The Flyer (14 page)

The thing they all had in common, William discovered, was a belief in the future of aviation. They all had different opinions about what were the best design characteristics of aeroplanes. Some favoured monoplanes as opposed to biplanes, most were in favour of pusher type layouts with the engine and propeller behind the pilot, though one man they met believed more could ultimately achieved with an engine in front of the plane driving a different shaped propeller, one that pulled the machine through the air. But whatever opinions they had, it was generally agreed that development was happening very quickly, and that it was being driven primarily by two things; one was that engines were being produced that were increasingly lighter and yet more powerful, and the other was that throughout Europe in particular, the military had become very interested in the possibilities that aviation offered.

‘Tommy Sopwith is working pretty closely with the Admiralty to design a plane that can land and take off on the sea,’ they were told by one man. ‘Already Germany and France have both formed a military air service, and our own army is interested in using them for reconnaissance. Have you heard about the trials?’

‘What trials?’ William asked.

‘The army are holding them at Farnborough in the autumn. Essentially the idea is to turn up with your machine, and whoever can convince the army brass that theirs is the best for the job will win a contract to supply.’

‘Are you going to enter?’

The man smiled. ‘Of course.’

CHAPTER 13

On the day of the airshow the weather was perfect for flying. Scattered cumulus rose in billowing columns of pure white from three to ten thousand feet and there was a light easterly breeze. A combination of warm temperatures and the novelty of the event had brought a huge crowd to Sywell. Men, women and children of all backgrounds arrived by motor car or by public motor-buses from all over the county. Stalls selling food and refreshments added to the festive air. For the better-off a table could even be had in a marquee where a five course lunch was served by waitresses in uniform.

The aeroplanes were lined up along one side of the field, separated from the public by a rope barrier to prevent either the risk of injury to the overly curious or damage to the machines. A reporter from the Northampton Gazette had come to cover the event, and with him was a photographer who was preparing to take a photograph of Christopher standing beside his plane. Sir James and Lady Horsham had been driven up from London for the show in their Rolls Royce and were mingling with their guests, who were being served canapés and champagne by a pair of maids who circulated among them.

‘You come from near Brixworth, I understand, Mister Reynolds,’ Elizabeth’s mother said after William had been introduced. ‘Do you know the Mannings? They live at Brixworth.’

‘I’m afraid I don’t.’

‘Mother, don’t cross-examine him,’ Elizabeth chided.

‘I’m sure I was doing no such thing,’ she said.

Elizabeth’s father rescued him by asking about Christopher’s plane. ‘I understand you played a large part in rebuilding it, Mister Reynolds. Are you an aviator yourself?’

They discussed the future of aeroplanes, which Mister Gordon believed was limited. Already the novelty of races and air-shows was wearing off. He said that if this was Bournemouth, where a number of shows had been held in recent years, he doubted a quarter of the people here would have come.

‘But Elizabeth tells us that you own a motor garage,’ Mister Gordon said. ‘Now there is a business with a future.’

‘Actually I’ve decided to sell my garage,’ William said, at which Elizabeth looked surprised.

‘I didn’t know that.’

‘I was going to tell you. It was only settled a few days ago.’

‘You mean you’ve sold it already?’

‘More or less. Arthur’s agreed to buy it.’

‘The man who works for you?’

‘Yes.’

William looked around for Arthur, wondering where he was. Though he couldn’t see him, Sophie was standing alone nearby, holding a glass of champagne and watching the people around her. He noticed that Sophie was herself observed as much as she observed others, though she gave no sign of being aware of it. She wore a pale blue jacket and skirt of a style and quality that ensured she was in no way out of place, but it was her looks that made her stand out. It was hard to define exactly what made her beautiful, but William thought it was something people were instinctively drawn to; a perfect symmetry in her features, her startlingly large, almond shaped eyes.

‘She’s quite lovely, don’t you think?’ Elizabeth said beside him.

‘Yes, I suppose she is.’

‘Who is she?’

‘Her name’s Sophie Yates. She came with Arthur.’

‘Really? Are they involved together? Romantically I mean?’

‘I don’t know, to be honest. I know Arthur likes her. In fact I suspect she’s part of the reason he wanted to buy the garage. He wants Sophie to see him as somebody with future prospects.’

Elizabeth studied Sophie. ‘I hope that wasn’t his only reason.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘I’m afraid I can’t imagine her with your Mister Hawkins, that’s all. I imagine she has her sights set on bigger things.’

William wondered if Elizabeth was right, and was forced to admit that he found it difficult to picture them together too.

‘Have I said the wrong thing?’ Elizabeth said, seeing him frown.

‘No, it’s just that I hope I haven’t pushed Arthur into more than he can manage, that’s all. I wouldn’t like to think he’s taken on the garage for the wrong reasons.’

‘Don’t you think he’s capable of running a business?’

‘Yes I do. I wouldn’t have agreed to lend him half the money he needed otherwise.’

‘That was very generous of you,’ Elizabeth said. ‘Can you afford it?’

‘It was the only way the bank would agree to lend him the other half. It’s their way of making sure I still have a vested interest in the business, I suppose. Anyway, the arrangement is that Arthur will repay me in instalments. So as long as he doesn’t somehow make a mess of it there isn’t any risk really.’

‘I’m sure he won’t let you down,’ Elizabeth said. ‘And if he makes a success of himself, perhaps he’ll prove me wrong where Miss Yates is concerned. She may be exactly the incentive he needs.’

Their conversation was interrupted by the photographer who was attempting to take Christopher’s picture.

‘I wonder if you’d mind putting your left hand on your hip, Mister Horsham.’ He demonstrated by standing with his shoulders back, turned slightly in profile in classic empire pose; the Englishman, master of all he surveys.

Doing his best to oblige, Christopher gazed off into the middle distance, his chin held high, one hand resting on his machine the other on his hip.

Elizabeth smothered a laugh. ‘You look awfully serious. I do think you ought to smile a bit.’

The photographer threw her an irritated glance. ‘If you wouldn’t mind not distracting him, Miss, I’d be most grateful.’

‘Actually, I do feel a bit stiff,’ Christopher said adopting a more casual pose, with one hand in his pocket. He smiled towards the camera. ‘Is that better, do you think, Liz?’

‘Much. Every mother in the county will want you to meet their daughters. Poor thing, you’ll be absolutely snowed under with invitations.’

‘Good lord, I hope not. I couldn’t think of anything worse. All those vapid young girls with nothing on their minds except finding a husband.’

‘You ought to know by now that’s all we women want.’

‘Except you, Liz.’

She smiled and sipped her champagne.

William left them, and seeing that Sophie was still alone went over to speak to her. ‘Hello, are you enjoying yourself?’

She smiled. ‘Yes, thank you.’

‘What’s happened to Arthur?’

‘He saw somebody he knew and went to speak to him.’

‘I suppose he’s told you that I’m selling the garage to him?’

‘Yes. He’s very pleased. He told me that you’re going to build another aeroplane.’

‘That’s right. I’ve decided to enter a sort of competition that the army are holding.’

‘It sounds very exciting, I must say. I’ve never seen an aeroplane before today,’ Sophie said as she watched Christopher posing for another photograph.

‘Do you want to have a closer look? Come on, I’ll show you if you like.’

As they went over the photographer finished taking his pictures and began to pack up his equipment. William introduced Sophie to Christopher and Elizabeth.

‘How do you do, Miss Yates?’ Christopher said as he shook her hand.

‘Sophie wanted to have a look at your plane.’

‘I’d be delighted to show you,’ he said with a smile that would have dazzled practically any young woman in the county. He began to lead her around, pointing out various things and explaining how they worked, and as he talked, Sophie’s eyes never left his face.

‘Would you like to sit in her?’ he asked.

She looked doubtfully at the pilot’s position surrounded by a maze of wires. ‘I wouldn’t want to break anything.’

‘Oh you needn’t worry about that,’ Christopher assured her. ‘Come on, I’ll help you up.’

She took his hand and he helped her into the seat, then climbed up behind her to explain how the controls worked, encouraging her to press the pedal under her foot to operate the rudder.

‘And the stick there in front of you works the ailerons and elevator,’ he said. ‘Like this you see.’ He put his arms around her to take the stick and show her how it worked.

Just then William saw Arthur come back and look around for Sophie. When he saw her he began to go over to her, but then a look of uncertainty crossed his face as Sophie laughed at something Christopher said. They were very close together, Christopher’s hand now resting on her shoulder in a familiar way.

‘I’ll tell you what, there’s still a bit of time before the race, why don’t you and I go and have a look around at the competition, what do you say?’

Christopher’s voice carried clearly, and at that moment he looked every inch what he was; a dashing young aviator whose privileged upbringing was evident in his confident, upper class tones. Everything about him, from the clothes he wore to his good looks, set him apart from ordinary people.

‘I’d love to,’ Sophie replied, and as she climbed down she didn’t even notice Arthur, or the effect her carelessness had on him. He looked as if he’d been dealt a physical blow.

‘We’ll see if we can get some lunch if you like,’ Christopher said as he led her away. ‘I heard somebody say earlier they’ve got champagne and oysters in the marquee.’

William felt sorry for Arthur. He was briefly resentful of both Christopher and Sophie, but reasoned that it wasn’t their fault. ‘I’d better go and see him,’ he said to Elizabeth, thinking that she must have noticed. ‘He looks a bit lost.’

But she didn’t appear to hear him, her gaze fixed instead on Christopher and Sophie as they vanished among the crowd. From her expression, William imagined that she was hiding an old and familiar hurt.

‘Yes, of course,’ she said after a moment and smiled to cover her feelings.

*****

The race was scheduled to begin at half past two. At a quarter past, an official addressed the crowd with the aid of a megaphone. Some of them had bought tickets for the temporary stands, while most gathered on the grass. The official pointed out the helium balloons that marked the perimeter of the course and explained that the contestants had to pilot their machines around each one, and that the first to successfully complete ten laps would be declared the winner.

The planes were lined up in pairs on the field ready to start their engines and take off, while the pilots and their helpers did their final checks. Wentworth came over to shake Christopher’s hand and wish him luck.

‘If either of us wins, I think he ought to stand the loser dinner and champagne in town tonight.’

‘What do you think, William?’ Christopher said. ‘Do you think we should agree?’

‘I don’t see why not.’

‘Perhaps you might like to bring along that young lady I saw you with earlier, William,’ Wentworth suggested. ‘If I win, I’d be willing to cut you in for a share of the prize money in return for an introduction.’

‘You’re too late, old man, I’ve beaten you to it,’ Christopher said with a smile.

‘Oh, I should have known. Well, in that case at least I’m bound to win the race. Nobody can be that lucky in one day.’

Wentworth returned to his machine, and soon afterwards an official announced that the competitors should start their engines. William shook Christopher’s hand and wished him luck, then went around to the propeller to prime the engine.

‘Contact?’

Christopher flicked on the switch. ‘Contact.’

With another pull on the propeller the engine burst into life, and then one by one the others followed suit and a haze of blue smoke drifted across the grass towards the crowd, carrying with it the strong smell of oil and petrol. Of the fifteen competitors only one engine refused to start, and no matter how many times the mechanic turned the prop it was no use. The officials allowed the frustrated aviator a few extra minutes while the other machines began to take off, but the fault couldn’t be diagnosed and in the end the plane remained on the ground like a stubborn, ungainly bird that refuses to leave the nest.

Christopher’s plane gathered speed and rose smoothly into the air to join the others waiting for the flare that would signal the start of the race. There were some whose designs were clearly outdated. One had scalloped wing edges like a bird’s and an elevator protruding from the front, while another’s engine could be clearly heard misfiring, and in fact was eventually forced to land a minute before the race began. However, many of the planes shared common characteristics, such as elevators and rudders at the tail end, which in conjunction with ailerons on the wings provided the pilot with control. Nearly all of them were biplanes, since it was almost universally agreed that two sets of wings were inherently stronger and more efficient than one.

The chief difference among them, William mused as he looked on from the field, was the type and position of the engine. There were still two schools of thought regarding this. One believed the ‘pusher’ type, with an engine behind the pilot, was better than having it at the front with a propeller designed to pull the machine through the air. As he watched the planes circling, William decided it was difficult to decide which of the two designs was superior, because there were other factors to consider. Christopher’s was a pusher designed by de Havilland, and was clearly faster than one of only two monoplanes that had their engines in front. But how much of that was due to it being a biplane and how much to the engine itself? And then there was the engine itself to consider. Nearly every plane was fitted with a French engine, except for two with British Greens, but even then no two were alike. Christopher’s was powered by a seventy horsepower Rhone, but there were Gnome’s and Hispanos of varying sizes, and some were radials while others were in-line types, and though most were water cooled there was at least one air cooled Renault.

Despite all these variations, William felt it was the engine that made the most difference to speed in the end, though it was the overall design that affected manoeuvrability. He was already thinking about the plane he would build to enter the army’s competition.

*****

When the green flare was fired to signal the start of the race, Elizabeth was sitting next to her mother in the stands. She watched through her glasses as Christopher crossed the line at about the same time as three or four of the other planes. For a few seconds their wings seemed so close that involuntarily she held her breath.