The Flyer (13 page)

They were standing very close to another, Elizabeth’s face pale in the darkness folding around them. His heart was thudding. He moved closer to her, but as he did a sound reached them from across the field, the faint, scratchy beginning of a tune and suddenly the moment was lost.

‘We ought to get back,’ Elizabeth said.

‘Yes.’

Several times a week William and Christopher would drive to Sywell, and William would have an hour’s lesson using Wentworth’s machine. After a few attempts at piloting with Christopher sitting behind him, William took his first flight alone, and soon afterwards applied for his license from the British Aero Club. Elizabeth sometimes came to the aerodrome to watch, and it was there one day after William had taken a forty minute solo flight that Christopher suggested they ought to go to Brooklands.

‘What do you think, William?’

They were sitting outside the clubhouse on deckchairs. It was late afternoon. William was watching the way the sun struck the tops of the trees in the hedgerows so that they seemed almost to be ablaze. He came to, realising belatedly that Christopher had asked him something.

‘Sorry, I was miles away.’

‘There’s no use trying to get anything out of William when he’s like this,’ Elizabeth teased.

‘What do you mean?’ he asked.

‘You always go off into this dreamy state after you’ve been flying. It makes me quite envious.’

‘Do I? I hadn’t realised. I suppose it’s because when I’m up there I can appreciate how beautiful everything really is. You know what it’s like when you look at something closely… I don’t know what… a flower perhaps, like those, what are they called?’ He gestured to a clump of pale mauve wildflowers growing nearby.

‘Mallow, I think.’

William went over and picked one. ‘You see these all the time. So often that you hardy notice them. From any distance they appear to be one colour, but if you look closely you can see they have these dark purple veins. See how delicate they are.’

Elizabeth smiled. ‘Yes, they’re actually rather beautiful.’

‘Well flying is like that, only in reverse. Suddenly you have this entirely different perspective. You see all the places… villages, towns, roads and so on… as a small part of the countryside as a whole, and all at once you realise that there is so much more to it than you appreciated.’

‘William’s right, you know Liz. You ought to see for yourself,’ Christopher said. He was always trying to persuade her to go up but she never would.

When William sat down again he noticed that Elizabeth kept the mallow, and every now and then he saw her gazing at it thoughtfully. He had the feeling she was thinking about what he’d said about seeing things with new eyes. Since that evening when he had almost kissed her something had changed between them. A subtle difference existed in their relationship - an awareness or perhaps even an expectation of things to come. The world changes, William thought, whether we want it to or not.

‘Anyway, what I was saying before was that we ought to go to Brooklands,’ Christopher continued. ‘We could see what Tommy Sopwith and all those other fellows there are doing. We’re bound to learn something we can use to make sure we beat Wentworth here in the race.’

‘I say, that’s not very sporting of you,’ Wentworth protested mildly.

‘Why don’t you come with us? Any number of firms have set up to build aeroplanes there now. There’s a real push on to try and catch up with the French.’

‘Let me know when you’re going and I’ll see what I’m doing.’

‘What about you William, what do you think?’

‘I think it’s a good idea,’ he said.

‘Good, we ought to go soon. What about this weekend? You could come too, Liz, if you like.’

‘I can’t,’ she said. ‘It’s Joanna’s birthday on Sunday and I can’t miss it,’ she said referring to her youngest sister.

‘I can’t make it either, I’m afraid,’ Wentworth said. ‘Prior engagement with Maureen Hampton.’

‘Looks as if it’s just us then, William. I’ll find out what time the trains are and let you know tomorrow.’

The following morning, when Arthur arrived for work, he said that a man had come in the previous afternoon to say he had broken down on the Wellingborough road.

‘What did you tell him?’ William asked.

‘I said he’d have to leave his car and we’d fetch it today. I couldn’t do it on my own, Will,’

‘No, of course,’ William agreed guiltily. There were already three cars waiting for repair besides the one Arthur was working on, and though Arthur hadn’t complained, William thought he must feel resentful at being left to cope alone such a lot. ‘We might as well go and get it now then,’ he said.

They took the lorry to tow the broken-down car back with. On the way, William asked Arthur how Sophie was, as he knew they’d been seeing one another occasionally.

‘She’s alright.’ Arthur said glumly.

He didn’t seem willing to talk about Sophie, and William wondered if things were going alright between them. When Arthur had first begun seeing her - after they met on the day of the suffragette march - Arthur had talked about her constantly, but lately he’d barely mentioned her. William had to admit he wasn’t really surprised. He’d never believed Sophie was the sort who would settle for somebody like Arthur.

When they found the car that had broken down at the side of the road, they attached a chain to the front axle so they could tow it back to the garage. Arthur barely spoke and seemed distracted.

‘Will,’ he said finally. ‘There’s something I want to ask you. Are you still thinkin’ about opening another garage like you talked about?’

‘To be honest, I haven’t had time to think about it lately,’ William said. ‘Why do you ask?’

‘I just wondered because you ‘adn’t mentioned it, that’s all. Do you want me to drive the lorry?’

‘Yes, alright.’

William thought about what Arthur had asked him on the way back and brought the subject up again when they arrived. ‘Have you thought about what we talked about if I did open another garage? That you might run this one?’

‘Yes,’ Arthur said immediately. ‘If you thought I could do it, I’d like the chance.’

‘There’s no question of that. You’re already running it more or less by yourself.’ William had the feeling there was something else on Arthur’s mind, and asked him what it was

‘You said something about me buying a share in the business.’

‘That’s right,’ William agreed.

‘Do you think the bank would lend me the money to do that if I asked?’

‘I don’t see why not,’ William said, surprised. ‘You seem very keen all of a sudden.’

‘I’ve just been thinkin’ about it, that’s all. When do you think you’ll decide what you’re going to do?’

‘We’ll talk about it again when I get back from Brooklands,’ William promised.

On Saturday morning, Christopher arrived to pick William up and they caught a train from Northampton to London, and from there took another to Weybridge, which was the closest station to Brooklands. A taxi took them the rest of the way, and as it turned out there was a motor-race meeting on that afternoon. When they arrived there were already crowds of people in the stands opposite the finishing straight. Near the track itself bookies were taking bets on the afternoon’s programme.

‘It could almost be a meeting at Ascot,’ William observed. There were even changing rooms for the competitors and a clubhouse and restaurant.

‘Yes, I suppose you’re right,’ Christopher agreed. ‘The thing is, nothing had ever been built like this before, so I suppose they had to model it on something.’ He looked at his watch. ‘Why don’t we have something to eat? We can watch the first race if you like.’

‘They went to the Blue Bird restaurant to see if they could get a table and found they were in luck. The table they were given offered a view of the track and the crowds of people, and they could hear the sound of powerful engines being given a final tune-up before the first race.

A waiter bought their menus, but after a glance at the wine list Christopher put it aside. ‘I don’t know about you, but drinking wine at lunch makes me awfully sleepy. I think l’ll stick to whisky and soda.’

‘I’ll have the same. Have you eaten here before?’

‘Yes, a couple of times. The food’s not bad really.’

After they’d ordered they lit cigarettes, and Christopher pointed out the landing strip in the middle of the track. ‘This is where I had my first flight, did I tell you? I was racing my Renault here about a year and a half ago. Tommy Sopwith had set up a flying school the year before, after he won four thousand pounds for flying a British made machine the longest distance from England to the Continent. He travelled a hundred and sixty nine miles in something like three and a half hours.’

‘Yes, I remember reading about it,’ William said. He’d been at Ballantynes then.

‘The flying school is still operating as far as I know, though I suppose they don’t operate while there’s racing on.’

The first race of the day took place while they were eating lunch. About fifteen cars took their places at the start line, all of them great, powerful machines like Christopher’s Fiat, with long bonnets to accommodate their huge six litre engines. When the flag dropped and the cars roared off, the noise even in the restaurant was deafening, and they could see a pall of smoke drift across the spectators.

The track was two and three quarter miles long in total and a hundred feet wide, with thirty foot high banked corners at either end. The longest straight ran alongside the London to Bristol railway for half a mile, and it was there that the drivers got the fastest speeds out of their cars. After two laps the field was well spread out, and several cars had been forced to pull out altogether with engine trouble, but there were three cars at the front all competing closely for the lead. First one would be in front, and then another would edge ahead, finding a moment to get on the inside as they roared out of a bend, only to be beaten on the straight by the third. It was clearly a duel of driver skill as much as it was a competition between the cars themselves.

‘That’s Kerridge in front now,’ Christopher said as the cars came out of the banked turn onto the long straight. ‘He’s driving a Bentley. He’s a marvellous driver. I raced against him once myself, and I don’t mind admitting he was impossible to catch. He takes enormous risks, but he’s got the skill to carry it off.’

‘Who’s that coming up behind him now?’ William asked as one of the two cars closely following, gained quickly. They seemed to be going at a fantastic speed, the sound of their engines shattering the tranquillity of the countryside.

‘Clarke,’ Christopher said, looking at his programme. ‘I don’t know him, but he’s driving a Peugot. It looks very fast. I’d say he’s got the edge on the straights, but Kerridge is holding him off on the curves.’

As the race continued it was the two lead cars that put up a determined battle for first place, the third one gradually dropping further back until it was out of contention.

‘They must be getting up to eighty or ninety miles an hour along that straight,’ Christopher commented.

‘We ought to be able to build an aeroplane that can go as fast as that,’ William said.

‘I don’t see how. It’s a question of weight surely. Can you imagine one of those engines on my kite? It would never get off the ground.’

‘You’re right. But there are new types being developed all the time. It’s no good using engines that are made for cars.’

A chorus of excited shouts went up from the crowd as the leaders came down past the stands again, this time with the Peugot in front. William imagined Christopher out there, hanging grimly onto the wheel as his car hurtled around the track, while in the clubhouse with its green domed roof, people looked on as they drank champagne.

‘Will you race again, do you think?’ he asked.

‘I don’t know. I hadn’t really thought about it to tell the truth,’ Christopher said. ‘I might stick to flying, but it depends how we get on at the airshow.’ He thought for a moment. ‘I suppose I could do both, actually.’

‘Did you win many races before you started flying?’

‘A few.’

‘Is that why you did it? To win?’

Christopher looked at him in surprise. ‘Yes, of course. Though I suppose that wasn’t the only reason. It’s exciting to go out there and drive as fast as you possibly can and try to beat the other fellow, but that’s only a part of it. There are the people you meet, the places you go where the races are held in France and Italy and so on. There’s always a certain crowd, and somebody or other is always having a party. I suppose flying isn’t much different in that respect. There are air shows and races being held everywhere nowadays. I think there’s quite a lot of prize money to be had, especially on the continent.’

William wondered what it would be like to live that kind of life.

‘You ought to think about taking it up, you know,’ Christopher said.

‘Me?’

‘Why not? You’ve only been flying for a month or so but you’re already a better pilot than I am.’

‘Rubbish.’

‘No, it’s true,’ Christopher insisted. ‘Wentworth thinks so too. It’s because you have a natural feel for it. Not just the controls, but the whole business of the design and what makes it work and so on. You know far more than I do. You’re always thinking about how something can be improved. I knew it the very first time we met. Do you remember when you came to help me after I crashed that day? I was watching you as you poked about in the wreckage. Even then you were trying to see how it all went together, and I knew then that I was going to ask you to help me fix it up.’

William laughed. ‘I don’t believe you.’

‘It’s true. Anyway, for a chap who reads Homer and Virgil, surely flying aeroplanes would be far better than mending cars for a living.’

William smiled, though he was stung by Christopher’s casual dismissal of the way he made his living.

The race was won by Kerridge in the end. He got ahead of the Peugot on the final curve and held his lead by half a length on the finishing straight. After lunch, William and Christopher went to the flying village as it was known, a collection of wooden buildings that housed the aviation firms that had grown out of Brooklands. They were told that Tommy Sopwith was no longer there. He’d formed the Sopwith Aviation Company the previous year and it was housed in a disused ice rink in Kingston Upon Thames. But there were others there who were happy to talk to them, and they spent the rest of the afternoon meeting people and discussing their ideas.