02 - Flight of Fancy (16 page)

“You realise what you are
saying?”

“Fully.”

O’Harris sat again.

“The cigars, he… but Flo threw
them away?”

Clara recognised the
desperation, suddenly it would not be so bad for his aunt to be the killer.

“I believe she had no knowledge
of the cigars being poisoned. She threw them away because she felt they had
caused Goddard’s death, but not in the manner it had actually happened. She was
terrified her husband would smoke himself to death; that the cigars would
finish off his weak heart. When he died it seemed that prediction had come true
and she threw away the cigars in a rage. It was a coincidence, I think, nothing
more.”

“You’ve done tests and things?”

“Yes.”

“And you know… for sure?”

“The cigars belonged to your
father, he bequeathed them to your uncle. The murderer had to have a working
knowledge of chemistry, you told me yourself your father did.”

“You tricked me that day we talked
about my father! You had me tell you about his hobbies so you could pin him for
this?” O’Harris’ shock had turned to anger and he looked belligerent.

Tommy watched cautiously as the
man clenched and unclenched his fists.

“I’m sorry I tricked you.”
Clara said gently, “I hardly believed it myself, but you wanted the truth.”

O’Harris suddenly went still.
He was defeated, he had the truth and it burned worse than the terrible dread
of thinking his aunt was a killer.

“You weren’t supposed to find
out something like this.” He said miserably, “Not like this, not like this.”

“I’m sorry.” Clara could think
of nothing else to say. She looked to Tommy for assistance but he had no wise
words to offer either.

“Perhaps it was an accident at
the cigar manufacturers. Perhaps they somehow contaminated the tobacco?”
O’Harris said desperately.

Clara made no reply, it was
blatantly apparent that was not the case.

“My father was a good man.”
O’Harris insisted.

“It would have been the cancer
old man.” Tommy offered a shred of consolation, “It would have marred his
thinking.”

“I told you there was a streak
of ill-health in my family.” O’Harris almost accused Clara, “I told you,
perhaps insanity too.”

“Perhaps.” Clara felt sick to
her stomach. This was the man who was to get in a plane tomorrow with her
brother and fly across an ocean. In the state he was in how could she trust him
with Tommy’s life? She wished she had said she didn’t know, why had she been so
determined to tell the truth?

O’Harris was up again and
pacing.

“Who hid the body then, huh?”

“I don’t know as yet, but
whoever it was, is most likely the same person who keeps writing threatening
notes to me.”

O’Harris paced, but he was
slowing.

“You’ve had more?”

“One more.” Clara refrained
from pulling the last from her handbag.

“I don’t like that Clara.”
O’Harris’ tone softened, “Some scoundrel sending you dirty notes and you’ll be
home alone tonight!”

“Not alone, I have Annie.”
Clara shrugged, “Besides, I am not intimidated.”

O’Harris leaned on the back of
his chair, scraping his fingers through his hair.

“I don’t like it Clara.” He
repeated, “You could stay here?”

“It would not be proper,
besides if I suspected my home might be attacked I would not leave Annie there
alone.”

“Don’t waste your breath old
boy.” Tommy interjected, “We’ve had this conversation already.”

O’Harris looked at Clara with a
strange misery in his eyes. It gave her goose-pimples on her arms.

“All right, I appreciate you
won’t stay. But you will let me escort you home, won’t you?”

Clara was about to refuse, she
resented people constantly thinking because she was a woman she was in
permanent danger of attack, but the sadness in O’Harris’ eyes softened her.

“Yes, you can escort me.”

“Good, I’ll show Tommy his room
and then I’ll make sure you get home safely.”

Clara gave a faint nod, she
didn’t want to look at Tommy as he left the room but her brother wasn’t going
to let her get away that easily. He thumped her hard on her upper arm, like
when they were kids, and she automatically scowled at him.

“See you later, old girl. Have
no fear.” He winked at her, but no comfort he could offer would take the
nagging feeling from her stomach that O’Harris and Tommy would get in that
plane tomorrow and never return.

Half an hour later she was
walking along the country lanes leading from O’Harris’ house back to Brighton.

“You’re really quite cross with
me for asking Tommy to fly.” O’Harris was plucking white blossoms off trees
that lined the road.

“I can hardly be cross with
you, it was Tommy’s choice.”

“But you are.”

Clara made no reply.

“The White Buzzard is a
creature of beauty Clara, I’ve never flown a plane like her. She feels her way
through the air, she is a natural flier. When I am in her I feel as though she
is reacting to me before I even move a finger.”

“Forgive me for being less
enthusiastic.”

“For four years I flew over the
trenches in France and Belgium, Clara. Four long years and I never came a
cropper. I was the pride of the Royal Flying Corps for it. Why should some
piffling flight across the ocean be any different?”

“You don’t see danger,
O’Harris.” Clara shook her head, “That scares me.”

“You are not so good at seeing
danger yourself. What of those letters?”

“Meaningless and I will find
the writer soon enough.”

“See what I mean? Other people
would be worried you… you take it as a normal part of life. Perhaps that is
where we are not so different. I am not afraid of flying.”

“What about dying?”

“I’m not ready to pop my clogs
yet. The White Buzzard will see me to America and back, don’t you worry, and
Tommy will be as safe as houses. I would not risk the wrath of his sister for
anything.”

He presented her with the small
bundle of blossoms.

“Poor haul, but they are
pretty.” He said.

Clara took them and, despite
herself, smiled.

“One day I will get you to fly
with me Clara.”

She laughed.

“Oh yes, and pigs might fly
too! O’Harris the sky is not meant for the likes of me!”

“Why? Do you think you might
find fault with it while you were up there?”

“I think it might find fault
with me and cast me back down to earth!”

“Those are the words of a
person who has never flown. When I come back, in a week’s time, I shall take
you for a flight.”

“No you won’t!”

“Yes, I will, because I will
make a promise now to you if you will make a promise too. If you promise with
all your heart to let me take you for a flight when I return then I promise you
that no power on this earth will prevent me from returning.” He was smiling,
but there was a spark in his eyes too.

Clara found her breath
catching. It was only a promise but if she made it, just maybe, fate, God, luck
or chance, would hear her and ensure the safe return of O’Harris and her
brother. A trip in a plane was such a minor thing to agree to in comparison to
their safe return.

“All right, I shall promise.”

“With all your heart?”

“Yes, with all my heart.”

“Then I promise to return, that
no power in this life will prevent me. I promise that with all my heart.”
O’Harris slapped his palm to his chest and grinned broadly.

And she believed him. She
really did.

Saturday was cold with a faint
drizzle in the air. Clara stood on the pier alone and gazed at the white
aeroplane down on the sand. A handful of people milled about it but the pilots
were not with them, not yet. She glanced at her watch and realised there were
many minutes to go before the plane soared into the skies. She couldn’t bear
the wait, she had been up half the night thinking of this moment. She walked
the length of the pier and then back, more people gathering at the railings all
the time. Finally she moved to the empty far side and stared out into the sea.

“You here to see the magic
happen too?”

She glanced up at Oliver Bankes
and smiled.

“Hello Oliver.”

“Hello Clara.”

“You haven’t gassed yourself then.”

“Not yet.” Bankes grinned
broadly, “But I am inching closer to the perfect mix. I developed a plate of a
row of houses and the shadows were so close to perfect it made me want to cry.
Oh…”

Oliver blushed at what he had
just said.

“I understand.” Clara assured
him, “We all have our passions and men do seem to become very absorbed in
theirs.”

“Ah, you refer to O’Harris.”
Oliver nodded to the other side of the pier, “Are you not watching?”

“I’m not sure I can.”

“I have the camera set up, well
actually I have two.” Oliver pointed out two cameras set side by side, “The
plan is I take a shot with camera one just before the plane is in my sights and
then take a shot with camera two. I’m hoping that way I might get a decent
photograph. I read about the idea in a photography journal.”

“It is certainly inventive.”
Clara agreed, she turned around and perched on the railing instead of leaning
on it.

“These images could be worth a
fortune if he breaks the record, you know.” Oliver was suddenly all serious, “I
don’t mean to sound coarse, but these days any extra money I can earn is a
bonus. People don’t seem to be thinking about portraits so much at the moment.”

Oliver looked forlorn.

“Have you ever thought of
expanding your line of work?” Clara asked.

“How? I already freelance for
the police.”

“What about the
Brighton
Gazette
?”

Oliver mused on the matter.

“They rarely use photographs.”

“I know,” Admitted Clara, “But
is that because they don’t want to or because they don’t have any to print? Go
to the editor and convince him his sales would increase if he started printing
photos of events around the town.”

“People do like looking at
themselves.”

“They would buy the paper just
for the chance of spotting themselves.”

“And I could suggest he offer
prints of the photos for interested parties, I could take a percentage for
producing them.”

“Sounds like a fine idea.”

Oliver beamed at her again.

“You are a grand gal, Clara.
Will you let me buy you a cup of tea after they take-off?”

“Maybe.” Clara was
half-hearted, “Tommy’s in that plane.”

“He’ll be all right.”

Clara suddenly looked so grim
Oliver wished he could catch her in his arms and comfort her.

“This feels like when he went
off to war.” Clara’s voice trembled slightly, “Only mother and father were
alive then.”

“I’m sure he will be fine.”
Oliver took her hand gently.

Clara almost cried, his
kindness almost tipped her emotions over the brink.

“You better go take your
photographs.” She said, pushing him away before the tears fell.

Oliver looked forlorn and
reluctantly left to tend to his cameras. Clara sat alone on the railing,
surreptitiously dabbing at her eyes and listening for the first roar of the
plane’s engines. People were talking excitedly, there were murmurings in the
crowd and Clara picked up from odd phrases she overheard that the pilots had
appeared. She held her breath. Down on the beach an engine thrummed into life,
sand flew up into the crowd and Oliver cursed as it dusted his camera lens. The
next instant the plane was moving, the noise changed almost imperceptibly, but
the crowd began to cheer and Clara knew they were starting their take off.

Moments passed, sand blew over
again. The engine became a constant sound and then there was a strange whoosh
and the noise fell a decibel. Clara glanced up instinctively at the same moment
as Oliver took shots with his camera. A brilliant white plane soared up into
the air, the sun dazzling off its skin. In the pilot seat, just visible, a man
waved. Quietly Clara waved back and then it was flying out of sight, a stark
white bird against the grey sky. It vanished within moments. Clara started to
shake.

She felt Oliver’s hand on hers.

“Shall I walk you home?”

She glanced up at his concerned
face and made an effort to control herself. There would be no tears out here in
public, she would mask all the terror she felt inside. But somehow she couldn’t
quite let go of his hand.

“Yes.” She said softly, “Walk
me home.”

Clara expected to enter a
silent house, but when she opened the door with Oliver behind her she heard
voices and even a peel of female laughter coming from the kitchen. It seemed
Annie had company and Clara felt a hot pang of anger that she could be so merry
when the man she supposedly loved had just flown off. She marched down the
hallway, forgetting Oliver who stood in the doorway wondering if he was invited
in or not.

She stormed into the kitchen
and came to a halt.

“My word old girl, you have a
face like a thundercloud!”

Tommy grinned at her from the
far side of the kitchen table.

“Thomas Eugene Fitzgerald!” Clara
growled.

“Oh dear, I’m for it now
chaps.” Tommy glanced at Colonel Brandt who was with him at the table and was
trying to appear as small as possible.

“Explain yourself!” Clara
demanded.

To her right she noticed Annie
who was trying to look serious, while masking her total elation that Tommy was
safely sitting in the kitchen and not in a plane above Brighton.

“Calm down, dear sister. This
is hardly the reaction I was expecting, aren’t you pleased to see me?”

“I sat on that pier…” Clara was
so furious it hurt to talk, “I thought… I nearly cried in public!”

“That is bad.” Tommy nodded
grimly, “I understand why you are so cross. Clara Fitzgerald does not show her
emotions in public.”

Then he couldn’t help but
laugh.

“Isn’t this terribly horrid of
me? Do you want the whole truth?”

“Yes, I do.” Clara felt her
temper receding.

“Ahem, before that, might we
ask the nice young man standing at the front door to join us?” Interrupted
Annie.

Clara glanced out the kitchen
door and saw the distant figure of Oliver still loitering in the doorway. She
felt a pang of annoyance that he couldn’t be dynamic enough to take the
initiative and come in. Captain O’Harris wouldn’t have worried. She felt guilty
as soon as the thought crossed her mind, it was because O’Harris didn’t worry that
he was quite happy to risk all and leave his friends behind to fly a plane.

“Oliver, do come in. It appears
I have been the subject of a rather unpleasant joke.” She called.

“Don’t be mean Clara.” Tommy
laughed, “It wasn’t so unpleasant.”

Oliver joined them in the
kitchen, lumping his cameras all the way.

“I say, what have you been up
to?” Brandt glimpsed the cameras with enthusiasm.

“Taking shots of Captain O’Harris
in the White Buzzard. Hang on, if Tommy is here who was the other man in the plane?”

“Exactly what I would like to
know.” Clara agreed, “Wait, no first I want to know exactly why you are sat at
this table Thomas.”

Tommy rolled his eyes.

“I had a change of heart.” He
suddenly looked abashed, “I suppose, what you said stuck with me. How what I
might be leaving behind was worth more than the thrill of adventure.”

His eyes wandered to Annie.

“Perhaps I lost my nerve too.”

“Never that Tommy.” Annie said
softly.

“Well, I changed my mind and
that is all that matters.”

“When did you change your
mind?” Clara demanded.

Tommy gave Brandt a worried
glance.

“It wasn’t as though it was a
firm decision or anything…”

“When?”

“Day after that discussion with
you.” Tommy could no longer look directly into Clara’s blazing eyes,

“I told O’Harris I wasn’t up to
it. Said I didn’t have confidence in my health or some-such. He didn’t entirely
believe me, I dare say, but he accepted and said he had a man who might be able
to take my place. Next I heard it was all arranged, some chap named Digby was
going with him.”

“And you chose not to tell me?”
Clara said.

“Welllll…” Tommy looked around
for help, but everything was avoiding his gaze, “You see, I felt a bit, well, a
bit peeved with everyone. I don’t know. I felt as though after all the fuss I
had made, if I then went and said I had changed my mind it would be a bit like
you had won.”

He stared at his sister.

“It would hardly have been like
that.” Clara responded, her anger was abating now even if she remained annoyed.

“It still would have felt like
it. So I persuaded O’Harris to keep my secret, he swore he would not mention a
word that I had dropped out.”

“And nor did he. Even yesterday
he was acting as though you were flying with him.” Clara went slightly cold at
how easily O’Harris had lied to her and she had not even realised. That was an
unpleasant realisation for a detective.

“Colonel Brandt was in on it.
He brought me home today, and I told Annie yesterday. She acted very much like
you did at first.”

“Now I just feel relieved.”
Annie hastily added.

“And that’s it really. Here I
am safe and sound.” Tommy smiled at his sister, “Surely that is good?”

“You could have told me.” Clara
said, thinking of the sleepless nights she had endured.

“Why don’t we all sit down and
have a late breakfast.” Annie, forever the peace-maker, intervened, “What
matters most is that Tommy isn’t up in that frightful plane.”

“Did it take off all right?”
Brandt asked now the conversation seemed to have turned a corner.

“Swooped up just like a bird.”
Oliver assured him, “I can’t wait to develop these plates and see what shots I
got. If they are good I am going to sell them to the papers.”

The others started to chatter
companionably, but Clara found herself tongue-tied. She sat at the end of the
table and caught Tommy’s eye. He gave her a strange smile. She knew he
understood. But for now there was a breakfast of kippers and eggs and a warm
pot of tea, and Brandt was confessing a fascination with photography to Oliver
and being invited to come over to the studio while he developed the plates. All
seemed harmonious again. Except for the flutter inside Clara’s stomach.