by Nevil Shute
She said, “Oh, Wing Commander, I’m so glad you’re in London. The Prince of Wales would like to see you this afternoon.”
“What time shall I come over?”
“If you would come to my office at about five minutes past four. I will take you along then.”
He put down the instrument, wondering what this was all about, and went on with the correspondence. At five minutes past four he was in the Palace, clean and neat, following Miss Porson down the corridors. She took him to an ante-room and handed him over to the girl sitting in it. “I don’t think he’ll keep you very long.”
He sat on a gilt chair in the tall room in silence for ten minutes. Tall white double doors opened into the Prince’s study, from which he could hear a low murmur of voices now and then. At last the handle of these doors turned; the door opened a fraction, and then closed again. Evidently the conversation was continuing as the visitor was about to be shown out.
Finally the door opened definitely, and David heard the Prince speaking. He said, “Well, that’s all I’ve got to say to you, Mr. Jones. If you go on with this I shall advise my mother to build an airstrip on our own land, in Windsor Great Park. And, what’s more, I’ll get a Canadian contractor to come here and build it.”
David sat motionless, staring at the carpet beside his feet, as the Prime Minister passed by within a yard of him. The door closed again; after a minute the girl got up and went through the double doors into the room. She came out presently. “He won’t be very long,” she said softly. “He’s just got a couple of calls to make.”
The door opened presently, and the Prince of Wales appeared. He said, “Come in, Anderson. Sorry to have kept you.” David went into the room, and the Prince closed the door. He was wearing a grey civilian suit, and David thought that he looked tired.
He turned to the pilot. “I’ve got to go to Ottawa, Wing Commander,” he said. “Is that machine of yours serviceable?”
David was a little hurt. “Of course, sir. When do you want to go?”
“Can we go tonight?”
“You can go in an hour’s time, sir. There’s no food or drink on board, but otherwise we’re ready.”
“All fuelled up?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Done the daily?”
“Yes, sir.”
“All right.” He glanced at his wrist watch. “Suppose we start off after dinner. I’ll be at White Waltham about half past eight.”
“Very good, sir.” He hesitated, and then said, “Can you give me any idea how long the crew will be away? It’s just a matter of their kit.”
“They may be away some time.”
“Any chance that they may need tropical kit, sir?”
The Prince thought for a moment. “I don’t know. They’d better take everything.”
David went out and rang up Ryder from Miss Porson’s office and put everything in train; Miss Porson undertook to have the food and drink sent down from the Palace kitchens. David went back to the office in St. James’s Palace and stayed there for an hour; then he drove down to Maidenhead, packed furiously for ten minutes, and was at White Waltham aerodrome by seven o’clock.
He had much to do, but he was a very happy man as he did it. All the way down from London he had driven in a dream, amazed at his incredible luck. Not only had he got a job of work to do for the first time since he joined the Queen’s Flight, but it was taking him to Rosemary. He was lucky, he felt, all round. He knew that he was taking a small, insignificant part in world-moving events. One day, this journey that the Prince of Wales was making in a hurry to consult with his parents would occupy a sentence in the history books; behind that sentence, unremembered and unknown, would be Nigger Anderson. It was sufficient for him; it made the job worth doing and justified the weeks and months of waiting on the aerodrome, the interruption to his career. Not only was he playing a small part in world affairs, but he was going to Rosemary. Rosemary, who had been away barely a week, Rosemary that he had not hoped to see again for over a month.
He was delighted with his luck.
At the aerodrome he met Ryder. The Ceres was already out upon the tarmac doing engine runs; he went to the machine at once with the second pilot and stood in the cockpit for a few minutes watching the engineers as they made the checks, glancing over the figures pencilled on their test sheets. They checked the fuel in each tank, the hydraulic system; they checked with the radio and radar operators that their apparatus was still serviceable. Then the two pilots left the aircraft, and went back to the office for the navigational study and the preparation of the flight plan.
Dick Ryder asked, “What does tropical kit mean? Where are we going after Ottawa?”
“I don’t know,” said David. “I don’t think they know themselves.”
“What maps ought we to take, then?”
“Better take the lot.”
“We shan’t want South America, surely?” The second pilot paused. “There must be a couple of hundredweight, or more, if we take everything.”
David hesitated. “Take the lot,” he said. “Take all we’ve got, and all the radio and radar stuff as well. It’s no good to us here, and Dewar may want it, if we don’t.”
“Is Sugar at Ottawa now?”
“Should be,” said David. “Unless they’ve sent him off upon some other job.”
They set to work to make the flight plan; then David got on the telephone to area control and gave them details of the flight. He added a few words of his own. “This is Wing Commander Anderson, speaking for the Captain of the Queen’s Flight,” he said. “I don’t know how you go there for publicity, but we should prefer to avoid any mention of this flight till after we have gone. We don’t want a flock of reporters at the aerodrome tonight.”
The control officer said, “There’ll be nothing issued tonight, sir — the P.R.O. goes home at five o’clock. If anyone comes on the phone I’ll stall them off until you’re airborne.”
“Good-oh,” said David. “I’ll speak again when we are on the runway, ready to take off.”
The provisions came at about eight o’clock with the steward and the stewardess, who set to work to load the boxes and the thermos jars, and then to make up beds. Finally, punctually at half past eight, the car arrived with the Prince; a valet travelling with him rode beside the driver. David went forward to meet him, and saluted as he stepped out of the car.
“Quite ready, sir,” he said.
The Prince said, “What’s the weather?”
“Clear and frosty for the other side, sir. We shall be out of this stuff at about twenty-five thousand feet. A probable headwind, fifty to sixty knots at cruising altitude.”
The telephone girl approached, and stood on the tarmac a few yards away. “What’s the E.T.A. Ottawa?” asked the Prince.
“Zero three fifteen,” said the pilot. “About ten fifteen local time. It’s going to take us about six and a half hours.”
The Prince nodded. “Let me know when you get in radio contact with Ottawa direct,” he said. “I shall have some signals to make then.” He turned to the girl. “What does she want?”
The telephone girl came up to David, and said, “The Express-Mail are on the line, sir, asking to speak to you.”
“What have you told them?” asked the Prince.
“Nothing, sir. I said that Wing Commander Anderson was busy for the moment, but I’d ask him to speak.”
The Prince made a grimace. “How long before we get airborne?”
“We’re ready to go now, sir.” David hesitated. “If you would get on board, I’ll go and tell them something — stall them off.”
“All right. Better not say you’re taking me to Ottawa if you can avoid it.”
He turned and went to the machine, and David went to the telephone. A man’s voice said, “Wing Commander, I understand that you are making a flight tonight. Where is that to?”
David said, “Aw, look — I’m a serving officer, you know. You want our public relations off
icer, don’t you?”
“I was hoping that you would be able to tell me.”
“I couldn’t do that. I got a rocket last week for speaking out of turn. You’ll have to get on to the P.R.O.”
“Where is he, then?”
“Get on to Australia House, extension 643,” the pilot invented. “Ask to speak to Mr. Mollison. He’s there now, because I’ve just been speaking to him. He’ll tell you the whole story.” He put down the reciever.
The girl was smiling. “What’ll I say when he comes on again?” she asked.
“Say that I’m in the air, and you can’t answer any questions. You can pack up and go home as soon as we’ve gone.”
He left the office, spoke for a few minutes to the foreman of the ground staff, and then went to the machine. The steward closed the doorway behind him, and he went forward towards the cockpit. The Prince stood at the door of his cabin. “Everything all right?”
“I got rid of him, sir. May we take off now?”
“Go when you like, Captain.”
“Very good, sir.”
David went forward and slipped into his seat, settled himself comfortably, and adjusted his belt. Then he nodded to Ryder, and the engineer started the inboard motors; they moved forward to the runway with Ryder speaking on the radio to area control.
Half an hour later they came out through the cloud into the clear moonlight at twenty-three thousand feet. Ahead of them the night was deep blue and serene. David sat motionless as the machine climbed on her course; he roused presently at a touch upon his shoulder, and it was the Prince.
“Mind if I sit here for a bit, Captain?”
“Of course, sir.” Ryder slipped out of his seat. “Would you like to come here?” asked David.
“No — this’ll be all right.” He slipped into the second pilot’s seat; Ryder withdrew to the navigator’s table and the radio operator began to get a series of bearings and positions for him.
David offered the Prince a cigarette, which was refused. It was quiet in the cockpit of the Ceres; the fine lines and the heavy structure of the windscreen to resist the pressure deadened the rush of air, and the engines were far behind. They sat in the dimmed lights of the instruments watching the blue starry night ahead of them without speaking, and the altimeter needle made circuit after circuit of the dial as they sat. The Prince sat staring ahead into the night, immersed in thought. David sat letting the machine fly herself upon the automatic pilot, relaxed, watching the hands move on the dials in front of him.
Presently he leaned back and spoke to Ryder at the navigator’s table and the second pilot came and stood between the seats with the engineer by him. They levelled off the climb and stood for some minutes adjusting the engine throttles as the speed slowly rose, till finally she was steady in the cruising condition. The Prince watched this going on and asked a question or two; then Ryder and the engineer withdrew, and all was quiet in the cockpit once again.
Presently the Prince said, “Is this your first spell of duty in England, Anderson?”
“That’s right, sir,” he replied. “I’ve never been stationed in England before.”
“You’ve spent all your life in the R.A.A.F., haven’t you?”
“Yes, sir. I entered as a boy apprentice when I was fifteen years old. I got my commission from the ranks when I’d been in six years.”
“And since then you’ve done nothing but fly aeroplanes?”
“That’s right, sir.”
“Lucky devil.”
Presently the Prince spoke again. “If I’d had the chance, I’d have tried to do what you’ve done,” he said quietly. “Go into the R.A.F. and try to make a go of it, and get the rings because you’ve earned them, not because you’re heir to the Throne.” He turned to David. “Some people are born lucky.”
The pilot grinned. “I wasn’t born lucky,” he said. “I was born in a ditch, and my mother was a half caste girl. They must have told you that.”
“They told us that. I still say you were born lucky. You could choose your life, and make it what you wanted it to be.”
“Yes, sir.”
They flew on in silence for a quarter of an hour, staring ahead into the blue, starry night. Presently the Prince slipped from the second pilot’s seat, thanked David, and went back to his cabin.
Three hours after take off they were south of Cape Farewell and about an hour out from Belle Isle at the north end of Newfoundland. Radio from Ottawa began to come in loud and clear; David sent Ryder to tell the Prince and to get his signals for transmission. The stewardess brought him a tray of supper in the cockpit and he sat eating in the pilot’s seat, while the Ceres flew on through the dark night to Canada. She came to take the tray as they passed over Belle Isle, and he handed over the control to Ryder and took a little stroll through the machine. Forty minutes later he began a slow let down when they were somewhere over Anticosti; they passed over Quebec in a clear sky at twenty-five thousand feet and saw the city as a mass of tiny strings of lights upon the velvety black ground. So presently they came to Ottawa and talked upon the radio to control, made one half circuit of the airfield and came in to land upon the lighted runway, six hours and forty minutes after they had left White Waltham.
They taxied Tare to the tarmac and shut off the engines; David left his seat and went aft to the Prince, who turned to thank him for the flight before he left the aircraft. David said, “I’m sorry we’re a little late, sir. We lost time after passing Belle Isle; there’s a cold mass moving down from the north there, that we weren’t told about.”
“That’s all right, Captain. A very pleasant flight.”
David followed him down the steps on to the aerodrome; Frank Cox and Dewar were there, and a car waiting for the Prince and his valet. When that had driven off Frank Cox turned to David. “Good trip?”
“Quite all right. What happens to us now?”
“Wait here for orders for a day or two. I’ve got you accommodation with the R.C.A.F. here.” They set to work to move the aircraft to the parking place and snug it down for the night under a guard of the Royal Canadian Air Force Regiment. An hour later David was going to bed, with Dewar chatting to him in the doorway as he took his shoes off.
The Australian said, “Come in and shut the door a minute.” The Canadian did so. “What’s this all in aid of — do you know?”
“I don’t know a thing. We heard about the T.U.C and White Waltham — that was splashed in all the papers here.” He paused. “Our people hit the roof. It happened the day after we got here, and they’d had pages of photographs of the Queen and the aircraft and me and Johnny. Canada’s own aeroplane of the Queen’s Flight, and the Queen coming in it. You know how it is.” The Australian nodded. “And then, the very next day, the row about our aerodrome in England. My God, does England stink! I kept some of the papers — I’ll show you. I’ve got them in my room.”
“I’ll take them for granted,” David said. “I know how ours go on. One thing I will say for the Pommies; they keep their press under control — more or less.”
“What is the real position?” asked the Canadian. “Are they kicking us out?”
“I haven’t an idea,” said David. “I haven’t heard a thing, except what’s in the papers.” It was quite all right to try and pump Dewar for a bit of information, but he had no intention of being indiscreet himself.
Wing Commander Dewar nodded. “You may have to watch your step with the reporters,” he said. “They were on to me this morning trying to find out if I knew anything about it. Feeling’s running a bit high just now.”
David nodded. “I’ll tell the boys.” He paused. “I wish to God they’d get a better class of politician back home,” he said. “This thing need never have happened at all.”
“They’ll have to get some modern notions into their democracy first,” the Canadian said. “They’re still living in the eighteenth century.”
David put his shoes outside the door for the French Canadian batman, and
put his coat across the chair. “I’m going to turn in,” he said. “To hell with all their politics. Where’s Macmahon working? Out at Gatineau?”
The Canadian shook his head. “He’s got an office in the Rideau Hall annexe, by the Rockcliffe Park,” he said. “That’s the Governor General’s residence. You can get him on the telephone through Rideau Hall.”
“Is he living there?”
Dewar shook his head. “He’s living in the Château Laurier — the two girls are there, too. I think he spends most of his time at Gatineau, though.”
“I expect he does, with all this bloody nonsense going on.”
The Canadian went away, and David went to bed, having secured the information that he wanted. He was tired with the responsibility of the flight and he slept heavily, but he set his small alarm clock for the morning and at half past seven he was speaking on the telephone to Rosemary in the hotel.
“Sorry to ring so early,” he said. “I thought I’d better make it early to catch you. How are you liking Canada?”
She said, “It’s grand. I didn’t see much of Edmonton, but Vancouver was lovely. Dewar made up a party for us and we went over to the Island one day and drove up into the mountains and had a picnic by a lake. It was simply heavenly.”
“I’ve never been to the island,” he said. “I’ve flown over it twice or three times. It looks good.” He paused. “We just got in last night,” he said. “I was wondering if you’d have dinner with me tonight.”
She said, “I’d love to, Nigger. I don’t know whether we’ll be able to. It was a very busy day yesterday — I didn’t get back till after nine. And it’s going to be another busy one today. Are you going to be here tonight, do you think?”
“I haven’t an idea,” he said. “We’re just waiting for orders. I’ll refuel and inspect the aircraft first thing this morning; after that we shall be standing by.”
“I doubt if you’ll be here,” she said. “I think you may be going back to London.” She paused. “I don’t know anything, really,” she said. “I think they’re all at sixes and sevens.”
