Inherit the Skies (64 page)

‘So which way do you intend to vote, man?' Leo blustered.

‘Give me a chance to make up my mind. I want to work out a few permutations …' His pencil was busy, jotting sums on the edge of his agenda and referring back to the financial statement he had presented earlier.

‘Well I think it is a splendid idea,' Max put in unexpectedly. ‘I shall modify my designs with a good deal more confidence if I know where the finished aircraft are to find a home. Yes, yes … and little Sarah too; the challenge will be good for her. She needs her work, just as I do …' His eyes clouded and his voice tailed away.

‘Adam?' Gilbert prompted.

‘I agree. An excellent idea. As Joe has pointed out, it's not without its risks but I believe we should go all out for a place in the aircraft industry of the future.'

‘James?' But James's blue eyes were dreamy. He was probably not listening at all but composing a poem, Gilbert thought irritably. Really there was little point in forcing him to sit on the board. Gilbert had hoped that after his experiences as a conscientious objector, involvement with the company might give him a new interest but it had been a vain hope. James would vote with Alicia as he always did, following her blindly. And Gilbert knew from Alicia's expression that she was going to oppose him.

A faint smile lifted his lips. He was proud of Alicia. A woman with a mind of her own. Why had his sons not inherited those same attributes?

In spite of the partly pulled blind the sun was beaming in, making the room very hot and stuffy. Gilbert decided there was no point in delaying the issue. Every mind was clearly made up – with the possible exception of Joe Isaacs.

‘Do we want to discuss this matter further or shall we take a vote?' he asked.

‘Vote and have done with it,' Leo looked confident. It was not the first time he had opposed Gilbert's will – but if he carried the day it would be the first time he had won. Usually Alicia was at daggers drawn with him …

‘Those in favour of the new company?' Gilbert asked.

Two hands went up immediately – Adam and Max. Predictable. Gilbert waited, looking at Joe. Slowly, a little uncertainly, the Jew began to raise his hand, then, making up his mind, extended it fully. Three for.

‘And against?'

Leo and Alicia raised their hands. This time it was James who at first hesitated then followed suit. Three against. Gilbert knew a moment's triumph.

‘Then I have the casting vote,' he said. ‘I think you all know which way I shall use it – I would scarcely have raised the issue had I not been in favour. So.' He smiled, a thin smile meant to forestall any suggestion that he might be crowing. ‘ If our good lady secretary would record the vote – four to three in favour of the proposed expansion – perhaps someone would like to ask Sarah to step inside. Adam – you are nearest the door. She will be anxious to know of our decision and I think she may have a few words to say to you regarding her ideas for the airline. Adam?'

He glanced around looking at the faces of the vanquished. Alicia looked furious still, her face very white in spite of the heat of the room, violet eyes flashing. No matter. A little healthy rivalry would be good for the new company. With Alicia breathing down her neck Sarah was more likely to pull out all stops to succeed. James?

James could hardly be counted as opposition. He would float with the tide. But Leo …

Leo pushed back his chair and stood up.

‘It seems I have been outvoted,' he said. ‘ But I should warn you, Gilbert, I shall fight you all the way on this. I think we are making a big mistake – and I would like my opinion recorded. Furthermore, if the situation changes at any time I shall oppose.'

‘Oh don't be such a bore, Leo,' Alicia said, making it clear that the fact they had voted together on this did not mean they were allies. ‘I dare say one day you will be Chairman of this company. When you are I suppose you will have your way. Until then at least have the courtesy to sit down and listen to what Sarah has to say.'

To her surprise he did as she said. But a curious light had come into his eyes. And as Sarah addressed the meeting, putting forward ideas for the new airline, he seemed not to be listening at all.

The trainer plane banked steeply, wing tips angled so that the patchwork of fields below seemed to turn a slow graceful cartwheel, and straightened again. A small air pocket lifted and dropped it like a boat riding a gentle swell, and the breeze on Sarah's face was soft and cool. She flexed her hands on the controls, enjoying herself. She had completed eight hours' tuition now and Adam had said that he thought she was almost ready to go solo. ‘Just as long as you remember not to be so heavy handed,' he had cautioned her. ‘You have a tendency to go at it like a bull at a gate. The more you try to rush things the longer it will take, you know.'

Sarah had been a little annoyed by the implied criticism. Patience, which had never been her strong suit, was required for everything – and not only in the case of the flying lessons for which she had waited so long, but also for the lengthy struggle to get her embryo airline off the ground, literally as well as figuratively speaking! It had a name, it was true – Condor Airways – and a neat little emblem in the shape of a soaring wing. It had even been able to take on the delivery of some items of freight, using one of the existing aeroplanes, and Sarah had enthusiastically arranged the details of a contract to deliver Cornish cream and freshly caught sea fish for a high-class London restaurant, and another, for the summer months only, to fly in fresh fruit, vegetables and cut flowers. But the launch of the service for fare paying passengers seemed as far away as ever.

In moments when impatience was not making her fume and fret Sarah knew that there was no way the venture could be hurried if it was to be a success. For years now the factory had been geared to building fighter and bomber aeroplanes – there was nothing even remotely suitable for the transportation of ladies and gentlemen of means. The only answer was to produce something purpose built – large enough to seat perhaps ten passengers in reasonable comfort.

The challenge this presented had delighted Max. He had been feeling aimless and curiously bereft since the declaration of peace and he threw himself enthusiastically into plans for the new ‘airliner', locking himself up in his drawing office to ensure he would not be interrupted and remaining there for days on end. Now at last the plans for the prototype were complete and the factory was working around the clock to produce it – an impressive conversion of one of Max's most successful bomber designs, with a spacious wooden fuselage to provide a good-sized passenger cabin and a neat enclosed flight deck.

‘Personally I don't think that will work,' Adam had said doubtfully. ‘Being enclosed is bound to limit the pilot's vision – and besides, I should hate not to be able to hear the wind in the wires.'

At that time Sarah had thought the sentiment oddly romantic and out of character coming from the down to earth Adam but now as she flew the little trainer high above the rolling countryside she found herself remembering his words and knowing exactly what he meant. There was something almost ethereal about the sound, the high pitched constant hum which seemed to surround her, coming from nowhere, going nowhere, just a haunting vibration that might have been the voice of the sky itself. Oh yes, it would be sad not to be able to hear the wind in the wires. How could anyone fly without it? Knowing Max she could imagine the arguments he would put forward for an enclosed cockpit – comfort, protection from the elements, progress – but then he had never known the pleasure of actually flying one of the aircraft he designed.

Sad for Max, she let her eye wander over the expanse of countryside beneath her wing tips, the fields spread out in their patchwork of ‘the forty shades of green', a long undulating hillside, a valley golden with corn. The hedges looked like lines drawn with a thick pencil, a river glinted briefly before disappearing into a thick overhang of protective branches. And above it all, around her, the sky deep blue for late afternoon and the sun ready to dip behind the distant hills. Peace, perfect peace …

Quite suddenly Sarah caught a faint whiff of burning. She wrinkled her nose and sniffed, wondering if Adam had noticed it and if it was worth drawing his attention to it. Then, to her dismay, the engine began to race. Automatically she pulled back on the throttle. Nothing. Disbelieving, she pulled back again. Still nothing. The whine of the wind in the wires was very loud indeed and she realised it was because the engine had gone silent. She experienced a moment's pure panic, then Adam called over his shoulder: ‘ I've got it.'

The ground raced up at them, the hedges taking definite shape, the thick reeds along the bank of the river visible to the naked eye. Immediately in front of them was a field of corn, tall, golden, waving gently in the teasing breeze. The wheels of the training plane seemed to skim it and Sarah braced herself. Then with a thud and a jolt they were down, the wheels locking, the nose burying itself in the corn. For a moment Sarah sat without moving, watching Adam climb down from the front cockpit and circle the plane, assessing the damage. Then she leaped up, eyes wide, close to tears.

‘What did I do?'

He ignored her, bending down to examine the undercarriage.

‘Damnation! I haven't done that much good! What a mess!'

‘Adam – what did I do?' she demanded shrilly.

He looked up, surprised by her violent wail of self-condemnation.

‘You? Nothing.'

‘Then what …'

‘We lost a propeller – God knows why. Come on, you might as well get down from there. I'm afraid that machine won't be going anywhere in a hurry.' He helped her out of the cockpit. Her knees almost gave way and he steadied her. ‘All right?'

‘Yes.' She nodded. ‘What do you mean, Adam, we lost a propeller?'

‘Just that. Have a look.' Still holding her hand he led her around to the front of the plane. ‘See – it's simply flown off. In one piece, as luck would have it, that's why we scarcely felt it go. If only one blade had sheared off it wouldn't have been so pleasant.'

‘Why not?' she asked though she was not convinced she wanted to hear the answer.

‘Because it would have thrown everything so out of balance the whole engine would very likely have been ripped out. We were lucky. And lucky not to have had much height at the time. Though I don't think the farmer is going to be very pleased with us when he sees what we have done to his cornfield.

‘Never mind his cornfield – it's us I am more concerned about. Corn will grow again but … we could have been killed, Adam. How did it happen? How could we just lose a propeller like that?'

‘I don't know. I dare say we'll have to wait for the mechanics to examine it before we find out. Let's hope the propeller turns up so that we can take a good look at that too.'

‘You think it will?'

‘An even chance. I know more or less exactly where it fell off. Well, I suppose there's not a great deal we can do here – except wait for that irate farmer to find us and I can't say that's an idea that appeals to me much. Do you feel up to a long walk?'

She did not. Her legs still felt shaky and cold waves of horror were washing over her as she thought of the narrowness of their escape. But she was too proud to say so.

‘I haven't much choice, have I?'

‘Nope.' His nonchalance was almost annoying in the light of what had happened. She was tempted to snap at him to ask how he could take it so lightly. Then he said: ‘If this was France and it was still war time we'd have to set fire to the plane before leaving it,' and she understood.

After what he had been through in the war this was nothing. An annoying hiccup, no more. Quite apart from the dangers of combat there must have been dozens of occasions when Adam had had to make a crash landing on unsuitable terrain or with a damaged aeroplane. This might be her first brush with disaster, her first ‘heavy' landing – to Adam it was almost commonplace. No wonder he was so blasé. It was either that – or become a jangling bag of nerves as so many of the lads had become, their courage spent in the relentless day-by-day conflict over the fields of France, old men though still barely out of their teens. This had not happened to Adam, in spite of having seen out the war as a prisoner of the Germans. Older, tougher, he had been one of the survivors. If he was now hardened as a result she should not blame him.

‘Well, what are we waiting for?' she asked lightly and began to plough her way through the waist high corn.

In his office at Morse Bailey International Gilbert was sharing an early evening snifter with Eric Gardiner whilst Eric was waiting for his wife to return from her flying lesson.

Though no-one could ever recall having seen Gilbert the worse for drink there was no doubt that his liking for it had increased over the years – what had once been a relaxation enjoyed at home before dinner had tended to creep earlier into the day and Gilbert needed little excuse to raid the well-stocked cabinet in his office. With the stress of the business weighing heavily upon him he
earned
it, Gilbert thought when assailed by pangs of guilt. The pressures which the war years had begun had not been eased by the ceasefire – if anything they were worse, for the financial problems of an industry suddenly plunged from full production to an almost total standstill could not be taken lightly. And all at a time when he felt drained both mentally and physically. Small wonder he looked forward to a drink as a lifeline – and it was much more enjoyable taken at the office than at home where Blanche made no bones about her disapproval.

Now he sipped his brandy, enjoying the way tiredness seemed to float away on the trickle of warmth, and reflecting on the latest milestone in the story of aviation.