mr Lassiter took him over to where George, nursing his arm, was sitting with David Lassiter. Mr Lassiter beckoned to a waiter, took a drink and pressed it into Jack’s hand.

  Jack held the glass and raised it in salute to George and David. He took a sip but the reaction had set in and the alcohol made him feel slightly sick. Flash-bulbs flared again as the pressmen caught the moment. He held up his hand to ward off the barrage of questions from the reporters. ‘I’ll talk to you properly later. We all will.’ He saw Joe Hawley and motioned to him. ‘Joe, call off the pack, will you? I promise I’ll give you all a lovely quote for tomorrow’s paper but just give us some time, will you?’

  ‘Gentlemen?’ said Mr Lassiter.

  The pressmen grinned. ‘Very well, sir.’

  Jack put the glass down as the crowd thinned out and looked up to see Stella Aldryn and Peggy Culverton. Habit made him try and stand.

  ‘Don’t get up, Major Haldean,’ said Mrs Culverton quickly, ‘When I think what could have happened . . .’ She broke off, sat down beside David and shot him an anxious glance. David smiled reassuringly at her.

  Stella Aldryn put her hand on George’s arm. Her eyes were frightened.

  ‘I’m all right,’ he said awkwardly, constrained by his grandfather and the crowd around them. ‘Honestly, I’m all right.’ He tried to cover her hand with his and gave a sharp intake of breath.

  ‘What is it?’ asked Stella anxiously.

  ‘Nothing much. I’ve crocked my arm, that’s all.’ He gave a covert glance at Mr Lassiter. ‘I’ll see you later.’

  Stella swallowed, followed his glance and nodded in understanding. With a deep breath she let go of his arm and pushed her way back into the crowd.