The Challenging Heights (21 page)

She gave him a sidelong glance then drew a deep breath. ‘We’re flying to Hawaii,’ she said.

‘Who are?’

‘Casey Harmer and me.’ She lifted her hands. ‘Now don’t start yelling. There’s nothing between us. It’s purely business. He means nothing to me.’

Dicken frowned. ‘He does to me. Especially if he thinks he can haul my wife across two thousand five hundred miles of ocean in one of his machines which, if it’s anything like that Racer of his, won’t manage one thousand.’

Her brows came down angrily. ‘What’s wrong with the Racer?’ she demanded.

‘Everything’s wrong.’

He noticed she didn’t dispute the fact and suspected she’d guessed it herself.

‘And who’s doing the navigating?’ he asked.

‘We’re doing it between us.’

‘You couldn’t navigate round a hill, Zoë.’

‘I’ve studied,’ she snapped.

‘A lot?’

‘Some.’

‘Enough?’

She seemed doubtful. ‘I can study some more.’

Dicken leaned forward. ‘It’s all right businessmen looking for publicity with these air races they promote,’ he said. ‘Because that’s chiefly what they’re after. But, Zo, they aren’t thinking of aviation or they wouldn’t think up such half-baked stunts. You’re not flying for
you
, you’re flying for
them.
And you’re not flying the Atlantic with the wind behind you towards a coastline that’s thousands of miles long. You’re heading south-west into the weather towards an island that’s about thirty-five miles wide. Over the sea every bit of the way. Without railway stations en route so you can check your position.’

‘I’ve progressed beyond that, dammit!’ she snapped.

‘It’s to be hoped so. I’ve done some checking. There were thirteen entrants for the Dole Derby last year. Several crews were killed before they started and they ended up with eight. Of those only four of them got away and of those four only two made it. The others were lost. The only people who benefit from that sort of flying are the organisers.’

She eyed him angrily. ‘We’ve come a long way since then. A whole year. A year’s a long time in aviation.’

There was an awkward silence that lasted until the arrival of steaks the size of bread boards.

‘Are you happy about it?’ Dicken asked.

‘Sure I’m happy.’ Zoë’s eyes were bright but he noticed that she gave him a lost lonely look.

‘What’s in it for you?’

‘It puts me in with Earhart, Elder and those people.’

‘Is that what you want?’

‘Yes.’

He studied her for a moment then went on quietly. ‘Other women fliers have given it up and settled down to marriage.’

She shrugged, the lost lonely look reappearing momentarily. ‘I guess maybe I will, too, Dicky Boy. When I’ve pulled this off.’

He found it hard to believe. Flying had become a drug for her, a habit that couldn’t be put aside.

‘And what about Harmer?’ he asked. ‘What’s in it for him?’

The lost look disappeared in the old frank, forthright grin. ‘Money,’ she said.

Dicken didn’t reply. He’d flown because he enjoyed flying and never purely for reward, and had always accepted the dangers that went with it as part of his profession; and it had never occurred to him – not once since he’d first taken to the air in 1914 – that, as he struggled with the ancient machines it had been his bad luck to fly, he was furthering the progress of aviation. He’d never been able to think of any other way of life and had never considered himself as a martyr and certainly never as brave. But he was a professional and had always believed in taking every possible precaution against disaster.

As they finished their meal, he looked up at Zoë. ‘What now?’ he asked.

‘Back to my apartment,’ she said. ‘I thought you might like to take me to bed and it’s got more mod cons than this place.’

He smiled at her, puzzled at her attitude. She seemed to wish to be his wife, but never to have the responsibilities of a wife.

Her apartment was large and well-furnished and she offered him a drink.

‘Bootleg as usual,’ she said. ‘Everybody gets blotto on bootleg over here.’

They sat listening to the radio for a while, Zoë snuggled against Dicken on the settee. He found himself wondering how often Harmer had been in his place but he didn’t ask questions, accepting the strange fact that he had a wife who wasn’t a wife.

‘What happens after staff college?’ Zoë asked.

‘Posting somewhere. Perhaps England. More than likely abroad. Coming?’

‘No.’ She didn’t hesitate. ‘Air Force wives are bad enough in England. I bet they’re twice as bad abroad.’

‘They’re with their husbands.’

‘Do you resent me not being with you, Dicky Boy?’

‘I’ve grown used to it.’

They made love pleasurably but without any great passion and Dicken found himself wondering if the coolness came from the fact that Harmer had also been in her bed.

‘Don’t fly to Hawaii,’ he said abruptly.

What made him say it he didn’t know. But he’d known Zoë since she was little more than a child and had met her first when he’d fallen in love with her sister. Their marriage seemed to be one largely of convenience, because they had spent remarkably little of it together, but there was still something that tied them together, some strange invisible thread that bound them.

She had turned her head on the pillow to stare at him. ‘Why do you say that?’

‘Because, unless Harmer’s a better navigator than you are, you’ll never make it.’

Again she seemed doubtful. ‘He’s studied it.’

‘More than you, I hope. Listen, Zo, I don’t want to stop you if you’re set on it, but let me check you again. Will you do that?’

She continued to stare at him, then she nodded. ‘Okay,’ she said abruptly. ‘You can check me out.’

The following day, they hired one of the elderly Jennies from the owner of the display. It was obvious at once that Zoë’s navigation was elementary and, as they climbed from the cockpit, she gave Dicken an anxious look.

‘How did I do?’

‘Zo, you’ll be committing suicide if you try for Hawaii.’

Tears came to her eyes. ‘I’d got my goddam heart set on it,’ she said.

‘Then you’d better get it unset. As my wife, I could probably take out an injunction to stop you.’

‘You’d never dare!’

‘No,’ he admitted. ‘Perhaps I wouldn’t. But for God’s sake, take a month’s crash course. If at the end of it your instructor thinks you can do it, then go ahead. You can learn a lot in a month.’

He had a feeling that above all else she would have liked to have settled down to matrimony and all it meant, that she felt that life was passing her by, but, having built up the image of a liberated woman aviatrix, she had to live up to it. Nothing in the world would change her mind, he knew, certainly not argument; yet he also knew that because of the past he could never simply abandon her. He needed her in a curious way and was certain she needed him.

She was studying him again, her expression lost once more, then she snapped abruptly to life.

‘Okay,’ she said. ‘I’ll do that. There are plenty of boys around the hangars who’d be glad of a few bucks to give me some instruction.’

‘Listen,’ Dicken begged. ‘Don’t go to “one of the boys round the hangars”. Go to an expert. Pay him what he’s worth. If you learn something you can use it on other flights.’

That night they had dinner together again but she disappeared beforehand to telephone Harmer. She was away a long time and Dicken, putting back gin cocktails that tasted vaguely of aircraft dope, wondered what she was having to say to persuade the Canadian. If Harmer had any brains, he would see the sense in the argument. The Pacific was wide and Hawaii was small and good navigation was going to be important.

When she came back, her expression was a strange mixture of relief and anxiety. ‘It’s all off, anyway,’ she said.

‘Why?’

‘The port engine keeps blowing cylinders and he can’t decide why. We’ll never make it now.’

‘For which,’ Dicken said dryly, ‘I’m very grateful.’

She gave him an angry look then cheered up again. ‘But it doesn’t matter,’ she said. ‘The Japanese are offering 25,000 dollars for the first machine to fly from the North American continent to Tokyo. They reckon they’re isolated out there. They’ve got no civilian flying and they want to encourage it. Casey says he’ll change the engines and we’ll fly to Vancouver and have a go at that instead.’

‘At least,’ Dicken commented, ‘if you miss Japan, you ought to hit China. It’s bigger than Hawaii.’

She hugged him. ‘Come upstairs,’ she whispered.

Their love-making this time was more tender.

‘I love you, Dicky Boy,’ she murmured.

‘You’ve got a bloody funny way of showing it,’ Dicken said.

She was silent for a moment, then she moved her shoulders. ‘I can’t help being the way I am,’ she said. ‘I’ll never change. You don’t as you grow older. Just get more so. But I do love you.’

‘It’s a funny kind of love.’

She was silent for a moment then she answered in a small voice. ‘I know,’ she said. ‘But it’s all I’ve got.’

‘In spite of Casey Harmer?’

‘Yes. In spite.’

‘He’s been your lover, hasn’t he?’

She ignored the question and went off at a tangent. ‘Will you come and meet Casey?’ she went on. ‘He says he’d like to meet you and I want you to look at the machine he’s built. I want you to approve. We’ll go as soon as I can tie things up here.’

They flew to St Louis in the Racer and Zoë allowed Dicken to do the piloting, while she practised her navigation. The aeroplane was surprisingly stiff on the controls for such a small machine and responded badly to the movements of Dicken’s hands and feet on the control column and the rudder bar. As he flew he watched the stubby wings quivering on either side of him in the bumpy air as they crossed the Appalachians. The machine felt as wrong as it looked, off-balance, awkward and stubborn, and he found himself hoping that the new machine Harmer had built was an improvement. His criticism bothered him but at least he knew he was working from a practical knowledge of aeroplanes, an experience of hard flying that was almost as long as that of anybody alive. He had flown all kinds of machines in all kinds of conditions and wasn’t one of those people who criticised aviation from the depth of a club’s armchair.

Landing at the city airport, they found a large roadster parked behind the hangars. Zoë drove it with her usual dash, and Dicken reflected that she was – and probably always had been – far better with a car than with an aeroplane.

‘It’s Casey’s,’ she said, almost apologetically, as though probing his thoughts and emotions for a safe resting place.

Outside the city there was a second smaller airfield made from a group of meadows with the hedges removed. There was a line of sheds where small aircraft were being wheeled out and at the other side an old wooden hangar stood on its own. As Zoë stopped the roadster outside it, Harmer appeared and Dicken saw at once why he appealed to Zoë. He was taller and better-looking than Dicken, but he had the hard-headed look of a businessman and his features were spoiled by a calculating expression. ‘Casey,’ Zoë said, ‘this is my husband.’

Harmer thrust out his hand. ‘I’ve heard of you,’ he said.

‘Dicken’s come to see the machine, Casey,’ Zoë said. She seemed nervous, as if she expected Harmer to resent Dicken, and Dicken to be critical of the aeroplane for purely personal reasons.

Harmer gestured at the wooden hangar. Inside was a huge red and yellow biplane, studied by a group of interested spectators and small boys. It had an open cockpit and, though, with its two huge motors, it had a look of power, it had the same wrong look the Racer had, too heavy, too awkward, and with insufficient thought given to keeping down its weight.

Inside the cabin behind the pilot’s cockpit there was even a touch of luxury in a colour scheme of red and gold, and space for two wicker chairs.

‘She’ll be carrying passengers after we come back from Japan,’ Harmer said, pushing the hangar doors back to give them more light. ‘People want to fly these days and they’ll want to fly in
this
machine.’

‘Wouldn’t it have been wiser to strip her down to the limit?’ Dicken asked. ‘Save weight. She’s a long way to go.’

‘She’ll do it,’ Zoë said. ‘We want to
prove
she’ll do it, so people will want to use her. She’s called the
Baltimore Bantam.
’

‘Bit big for a bantam, isn’t she?’

Harmer shrugged. ‘Just a name, I guess.’

‘She’s going to do it to Tokyo easily,’ Zoë said, her enthusiasm beginning to show again. ‘The hell with the Dufee Derby. We can get just as much money flying to Japan when the new engines are properly installed. What was wrong with the others, Casey?’

‘They didn’t work,’ Harmer said laconically.

They walked slowly round the machine, Dicken touching the elevators and rudder thoughtfully, studying the biplane tail and the four huge wheels. The machine reminded him of the Vickers Vernons in Iraq. Bright-eyed, Zoë waited for his opinion.

‘She’s superbly instrumented,’ she said. ‘She’s carrying safety equipment, too – two inflatable rubber dinghies.’

‘Wouldn’t one do?’

‘A spare in case of emergencies.’

‘Won’t it add weight? Lindbergh flew what amounted to a petrol tank with wings and not much else, and did it alone to save weight.’

Harmer gave him a quick look, as if he suspected resentment of the fact that Zoë was to accompany him, then he went on quickly. ‘I designed her myself,’ he said. ‘The engines are Junkers, the best there are.’

‘I’ve heard Wrights are better,’ Dicken said, already aware that he sounded carping and over-critical but anxious to protect Zoë. ‘They weigh short of six hundred and fifty pounds and generate two hundred and thirty-seven horsepower. Lindbergh had one.’

‘Byrd had Junkers and he made it, too,’ Harmer growled. ‘He also made it to the North Pole.’ He gestured. ‘This isn’t the first ship I’ve built. She’s going to make us money. She’s got to. She cost me over a hundred thousand dollars. She’ll knock ’em cold.’

Privately, Dicken didn’t agree. The machine was too big, and was over-decorated and over-equipped, and there was no longer much future in biplanes, though people went on building them, despite the acknowledged fact that they caused tremendous drag. ‘Built-in headwinds’, they were called.